#i am one of those people that is definitely not good enough with hardware to be able to do IT but im perfectly decent enough with software

[orbmanson7]

Gotta love when there's IT issues and I know exactly how to solve them but I'd need admin access to do it which I obviously don't have and I'm not stupid enough to go around that because then I'd technically be violating HIPAA but like

I hate just sitting on my fucking hands while I wait for some goober to try to fix shit remotely when I literally know exactly what to do and if you'd just log in the admin shit, I could just take back controls and fix it in five seconds, please for the love of god, this is such a waste of everyone's time as you fumble about opening apps and shit unnecessarily when you just need to click like two things to reset the fucking audio device to default, jesus fucking christ, please I could fix this instantly, omfg please

[minty-tea-soup]

Doors and Stargazing

First Post for AU-gust Ringduo things.

This is part of the DnD!AU. Not my best writing but still fun.

“Why don’t you use your Soup Shrine ever? Sometimes there will be a little note forming at the Library, the start of the stay but its never long or cohesive. We can make it better for you? What isn’t good-” Tea cut off Minty’s rambling chitters with their own concern, “I didn’t realize that it meant that much that I wasn’t staying the night in them. I cleaned it and kept it nice just don’t want to get trapped in there overnight.” “Trapped? It doesn’t trap you. It gives you a break from the world so that you don’t burn out. Allows time to not worry, to consider and have to rest. Being able to add to the Library is a bonus,” Minty was now actively looking around the Shrine as if it was broken. Pulling the well maintained door back and forth, checking how it sat in the frame. Then moving on to check all the windows as well. “The door locks at night. Can’t get out.” Minty stopped looking at the different points that lead to the outdoors and turned back towards Tea. A look of confusion and his ears flattened in displeasure before going inside and checking the hearth where the yellow and green fire burned away happily. After poking at the hearth a couple times Minty let out a little distressed call. Tea followed hesitantly into the Shrine worry poking at their brain, what was so wrong about wanting to sleep under the stars? Or wanting to experience the dark and quiet that came with the night? “You never stayed long enough for gifts?” Minty’s reflective eyes showed Tea their own confusion reflected back across the different angles contorting like a fun house mirror. “I didn’t want to owe anything.” “But you cleaned! You have helped resupply food. Oh this won’t do. I am going to sleep here tonight and try to talk to Sun God about what to do.”

And that’s what he did as Tea made a small camp outside to watch the stars. The door locking the two from each other. But at the first light of dawn Minty came out with a hammer and a couple other tools that he definitely did not have the night before. Without waking Tea who was sleeping peacefully he started to break the door off the hinges. Not a quiet task. BANG! Tea shot up ready to fight a threat to see the desecration of the Soup Shrine from Minty. Minty who had told them once about how Sun God only ever held malicious for those destroyed its creations: Shrines, people, the Library, it’s woods. And here it’s favored Cleric, someone who would eventually be enveloped and stitched into the fabric of what made Sun God itself was destroying one. Was this because Tea didn’t like the door? Was Minty really throwing away their entire future, one they loved so much, for a fucking door?! BANG! “Oof sorry didn’t mean to wake you up but these last couple bolts didn’t want to come out,” Minty apologized as they picked up the door and moved it off to the side, “Spoke with Sun God last night and we agreed that while a Shrine without a door gives more fuzzy vague stories it is more important that the Shrine is somewhere you feel safe. It sadly means it can’t give anymore boons or gifts but that’s fine. It will still hold the protective charms, just a bit looser. It shouldn’t hold you in at night now. That was the problem right?” Tea just nodded and watched as the door that was now being broken down, hardware stripped off before the heavy ash was being broken into chunks. Then feed into the fire inside. “There we go,” Minty smiled, this weird bare of teeth that would have been more malicious looking if her tail wasn’t bopping back and forth. “Why? Won’t Sun God be mad?” Tea was trying to hide the worry but couldn’t help drawing their cloak tighter as if the sun itself might look down and burn them both like the bugs they were.

“No of course not. I got full blessing. Sun God is the god of Creation. Sometimes Creation is change. While Sun God tends to be the Constant Creation so less regressive change and more building and growing change sometimes erosion is still change. A lot of people misunderstand. They hear ‘God of Creation’ and think that Sun God made the world. No. Some other god or gods made the world. Breathed it into being. But then they made a fire to help it thrive. They called that fire the Sun and it looked upon this wonderful place they were born to protect and help guide growth to. And they grew from that. They aren’t always in the Sun anymore. Sometimes but often they are in the Library now. They want people to make art, to feel safe, to invent new machines, to protect, to build wonders and places to grow. And then they want the stories, to hear about your day and all that inspired you. To slowly take that story from you and sew it into itself so that it may have a little bit of you in it always. That’s what I will be eventually. Another patch in the wondrous quilt that is all.” Minty’s gestures were wide and excited as she opened one of the chests and pulled out some food tucked away for travelers. Other things Tea didn’t often touch, even if they did help replenish. “But why if you want to experience the world would you stay inside at night? Why not explore that wonder?” Tea questioned, imagining a world in which they would have never pondered or stared in the Void. “What can I see at night that I cannot see under the Sun?” “The Stars. The quiet. The Void, though that is less seen and more of an existence.” “Will you stay with me to experience it? I would like to take the story back for Sun God.” “Of course.”

And so they waited. Tending to the plants around the Soup Shrine, cleaning the windows and sanding over the area that would make someone believe that there ever was a door. Because now this Soup Shrine never had a door. After all if it had a door it couldn’t fulfill it’s purpose of being a Soup Shrine for Tea. And then Dusk arrived. Minty’s fur was puffing up a little in fear trying to smooth it back down with thin hands. Their antennae upright and terrified. Then the stars started to show. No moon tonight, Tea noted but that was fine because there was so many stars. Filling the sky and telling stories that no one could hear, unless they knew the language and where to listen. But there was another light a soft glow coming just from Tea’s right. Turning they saw Minty looking up at the stars in the wonder, experiencing the night sky for the first time in her entire life. And that tail that always looked so strange and hallow in it’s white exoskeleton was glowing a soft green. Just a little before fading and starting again. Minty hadn’t even noticed this change but Tea was delighted to learn this new fact about their friend. Nudging them gently they gestured to the tail. Minty’s eye stared at their own tail as if they had never seen this before. A new wonder to add to the Library.

[strangerpages]

Zero Space: Dissenting Realities

Part 2.

In the pursuit of wisdom, I would like to define for myself some basics about "reality" and what that word means to me; and by extension, redefine my beliefs. I'll start by establishing some more premises.

OR: Objective Reality. I will assume for the sake of this argument that there is an objective reality, that functions consistently and follows a set of rules, even if we don't understand those rules in their entirety. I can't know that this is true for sure, but it seems*very* likely.

SR: Subjective (or Simulated) Reality. As a human being, I have in my mind a model of reality that I use to make decisions. This model is informed by input from my senses, learned knowledge, past experience, and intuition. I can use this model of reality to catch a ball if it's thrown to me (most of the time) or to make tea for my partner without asking (they almost always want tea).

mSR: (m is a variable to represent different internal models of reality.) I have multiple models of reality, run by different parts of my mind simultaneously. I know I have at least 2 models; the one(s) primarily responsible for all this logical wankery, and the one(s) responsible for maintaining all my other functions. Let's call them the Conscious and Unconscious minds for now, because I'm basic. (1SR and 0SR). I believe there are at least two models involved because they often come into conflict with each other, and because one of them is much better at driving my car. (Spoiler alert, it's not 1SR.)

p.mSR: (p is a variable that represents a person.) Other people exist, who also have their own models of reality. I know I can't prove it, but I don't find solipsism very useful. I don't care if other people actually exist or not; I believe for good reason they exist and I'm going to continue to treat them like they do. Yes this includes animals. Yes, even if I'm going to eat them. (p is a variable, to represent another person. It can be replaced with a number to represent that specific person.)

SR does not equal OR: My subjective reality is the only reality I have direct access to. My models of reality has been good enough to keep me alive (so far) but they have holes and flaws and are missing information. My models of reality are constantly changing as I receive new information or alter the perimeters of my simulation. (For example, my partner does not usually want tea if it's morning, they want coffee instead.)

p.mSR is equal to "A Mind". This is just a working definition of what a mind is.

0.mSR is me: let's say for the sake of argument that "I" am the collection of simulations running on the hardware of my body.

p.mSR can change OR: Anything that affects a person's decision making can affect objective reality. If I decide to move a rock (or whatever), for whatever reason, then I have modified objective reality.

OR can change p.mSR: I think we can agree that if a rock, let's say, falls and smashes your noggin into pudding, your simulation(s) of reality are going to change (or cease). Less drastic examples can also change your simulated realities to differing degrees. I'm sure there are extreme disabilities that would affect the truth of this statement, but I'm not well informed on that subject.

If p.mSR can change OR, and OR can change p.mSR, then p.mSR can change p.mSR: People can change. You can change your own mind, and you can change other people's minds. This process may not be easy, and it will probably involve altering OR first.

If p.mSR can change p.mSR, then 0.mSR can change 0.mSR.

I am capable of changing my own mind.

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: What We Don't Know Can't Hurt Us

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Librarian!Reader (cishet female) meet-cute

Warnings: No warnings really, some language and mention of masturbation and sex. Reader doesn't like kids. Yearning. Frankie is a TOTAL DILF SWEETHEART. Sad ending.

Summary: Reader is a librarian who has to temp at the kids' section desk from time to time which is a pain because she doesn't like kids. And who is a regular if not a very hot, scruffy-looking dad with the very polite and mild-mannered daughter? Sparks fly but some things maybe aren't meant to be.

Words: 5,155

a/n: Just to be clear, this one doesn't end well. I just wanted to write something sad, I guess.

Oh, shit, there he is again. The Hot Dad.

You straighten a little in your chair and once again curse the fact that you’re working in the children’s section at the library: the only desk that isn’t adjustable. You prefer to do your service desk duties standing up, not only for ergonomic reasons but because you hate how patrons look down on you – literally – when you’re seated by the desk. Also, you tend to slouch and it’s not an attractive look. And at the kids’ section, you’re all supposed to work on the same level as the little tykes. And you’re not particularly keen on those.

You are, however, keen on hot dads. God knows you only get them once in a blue moon and if they show up, it’s usually in tow of a whole clan of children and a wife. But this dad has been in once before when you’ve had desk duty and you saw him stop at the shelf for picture books about divorce and pick out a few. You also heard him tell his little girl that she shouldn’t bring the books she chose to her mom’s. Divorcee, so fantasizing was even more allowed – although he probably had a girlfriend. Guys like that always do.

“You don’t want to lose them, sweetie,” he had explained patiently to his daughter. “You can keep them in your room at my place but if you take them to your mom’s there’s a risk you lose them and that means I have to pay for them. You see, we’re only borrowing these books, that’s what you do in a library.”

You had smiled an inwards smile when listening to him. There was nothing you loved more than parents who actually seemed to understand that all the material in the library was free at one simple condition: return it in time, in the same condition as you borrowed it. A lot of people did not seem to grasp this and made a huge deal when they failed to meet these conditions and were faced with late fees or even had to compensate for lost books. But when parents who knew how to use a library include their offspring, explain how it all works for them, well, that’s how you foster a new generation of good library patrons.

This dad did just that. And he was very careful with the books, prompting his daughter to be the same. Every book she pulled out of the stacks, he helped her put back in the right place. That’s practically marriage material right there and it was enough to make you weak at the knees, to be honest. After almost ten years working in a public library, you were disillusioned about people in general and their intelligence in particular. Sure, you liked your job enough to not cry in the mornings when you had to leave bed, and you did enjoy the work itself (mostly), but… having to deal with people was exhausting. Having to deal with little people even more so, and the worst was having to deal with adult people who had little people with them. Parents.

Hence your absolute obsession with Hot Dad who was soft-spoken, really good with his kid, understood to appreciate the library and its services, nodded his hello to you when passing by the desk, didn’t make a mess, clearly read to his kid regularly and encouraged her to read for herself. You just didn’t get to see people like that so often, and it triggered your interest. You allowed yourself to daydream about him.

Francisco Morales. You remember his name from his last visit, when he and the kid came up to the desk with their haul. You always encouraged patrons to use the self-service check-out (the less you had to do deal with them, the better), but for this guy you were more than willing to go the extra service mile, even with the kid staring at your every move from across the desk as you registered all the loans. You silently gave her plus points for not trying to “help” like some kids did, and for the quiet but clear Thank you she gave you without prompting from her father.

You’re busying yourself with the returns, loading them onto a cart, when you hear a soft, deep voice go Excuse me behind your back. You twirl around and see Morales, pulling his baseball cap off his head to reveal curls that would make any hair model cry of envy.

“Sorry to bother you,” he offers. Take me now, you think to yourself but instead, you give him your brightest customer service smile, the one you rarely give patrons.

“No worries, how can I help?”

“We’re looking for picture books about farm animals. You don’t happen to have those separated? I noticed you have some subject areas separated.” He gestures back towards the picture book stacks where his daughter is quietly perusing.

“We don’t, but I think we have some Julia Donaldsons available, let me come and have a look.”

You don’t always offer. With most patrons, you’d tell them to look under D for Donaldson and then smile sweetly and ask them if they’re okay to do it themselves. You can’t do everything for everyone, that way they’ll never learn. But for Francisco Morales and his well-behaved little girl, you’re absolutely willing to make an exception.

There are some Donaldsons that the girl, whose name you learn is Sofia, eagerly accepts when you present her with them.

“I love fawm animals,” she sighs happily as she browses the first one. “Do you?”

“Who doesn’t love animals?” You make the effort to small talk although communicating with kids usually makes you awkward.

“What’s youw favowite? Mine is bunny. And howses. And lambs.”

“Goats! I love goats, they’re so cute and sweet and playful.” You almost add something about goats being the devil’s favorite animal as well but manage to stop yourself in time.

“Is there something else you want to ask the librarian?” Morales asks his daughter. “If not, I’m sure she has a lot of work to do, and we shouldn’t keep her any longer.”

“I’m here to help,” you shrug and give him a little smile: not a polite, impersonal one that you’d give a patron, but a more intimate one. A flirty smile. “You just need to ask.”

The smile he gives you back is warm and grateful, and you realize that he doesn’t have different facial expressions for different people. He doesn’t work in customer service because if he did, he’d know the difference. Not that you ever thought he worked in retail or anything like that, well, maybe a hardware store, but no. He just doesn’t seem like the type. The way he moves his body suggests something a lot more physical.

Oh, you’d like to get physical with him, alright…

All the sucky library-themed pick-up lines flash through your head. Can I check you out as an overnight loan? Can I insert my private collection into your empty stacks? My reference desk or yours? Am I being too loud, well, you’ll just have to shush me with your lips. You’re like an overdue library book because you have fine written all over you.

Worst part is, if Hot Dad Morales tried any of these on you, you’d probably forgive him and go for it. Maybe. You’re really not that simple, but a girl can dream, right?

The kid thanks you and you return to the relative safety of the desk and the mundane task of alphabetizing returns. You need to calm the fuck down and act professional. Daydreaming is fine but you’re barely toeing the line.

God, you need to get laid. As if that’s something that one can remedy just by walking into a store and ordering a medium dick with a side of hands and tongue.

📚📚📚

The next time you see Francisco and Sofia Morales, you’re taking your lunch break in the small park outside the library. It’s a sunny day and you didn’t fancy sitting in the breakroom with your salad, listening to colleagues talking about who cares what. So you took your lunch box, fork, and water bottle, and went to sit on the park bench the furthest away from the swing set and sandbox. The weather is nice and you enjoy yourself and your break from the library’s chat service. You never know what you’re gonna get when you work the chat: a stupid question about opening hours which anyone could google the answer to, or something more complicated like requests for books with partial or no titles, rarities, or subject areas that you don’t know much about. That’s when you get to use your whole competence and really dig deep, think outside the box, solve problems. You love it but it’s challenging at times, and takes a lot of energy. Your outdoor break is welcome.

“Hi!”

You hadn’t noticed the girl walking up to you and the greeting startles you.

“Oh, hi.”

“We’we wetuwning the animal books,” Sofia informs you seriously. You have to smile.

“Good job. You want more of those or something else this time?”

“Mowe. Will you help me find some?”

“I’m not working the desk at the children’s section today but my colleague there will absolutely help you. Just ask her.”

Now you see Morales walking towards you from the swing set, carrying the large, flowery canvas tote that says “book bag” he always brings to the library.

“Hello,” he nods with that warm smile that he definitely gives everyone. “Sofia, don’t disturb the lady on her break. I’m sure she wants some peace and quiet before she has to go back to work.”

Jesus fucking Christ. How does this man just know shit like this?

“I’m sowwy,” Sofia immediately offers. “I wanted to say hello.”

“Don’t worry, it’s okay,” you allow, although technically, he’s not wrong. “I’m almost done. It was nice to see you. I hope you have a good visit to the library.”

“Thank you!” She skips along and Morales chuckles as he takes off his baseball cap and scratches his head, swipes his long locks out of his forehead, then puts the hat back on.

“You’re her favorite, you know,” he tells you. When you raise your eyebrow, not comprehending, he hurries to elaborate. “Of the librarians. She says you’re the best.”

“Thank you, but whatever for?” You know you do a good enough job at your usual position and that your regulars appreciate you, but you are also very aware of not being at your finest in the kids’ section.

“You have to ask her,” Morales grins as he looks out for his kid, who has returned to the swing set and is pumping her legs on the swing, brows knitted in concentration. “But she’s very taken with you. I think it’s because you’re very calm and focused with her.”

Calm and focused??? You almost laugh out loud. That’s everything you’re not when you’re at the kids’ desk.

“Thanks,” you manage, because you have to say something.

“She’s also really interested in your tattoos and I definitely think she wants to get her nose pierced now,” Morales goes on. “I told her that we don’t comment on people’s appearance, but just a heads up, she might ask you about those.”

Ah, the unpredictability of children.

“I appreciate it.” You really do. You don’t mind talking about your tattoos or the septum ring you have but if a kid suddenly asks about it, you’d rather be prepared.

“Anyway, sorry to intrude on your lunch.”

“No worries,” you reassure him. “You can… sit down for a while if you want to? I have ten minutes left.”

Your heart beats faster at your proposal. It’s not exactly appropriate but you just want to enjoy his company for a moment. And discreetly sniff him because he smells so fucking good, woodsy and smokey but with a hint of… vanilla? You’re terrible at recognizing smells but it reminds you of some aroma reeds you had a couple of years ago that smelled like a wood cabin with vanilla sugar spilled on the floor. You loved it but like everything you love, it was discontinued.

Morales looks over at his daughter before nodding, the book bag slipping down from his shoulder as he places it next to the bench.

“If you’re sure?”

“Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.”

He likes your straightforward answer, you can tell from how his eyes crinkle a little and how relaxed his body language is when he sits down.

“I’m Frankie, by the way,” he says, like he just remembered that introductions are a normal part of human interaction. He extends his right hand to you and as you accept it and tell him your name, you can’t help but marvel at how huge his hand is. Big, warm, slightly damp but not in a weird way.

“Nice to meet you, Frankie.” Frankie. Francisco Morales is Frankie. It suits him better than Francisco, to be honest.

“And that’s Sofia.” He points to the girl who seems content swinging by herself. You realize you’re expected to say something nice about her to the proud dad.

“She seems sweet.”

“Yeah, she’s awesome. And she loves coming to the library, it’s all she talks about when I have her.” He clears his throat and adds: “Her mother and I got divorced quite recently. I only get her five days every other week.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Shit, it’s divorce and custody talk from the start. You have no idea how to respond to that.

“That’s life,” he shrugs, “but I figured that going to the library every time I get her could be a good routine to ground her. And then we have books that we can read together for her entire stay.”

It’s definitely a good routine as far as you can tell.

“When I was between nine and thirteen years old, my dad would take me to the local library every Monday evening,” you tell him, smiling at the memory. “My dad never opened a book in his life but he patiently read the auto and tech magazines while I collected half the kids’ section with me. When I went to tell him that I was done, he always pretended to object to the amounts, but then he’d help me carry it all to the car.”

As you tell him this, you’re looking at him, no, staring at the patchy, grey-splashed beard he’s sporting. It’s the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen. What’s the story there, why doesn’t it grow evenly? Is this a thing? You don’t have enough experience in the field of facial hair. Is it genetic? Is it always like this?

He keeps looking at his daughter as he listens to you with a small smile on his face, clearly enjoying your little anecdote.

“That’s lovely,” he says, turning his attention back to you when you’re finished. “Dads and daughters, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

You pick up your phone to check the time. Shit. You have to return to the chat.

“I gotta go. Lunch break’s over.”

You collect your things and stand up, brushing off your skirt. Frankie stands up as well and picks up the book bag.

“I’ll see you in there?”

“I’m not a the desk today.”

“Oh.” He seems disappointed, his eyes flickering from you to the ground. “That’s too bad.”

“And the kids' section isn't my primary department.”

“The bad news just keep on coming, don't they,” he jokes as the two of you start to walk towards the entrance. Sofia jumps from the swing and comes running.

“She's not at the desk today, daddy,” she tells Frankie precociously.

“I know, mija. We'll have to ask someone else about the animal books, okay?”

Sofia doesn't seem too happy with this solution but nods. You take your leave before she has the opportunity to ask about your body modifications, and disappear through a door marked “Staff Only”.

📚📚📚

The following weeks you seem to see Frankie everywhere. You run into him at the supermarket and get drafted into advicing him on what cereal to buy for his kid. “Something healthy, but good so she'll actually eat it.” How the hell should I know? you want to scoff, but you're simping for him enough to help him choose something you'd never in a thousand years touch yourself. You see him in town one afternoon when you're running errands and he suggests you grab a coffee - holy hell, in your book that's a fucking date - but you decline as kindly as you can, citing a busy schedule when in fact you're mostly just scared out of your mind. The daydream is becoming a little too real and you're absolutely not ready for that, especially not because of the kid. If it wasn't for Sofia, you could have dared the leap, but dating a guy relatively fresh out of a marriage, and with a kid to boot? No, that's asking for trouble and you don't want trouble.

One afternoon at the kids' desk, you once again get to help Sofia find books, this time on sharks.

“She went from farm animals to sharks in one week,” Frankie confides in you when the girl is sitting quietly in a reading nook, carefully studying every page and occasionally widening her eyes at what you suspect is pictures of shark teeth. “It's sharks this and sharks that. She asks if there are sharks in every body of water she sees, from the pond in the park to the ditch outside my parents' house.”

“Have her watch Jaws and she will never want to think about sharks ever again,” you suggest, earning a laugh although the idea was probably a little bit on the morbid side.

“Maybe, but that would probably scar her for life. I actually want her to learn how to swim.”

“Then best not.”

You pick up a couple of books someone else left behind on a table and make a gesture that says I have to re-shelve these, come with and Frankie follows you to the right shelf.

“You know, she talks about you as her friend at the library.”

Now, some people would find that adorable but you don't. You're not friends with this kid, you're in a position where you could possibly influence her keenness to literature and literacy but you will always risk critique from her guardians. Being a children's librarian is like a hybrid between being in customer service, and being a teacher. You get to form young malleable minds but you are always subjected to criticism, even when you've done nothing wrong. Kids are patrons, like adults, and to have them see you as friends is only going to complicate things.

“That's nice,” you reply carefully, not really sure what else to say. It's so hard to talk to parents sometimes, one wrong words and you're basically Satan, you can't know because you don't have kids yourself, how dare you not worship the ground my offspring just vomited all over?

“You're definitely her favorite librarian.”

That you can take. You have a couple of adult patrons who come in regularly and prefer to get their reading recommendations from you. They always have time to discuss literature and they bring you a box of chocolates for Christmas.

“Well, she's easy to help. She always knows what she wants and she's polite. And quite easy to please,” you smile, meaning every word. You don't mention that the only time you like kids is when they're like Sofia is right now: reading quietly in a corner, handling the books with care.

“You're my favorite librarian as well,” Frankie adds, and now that sweet smile he's always wearing when you see him is shy. There's definitely a red tinge on his cheekbones as well and it makes you want to lean forward and kiss him on his goddamn mouth with that goddamn full lower lip that he sometimes sucks into his mouth or fucking licks...

“How many librarians do you know?” you ask and manage to sound easy-going, or at least you think so. The laugh Frankie produces is low and rolling and it makes your stomach coil in on itself. Fuck him and that deep voice he rode in on!

“Got me there. It's basically you and Mrs Wilkerson, the school librarian who scared the shit out of me when I was in elementary school. She made sure I didn't step foot in a library until, well, now.”

“Oh, I so wanted to be a librarian like that when I was a kid!” You grin at Frankie's horrified expression. “No, no, hear me out! I always had this idea that those librarians led these super rich, fulfilling lives as night-time vigilantes or that they were actually millionaires who spent their free time floating around in pools with fancy drinks in hand.”

“Were you... a normal child, besides these illusions?” Frankie teases you and before you can stop yourself, you're slapping his arm playfully. Like a girlfriend would. Or someone more intimate than a Favorite Librarian, at any rate.

“I'll have you know that the voices in my head are saying that we had a very normal and healthy childhood,” you reply with as much dignity as you can muster, while desperately wishing for the phone to ring or another patron to ask for your help. But no, the ones present seem to be managing on their own - except for one mom who seemed to have overheard your joke because she is now staring at you with hesitation in her eyes.

It's Sofia who comes to your rescue with her request of being taken to the bathroom. By the time she and Frankie are done there, your colleague has come to relieve you of your duties at the children's section.

📚📚📚

You knew of course that it was coming. You may not be that experienced in the terms of dating and relationships but you weren't stupid and you had some experience: Frankie was going to ask you out. It had to happen. Technically, it had already happened that afternoon in town when he asked you out for coffee. He maybe didn't see it as a date, but you certainly did.

It happened when you had just started your shift in the children's section and it was a fucking mess. A class of kindergarteners had just left and the teachers hadn't bothered to keep them in check, so there were not only books on every available surface, they were also put in the wrong way and in the wrong places. Your colleague who you were relieving stayed behind to help you, feeling too bad to leave it all to you.

That's when Daddy and Daughter Morales showed up. You weren't really happy about the existence of kids in the first place but made an effort for Sofia, who brought you a drawing she had made in preschool that day. It featured some figures in green, slightly reminiscent of animals and one human but you wouldn't be able to tell. Luckily, Frankie explained it to you.

“She's waited all day to give you this drawing of you with goats.”

“Wow,” you manage. “Thank you, Sofia, this was so kind of you.”

The girl is beaming with pride. “Will you put it on the wall?”

“Super probably!”

“I can see you're busy,” Frankie notes and ushers Sofia along. “We won't distract you. Come on, honey, let her do her job now and maybe you'll get to talk to her later.”

You nod your thanks and focus on cleaning up the entire department before you colleague leaves and Frankie and Sofia come to the desk to borrow this week' picks. Sofia seems uncharacteristically giddy.

“Do you want to come with us to the awbowetum?” she asks with a wide, expectant smile. Fuck shit ass hell.

“We're going on Saturday,” Frankie fills in, “and we were both hoping you'd want to join?”

Saturday. Thank goodness.

“Sorry, I work on Saturday,” you say, trying to sound rueful. It's true and you're relieved about not having to lie. “But thanks, it's sweet of you to ask.”

Sofia is clearly disappointed and so is Frankie, but he masks it better.

“Some other time, yeah?”

If it were only him, you'd tell him it wasn't a good idea. But you can't say that with the kid right in front of you. You may not like kids but that doesn't mean you want to scar them for life.

“Yeah, maybe.”

You loan them the books and as they leave, Sofia waves happily at you and Frankie shoots you one last smile that makes you press your thighs together in your seat.

Come Saturday, you're by your usual desk in the section for adult fiction and you almost fall off your chair when you see Frankie come up the stairs and straight up to the desk.

“Hi.” He's had a haircut and a shave and looks different. Still good, but very different. The dark locks of his hair are more tamed. The mustache is still there but you miss the patchy beard.

“Um, hi? Where's Sofia?”

“In the car, with a friend. We're going to the arboretum.”

“Right. I hope you have a good time, the arboretum's lovely.” You still don't understand what he's doing here and he seems to have some difficulty in telling you. Moving his weight from one foot to the other, he scratches his neck and looks down - why does he have to be so freaking cute? - before looking up at you.

“About that... I wanted to apologize. I wasn't sure it was a good idea to ask you to come with, but Sofia was so persistent. She likes you so much. I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that. I'm sorry.”

“That's alright,” you brush it off because there's not really anything else you can say. “Don't think about it, just go have a good day.”

“I also wanted to ask if you wanted to go grab a drink with me. Just me. Maybe next week when Sofia's at her mother's.”

Fuck, there it is. His hopeful face makes you hate yourself for the answer you have to give.

“I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Frankie,” you begin carefully. “I'm really flattered, but you're... recently divorced with a kid. That's a lot of baggage and things could get complicated. I don't want to get caught up in that.”

You've practiced this speech at home but it still breaks your fucking heart because Frankie is so good-looking, kind, funny, and sweet. You would've asked him out yourself already if it wasn't for the baggage. Fuck, you masturbate to the thought of him, for crying out loud! You imagine what it would be like to be with him, to make dinner together and watch movies and go to bed and wake up in each other's arms. You think about sex with him a lot. You make an effort with your appearance those days you know he'll show up at the library, you don't even mind the kids' section that much anymore because you get to talk to him.

You are fucking in love with him, or at least the idea of him because you don't know much about him, only that he used to be a pilot in the special forces but now he trains new pilots, he has best friends who are like uncles to Sofia (and who have been asking about this mystery librarian she always keeps talking about), he likes cooking and loves baking with his daughter, he hates working out but knows he should take better care of himself, hell, you even know what brand of milk he buys.

He's clearly disappointed but keeps a brave face, one that you can see right through because he wears his heart on his sleeve.

“I understand that,” he says quietly, mildly. “I'm sorry, I hope I didn't embarrass you.”

Jesus fucking Christ can this man not???

“No, don't worry. I'm sorry I couldn't give you the answer you wanted. It's just... not a good time.”

Shit. You shouldn't have said that. Now he might think it could be a better time later.

Frankie nods and smiles sadly. “Yeah, you're probably right.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

He clears his throat and nods. “I better be going. You have a good weekend now.”

“You too.”

He shoots you one final smile before he turns around and leaves. As you watch him go down the stairs to the exit level, you just want to call his name, do your run through the airport and hurry after him, throw yourself into his arms, kiss him, Jesus, imagine that somewhere there's someone who'll get to kiss him some day, tell him that you made a huge mistake and you want to go out with him, you want to have drinks with him and dinner and breakfast and lunch for the rest of your lives because nothing would make you happier than making him happy. You want to be the reason his eyes crinkle and his cheek displays that little dimple that makes you lose your train of thought every time you see it.

But it's not for you. People with kids need to prioritize their kids and you know that you can't be anyone's number two. You don't want to get caught up in custody disputes, you don't want to be "your father's new slut", you don't want to be anyone's stepmom. You don't want to have to spend five days a week in the same house as a five-year-old. Being in a relationship is difficult enough as it is and if you can make choices that avoid some of the problems, you're going to make them, no matter how much it hurts.

And it hurts. A lot. But so much in life hurts and you've made it through before.

He must already be out the door, probably in the car. Does he say something about this to his daughter and friend? Is it a female friend? No, it must be one of his army buddies, probably one of the brothers.

You pull up Frankie's profile in the library database and see his phone number. You could call him anytime. Or send a text. Keep talking to him, flirting.

Shit. It's a bad idea.

A patron approaches the desk and you force yourself to look mild and service-minded.

“Hi, do you have Hate To Want You by someone called... Ray, I think?”

“Please hold a moment, I'll check.” You stifle the sigh that threatens to escape you and hope that the day will be busy so you won't have time to think about Francisco Morales again.

[officialgritty]

How I Would Humble NHL Players

An essay written by bigboigritty. 

I would humble hockey players the only way I know how to, by sending them to Australia. Let’s suppose that they have decided to hold the All Star game over here (forget about it’s usual date) (forget that some players I have listed below might not be invited) (and while you're at it, please forget that Australia’s rinks are Not Good).

I think that they would suffer but in an entertaining way so it’s fine. 

First of all, their biggest concern is getting sunburnt. It would effect all of their dumb asses but I’m particularly worried about Pierre-Luc Dubois and Mitch Marner. Boys are practically translucent. Vince Dunn would be fine, he’d probably wear a shirt most of the time which is a very smart decision. 

You may wonder why I didn’t mention Nolan Patrick because I am a certified slut for him, well I don't think he would have a problem. He would spend most of the time inside and when he joins the others, I think his Virgo ass would reapply sunscreen. Maybe he would burn slightly but I don't think it'd be enough to make him uncomfortable. 

Another thing that I think they will gain from this experience is a higher pain tolerance. Now you’re probably thinking, “Zoe they are NHL players so they can handle pain.” Wrong.

Real pain is running barefoot on cement at theme parks while you race to get to the next ride. Also getting into the car and having to avoid touching every piece of metal to not get branded like a cow. Or better yet, when the heat gets so bad that there’s a black out because everyone has their air conditioning turned on.

Don’t get me wrong, I know that other countries have scary animals but I would pay to see them panic over ours. Crocodiles here can grow up to 5.2 metres / 17 feet. We have a box jellyfish season where it’s advised to avoid swimming or wear wetsuits for coverage. Funnel web spiders can survive underwater for hours by trapping air bubbles around their skin. We have several of the worlds deadliest snakes present across the country. 

Listen, I don't want anyone to get injured but the constant fear that they would have when doing anything would be enough to make me happy.

My biggest question is who would survive in the shady areas, who would survive the eshays?

Under no circumstances can you look them in the eyes or cross their path. They are not to be feared individually but in groups caution is advised. I think the players would attempt to assert dominance and that is simply not an option. You are better off to ignore the eshay.

Nolan would have no issues here if im being honest. He is big and I don't think they’d find it worth it to fuck with him. But you know who they would target? Matthew Tkachuk. “Where are you going pretty boy?” “Oi braa did we hurt your feelings ya pussy cunt?” They would make fun of his hair in particular. 

Travis Konecny would be an eshay. I don't think I need to make further comment. (So would Louis Tomlinson but I am not a 1D account and I will continue to repeat that until it’s true.)

I would also give them a few iconic tasks to get the true Australian experience. Activities for the ‘vacation’ include triathlon events, beach flags, bush walking and climbing the harbour bridge. They could attend a cricket match but they tend to like golf so unfortunately they would probably enjoy this :(

AFL is an extremely popular sport here and I think they would loose their shit when they learn the rules of this game. No protective equipment is used other than mouthguards, that's it. That’s all you get. And jumping onto other players for leverage is encouraged. I would thoroughly enjoy the fights that would break out because of this.

Another task would be to use a map to make their way to a servo for a slurpee. The catch is that they will be required to pass through multiple alleyways. Also, the season is Spring, it’s swooping season mother fuckers. Let’s see how brave you are when birds chase you down the block. Personally I don’t think any of them would pass this test, maybe McDavid because the birds may not be able to detect a heartbeat.

Australian food would disgust them, I just know it. Things that they would need to try are a Bunnings sausage sanga, fairy bread, lamingtons, baked beans on toast, Milo and Vegemite. Because I’m me I would give them no butter with their Vegemite. 

An after thought I had was money so I’m editing this to include it. Everything here is EXPENSIVE so they would need to learn how to budget. Upon doing research, Canadians would be fine but the Americans will be mad.

1000 CAD = 1019 AUD

1000 USD = 1297 AUD

Another after thought was the fact that they won’t be able to drive (or at least drive well) here. We drive on the left and not the right, same goes for walking paths too. I can sense a lot of them bumping into people.

Where I think players would live based on vibes alone:

Carter Hart and Vince Dunn: North Shore Beaches, NSW. Daddy’s money. Carter probably did Nippers whereas Vince was a skater boy. 

Travis Konecny: Darwin, NT. Would 100% live there and enjoy it. He would try to conduct crocodile tours but gets assigned to feeding the baby crocs and doing shows for little kids. 

Tyson Barrie: Perisher, NSW. One of the only ski resorts we have to offer, major friendly mountain man energy.

Nolan Patrick: Byron Bay, NSW. @antoineroussel enlightened me, steering away from my original thought of Katoomba, NSW. Byron Bay is a magnet for hippies and links rainforest to the ocean. Chris Hemsworth and his family also live there.

William Nylander: Perth, WA. I don’t know much about Perth other than they wouldn’t shut up about partying while the other states had to quarantine. For some reason, I also associate Perth with Tik Tok. 

Sidney Crosby and Connor McDavid: Melbourne CBD, VIC. These two would live in the same apartment building in the city, Connor one level above Sidney. It’s the most boring looking block of them all and Crosby would send in complaints to the landlord about McDavid pacing during the night.

Tyler Seguin: Surfers Paradise, QLD. Party central, not many people are actually from this area and he would be sure to tell absolutely everyone that he was. I also think he would get a Meter Maid tattoo, specifically on his leg. Has definitely slept on the beach before because he couldn’t find his way home.

Jamie Benn: Hobart, TAS. Tasmania is usually forgotten about. Another one with mountain man energy except he is more creepy than friendly.

Mitch Marner: Fitzroy, VIC. @antoineroussel is responsible for this one too. Hipster central, makes you question how the hell someone so young can have so much money. Would chug $45 wine and not blink an eye.

(honourable mentions include = Sammy Blais: Hobart, Tas. Once again no comment on Tasmania. TJ Oshie: Cairns, QLD. Would do reef tours. Haydn Fleury: Western Sydney, NSW. Haydn would 100% own a ute or a white holden commodore and you can’t tell me otherwise. Roman Josi: Adelaide, SA. Small town history teacher vibes.)

I have attached a handy map for those who may need it.

In conclusion, the NHL should send their players over here to teach them some manners and while they’re at it, management should bring themselves too. Nolan Patrick could pass as an Australian if he built up a tan. (So does Nylander in this picture but we won’t talk about that.) Come over anytime baby, I’m free. 

Glossary

Servo - A service station, also known as a petrol or gas station. Example: 7/11

Theme park - An amusement park. Can be said in reference to both normal parks and water parks and usually means those in QLD. Example: Six Flags

Swooping season - August to October in Australia. When birds attack and chase humans and / or pets for getting close to their babies. Magpies are notoriously bad for this. 

Bunnings sausage sanga - A cheap feed / meal found at the front of a hardware and gardening store called Bunnings. Made up of white bread, sausage, onion and your choice of sauce.

Fairy bread - White bread with margarine and topped with 100s and 1000s / sprinkles. 

Meter Maids - Women who work along the beach dressed in gold bikinis. They top up parking meters to save tourists from getting fined and will often stop for photos. 

Nippers - Surf lifesaving programs carried out for children between 5 and 14. 

Ute - A pick up truck.

Eshay - A person who partakes in drug use, graffiti, listens to EDM and targets victims in groups. Below is the typical style of an eshay. 

Tagging a few friends so this doesn’t completely flop but feel free to ignore if it isn't your thing. I won’t be offended lmao

@scheifefe @ifiwasshawnmendesidslapmyself @d00dlebob @bowenbyram @kempe @prettyboyroope @quintonsbyfield @travisgermy @pitoftrash @kspitehockey @ballsakic @canadianheaters @bricksatlandyswindow @powerblais @brokeninsidebutnobodyknows @jamiedrysdales

[mental-ch-illness]

so like. i broke up with my ex about a year ago after her being abusive towards me (emotional manipulation, threatened stuff, kept calling me a man even when i stated i was genderqueer, unfun stuff), yet recently I cant stop thinking about her?? and i feel god awful bc im in a much healthier relationship now and my current partner doesnt deserve me thinking about someone toxic. i kind of miss her? but also just caught up in how she treated me and how i shouldve left sooner. is this normal? my partner doesnt seem to mind but i still feel bad that i think this way. sorry for dropping this. been following this blog for a lil while and felt safe enough to ask

hi! i’m so glad you feel safe enough to vent. that means a lot to hear. i’m sorry if this response is late, i’m slowly getting back into the swing of things.

this is a common problem i believe many people with bpd— and even some neurotypicals— face. granted, i would definitely say that people with bpd (and those with trauma in general) experience this on a much deeper and inherently distressing manner than those who do not. it is very normal, and you are far from alone.

one thing i find very helpful is to examine my behaviors to what would’ve been adaptive ‘in the wild’. we can find a lot of insight from the ways we evolved. these things are meant for survival, much like the many maladaptive coping skills and strategies we adopt from our traumatic past. this does NOT mean that these are good things for our well being, especially in today’s world, but putting them in context can help us understand why we feel this way. that is a very important aspect of overcoming our past.

humans are very social creatures, and that is not by coincidence. our brain gives us the happy chemicals when we feel accepted in social circles because being a part of a community was key to survival. in a group, we are taken care of, have more security, learn from each other, etc. a really awesome video that demonstrates compassion in humanity from prehistoric time is Disabilities in Prehistory, by TREY the Explainer. you can get a good idea of how vital social groups are to survival overall through the lens of prehistoric compassion. this is why we have evolved to be dependent on social bonds.

so, we know the brain rewards us for positive social bonds, but the vice versa is also true. it gives us a negative reaction (cringe, depression, envy, anxiety) when we lose these bonds and fall out of social groups, even when we fundamentally know this person or these people are a detriment to our wellbeing. as our mental health kills us slower than starvation or exposure, our brain will always choose to prioritize survival over what is inherently good for us. this why i theorize it is so hard for people in abusive relationships to just ‘leave’. the idea of separating yourself from someone your brain identifies as the key to survival is viewed as potentially dangerous. that doesn’t make it right, but our brain is running on hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of evolution. it’s hardwired this way. you cannot change that.

while that sounds depressing, it provides a good deal of insight into how we overcome this. many people seem to think that recovery is simply no longer automatically feeling these emotions or experiencing these symptoms. that is not true. therapy, medication, and lifestyle changes are not a quick fix. if you’re wondering ‘why am i not better yet?’ you might be more focused in on that automatic, survival driven response than you’re aware of. to overcome the limitations of your evolutionary hardware, you need to update your software.

you’ve identified what you’re experiencing, which is distress and grief over a loss, and now that you have an understanding of the why, now it’s the process of learning the triggers. what is making you feel this way? what experiences surround this sudden onset of emotion? this is where a journal or mood tracking app (i use daylio! just add emotions in activities and refer to the ‘rad, good, meh, bad, awful’ as a rating system of 1 to 5 for overall mood) can come in handy. you have a physical reference to look back on. for example, when you look back on the times you feel this way maybe you notice it’s always when you’re alone. when you’re idle, you brain might associate that with abandonment. a good solution is to keep your brain busy. reach out to friends, start a puzzle, play with pets, clean your room, listen to music, find new distractions. when you get into these habits of avoiding these triggers, you prevent these mood dips are start installing the software to override that hardware. this is called recovery.

i really hope this helped you!

maple

[spockandawe]

I love seeing your book-binding photos, that is such a cool idea to make neat physical copies of fanfic and webnovels! I also want to start doing that now, but I'm not quite sure where to begin tbh

The good news is that it’s a lot easier to get started than it looks! Even a fully casebound book isn’t nearly as difficult as it looks. Every individual step of the process is surprisingly attainable, and imho the biggest barrier to entry is the number of small items you need to gather together to make the whole thing happen. My dad was the one who introduced me to this hobby, by means of just printing out like ten-page pamphlets with material he needed to reference for work, and folding them in half and stitching them together, so it can really be that easy to get going! But in terms of resources, I’ve found videos to be the most, most useful, so let me pull some links up.

So the two main youtube channels I’ve reference have been SeaLemon (more diy oriented, less intimidating, lots of cute videos for shorter notebooks, which can also apply to shorter fics) and DASBookbinding (more oriented towards casebinding books, and honestly, one of the best resources I’ve found period)

Now, before getting into the printing-fics-specifically part, let me take a detour, because the printing is heavily dependent on what specific software/hardware you have access to. So first, just the mechanics!

SeaLemon’s videos are something I recommend a lot to beginners, because most of her projects are pretty bite-sized. She has a video on casebinding that I referenced at first, though now I mostly reference other people. But she does good overviews of the basic steps that are easy to follow, and some of her short projects like the japanese bookbinding or single-section bookbinding are really attainable, and require much less of a craft supply commitment than a full casebinding project. (Once you do reach casebinding, I do recommend her video on converting cloth to bookcloth. there are ““proper”” ways to do it with homemade paste, but like, i live in a carpeted apartment, i only have so much space to work with and so much carpet that doesn’t belong to me to ruin)

Now, I do find DASBookbinding extremely good, if overall more intimidating than SeaLemon, but also his latest pair of videos are about just... making a pamphlet. He’s a great resource for the complicated stuff, but he does cover the basics too, and is just FANTASTIC. I definitely did some short pamphlet-sized stuff early on, to get a grasp on ‘okay, this is how I sew a signature together’ and ‘okay, this is how I sew multiple signatures together’, before going into the bigger, more complex cases. I’m not sure which videos of his to link, because they’re all great and cover a ton of ground, but! As a good transition point, he does have a video on how to print individual paper signatures from a pdf file

So! Printing! Printing and formatting go hand in hand, and I’m not well equipped to speak to the different options out there, because I’m comfortable in Word and am fortunate enough to own a color laser printer. I did start out using google docs and printing to pdf, then printing from adobe acrobat in booklet mode to my printer, but that means the aspect ratios are wrong and my margins are huge, and google docs chokes on large files anyways. I’ve seen people format text for printing in Word, LibreOffice, Adobe InDesign, LaTeX, and I’m positive there are other options. I know some people work from inkjet printers, and some work from single-sided printers and flip pages themselves, while other people make use of access to university printing services or places like staples or kinkos. I’m not properly aware of the range of options out there, so I don’t want to make definitive recommendations, but those are things I’ve seen people doing.

But even if you don’t have formatting software or printing equipment at hand, it’s really surprisingly easy to take blank sheets of paper, fold them in half, and start experimenting with making a notebook. Broadly speaking, I recommend picking a video tutorial you like, watching it and making note of what tools/supplies the person uses, and following the steps on your own. There are... a lot of tools and supplies that go into things, but none of them are that expensive or that hard to find. Other than replacement toner cartridges for my printer, the most expensive thing I’ve bought is a cutting mat. And seriously, I am absolutely in love with this hobby, and recommend it to anyone who’s interested. Even if you never feel like trying something more complicated than a soft-backed pamphlet, there’s something profoundly satisfying about holding a book, whether it’s empty or filled with a story, and thinking I made this.

[meruz]

Hey I can't find this in your FAQ so sorry if it's been asked before! Your traditional art is so stunning and vibrant, would you happen to have any brand recommendations for people trying to get into painting? Maybe specific gouche paint, brushes, papers etc. Thank you so much and have a nice day!

no one has ever asked me this before because this is like the first time ive started putting traditional art on my blog! LOL umm to be honest I’m very far from pro on this front, most of my knowledge comes from a handful of classes I didn’t pay a lot of attention to and lots of youtube videos but here’s my recommendations:

Paint

A lot of my paints are winsor newton designer’s gouache because this is what my teachers made me buy when I was a freshman at art school LOL. it’s definitely kind of pricey, I think it’s like $10.99 for a tube which I was NOT a fan of as a college student and is still not my favorite thing now. But they’re overall worth the price if you really want solid, high quality opaque paints. Though I’ve heard their student grade winton paints are decent as well?

I’ve heard less good things about brands like reeves and artist loft... but I think turner is alright? m.graham is supposedly great.

I also bought a set of holbein acryla gouache when it was discounted on amazon a while ago and have found it very solid. One thing you have to know about acryla gouache is that it uses a binder more like acrylic paint (hence the name acryla). Paints are made out of pigment + binder and most gouache is essentially watercolor but with extra pigment/chalk to make it opaque - the binder is water soluble so these paints can be reactivated with water. Acryla gouache is NOT water soluble when dry and it dries pretty fast so it’s overall less flexible. But other than that you can pretty much treat it like any other gouache and I find they keep a little better too, less likely to get gunky or stiff.

All paint brands have a handful of starter packs which are slightly discounted but if you want to build your own starting palette I’d say get a warm and cool tint of all the primaries, get a lot of white (working with gouache somehow involves a lot of mixing with white lol), and get a brown, maybe like burnt sienna or raw umber for underpaintings. No need to get a black, mixing darks builds character, looks better, and having one out of the tube can become a crutch. If you find a white watercolor paint tube that’s cheaper you can buy that instead of a gouache white. Again, they have pretty much the same make-up. And white paints are generally opaque enough that the composition between gouache/watercolor shouldn’t matter too much.

I’ve never used a block tray of gouache. Like those paints that come in little blocks in a tray? I know there's a bunch out there but I’ve never used them and I don’t know anyone else who does so I have no opinion on them.

Brushes

I’ve been kind of exploring this myself. I recently bought a cheap set of flat brushes off amazon LOL and I like them a lot?

Theyre probably not The Best or anything but I found flat brushes suit gouache plein air painting really well because its suits the kind of color blocking shapes I want to make. Also these had the right handle length to fit in my painting bag. That’s like the main reason I chose them tbh.

Honestly a lot of my art supplies philosophy is “give it a whirl with whatever you have lying around and when it feels like you're missing something specific keep an eye out for when that stuff goes on sale”

Paper

GOTTA BE HONEST I’m using cheapo paper. Because I’m making these paintings half for study and half to give my parents something to hang in the living room.

You can actually see some of them curling in on themselves here lol. If you’ve seen the sketchbook I’m holding in any of my pics of paintings it’s one of the canson mixed media books.

and its FINE... I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it lol.. I like that the texture is very fine but it doesn’t hold a lot of water and definitely distorts. Also I keep ripping off the surface with painters tape but that might just be on me. Oh buy artist tape. Just because its so satisfying to have clean edges.

I’m using painters tape instead of artist tape because I found it in the basement but if youre buying supplies buy artist tape because it’ll be kinder to your paper. 

SPEAKING OF PAPER.

I guess anything heavyweight for watercolor/mixed media will be fine? some people like a lot of texture but if you’re painting small you might want to avoid it and pick hot press over cold press. Honestly I feel like a lot of this is going to depend on what your specific needs are.. how big do you want the paper to be.. do you want a sketchbook or would you rather carry around loose paper... etc. Maybe go to an art store and touch all their paper. I feel like its easier to understand sizes and texture when you’re seeing it physically.

When I go on a trip, I normally bring a softcover heavyweight stillman & birn sketchbook because I tend to obliterate metal spiral books in my bag LOL. Also I don’t rip any pages out of my travel sketchbooks so I don’t need perforation or anything. Also they go on sale a lot in the art store I go to haha. I havent used gouache extensively in it but it takes inkwash/maker pretty well.

On the higher end, I personally haven’t used it that much but my friends who do traditional illustration professionally swear by arches watercolor paper. It comes in lots of different sizes.

Whatever you use, if you really want it to lie flat you’re gonna want to soak and stretch it on a board but I don’t bother with that because I am lazy.

Palette

You didn’t ask about palette but I’m taking the opportunity to be a shill because I personally use a sta-wet palette and I LOVE it.

One of the biggest frustrations about gouache for me was how quickly it dries after it leaves the tube. And even if you can reawaken it with water its not quite the same? and consistency is SO important when it comes to applying gouache so I don’t want to be over-watering my paint.. ugh. Anyways, I don’t have to worry about that with the sta-wet palette and really its been a game changer for me. sta-wet is a brand name but there are a bunch of other wet palettes not by masterson that I’m sure are just as good. I mean, it’s just a box with a sponge basically, that can’t be hard to replicate.

The only thing - and I personally have not had this issue but I have friends who have - is that if you leave it wet for too long it could grow mold? or a mouldy smell? Just wash your palette with soap and don’t leave it for weeks on end and it should be fine.

If you’re not feeling a palette that’s always moist, the best palette I used in school was a simple glass palette. you can buy one I guess but it’s so easy to DIY, I think the way we did it in school is getting a piece of glass and mdf from the hardware store cut the same size and then duct taped them together on the sides so it wouldn’t be sharp.

costs like nothing.

what else...get a palette knife if you like to mix paints? and like to save paints... mixing with the brush means you lose paint in your brush in the mixing process so a knife is a good way to maximize that process. I don’t use it much but sometime if I have to mix a lot of one color I’ll pull it out of my bag.

I don’t know anything about easels, I sit on the dirty ground like a gremlin when I paint.

Ok yeah that’s all the supplies tips I have. hope some of it was helpful! always try to save money with art supplies, I think. Especially if you’re just starting out - it’s less stressful to use cheap supplies too lol. Good luck! Happy painting!

[starkexposition]

The Bachelor: Tony Stark Edition

Forced myself against my will, at gunpoint, to update this. Here it finally is.

Chapter 2: Electric Boogaloo

Rating: Teen/Mature, it's from college!Peter Parker's perspective Pairings: Tony/Steve, Tony/Strange, Tony/literally everyone, Happy/May, Peter/MJ, Peter/Black Cat, many token ships eventually Summary: One man. Twelve contestants. Several weeks in paradise. All through the horrified eyes of one sticky, adopted son.

“Mr. Stark…”

Most people have normal dreams.

“Can you hear me?”

Nice ones.

“It’s Peter.”

Weird ones.

“Hey.”

Bad ones.

“We won.”

Ones you forget.

“Mr. Stark…”

Or in my case, ones you wish you’d forget.

“We won, Mr. Stark.”

They say when you dream about a person, it’s because they’re dreaming about you, too.

“We won—you did it, Mr. Stark. You did it.”

That never explained why I kept dreaming about him when he was gone.

“I’m sorry, Tony.”

It was never different. Never had a different ending—never even a nightmare. Just the same weak eyes followed by the same labored breaths, every single dream. And each time, the woman who believed in him most would sit with him, hand held to his heart, and promise to him that everything would be okay. And with that, the man who never sleeps would find the peace to finally rest.

There was nothing like it. I had already been through my fair share by then—whether it was the plane crash, or Uncle Ben, or the girl that I loved… Mr. Stark was different. There was no regret, or blame; it was only the mission. The worst part about it was struggling with the selfish feeling that something had been taken away from me, all while balancing the pride that I felt in what he did for the whole universe—and most importantly, for the family that was built around him.

To us, it was a sacrifice. To Iron Man, it was a responsibility.

I guess that must be the reason it kept replaying in my dreams. It didn’t need amending because of the good that it caused, but hell—it kept coming back like a nightmare.

Even after he came back, most sleeps would end the same way: with everyone around us taking a knee for him as the air grew quiet in his passing, Captain Rogers would rise to his feet, place a hand on my shoulder, and say through watered eyes and a weakened smile:

“It was all for you.”

And with Pepper’s blessing, Steve would step forward and pick Tony up from where he laid, carefully carrying him back as Pepper, Rhodey, and myself would slowly walk alongside them.

Some nights, if I got lucky, I’d wake up before Steve’s words.

But not last night.

My brain managed to string out every last excruciating detail of the dream it possibly could in an effort to stay asleep and ignore the sound of repulsors powering down to a low hum beside me. But as they hovered nearby, the stinky air of New York was blown through the ventilation of my suit, which, unfortunately, can be stinky enough to wake you when you become aware of it. A figure took the place of the city’s rising sun, casting a shadow that darkened the scene and gifted me with my daily post-dream reminder...

“You know if you prefer this for your room and board situation, I’d be happy to take up the bill.”

Tony Stark lives.

Which is great. Quality of life really did improve when he came back—for myself, and others, too. Being adopted by him, however, kind of spiced things up a bit. From mentor to parent meant that I was proving myself to him from a parental standpoint, and that consequently resulted in me becoming far more relaxed with him. ‘Cause he’s kind of stuck with me now, you know?

But even in times like this particular morning, when I had a curfew the night before and had to get back to the house upstate by a certain time and specifically did not do so in favor of fighting crime and flirting with a kleptomaniac in a leather suit, I still don’t think I couldn’t be grateful for that fact even when I am abruptly woken from my slumber on a rusty fire escape in New York by Iron Man.

There was always something about those slitted glowing eyes in the faceplate that managed to relay the disappointment behind it so well.

“How’d you find me?” I asked as I kicked my leg up onto the platform, letting my eyes settle on the ladders above.

“Same way I always find you—” Beep-beep, beep-beep! Karen pulled up a GPS screen in my lenses that pinpointed my location, with an additional flashing blip for where the Iron Man suit was just a few feet away. “Installed another tracking device in your suit.”

I pulled off my mask and sat up quickly. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” he gestured to me, his tone dripping with annoyance. “I don’t have time to play hide-and-go-seek in the alleys and dumpsters of New York every time I need you.”

“I have a phone.”

“That you don’t answer.” Tony then tossed over my backpack that was webbed up on the dumpster below. “You know, you could be sleeping on a fire escape in Cambridge right now.”

“MIT doesn’t have MJ—” Oof. Too quick there, Pete. “Or-or Ned. Or May. Or… you?”

The face plate turned to stare at me with slitted eyes once again, Mr. Stark tilting his head. “I thought you broke up with MJ.”

Of course, he won’t ignore it.

“We broke up,” I corrected him, even though that was also technically wrong, but he definitely did not need to know that. “Besides, we’re fine. We’re friends.”

“When was the last time you spoke to her?”

“Last week,” I told him, pulling the mask over my face again.

Mr. Stark stayed silent, faceplate staring into my soul with those narrowed eyes as he waited for me.

“Okay, fine,” I sighed, swinging down from the escape, “a month ago.”

I shot a web to the wall of the building across from us, and like that, we were en route home.

“Ouch.” Naturally, Mr. Stark’s voice came in through the suit itself while he traveled closely behind me. “That bad, huh?”

“Not really,” I lied. “And I mean, we did try the whole friend thing. That’s not gone. It’s just that… well, sometimes when you break up, it makes it a lot harder to stay broken up when you try to be friends right away, you know?”

“So…” He paused for a moment, as we turned a corner to Avengers Mansion. “You’re not friends?”

I landed on the walkway and pushed my way inside. “I stressed her out too much. I’m just giving her space.”

Mr. Stark’s suit was entirely gone by the time he followed me into the kitchen of the mansion. Making a beeline to the coffee, he raised an eyebrow at me as he pulled the pot and two mugs for the both of us, fixing mine up with sugar before he poured. “That must be easy for you at least.”

“Never said it was.” I informed him as I rummaged around the refrigerator for something, anything with sustenance… Bingo. Pizza. The only consistency that truly exists within the Avengers is the ability to almost always find leftover pizza in the fridge. “But is that stuff ever really easy?”

“Well…” Tony’s voice raised suggestively as he circled around the counter and took a sip of his coffee. “It sure seems like it is now that you’ve got yourself a feline to keep you company.”

I came to a halt, cold pizza at my lips. “Seriously? I’m not talking about this with you.”

Tony cackled, sipping his coffee as he slipped from the kitchen to the elevator, finger pressed on the ‘open door’ button as he waited for me to gather my pizza and coffee to join him. Moments later, we were entering his workshop, which was remarkably as cluttered as I had seen it last. He walked through slowly, moving papers and hardware around to organize the place and put away his projects reluctantly, and each time he seemed lost in thought, staring at some weird looking, half-dismantled device, he would take a sip from his coffee before making his decision on what to do with whatever it was he was holding.

“All packed?” He asked as he pulled the mug from his lips, tossing something into the trash.

I gripped the mask in my hands and turned away from him to face one of the blueprints on the wall, pretending to read it. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

“Good,” he said. He stopped at the door to his office and looked at me with expectant eyes. “Well? Get dressed so we can go home.”

Before I could even turn away, the door to his office was shut behind him, the blue glow of his holograms flashing through the opaque glass of his office doors and windows. Whatever it was he was working on must not have required too much attention, as he was waiting impatiently for me by his car in the mansion’s garage only a few minutes later, toes tapping the ground while he leaned against the hideously orange supercar.

“Really?” I asked. “This one again?”

His eyes perked up over the rim of his glasses, eyebrows shooting up in offense. “Would you rather walk?”

I shook my head and walked over to the passengers side with Mr. Stark moving out of the way to the driver’s door. “I just think—” I got in, stuffing my bag by my feet, “—you could spice it up sometime. Maybe you could go red next. Or a matte black… now, that’d be nice. All electric, so smooth. Stealthy. It’d be great.”

Tony sat beside me, buckling his belt as he looked at me in disbelief again, “I’m sorry, can you even drive?”

I stared at him and waited for him to realize, but he just stared back. “I’m 19,” I reminded him.

“And?” He said as he started the car and drove closer to the garage door, allowing it to open automatically at his approach. “You never drive anywhere.”

His gaze looked past me then, encouraging mine to follow, and we both looked at the gray Audi that sat on the far right end of the mansion’s garage collecting dust. I looked back at Tony, ready to defend myself and my apparent preference for swinging as my primary mode of travel, but he just grinned and floored it, pulling us away from the mansion, the city, and to upstate New York.

* * *

Saturday nights at the Stark Residence meant one thing: family dinner. It wasn’t required, obviously, since most weekends I couldn’t make it home, and even if I could, I usually chose to not to, as I was 19, in college, had homework, Ned, and was constantly in an internalized battle of wanting to win my ex-girlfriend back and my unexplained desire to spend an unusual amount of time around one of my more recent torments in life:

Felicia Hardy.

And if I’m honest, I’ve probably spent more of my Saturday nights playing cat and mouse with Felicia than I have been doing homework or playing games with Ned. Only thing is, lately it has seemed more like she’s the cat and I’m the mouse—appropriate, since she is the Black Cat and all—despite that I have almost always been in pursuit of her. But my naivety always manages to lead me into falling for her traps and doing whatever it might be that she had planned for me—which, of course, almost always results in me failing to “catch” her.

What a shame.

Of course, that does exclude all of those nights where I did catch up to her. On the rooftops, quips and riddles, jabs and flirts, and the few times I got lucky enough for her to lift my mask up just enough to leave a…

How did I get started on Felicia again?

Right. Family dinners. Instead of seeing her. Just a prelude to the next few months. Did I even remember to say goodbye?

Sigh.

Anyway. Family dinners.

The only night of the week we managed to get (mostly) everyone together. Between Stark Industries and some Avengers work for Tony (remotely, of course, since the man really can’t help himself), Morgan in school and clubs, the vast Morgan Babysitting Unit (Rhodey, Maria Hill, Aunt May, and Happy mostly) trading off the rascal throughout the week, and of course, whatever Happy and May got up to in their free time (don’t remind me), Saturdays were usually the one time in the week that everyone tried their best to set aside for visiting with each other. You know, for Tony’s sake. While the ladies, including Tony’s new personal assistant, Charlotte, would split a bottle of wine as Happy and May cooked the meal together—Italiano, as they introduced it this particular time—the rest would buzz around the house, catching up on the week’s events and sharing laughs like a normal family would.

Normal.

Of course, with it being my first time home for dinner in a few months, most of the attention was on me during the meal—as Mr. Stark cleverly directed it to be, in an effort to avoid talking about the obvious circus that was set to begin the following day—with Rhodey and Maria mainly prying at me for school and hero related questions, but they were sure to cover every topic in the book, like the one I was hoping to avoid.

Girls.

Or, more specifically, MJ.

It took me going from my typical sarcasm to getting quiet and frustrated when the questions persisted for the conversation to finally fizzle out, bringing our dinner party to an end. Rhodey stood up from his seat beside me, resting a hand on my shoulder and squeezing it in understanding, as he grabbed his plate to leave. Everyone, apart from myself and May, began to disperse with him, heading to the kitchen with their empty plates.

I lifted a rogue spaghetti noodle above my face and caught it in my mouth between my tongue and teeth as Aunt May poured herself another glass of wine. She looked up at me as I practically inhaled the noodle, eyes slimming into an unamused look as she stared at me over the rim of her glass.

“This is our last dinner together for a while and you’re not even gonna use your manners?” She tilted her head, hair sliding down from her shoulder.

I made a face and shook my head, reaching for the spoon in the pan. “Not when it’s spaghetti night,” I shrugged in refusal, dumping a small second serving on my plate.

May eventually followed in suit, her eyes nervously checking up on me again and again. With a breath and returned eye contact, I braced myself for the inevitable questions—

“You’re all packed?”

“Yes.”

“Have your passport?”

“Yes.”

Her face fell and she leaned forward, brows furrowing in worry. “… Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Of course not,” I said. “It was my idea to begin with.”

She lowered her voice. “I mean for Tony.”

“Well, why not?”

Aunt May stared at me for a couple seconds, noodles sliding off her fork back onto the plate. “I don’t know, he just… you know, this is a lot of publicity for someone who, you know… was dead—”

“—in a coma—”

“—less than a year ago,” May let out a sigh, her shoulders sinking. “Do you have to get technical with me?”

I set my fork down and sat back in my seat, biting my lip in frustration. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“Tony’s been back for, what? Seven months?” She crossed her arms.

“Publicly, yes, and it’s not like he really kept it much of a secret before that, anyway,” I said, crossing my arms back. “He’s been alive for almost two years. A lot can happen in two years. A person can grow.”

She let out another sigh of concern. “And you don’t think all of this is too much for him?”

“He’s two years old. Of course not,” I said, dropping another noodle into my mouth. “I was ready for that kind of attention when I was his age.”

“Peter…”

“Wasn’t I?”

“Peter.”

“Listen,” I sighed, “he agreed to it at his own risk. Besides, no matter what he does, publicity will follow. He knew this ahead of time. That’s why he waited until his rehab was over—he wanted to be ready. And if he says he’s ready…”

Her eyes looked over her glasses’ frames at me. “We both know he’s not ready.”

“You know, this might actually be good for him,” I offered. “A good way for him to kinda get back in it, you know? It’s like a nice, long vacation with a bunch of pretty people gawking over him. I honestly don’t see the problem with it.”

“A bunch of pretty people trying to use him for his money, maybe,” she started picking at her food again.

“That’s the life he always used to live, May. Which is why I think it could be good for him. Might teach him to have fun again—you know, center him,” I sat up in my chair again, picking up my fork and stuffing my face with more noodles. “Plus,” I said through chewing, “it’s good promotion.”

“Promotion for what?”

“I don’t know, really,” I swallowed my food at her look of distaste. “Something to do with clean something something. Something for the planet. Or something. He was talking about it with those fancy people from the network out at dinner the other night.”

“And you didn’t listen?”

I wound up more pasta and took another bite. “No, why would I?”

Aunt May stopped her movements and stared at me for a moment before continuing to scoop up the noodles. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you’re gonna need for the trip?”

“Positive,” I smiled.

“Alright,” she let out a sigh, “if you say so.”

I smirked a bit, and took another bite full. “Are you sure you’re gonna make it that long without me?”

She took a small piece of a noodle from her plate and chucked it at me. “Zip it, you. I’ll be fine.”

I peeled the noodle from my cheek and looked at it. “Man, Aunt May… Nice aim—” And with that, I launched the noodle back at her.

By the time Morgan and I had finished clean up duty, with me washing the dishes and her wiping down the table with a cloth I gave her, the adults had migrated to the lounge with another bottle of wine, loud chatter and laughter filling up the air around them. Tony was off with Charlotte, going over a checklist with her to ensure that he had everything he needed for the trip before our departure in the morning. I stopped Morgan before she headed upstairs, holding a finger to my lip to keep her quiet as I pulled the freezer door open for her, and before we knew it, we were sneaking upstairs to our rooms with a popsicle in Morgan’s hand and snacks in my own.

The crinkling noise a bag of potato chips makes as you open it is one of the most satisfying noises in the world. Especially in the safety of your own home—unabashedly opening up a new bag without holding back to muffle any sounds. Just that sweet, sweet tearing noise as the smell of greased up, salty potatoes fills your nostrils and momentarily takes the place of that super sweet tub of Ben & Jerry’s beside you. One plus about upgrading to a king sized bed is finally having the room to keep your food beside you as you lie there—it’s a great way to be lonely without entirely feeling lonely. For the most part. Except when you remember that you’re eating an whole pint of ice cream entirely by yourself, because that’s when it starts to hit you that you’re actually, seriously doing this and you really shouldn’t be—

“Really, Pete?”

I looked up from my snacks as I pulled out an earbud, my eyes meeting the unamused eyes of my father. “What?” I asked.

He closed the door behind himself as he walked closer, crossing his arms. “We just picked those up for the flight tomorrow and you’re already eating them?”

“I was hungry,” I told him before grabbing another chip.

“You’re supposed to be getting everything ready,” he grumbled.

“I am,” I said, pointing the chip towards the half-zipped suitcase on the floor, with shirt sleeves and socks and pants sticking out the sides… Well. I tried. “Over there.”

His gaze followed my potato chip to the suitcase and he walked over to it, opening it up to see the jumbled mess of clothes that I neatly tossed into the suitcase from my closet—which, mind you, was already half packed from the last field trip we took in school a month ago. Clever, I know. I mean, half of the clothes were dirty anyway, and a lot of them I just grabbed from my floor… so really, most of them were at least a smidgen dirty. Probably, like, 90% of them were dirty. But none of that really mattered, you see, because we are staying in an actual house while we’re there, and real houses always have washers and dryers, right?

Right?

That didn’t quite matter any longer either, as my father’s eyes fell into that absolutely terrifying “disappointed” look that I was unfortunately seeing a lot of as of late. But just as he went to close it, his eyes widened at the sight of something else and he knelt down to tug on a piece of cloth.

A red piece of cloth. And blue. And black. That turned out to be more than just a piece of cloth. And that was suddenly being dangled in my face for a split second before it was folded over my father’s arm.

“No suit,” his stern voice rang through the room as he turned back towards the door.

My eyes widened as I jumped from my bed, almost knocking over my ice cream, and I followed him out. “What do you mean ‘no suit’? I can’t just go away for that long without it—”

He opened the door, looking back at me. “And is that seriously how you’re taking care of this thing?” He pushed through, lifting the suit to his nose. “God, Pete, it smells…”

“Dad,” I pleaded, “I can’t leave without it.”

“Seriously. When’s the last time you sent Hap to get this thing dry-cleaned?” He turned back to look in my room, pointing at the suitcase as the door swung shut. “By the way, pal, one half-assed packing job isn’t gonna cut it. We’ll be gone the whole summer. Pack accordingly.”

I stopped in the hall as he continued up it with the suit still slung around his arm. “Dad, please,” I begged.

He began walking backwards, a smirk plastered to his lips. “No can do, kiddo,” he said. “You’re not supposed to work while you’re on vacation.”

And with that, he was gone, spending the rest of his evening with the usual entourage before they headed out to Happy’s place for the night.

I didn’t notice myself falling asleep. I wasn’t planning on it either—I don’t think I ever even rested my head for a second. But there I was; it was one o’clock, N64 fan roaring, half-eaten pint of ice cream melting accompanied by an opened bag of potato chips, and I had fallen asleep, controller still in hand. I peeled myself out of bed slowly, grabbing the snacks and heading downstairs to put them away in their respective places. As I was sealing away the tub of ice cream in the freezer, I noticed the door to the workshop downstairs slightly propped open, a faint glow coming from it and the distant voice of FRIDAY.

Curiosity killed the cat, right? Wish me luck.

Ever-so-thankful for my powers, I creaked the door open quietly and jumped up to the ceiling, slowly crawling down the spiral staircase until I finally reached the workshop. Everything was dark and put away apart from the desk, where Tony sat in his rolling chair, staring up at the blue holograms projected around him.

As though his breath had been hitched in his lungs for a long while, Tony let out a sharp sigh as he let go of his frozen stature, leaning forward in his seat. “Alright FRIDAY,” he pulled a pen from his desk and started scribbling on a piece of paper, “run the scans.”

“Certainly, boss,” FRIDAY said, and the holograms began pulling up hundreds, thousands—hell, even millions of files of footage. “Scanning all known devices now.”

Tony sat back in his seat again, jaw clenched in fear as hopeful eyes watched the projections around him. A sigh escaped his lips as he watched FRIDAY sort through the files, hurt filling the contortions of his face and… That’s when I noticed him.

How had I missed him?

“Come on,” Tony prayed, his eyes daring to well up into tears. “Come on, Cap.”

As files were sorted, discarded or scanned again and again, the screen running through images and clips so fast it hardly even flashed with the changes, the files were compared to an image presented to the right of them, none of them matching up with with the familiar head of blond hair that was almost damn near waiting for a match.

Years later, and Tony Stark was still searching for Steve Rogers.

I guess it sort of came as a surprise to me. He didn’t talk about Cap very often. If he did, it was usually short lived—it was never really something he chose to dwell on. And anytime someone tried to bring him up, he never spoke of their time together like it had the weight that I knew it did—like they were just some old buddies back in the day, and that was it. With everything going on in his life, I guess I just assumed he was a bit forced to move on from it.

Then again, when Tony came back—which, mind you, will forever be the most shocking moment of my entire life—one of the first things he asked about was Steve. Just to know if where he was… if he was okay. I was the one who told him he was gone, that he had brought the stones home, and was never to return.

He gave me a small nod when I told him, eyes drifting away from me, as he forced out a quiet, “okay, then.”

And that was it. That was all he ever asked about him. After he quickly regained his composure, Pepper ushered him away to get him some nourishment until they both finally decided it was time to wake Morgan up to see him again after seven long months apart.

I always wondered if Captain Rogers would have stayed if he knew Tony was coming back.

I guess that was part of the tragedy, wasn’t it? How could anyone have known that by some miracle he would come back? I hadn’t, Pepper hadn’t, nor did Rhodey, or Morgan, or Happy. There was no way Captain Rogers would have predicted that, either. He, like the rest of us, altered his life accordingly.

But if he got the chance to see what I was seeing, would he come back?

“I’m sorry, boss,” FRIDAY said solemnly. “The scans were unsuccessful.”

I suppose we’d never know.

Tony sat still, defeat stealing whatever energy he had left in him, as he tried desperately to understand the holograms before him. He stared for what felt like ages, breathing through the frown on his lips, swallowing back his guts here and there whenever he needed it. Finally, his eyelashes fluttered as he looked away from what was before him, energy joining him once again to neaten his paperwork. “Well, then,” he forced out, “let’s wrap it up for a while, shall we?”

He stood from his desk, picking up a mug of cold coffee and bringing it to his lips as he turned and started walking away, papers still in hand. He walked to a cabinet, dropping the papers into a file as he slowly lowered the mug, swallowing back his thoughts with his coffee.

“Would you like me to keep an open scan going while you’re gone?” FRIDAY inquired.

Tony’s eyes broke from wherever they had drifted, running in my direction on their way to look at the hologram—

Uh oh.

I managed to scurry back right as his head stopped its movement, hiding out of sight before his eyes flickered back over in my direction.

“Yeah,” he agreed. Footsteps. “Let me know if you find anything on your radar.”

Goose bumps. Skin tingling. Danger. Danger. Danger. I don’t think I’ve ever crawled on a ceiling faster than I did, barely making it to the door in time to leave it cracked where it was before he noticed it. It was faster to go out through the porch and up through my window than it was to run through that maze of a house, and I still only made it just in time to get under the covers before my father cracked open my door to check if I was sleeping. The pixelated N64 screen and controller by my hand was seemingly convincing enough, as he turned out the rest of my lights and left me to sleep.

* * *

To be honest, I wasn’t the most excited person when I realized that being adopted by Tony Stark also meant moving off to some cabin in the deep woods of upstate New York. The whole farm life thing never exactly appealed to me the way it did others, I guess. I was perfectly fine with living just a block away from my favorite hoagie joint, a couple blocks down from my best friend, the same part of town as the girl I sorely wanted back, and you know, the same city as the college that I attended daily. The drives back and forth from campus whenever I actually did make my way home only started to get better when I was actually doing them on my own, but they were still painfully long when Ned wasn’t able to join me for a weekend. And when your only entertainment for an entire weekend (or even week) is a six-year-old who is particularly obsessed with outsmarting you, Happy Hogan, and a video game that you somehow manage to fall asleep to while playing pretty much every night as of late, life can get pretty lonely up in the boonies.

Still, there was something to be said about waking up surrounded by nature instead of the city.

You’d be surprised as to just how calming it is for the morning sun’s glow to slowly enter your room, birds chirping in the trees outside your windows, wind chimes twinkling as a soothing voice peacefully rings throughout the four walls of your room…

“Everybody was kung fu fighting—” I don’t think I could have slapped my alarm any faster.

I attempted at covering my head with a pillow to block out the light, but the disturbance of voices downstairs disrupted my Sunday morning a bit early again—although this time, the voices seemed to amount to more of a crowd.

Great.

“Peter, your father will be arriving at your door in fifteen seconds,” Karen warned, lights brightening in my room as I hopped from my bed, placing in my earbuds. Like clockwork, the door creaked open as I paced my room in an effort to make myself seem busy.

“Pete.”

I pulled an earbud from my ear and glanced up at my father before heading to my closet. “You know, you should try knocking sometime.”

Mr. Stark trailed into my room behind me nonchalantly, looking around at the mess spread across the room as he picked up notebooks from my bed and placed them on my desk. “You say that like your alarm didn’t go off two minutes ago.”

“So?” I picked up the notebooks and moved them to my pile of schoolwork. “You never know—I could have been changing.”

He stopped in his tracks, his gaze tracing up to mine with a single eyebrow cocked up in disbelief. “Really?”

“What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything but pajamas before two on a weekend.” He forced back a smile. “Besides, my point stands, you weren’t doing anything embarrassing. Which, by the way—”

“—that’s not my point—”

“—what exactly was it that you were doing?” He turned on his heel, looking around my room. “And what is that smell? Garbage? Gym clothes? Dirty sheets?”

“Dad.”

“When’s the last time you changed your sheets?”

“Dad.”

“Can we get some windows open in here?”

“Of course,” Karen complied, the panel windows rotating open on command, the sound of the leaves following the breeze that filled the room.

“Much better,” he exhaled.

I collapsed on my bed again, then, placing the earbud back in my ear. “Do you always have to act like something died in here when you enter my room completely uninvited?”

“I’m saving your skin, you know. May is downstairs and if she smelled whatever’s going on in here, you’d have a much bigger problem on your hands.”

I jolted up in horror. “May? What is May still doing here—”

“I invited her,” he stated simply. “For Happy’s sake. Surprise.”

I scowled. “Don’t encourage them.”

“Which reminds me, where are your bags?”

“Bags?” My eyes then drifted to the very same suitcase from the night prior, just as untouched, half-full, and dirty as it was the last time my father told me to work on packing it.

My father followed my sight and immediately let out a sigh, his back to me, and I just knew the face that he was about to hit me with before he even managed to turn around. And then he did.

Here we go.

The look of unsurprised disbelief with a flavor of sheer, utter annoyance as his eyes rolled up to the ceiling.

Personally, this was my favorite look of disappointment from him. His “shocked” face that I always seem to get whenever I prove time and time again that he really should stop having any sort of faith in me being able to do anything that is not Avenger, homework, or video game. I mean, it’s only fair. To the both of us, really.

He finished his eye roll, those disappointed eyes falling to mine before he finally headed to the door. “Get dressed and be down in five. Say hi to the crew quickly and then please finish packing. We can’t be late for this.”

“We’re leaving today?”

“Seriously?” He was out the door in seconds, calling back, “How on earth are you more like me than I am like me these days?”

I jumped from my bed and grabbed a t-shirt that was folded on the top of my dresser, pulling it over my head as followed Mr. Stark down the hall, door clicking shut behind me. “How long until we leave?” I asked, catching up to him on the stairs.

“Around an hour.” He muttered, head tilting towards mine. “You definitely did not get dressed that quickly.”

“I’m not going in there alone,” I told him.

He halted about half-way down, looking me up and down in my sweatpants and Midtown gym shirt. His lips flattened into a line, the look of annoyance returning to his face. He then unbuttoned his suit jacket, turned, and shrugged. “Fine.” And as we finished our trek down the stairs, he expanded his arms grandly, cleared his throat, and projected an embarrassingly loud, “Everyone—Peter has finally decided to join us!”

Every pair of eyes in the room fell to mine.

… I brought this upon myself.

It was barely seconds before the only person from ABC that I actually recognized managed to catch my attention—and yes, there was, once again, a gray hair sitting intrusively on the blazer.

“Peter!” She exclaimed, peeling her way through the group to shake my hand. “Are you excited for the next few months?”

“Sure,” I offered, my eyes drifting from hers in search of Aunt May. I looked back at her, squinting a bit as I studied her face. “I’m sorry, I’m forgetting your name.”

“Nellie Freeman,” she reminded me. “I’m one of the producers for The Bachelor.”

“Uh huh,” I nodded my head. The whole bullshitting portion of this thing was already wearing on me, and I was only about… a sentence and a half into it. And it was obvious, as a rather awkward look of concern started to form on her face. “Look, I’m going to be honest with you, Ms. Freeman,” I sighed, slouching a bit. “I just rolled out of bed. I really just came down here for food before I get ready to leave.”

Nellie nodded then, stepping aside. “You should probably focus on that, Peter. And please, call me Nellie.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll find the chance to talk later, alright?” She said, clutching her mimosa close to her hair-intruding blazer.

I nodded, turning to make my way to the kitchen. “Okay, Ms. Freeman.”

And with that, I was free, and doing one of my favorite past times: rummaging the refrigerator for food. And as I rolled out each and every tray, drawer, compartment, searching high and low for just a little bit of cream cheese, I felt a very gentle tug at the hem of my shirt. I paused, raising my eyebrows to look down at the very soft, yet expectant face of a six-year-old, a small smile playing at her lips.

“Hi,” she said.

“Good Morgan,” I greeted her, stifling a laugh as she let out her usual giggle. “Staying out of trouble so far?”

“I need your help,” she said. She then waved for me to get close, so I did, crouching down and offering my ear to her. She cupped her hands, leaning close to whisper. “Can I have some of your root beer?” She asked, pulling back with an innocent look on her face.

“Maguna,” I sighed, turning towards her totally. “You do realize it’s still morning, right?”

“Yes,” she nodded.

“And that our father is right on the other side of that wall?”

She nodded again. “Yes.”

I raised my eyebrows again, pointing in the direction of our living room. “And that if he catches me giving you root beer at seven in the morning without asking his permission, he’ll get very mad at me?”

“Yes,” she said, this time with a single, big nod.

“I don’t know, kiddo,” I told her, standing up and pulling a bottle of root beer from the fridge, “not sure if it’s worth the punishment.”

She tapped my arm this time, tugging at my shirt afterwards. “Please?”

“Hmm,” I looked between my sister and the bottle of root beer in my hands. “Are you ready to leave yet?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” I set the bottle on the counter, along with the bagels and cream cheese, closing the fridge and crouching back down to meet her height. “Go on up to my room, then. I’ll bring some up to you when I finish getting my breakfast and you can play Mario Kart while I pack.”

And for the last hour that we spent in our home for the time being, my sister and I kept sanctuary up in my room, with Morgan sprawled out on my bed, trying to make sense of an N64 controller as I coached her on how to take out Bowser as revenge for his ruthless attack on her Luigi. My bags were carelessly tossed together in a matter of minutes, suit staying tucked away underneath heaps of clothes, and my Playstation carefully wrapped (and hidden) in clothes in my second suitcase, zipped away until further notice. I had bravely ventured downstairs to grab the next round of root beers, and the two of us were able to stay far away from any parental units paroling the household for the remainder of the hour—shocking, since Morgan’s got quite the big mouth when it comes to video games.

Packing the vans for our departure to the airport wasn’t chaotic until the rest of the black-blazer-with-a-stray-strand-of-gray-hair-obtrusively-standing-out-and-distracting-me-once-again people from ABC arrived. It went from packing up the car for a nice family vacation to me pretty much being sent up to my room to pack yet another whole bag with all of the items on their list of things that I had to bring for my “wardrobe” that I didn’t know were “required” for my nice, lovely, family vacation. And then came the labeling of each and every bag—which, of course, followed their security check of each and every bag.

That’s right. They brought security for us.

I know.

Anyway, I’m pretty sure the ridiculousness of checking Iron Man for safety threats was the tipping point of my sanity, so by about eight o’clock, I was lying in the middle of the driveway and tossing a rock up into the cloudy sky. At some point, Mr. Stark’s hand suddenly reached out and caught it and he looked down at me with a tired smile.

“You ready?”

I raised my eyebrows and caught the rock as my father dropped it. “Did my background check already make it in?”

“Funny,” he rolled his eyes as he reached down to grab my hand, pulling me up. “You should be praying that they don’t find it.”

“What do you mean?” I laughed, picking my backpack up from the curb as I followed him up the driveway to the big, black, spy-like SUVs. “Peter Parker is as threatening as Happy when he falls asleep on the couch after Thanksgiving dinner.”

His hand rested on my back as he guided me to an open door in one of the SUVs. “Have you read your high school disciplinary record?”

“No. That’s your job,” I grinned at him as I climbed in and slid to the end, grabbing the buckle.

“Yeah,” Mr. Stark’s eyes widened at the thought as he got in his seat beside me. “And your poor Aunt May’s.”

“Well, she knows about the whole… you know… Spidey thing, now, so it’s fine,” I said, shrugging. “I’m sure it explains a lot.”

Happy’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “Yeah,” he grumbled. “Wait until you can’t use that excuse this summer.”

My jaw fell only slightly as I let out a chuckle. “No, no—not an excuse. I won’t need it, anyway. No suit, no hero antics, no need for doing anything absolutely stupid.”

Happy’s eyes looked up again in the mirror as he stopped at the end of our driveway. “The suit isn’t what causes you to be stupid.”

And with another small, Pikachu gasp escaping my lips and laughter bellowing from Aunt May and the man beside me, the window rolled up slowly, separating him and May from myself, Morgan, and our dad for the rest of the ride to the city.

The car ride inbound was far more easy-going than the last long one we had heading outbound, on our way home from my grand, very belated ‘adoption party’, where this whole Bachelor thingy began. I was silent, overwhelmed, sort of regretting the amount of root beer that I had consumed.

I think, like, five glasses, maybe? Full glasses, too. Like the big ones, not the little scotch glasses. All five, sitting in my stomach over every pothole and rock we ran over.

“Come to think of it, Pete, I didn’t really see you much tonight. Was it the nerves? Too many people?”

I nodded assuringly. “Too many people. Definitely.”

He eyed me in suspicion and then let out a sigh. “Listen, Pete. Don’t let this whole… moving into a multi-billionaire’s million dollar lakeside New York mansion thing scare you into thinking you have to respect me any better.”

“I think,” I narrowed my eyes as I stared at him in confusion, “I think just saying that… does?”

“What I’m trying to say is now that I’m officially your father and you’re officially my son, that weird, politeness type of respect isn’t necessary anymore,” he went on, looking forward at the street as Happy drove their car back to their home. “If anything, you should respect me less.”

“I feel like this is a test,” I told him.

“It is and it isn’t,” he grinned to himself. “Just be a normal kid, alright? No more Mr. Starks, no more asking permission for every single little thing. Just ask permission sometimes, when it’s necessary. And don’t call me ‘dad’ while wearing your suit. That’s when you call me ‘Mr. Stark’. Got it?”

And that was it. I’ll be honest, the whole transition from “Mr. Stark” to “Dad” hasn’t exactly been easy, but I think I’ve got it down.

For the most part.

Happy took a sharp turn then, breaking my thoughts as we went off of our course to the airport. “Sorry,” he shouted from the front seat.

“Mr. Stark…?” I muttered, staring out the windows in confusion. I looked at him and he raised an eyebrow expectantly. I realized my mistake but refused to correct it, staring back at him with my own eyebrows raised expectantly as the SUV pulled to a stop in front of the mansion, film crews piling out of one of the vans ahead. “What’s going on?”

“Showtime—” was all he said, before jumping out of the vehicle and heading over to the makeup artists, who, of course, swarmed him.

It was going to be a long summer. And it was only April.

The beauty of college was that the summer typically began in May, anyway, and with some teeth-pulling trips home away from the hyperactive, crime-filled city, I was able to set aside blocks of time to get my work done early in an effort to finish my semester earlier than most. I must say—midterms and finals all within two weeks of each other were not exactly the highlight of my college career so far, but finishing the semester by the start of April in exchange for an extended summer was pretty worth it.

Apart from the makeup brushes that were suddenly advancing on my face.

“Wait—” I held up my hands in defense, waving the brushes away. “No, no—not me, not my thing. I’m fine with—you know,” I gestured toward my face, “this.”

“It’s for lighting,” one of the artists argued.

“And that,” I said, slinging my backpack over my shoulder, “is what editing is for. Tell Ms. Freeman I said that.”

Like clockwork, Nellie Freeman ran towards me, calling my name. “Peter!” She said, excitedly, “Go on over to your father. Share a laugh with him.”

Share a laugh?

I was guided over to where he was and before I knew it, cameras were pointed at us in all directions as Mr. Stark put an arm around me and looked at me to chat, pointing to me. “Are you ready?” He asked, charming smile flashing on his face.

“No,” I said, forcing a smile, trying hard not to look at the camera. “How long do I have to do this?”

“Entire summer,” his smile grew proud.

My face fell.

“Remember, this was all your idea,” he let out a laugh then, and it was apparently enough to satisfy the cameras.

Worst moment of my life.

So far.

As a small part of the crew followed me around the front of the mansion—which, I had inferred was for their introduction to the show, as they were filming numerous angles of the mansion itself, as well as our family by the gates out front, and even a small moment of Tony driving out of the garage in yet another hideously orange supercar—the sound of a small explosion a couple blocks over rumbled through the streets. Myself and the camera people with me, who happened to be closest to the noise, all turned in fear as cop cars zipped up the street towards whatever it was.

My heart pounded a bit as the adrenaline came through my body with my senses and I looked at the crew urgently, “You should probably go distract Iron Man before you lose camera time with him.”

They took my advice.

Barely a minute later, I was in my suit, swinging through the streets of New York City.

Standard bank robbery: getaway car at the corner of the block waiting in drive, hold up in the lobby of the bank, gunmen standing guard outside, and my favorite—two pyromaniacs blowing a hole in the alleyway wall to gain outside access to the vault.

Minutes later, the vault guys were webbed to the brick walls of the alley, the gunmen were knocked out and webbed up, the two guys holding up inside were webbed together in a nice, snug hug, and the getaway car was stopped mid movement by me mere seconds after I had webbed up its passengers to street lights in their escape.

A standard day in New York City for Spider-Man.

Man, I was going to miss it. Genuinely. It was a hobby as much as it was a passion and a responsibility. It had its perks, of course, but swinging through the city, stopping to fight whatever crime was impending, and then getting back into the air moments later just to return to whatever I was doing, or like in many cases, to the backpack I webbed up to a dumpster in an alleyway a block away from the mansion. I undressed from my suit as quickly as possible and got back in the clothes I was wearing before, stuffing the suit into my backpack—

Spider sense. Spider sense. Behind you, Peter—Peter. Peter. Peter.

I turned quickly to see an old bearded man standing at the end of the alleyway by the sidewalk, staring at me as I stuffed the spider suit into my backpack.

I felt my cheeks burning red as the man just watched. “It’s not what it looks like, I promise,” I smiled nervously. “I just found it in the dumpster. It’s probably—it’s probably not even real.”

The old man let out a chuckle, approaching me slowly. “It’s okay, Peter,” he said with a smile. “You don’t need to worry.”

I froze in that moment, movements halted as I registered the voice and the way it said my name—yes. My name.

My name?

“How did you…” I trailed off as the main presented a large pouch to me, reluctantly taking it from him. I stared at the pouch and then up to those old, tired, glistening eyes. “Are you one of the wizards?”

“No,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “You might wanna grab a lab kit for that before you leave, by the way.”

And that was how my Breaking Bad career took off.

Kidding. Sort of. Hopefully. All that was in the bag from what I could tell was some old rusty gear and tech and a few pieces of paper to accompany the items. I looked up from the bag and back at the old man, who just watched with a pair of what seemed to be proud eyes.

I stared at him for a moment, trying to make sense of the familiarity in his eyes. “Who are you?”

The man’s face fell slightly for a moment and he placed a hand on my shoulder, dipping his head down a bit as he blinked slowly, lips curling into a smile once again. “You’ll see.”

The sound of repulsors taking off echoed through the streets, followed by the sound of flight, and both myself and the old man turned in its direction, looking up to the sky as Iron Man appeared over the rooftop.

He hovered there for a moment, silence dripping between us for a split second, before he finally let out a confused, “Pete?”

I widened my eyes. “I can explain,” I started, stepping towards him, “You see, I was helping this nice gentleman over here and—”

He flew passed me to where the man was, but as I turned around with him, the old man was gone.

Tony landed in his place, stepping towards the sidewalk slowly and looking around. “It doesn’t make sense…”

Okay, Peter. Time to be honest. I took a deep breath, “Well, to be honest, there was an explosion up the block, and it turned out to be a huge bank robbery, so I kind of had to step in and—”

“I said no suit.” He stated bluntly, but he was still distracted by our surroundings.

“I know. It’s just—it’s hard,” I confessed. “I’m sorry.”

Tony was silent in response; he was evidently listening to Friday as opposed to me, focusing in on whatever it was they were examining in the alleyway. Moments passed in silence, before he finally let out a sigh, “Alright, let’s go. We have a flight to catch.”

He lifted me from the ground, returning us to our group at the mansion a couple blocks over, cameras and all. The obligatory clips of the Iron Man suit removing itself from Tony that ABC insisted on filming bought me enough time to sneak into the mansion and snag one of the lab kits we had set aside for missions. I was able to slip it into the SUV by the time Tony finished with his numerous close-ups with the film crew.

The remainder of our morning once we actually arrived at the airport was just that. Cameras, interviews, weird filmed moments where we all chatted about absolutely nothing in an effort to seem like we were actually engaging in real conversations—then pause, break, and we were back to loading Mr. Stark’s private jets.

Yes. Jets. As in plural.

Because we weren’t going to fly with the ABC people, right? They had to be there waiting for us upon our arrival anyway.

Eyeroll.

It was only about eleven in the morning by the time we took off, but it felt like the day had been going on for hours already. The jet we were on, which was Mr. Stark’s newest of his hybrid engine class, had quarters for him, myself, and Morgan in the back, which were separated by the full bathrooms in between. It wasn’t long before I had passed out on my bed, the shades closing on the windows to leave me in a nice, quiet slumber…

“Pete, wake up,” My father’s voice called from the door to the cabin. I stirred a bit, covering my head with my pillow. “Shower quickly and get out here, we’re landing soon.”

Soon? Already? How long had I been asleep?

I sprung out of bed, heading to the bathrooms to shower in the circular full shower, washing up as fast as I could, before I dressed in some warm weather clothes and headed out to the cabin, natural sunlight blinding me a bit before I could see outside the windows at the…

Islands? Surrounded by turquoise… lagoons?

How long had I been asleep?

My father walked over to me, looking out the window alongside me with a grin on his face. “Welcome to Bora Bora, Peter.”

[mishasminion360]

Space Age Love Song, Ch. 4

A Mandalorian x O/C Fic

Warnings: Language

Notes: Din and Sara play 20 questions.

You can now keep up with this story on AO3 as well! My username is SwiggitySwagNightmareStag. Happy reading, all!

Ch. 4: Answered

Sara left Din to eat breakfast in privacy. He couldn’t very well stuff his face with the helmet on, and he’d made it clear that he wouldn’t take it off in her presence, so, while he remained in the kitchen, she took her scrambled eggs and bacon into the living room. Alone again, naturally.

After they’d stuffed themselves silly, Sara washed and dried the dishes, and then practically dragged the Mandalorian back into the living room, eager to learn more about the intergalactic anomaly that was Din Djarin. She shoved him (gently, of course) onto the couch before curling up on the other end.

“Okay, here’s how this is going to work. You ask a question, I answer. Then I ask a question and you answer. See? Easy. Care to start us off?”

Din leaned back and folded his armored arms.

“Ladies first.”

“I see that chivalry is a thing on your planet, which I’m assuming is...Mandaloria?”

“Close. It’s called Mandalore. Does that count as your first question?”

“Sure.”

“My turn, then. What planet am I on now?”

“This is Earth, my friend. The only populated planet in the Milky Way Galaxy. As far as we earthlings know, anyway.”

Milky Way Galaxy? That was a solid 2.5 million light-years from his own. He had no idea he’d come so far, and he would be utterly amazed if he discovered that he hadn’t completely burned out his hyperdrive.

“And what galaxy is Mandalore a part of?”

Sara’s second question put an abrupt end to the calculations he was doing in his head. And he was honestly grateful for it.

“The Andromeda Galaxy.”

Sara let out a low whistle and started doing some calculating of her own.

“How the hell did you manage to get all the way here? Aren’t our galaxies, like, a crap ton of light-years apart? How did you get here so fast? How long have you been traveling to get here?”

“That’s more than one question.”

“Shit, sorry.”

“It’s fine. Did you want me to answer all of those now, or...”

“No, no. Rules are rules. You go ahead and ask your next question.”

“Alright. Where’s my ship?”

Sara looked past him to the back door and he attempted to follow her gaze.

“It’s, uh, in my backyard. In a crater. You came in pretty hot there, Din. Your ship’s a little banged up. It was on fire when I first found it, but I managed to put most of it out. There were a lot of flashing lights and alarms going off. I don’t know my way around alien technology, so I can’t tell you with any certainty if it’ll still run. I can say that it appears to be all in one piece. I think. I hope.”

Dank Farrik, Din cursed to himself. One problem after the next. If the Razor Crest Sequent was nothing but a pile of scrap now, this would be the second ship, and the third home, he’d lost.

“How did you end up here, Din?”

Once again she managed to rip him out of his own head. There was something about the way she said his name that had an almost soothing effect on his anxious mind. Something he liked.

“I....that is a long story.”

Sara crossed her arms and leaned back into the couch, getting comfy.

“I’ve got time.”

Din sighed. Where to begin? He didn’t even have all the details fleshed out himself, so how was he supposed to explain the situation to another?

“Mandalore was attacked by...well, I don’t know, to be honest with you. Just some random squadron of thugs. They appeared out of nowhere, demanding the king.”

“The king? Of Mandalore? You and your people have a freaking king?”

“You’re looking at him.”

Sara instantly went rigid. For once she was at a complete loss for words, and completely at a loss for what to do with herself. She’d never been in the presence of eminence and everything she knew about royalty she’d learned from Netflix and Disney films.

“You’re a....should-should I bow?”

“Please, don’t.”

Sara nodded for him to continue. Her face was expectant, excited. She was hanging on his every word as if his story were the edge of a cliff. She clung to his tale for dear life.

“Right, so, they came looking for me and I still don’t have any idea why. Needless to say that my people weren’t just going to surrender me to some unannounced, unknown individuals, so they chose to protect me in case this squadron turned out to be a threat.”

“Which they did, I’m guessing?”

“They were armed, but they were few and inexperienced. They couldn’t take my planet by force alone, but they could still cause some significant damage while trying. I didn’t want to see any of my people hurt because of me. Our clan had already been divided for far too long, our home nearly lost, I just wanted to choose a course of action that would keep the peace.”

Sara cocked her head to the side.

“You ran, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I thought if I could lure them away I could figure out their intentions. Or, at the very least, fly long enough to ditch them in hyperspace and return home.”

“And you never found out what they wanted?”

Din shook his head. This is the part of the story that still remained a mystery to him.

“No. The second they caught up to me they opened fire. I was able to make a few light speed jumps without taking any serious damage. But....well, you know the rest. Here I am.”

“And you don’t know where these creeps are now? Is there any chance that they may have followed you here?”

He had frightened her. He could see it in her eyes. Din had basically just admitted that he may or may not have just led a band of violent ruffians to her home planet.

“If they knew where I’d landed, they’d be here by now. I think I effectively gave them the slip.”

Sara sighed, a little too loudly, in relief. One spaceman was about as much as she could handle at the moment; she didn’t need more showing up on her doorstep. Especially not the dangerous kind. Din, at least, seemed gentle enough.

“They’re still out there searching. I’m sure of it. But I can’t just lay low forever. That’s never been my style. Especially not when I have people to protect. I left Mandalore in good hands for now but, king or not, it’s the only home that I have. I don’t....I wouldn’t know where else to go.”

Without even thinking, Sara leaned across the sofa, closing the little space between them, and grasped both of Din’s gloved hands in her own.

“I promise you, Din Djarin, I will do whatever it takes to get you home safely. Anything within my means.”

For a few silent moments they simply sat hand in hand, and time was irrelevant. It wasn’t until she heard Din swallow audibly that Sara realized that she was probably making him uncomfortable and she reluctantly released her grip.

“May I ask a question?”

“Sure,” Sara croaked. “I’ve asked, like, what, 10 in a row by now? So much for ‘rules are rules’, huh?”

“Why did you help me?” Din asked, his voice the softest she’d heard it yet. “Why do you keep helping me? I have nothing to offer you in return.”

Din seemed to have a lot of trust issues, whether that stemmed from past personal experiences or just the Mandalorian creed, so Sara wanted to supply him with an honest answer. There was the logical honest answer, or the honestly honest answer. In the end she decided that the former would take a shorter amount of time to explain. And it would be far less depressing.

“Well, the easiest answer is that I’m a nurse, Din. And as a nurse I took an oath to help those in need. I intend to fully adhere to the terms of that oath even beyond the sanctity of hospital walls. You needed help, I gave it. Simple as that.”

Din saw it the second the warmth left Sara’s eyes and the hazel orbs grew distant. They shone with something sadly nostalgic, like two unreachable distant stars.

“And, quite frankly, you’re the first person, other than myself, to set foot in my house in a long, long time. I didn’t want my houseguest dying on me.” She disguised her sadness with a chuckle. Just barely.

Din suddenly found himself eager to ask her more questions, practically burning for it. Though they’d only just met, just opened up to each other, he knew that there was something that bonded them. A sensation that he couldn’t quite place, but that he knew all too well. He had to steel himself against this unbidden desire for knowledge; time was of the essence.

“Sara, would you take me to my ship?”

***

“Dank Farrik! Son of a Mudscuffer!!”

“Are those good alien words I’m hearing?”

“No, they’re kriffing not!”

“That one was a bad one, too. Got it.”

She stood just outside the ship’s open doorway, arms crossed and fighting off a childish grin, when she heard his angry, booted feet come thump thump thumping down the ramp. She turned to meet his gaze and, even with his helmet hiding his face from her sight, she could tell that he wasn’t amused in the slightest.

“I like the way you curse, Mando.”

He stared her down for a minute before trudging off. Yep, definitely not amused.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Sara called sprinting after him and snagging him by the arm. How could he move so fast with all that armor weighing him down?

“Can you fix it?”

Din heaved a heavy, frustrated sigh.

“It’ll take time. And parts. Neither of which I have.”

“But you can fix it. See, there’s a silver lining to this situation,” Sara said, punching him playfully in the arm. He didn’t respond, only stared, his helmeted face surveying her blankly.

“Look, you’re welcome to rummage through the old barn for spare parts,” Sara offered, gesturing to the decrepit old structure behind Din. “My gramps was a bit of a tinkerer, so he let a lot of tools and miscellaneous crap pile up in there over the years. My guess is if you need it, it’s in that barn. And whatever I don’t have, the hardware store will.”

Sara flexed her arms, giving him her best Schwarzenegger impression and a one way ticket to the “gun show”.

“I’m not too shabby when it comes to fixing up things myself. I’ve got my grandpa to thank for that, too. We’ll have your ship back in orbit before you can say ‘E.T. phone home’.”

“Why would I say that?”

“It’s...oh, never mind. Anyway, that being said, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need. It’s no trouble.”

Din started to protest, but Sara shushed him with a finger to his helmet, pressing it to where she assumed his lips were hiding underneath.

“I want to get you home, Din. Home to your family. But I also want to make sure that you’re fully healed and well rested before you go. This is ‘nurse Sara’ talking, and she is not to be trifled with.”

Then the Mandalorian did something unexpected. Something wonderful. Something Sara had begun to assume it impossible for him to do.

He laughed.

And it made her heart beat a little faster.

“Fair enough,” Din said. “And...thank you. Again.”

“You’re welcome,” Sara responded. She said it so softly that she wasn’t even certain that she’d actually said it out loud.

“Can I check out that barn now?”

Sara folded her arms and nodded, suddenly feeling like a mother sending her child into a Toys ‘R’ Us unsupervised.

“Knock yourself out. Better sooner than later, while you still have daylight.”

He turned and left her without another word. But he walked away slowly.

And Sara was left to watch him wander, the sound of his laugh still echoing in her ears. It may have been unfair to assume, but she figured she’d never hear such a sound coming from the stoic Din Djarin. Now that she had, it became the only sound she wanted to hear.

@just-another-dumb-artist @mamacitapascal @grimeylady @rav3n-pascal22 @obsessivelysearching @insomniamamma @cixrxb @mandolydian @lv7867 @calliedjarin @mando-pamine

[ankewehner]

Livetweet of accidentally getting into fairyland...

Best twitter thread ever?

https://twitter.com/NeolithicSheep/status/1330548523721515013 Shepherd: Oh hey Ursula, do you have the number for those people who take out invasive plants still?

Ursula: Probably somewhere, yeah. They said they didn’t usually work on such small properties, though, and I don’t know if I’ve got an infestation worth their time.

Shepherd: Ok but what if I say "kudzu" to you, can we throw enough money at them to make it worth their time.

Ursula: If you say “kudzu” to me, I will panic, scream, and come running to Dogskull with a flamethrower.

Shepherd: Ok well I suggest driving but maybe pack up the flamethrower. Ursula: OH MY GOD YOU FOUND KUDZU OH GOD WHERE IS IT ARE YOU SURE IT ISN’T JUST WILD GRAPE

Shepherd: YES I KNOW WHAT WILD GRAPE LOOKS LIKE THANK YOU anyway I was walking Beamer this morning after the deer ate breakfast and the white deer was walking down toward the back of the property, you know that low tucked away part? And I thought, well, we'll just trail after her at a polite distance and if I'm lucky I'll find some of her fur caught on a bush! Wouldn't that be great! So we kept going past the big ass fucking oak trees that make, like, that weird arch? And there's kudzu.

Ursula: What big oak trees?! There’s no big oak trees back there! It’s all pine!

Shepherd: Yeah you know, the two really big motherfuckers that look like English oak. They're like, way the fuck back there.

Ursula: There are no English oak on Dogskull. Are you sure you weren’t trespassing on the Freemason’s property?

Shepherd: No they're closer to the front I think? Who's next door to them? Also I thought Dog Skull was 7 acres? Because I should be off it and hitting the road by now.

Ursula: Next door to them is the people with the trailer on its side. Do you see any trailers lying on their sides?

Shepherd: A lot of oak trees, a little bit of kudzu, zero trailers in any orientation. Some birds and squirrels. Oh hey Beamer found a nice pond.

Ursula: Okay, this is important. Do the oak trees still have leaves on them?

Shepherd: Yeah but so does the one up front. Oh wait. These are, uh, still green. Like summer green.

Ursula: Right. Okay. This could be a problem. Give me a couple minutes, we have to take trash to the dump and then I’ll look some stuff up. Meanwhile, DON’T EAT ANYTHING.

Shepherd: You mean in case it's poisonous, right? Like THEORETICALLY if I didn't see this tweet until just now and HYPOTHETICALLY I found an apple tree and ate an apple, that would be fine?

Ursula: ...that would not be fine.

Shepherd: Beamer didn't want any, which was weird I thought.

Ursula: INDUCE VOMITING! INDUCE VOMITING!

Shepherd: He didn't eat anything! I'm not going to gag my dog for not eating an apple!

Ursula: Not the dog! Induce vomiting in yourself! Every chunk of that apple needs to come out before you digest it!

Shepherd: FINE. I have puked it up. It was a really good apple, too.

Ursula: Oh thank god. Whew. Okay. The alternative was that you were gonna need a cold iron enema and I wasn’t sure how to do that on short notice.

Shepherd: Oh hey fun fact, "cold iron" is just, like, iron. It's not a special kind or anything!

Ursula: Do you have any on you right now? Beamer’s collar or tags or anything?

Shepherd: Collar hardware is all aluminum these days, otherwise it rusts. Let me pat down my pockets. Syringe of dewormer? Is that helpful?

Shepherd: Anyway I don't want to alarm you but uh. I can't find the trail I followed? So you and Kevin will need to go over tonight and give the boys [i.e. oxen] a hay bale and the goats and sheep two.

Ursula: No! I am scared of cows! We have to get you out of there! Look, I have a bunch of Llewelyn books from my teenage pagan days. I’m sure Scott Cunningham or Silver Ravenwolf covered this somewhere.

Shepherd: Scott Cunningham seems like a really drastic measure just because you're afraid of some cows. But sooner or later I'm going to run out of cigarettes so sure, why not. Oh!! The boys' bow pins are in my pocket, I was going to sand them today and oil them! They're very definitely iron!

Ursula: That’s good! That’s very good! If anyone tries to talk to you, keep hold of those! Now let’s see...do you consider yourself a “solitary practitioner?”

Shepherd: Ursula I'm an ornamental hermit, you don't get much more solitary. Also so far the only person who tried to talk to me was a frog.

Ursula: ...what did the frog say?

Shepherd: "SMOKING KILLS." I tossed it back in the pond.

Ursula: *rubs forehead*

Shepherd: Fucking frogs are all alike, I'm telling you.

Ursula: I really wish these authors had spent less time on “why Wicca isn’t Satanism” and more time on “what to do when you’ve strayed into the fae realms.” I mean, I understand it was the political climate of the time...

Shepherd: I feel like nobody really covers that last one anymore. You have 4 hours until the cows want dinner.

Ursula: Silver Ravenwolf suggests making your magical working space more inviting with stencils? These books spend a surprising amount of time on interior decorating as a vital part of ritual magick. I never noticed that when I was fifteen.

Shepherd: Yeah me neither honestly. It's remarkably unhelpful when you're stuck in faerie and your collie is getting bored. Shepherd: So you want me to... Build a magical working space and stencil it?

Ursula: I can’t actually see how that would help matters. Maybe I should check the Foxfire books instead.

Shepherd: I... Don't remember them having anything relevant, but I might be wrong?

Ursula: They have everything. Ooh, this one is about how to scald the bristles off a hog!

Shepherd: A) I already know how to do that and B) I do not have a hog, sufficient firewood, or a hog scrubbing brush here. FOCUS, URSULA. FOCUS.

Ursula: Sorry, the ADHD meds haven’t kicked in yet today...uh...let’s see...avoid whippoorwills, if you see any?

Shepherd: I do that already, otherwise they steal your toenails.

Ursula: If you harvest apples, leave one on the tree or it attracts the Devil.

Shepherd: You told me not to eat the apples! Am I allowed to eat the apples now??

Ursula: No! These are hypothetical apples! NO EATING! I tried to look up deer in the Foxfire books and there’s a story about somebody’s grandpa wrestling a buck in a mill dam and drowning it, but I don’t see the relevance here. I mean, Grandpa does sound like a badass, though.

Shepherd: I feel like I shouldn't wrestle deer here. What if I try telling Beamer to find his sheep? 

Ursula: Well, research has hit a small snag. I tried googling for the foxfire books and kudzu, in case there was something about fae kudzu portals, right? But it turns out your Twitter is the third hit. Shep, we may BE the experts.

Shepherd: Uh oh. OK. In that case, you and Kevin go over to Dog Skull. Hitch up Cole and Cannon and take them back to the oak trees. Put a logging chain around one and yell real loud "LET SHEPHERD OUT OR WE START PULLING"

Ursula: Oh hell no! I read tree law Reddit! I know how this ends! Do you want us to get sued by Freemasons?! 

Shepherd: I DON'T THINK THE FREEMASONS ARE THE PROBLEM HERE, URSULA

Ursula: I DON’T TRUST THEM WITH THEIR LITTLE LEVELS AND SHEEPSKINS AND WEIRDLY OCULAR PYRAMIDS Also if you see a pyramid with an eye on it, don’t eat it’s either.

Ursula: Okay. Never mind the Freemasons. I wrote a book about this once, I think. White animals, scary fae, random magic deer. It was set in Finland, so you may need to fashion some umlauts, though.

Shepherd: I've got my chore knife, I can carve so many umlauts. Do I just put them in trees until I get back?

Ursula: First of all, are you wearing pants?

Shepherd: YES I'M WEARING PANTS YOU WEIRDO

Ursula: t’s a legitimate question! I mean, I’m not wearing pants.

Now Shep, this is very important. You have to take off your pants.

Also your shoes, your hoodie, and probably Beamer’s collar.

Shepherd: Ursula. Why are we getting naked.

Ursula: To break the misdirection spell! Put your clothes on backwards!

And possibly inside out? Shit, there’s a bunch of different sources. I don’t know if they have to be inside out, but definitely backwards.

Uh...let’s see...hmm, backwards definitely. Inside out might be for leshy. Leshies? Leshys? What’s the plural form, do you think?

If you happen to see any giggling green hairy dudes, ask them what the plural form of their name is. That’s gonna bug me.

Shepherd: Beamer's collar doesn't have a backwards! I'll turn it inside out. And my clothes backwards and inside out, got it. 

Shepherd: There's just, like, frogs. And squirrels. I can hear music though! There might be a dance party, I could go ask about green hairy dudes?

Ursula: STAY AWAY FROM THE MUSIC unless it’s the Freemasons I guess 

Shepherd: No it's more folk music. The Freemasons play, like, Michael Jackson. 

ANYWAY clothes are backwards and inside out. Beamer's collar is backwards and just to be thorough I tied the rope end of his leash to his collar instead of using the clip, so his leash is backwards too. He's pulling me away from the pond! 

Ursula: Tell him to go find his sheep! 

Shepherd: I have so instructed him! Hopefully there's not, like, the faerie equivalent of really good sheep here. Hey do you want me to grab you an apple 

Ursula: No, they don’t come true from seed, but if you can cut me a decent slightly whippy twig with a few leaves, I might be able to root that sucker. 

Shepherd: ...you want me to pause a collie on a mission while I test the whippiness of twigs?? 

I HEAR MOOING. I SEE PINE TREES. 

Ursula: GO TOWARD THE MOOING

Shepherd: THERE'S THE OLD RUSTED OUT METAL THING! I'm back! On uh the opposite side of the property from the one I left from.

Also there's a goddamned chorus frog calling. 

Ursula: Yeah, they do that.

Ursula: THANK GOD THE KUDZU IS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE PORTAL

...oh, and you’re back, that’s good too. Very pleased.

Shepherd: Anyway you don't have to feed the boys. Unless you want to?

Ursula: There is no situation where I will WANT to feed your giant-ass death bovines.

Also, what have we learned about following the white doe into the woods?

Shepherd: She knows where the really good apples are? 

Also my boys are tiny!!

Ursula: ...I’m gonna go take a nap.

[polymetis-23]

Diary Entry Sept. 26th, 2021

Day 1 - The hunt begins

I spent most of today working on updates to my hero gear based off the trial runs these past few weeks. First I removed the giant skirt from my costume and replaced it with a utility belt. Sure those might not have been the most iconic thing about steampunk but they tinkered a lot so I'm sure they were around plenty. I hope to make more gadgets as time goes on so this will be a good place to store them. For now it is a simple belt with pockets as found at hardware stores. I know, it's ugly and doesn't really fit and I wish I had time to be proper about it, but with The Eye out there it seems somethings will sadly have to be function over form. 

In addition to adding the tool belt, I have been working on the wrist crossbows (told you I wouldn't forget about them). I've moved them down from the back of my hand to around my wrist and made the bow limbs out of a semi-bendable metal. They work like springs and shoot the dart out fairly fast … or at least that is the current theory, I've really only added the wrist strap, had to finish some homework.

As the sun started to set, it was finally time for me to find The Eye (seriously does anyone have a better name for this person?) I could've sworn I was in a movie. The sky was overcast but no rain and everything seemed eerily quiet. Without a better idea I started from where I last saw them, the eye was still on the wall and it didn't look like anyone had been home in a while, I hope she didn't kill him. Anyway, I wasn't about to break into someone's house because that is illegal so I sat on the roof and surveyed for any mysterious red lights. It may not have been the most efficient way to find them, but hey that red glow is the only thing I have to identify them at the moment, and well the eye. I saw a few flashes over the course of the night, and a few more eyes around the city. Some the crime was obvious, another breakin or general vandalism, but others a dark red eye was just on a wall, nothing around to denote why.

Day 2 - Uh yeah, exams are a thing

    How, might I ask, are we in the third week of classes and I already have a quiz. Like seriously what are we supposed to have learned at this point? Even if they had taught us something, this is the absolute worst time, now I have to spend all day studying and I can't go out tonight. I was getting so close last night to actually catching up to The Eye. Sure I hadn't actually seen them, but I was getting quicker at navigating the city so the time between red flashes and my arrival at a scene was getting less and less, it was only a matter of time until I caught them.

Day 3 - Crossbow work

    The forecast for today is rain, lots of rain all day and I don't really fancy going out and getting soaked or slipping and falling on my butt while hunting for Eye, so I guess today is a design day. It actually works out really well because now I will have the wrist bow ready for when I finally do encounter her. Next thing I need to work on is tranquilizer darts, I don't want to permanently hurt those I bring in, after all I'm not the judge, jury and executioner, I just bring people in to meet justice. 

    After today's tests the bow seems to be great … or at least manageable. I still need to improve the aiming, for some reason the bolts won't group together. And I need to make an automatic reloader attachment, I have plenty of darts held on the cuff, but it would be nice for the system to be semi automatic incase I miss a shot or more probably I am fighting more than one opponent and need to incapacitate them both in quick succession.

Day 4 - The Evil Eye

    Finally a semi-free day. I was able to make a few small adjustments to my weaponry between classes then waited until dark to roam the streets. The clouds from yesterday blew by leaving not a trace and letting the nearly full moon illuminate the streets, although that could also be from light pollution … I guess it is good that I can see and not trip, but I would've liked to be able to see the stars.

    The night started relatively calmly, I was finally getting used to the red haze that settled over the world when I used my goggles. If I ever learn how to actually code, I'll have to write a program to filter out the ambient light, but for now I would just have to let my eyes adjust. I got lucky in my positioning tonight, I hadn't seen any pattern in how The Eye chose their targets so I had decided to sit on a random tall roof top and was rewarded with a beam of red two blocks over. Although I had previously only seen an aura of red indicating The Eye's (this is gonna stick now isn't it?) presence, it wasn't hard to imagine that they had the ability to focus it. 

    I ran across the rooftops, which were thankfully connected, I'll have to figure something out for when they aren't. I guess I could run at street level but that is more crowded and less direct, plus heroes are known for leaping across roofs right? Regardless I soon arrived at where the beam had been and looked for the source. Below me on the street there was a fight going on and sure enough one of the combatants' hands were surrounded by an aura of red. Upon closer observation I was shocked to find out this wasn't a fight, it was a beating. The man The Eye was 'fighting' was just laying on the ground not even trying to defend themselves. It was clear to anyone watching that the fight was over and didn't need to be continued so why was The Eye still there? I called 911  and reported the situation so her victim could get some help. I doubted they would be moving by themselves any time soon. 

    After placing the call I turned my attention back to the street to apprehend The Eye myself, but they were already gone, an eye left on the ground above the injured man's head. I could already hear the sirens of the ambulance and knew he would be okay. I waited until the paramedics started treating him, then left. I spent the rest of the night searching for another sighting of The Eye to bring them in, but they seemed to have gone silent for the moment. I suppose I will have to try again tomorrow now that I had seen they were not only bad, they were straight up evil. Attacking someone for no reason at all.

Day 5 - The Conversation

    So classes were normal today and nothing special happened except well, I finally got to talk with the eye. I went out a little earlier than I usually did planning on scoping out some of the roofs on campus. Although I was currently preoccupied taking down The Eye who seemed to operate across the river, I knew I would be coming back to stop crime on campus eventually. There is a really nice iconic roof space above the main lobby of campus where I was planning to start. Up there you can see all around campus, sure it wasn't the tallest building, but it did have a great view.

    Anyway, I was up there planning to see what was what and keeping an eye out for any red flashes in the city when from behind I heard:

    "I thought they blocked off all entrances to the roof" they had, I have just been practicing picking locks. Yes I know that skill is rarely used for anything good, but sometimes it can come in handy, like tonight with the door

    I turned around expecting to see some other student, while it wasn't a common hang out spot, people definitely still came up here. Instead I was confronted with The Eye herself, what was she doing on this side of the river and at my school no less. Of course I immediately confronted her about her illegal activities and she scoffed at me. I mean she literally scoffed and called me naive, how am I naive when I saw her commit those crimes? Like seriously? It quickly became apparent that she wasn't remorseful at all and needed to be brought in. We had a brief altercation which I definitely nearly won if she hadn't taken a cheap shot and knocked me on my butt I would've had her. As it was I landed with a loud smack and was slightly dazed. The only sound I heard was "stay down, this isn't the world for you" When I got my bearings again, she was gone and I was alone on the roof. 

    I layed back down and stared at the sky. This is going to take more work than I thought, but I'm sure it can't be that much more.

Day 6 - A day to relax

    Not much happened today, I ended up sleeping through my alarm which I guess is a natural consequence of staying up into the early hours of the night every day for a week. I did my laundry, bought a few groceries and sloughed through some homework and … that was about it.

Day 7 - Coding is still the worst

    So I have a problem set due for my coding class and I swear this class should be worth twice the amount of credit listed on the syllabus based on how long it takes me to write a 'simple' program. I guess I am learning some things because I can follow the code examples given in class, but I definitely can't recreate them. I'm gonna need to find another way to code my goggles or get someone to do it for me. Superheroes have a man in the chair right?

    I eventually got the problem set turned in and started to draft ideas for the semi-automatic wristbow, still very rudimentary though.

[winryofresembool]

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 22

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary: Leo Valdez can be sweet when he wants to.

A/N:  Sorry for the long break! The holidays were a rather busy time for me so it did good to take some time off from writing. But now I'm back for my weekly updates (at least I hope I am)! And not just with any chapter but a long-ish chapter full of Caleo fluff :) I really hope you guys enjoy! Please let me know what you think because I 100% mean it when I say I love reading your comments!!

Words: 3200+ 

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort

Warnings: none

previous chapter / AO3

…

Once Calypso had made up with Leo and Annabeth, she had new issues to deal with. When she paid her rent for the month, she noticed that she only had enough money for one more month’s rent, not even including the other living costs such as food, other daily necessities and school supplies. She had pushed back the job hunting earlier partially because the friendship issues had made her feel too low to care about that kind of thing, partially because she had no idea what she could do, only having a high school level education and no special skills. She had only ever worked at her father’s company and that was not something she wanted to advertise in her applications. But now she was in a situation that unless she wanted to return to the very place she wanted to stay away from, she had to come up with something.

Annabeth and Piper had seen some of the clothes and other items she had sewed and made with her own hands and encouraged her to sell them but Calypso herself wasn’t entirely convinced they were good enough to be sold. She was also a decent enough artist but with a class full of artists just as good (some even better) than her, what would make her stand out in the public? Her people skills weren’t amazing either so she doubted that she would make a good retail worker. But she knew she would probably have to come out of her comfort zone in this case, so if anyone was willing to hire her, she’d accept it.

She was startled when she suddenly heard a familiar voice from the other room: “Sunshine, I’mma head out to buy some groceries and stuff for a new project. You need anything?”

In some other situation, Calypso would have been thankful for the offer, but she was still feeling like a nervous wreck because of her earlier discovery. That’s why the words escaped her before she could stop herself: “Huh? No, I don’t think so? And I can still buy my own groceries, thank you very much.”

“Sorry, I just thought I’d ask… I didn’t mean to…” Leo seemed a bit baffled by her outburst. He was already about to head out when Calypso came out of her room and stopped him.

“No, I’m sorry.” She sighed, looking regretful. “I was just on the edge because I just noticed my financial situation isn’t exactly the best… But that is something I need to figure out on my own, I don’t want charity.”

“Well, I wasn’t gonna buy you a car or anything,” Leo tried to crack a joke. “Just thought that if you’re running out of milk or something, I could have saved you the trouble… Since I’m going there anyway…”

“Oh… no, I don’t think I need anything,” she said, this time a lot softer. “But thank you for asking.”

“No prob, Sunshine,” Leo replied, looking relieved now that he knew she wasn’t actually angry at him. “But hey, if you do need help with, like, searching for a job, or something, I’m your man.”

Calypso tried to keep her face neutral even though she had a feeling her cheeks were probably red. “I’ll… keep that in my mind.”

“Well, see you soon,” Leo said after the two just kept staring at each other for a while. He seemed to be sizing her, possibly still a bit thrown off by her weird reaction before he put his coat on (Calypso noticed it was the same shade of red as a lot of his shirts seemed to be. And it was also rather snugly fit, definitely not a bad sight, she thought before she had time to stop herself) and took his bags, leaving her alone.

“See you,” she said quietly when the door was already closed.

Once sure that Leo was far enough and not coming back, Calypso leaned her back against the wall of her room, sliding down into a sitting position on the floor. Throwing her head back, she groaned at herself. She had thought that the small falling out they had had because of the Percy incident might have affected her feelings towards Leo, but it seemed to become clearer and clearer every day that wasn’t the case. Even if she had admitted to Hazel and Annabeth that those feelings were not quite flatmate like, it was a whole different thing to really come to terms with that fact. She was falling quite hard.

The more she thought about it, the more she freaked out. Her relationships before one faithful day during her teenage years had failed badly (and that was over 5 years ago anyway) and the online dating she had done afterwards… Well, now that Calypso thought about it, only the conversation with Percy had seemed to be going somewhere. All the people she had cared about had left her and never come back. That, along with the fact that she had spent a lot of time alone in the past, had left her scared of relationships and ruined her self esteem, making her think that she simply wasn’t good enough. If Leo left too… she wasn’t sure how she’d handle that. Not to even mention, her dad was still probably looking for her and getting Leo mixed into that would be very dangerous for him. No matter what Annabeth said about wanting to help.

Biting her lip, she decided there was only one option. No matter what she felt, she should try to treat Leo just like any of her friends and conceal her true feelings. Having Leo in her life just as a flatmate was way better than not having him in it at all. When she remembered her friends’ hints that perhaps Leo himself wasn’t as indifferent to her as he probably should be, she suddenly felt like crying. In different circumstances… maybe they could be happy together, go on dates, hold hands… Now she would inevitably have to let him go when someone else would realize that Leo was a great person worth dating.

Calypso didn’t know how long she had been sitting there, and she also hadn’t noticed that there were tears running down her cheeks. She didn’t snap out of her daze until she heard the front door clunking again, this time indicating that Leo had already returned.

“Please just ignore me…” Calypso ranted in her head, but no luck. She heard steps from outside her room, stopping right in front of it. Swiping her wet cheeks quickly into her hands, she stood up from the floor just in time for Leo to knock on her door. Calypso didn’t really want to open it when she was in that emotional state but she knew that not answering would raise even more questions. Her messy looks she could always try to shrug off as a ‘bad day’, she decided.

“Yeah?” she asked weakly, opening the door to reveal her flatmate with that stupid trademark grin of his on his face. He seemed pretty happy about something he had or was about to do. The late autumn wind had made his curly hair even messier than usual and his cheeks were red from the cold weather and the exercise but his eyes were sparkling excitedly, like he couldn’t wait to show her something. He started: “I went to the hardware store and…” He quickly stopped when he noticed Calypso’s expression and puffy eyes. His happiness immediately melted away. “Hey, what’s wrong? Have you been crying?”

“It’s been a rough day,” Calypso sighed, looking down. “Don’t worry, I was just being overwhelmed by the loads of uni work before the exam season. And like I told you before, I need a job… But… it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Alright, if you’re sure…” Leo narrowed his eyes slightly, probably sensing that she wasn’t telling him the entire truth. “But yeah, I was gonna give you something. Hope it cheers you up a bit. He handed her a tiny packet of what seemed like flower seeds but before Calypso had time to read the text on it, he started explaining.

“So, I was gonna tell you that I went to the hardware store to buy me some supplies, and you know how they sell all kinds of seeds there as well? Well, I just happened to notice these while waiting for my turn to pay for my stuff and I just randomly decided to buy them.”

“But… why?” Calypso asked, finally looking at Leo directly.

“Um…” He started rubbing the back of his neck. “Remember when Festus jumped on your desk and broke it? There was a plant on it too… and I never replaced it. When I saw those,” he nodded towards the packet Calypso was holding, “I remembered that the plant looked like that… At least I think it did… I’m no good with that kind of stuff… But I know you care about your plants… so I thought it’d be only fair if I got you those. I know it’s not gonna be the exact same one you had, but…”

Leo didn’t manage to finish his sentence because Calypso couldn’t contain her feelings anymore. She closed the space between them and hugged him even tighter than the time they had had a game night with Jason and Piper. No one had gotten anything for her in years, and even if the seed bags didn’t cost much, it was the thought that mattered way more to her. She had never expected him to remember such a detail from several months ago when they hadn’t even been friends, but apparently he did.

“Uh, Cal, some air would be nice,” Leo said jokingly when it started seeming she didn’t even want to let him go. He didn’t attempt to break the hug, though, instead gently stroking her back. “Wow, Sunshine,” he said in an attempt to lighten the mood, “You’d think I bought you a house based on your reaction.”

Calypso raised her head from his shoulder, giving him a half hearted glare as she broke the hug.

“I’m not allowed to be thankful for a gift? You don’t know… You don’t understand…”

“Understand what?” Leo raised his eyebrows.

Calypso took a deep breath before answering. “I haven’t gotten gifts from anyone since I turned 16. And even then it was just… uh, never mind. The point is that I’m not used to such nice gestures… And I didn’t think you’d remember… It was my favorite plant. So excuse me if I’m feeling a bit emotional because your gift was more thoughtful than you probably realized.”

“OK, sorry,” Leo apologized quickly. “If you’re not used to nice gestures, I’m not used to displays of affection so I got a bit surprised, that’s all… Well, either way, I’m glad I got you something you care about.”

Calypso’s expression softened again. “Yeah. Thank you. I’m sure they will look pretty.”

Suddenly Calypso realized she was feeling a little dizzy, not sure if from the crying or from the smell of the mechanic oil she had just smelled on Leo’s shirt as she had hugged him. Sitting down on her bed, she leaned her face into her hands.

“Um, are you really OK?” Leo asked. “I know it’s not any of my business, but… if I can help you somehow, let me know.”

After a while, Calypso looked up from her hands, having half expected Leo to leave already. “If you happen to know anyone who’d be willing to hire an inexperienced, uneducated young woman, sure, be my guest,” she muttered.

“Hey.” Leo sat down next to Calypso on her bed, nudging her arm slightly. “Where’s the Calypso who has told me to fight my fear? I’m sure there are plenty of people out there who’d be willing to hire you if they knew how talented you are.”

“Wait… what?” Calypso wasn’t sure if she had heard right. Even if they had been friendly towards each other for a while now, she didn’t remember Leo complimenting her like that before. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true!” Leo exclaimed, his eyes gleaming fiercely the same way Calypso had seen a couple of times earlier. “You are a talented person and even I can see that. You can draw and paint – I bet you’d do way better blueprints for machines than I do. To be honest, I’d probably hire you to do that if I could. You create a lot of things with your own hands – like that one dress you wore the other day, right? Like, OK, I wear overalls all the time so you can take my opinion with a grain of salt, but I thought it looked neat.”

“But…”

“But there are other things as well,” Leo continued persistently. “You know a lot and you’re always working on something – if not something university related, you take care of your plants or bake or something like that – and I think under that hard cover of yours you’re actually a super caring person. I dunno, those are things that at least I value. But maybe I’m the weird one here.” He rolled his eyes as if everything he had just said had been very obvious.

“Leo…” Calypso just stared at him with wide eyes, not finding the right words. She hadn’t been emotionally prepared for Leo showering her with compliments. If her cheeks had felt warm earlier, they were definitely burning now, and her eyes felt weird too… like she was going to cry again. “I…”

“Shhh. Crying doesn’t suit you, Sunshine. Luckily Uncle Leo is good at bad jokes that make the ladies laugh. How about this: What do you give to a sick lemon? Or… why didn't the astronaut come home to his wife?”

“Leonidas,” Calypso repeated but this time she did it with an annoyed groan. That was apparently what Leo had wished, though, because he grinned at her in return.

“Alright, I won’t finish that one!” he raised his hands up. “But it did work because there’s still some spice left in you. That’s what I wanted to see.”

“You’re the only person I know who can literally go from 100 to 0 when trying to cheer someone up,” Calypso said, but her mouth twitched. “But thanks. As much as I hate to admit it, I think it might have worked. For your information,” she added unexpectedly, “you give lemon aid to a sick lemon and the astronaut needed his space.”

“I think my job here is done,” Leo said approvingly, taking one step closer to her. Calypso had seen his brown eyes sparkling when he was happy and burning when he was mad but now she thought they seemed soft and warm, unlike she had seen before. And her heart skipped a beat when she registered that the reason for the warmth might have been… she herself. He looked at her right in the eyes and brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear before his fingers moved to her face. He brushed some of the wetness off with his thumb and for one, short second Calypso thought that he also wanted to do something else… touch her jaw, her lips… But that moment ended fast when he cleared his throat and pulled his hand away. One, tiny part of Calypso’s brain yelled: “no!” while the rational part tried to be relieved.

“Um… You had something there…” Leo tried to brush his previous actions off. “Anyway. Like I said I have no doubt someone wouldn’t hire you. But now that I think of it, I remember hearing from my moms that one of their friends is looking for a holiday helper at her flower shop that is quite near Waystation. The holidays are always a busy time there and the owner’s daughter, who has usually been the one helping, has moved away, so they could really use an extra hand.”

“A flower shop?” Calypso asked, hope starting to flicker in her eyes. “Do you think they may have a lot of applicants?”

“Who knows.” Leo shrugged. “I think it might be a pretty popular place… but you can’t win if you don’t try, huh?”

“Yeah. You’re right,” Calypso agreed. “Do you know how I can contact the place?”

“Hold on for a moment. I can call Emmie and ask,” Leo said and left Calypso alone in her room, baffled by what had just happened but also a bit hopeful. Maybe at least something would turn out right even if her social life would probably continue to be a mess.

A few minutes later Leo returned with a piece of paper in his hands and a satisfied expression on his face. It told Calypso that he had managed to get the number.

“Here you go, Sunshine! Hope you’ll still remember me and how I helped you when you become rich and famous.” He winked.

“I know I’ve told you this before but you really are a weirdo,” Calypso shot back but took the piece of paper gratefully. She excused herself to make a phone call and managed to get a hold of the owner of the flower shop who suggested a meeting for the next day. After finishing the phone call, Calypso searched for Leo who had withdrawn into the living room to watch a movie.

“So… I’m going to have an interview with the owner tomorrow,” she told him. “Keep your thumbs up that it will go fine. I’m kind of nervous, to be honest.”

“I’d keep even my big toes up if needed but I think you’re gonna do great,” Leo noted. “For reals. Have some faith.”

“Easier said than done,” Calypso sighed. “You probably understand.”

“I… yeah,” Leo admitted, thinking about one moment only about a week earlier when he had felt like nothing would work out. “But for what it’s worth, there are people who do support you.”

“You too?” Calypso asked carefully even though she was a bit scared of his answer.

“Yeah, me included.” Leo nodded.

“Listen, Leo… Thanks… for everything you’ve done for me today. Not just the seeds and the phone number, the emotional support too. It really helped.”

She surprised even herself by leaning closer to Leo and giving him a quick peck on his cheek. He went completely speechless and just rubbed the spot on his cheek Calypso had kissed absentmindedly as Calypso waited for him to say something.

“Uhh… you… you’re welcome?” he finally stuttered when Calypso had already started thinking she had crossed some line with the cheek kiss and they were back on square one.

“I should probably go back to do some research…” she said. “I’ve had a hard time focusing on anything lately but I’m feeling better now so hopefully I will manage to make some progress with some assignments. Have fun with your movie!” She attempted to sound cheerful even though the two sides of her brain were having an intense battle in that moment. One said: ‘why don’t you just stay with him? The assignment can wait!” while the other side wanted to run from that situation before Calypso did something she would regret.

“Alright… Thanks. And good luck with that!” Leo said. Calypso was convinced that she just imagined it but to her he had seemed just a bit disappointed that she hadn’t joined him. When she was back in her room, she exhaled sharply. So much for that ‘being just friends’. She would really have to start working harder on that before someone got hurt.

[trumantomlinson]

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[tsipasce]

Same Difference, ch.01

Summary: When Chronostasis is almost crushed by a falling beam, a passerby, Nanami, saves him. In an instant, she disassembles and reassembles it into harmless bits of metal. There are no other witnesses, but after she leaves, he makes an urgent call. "Overhaul, we need to talk. Now."

A/N: As you can see, I am terrible at summaries, but this is a multichapter fic that began as a plain reader insert but morphed into a beast all its own. Anybutts, I’ll be putting out chapters every week because Overhaul is a dick, but I just can’t help myself. Let me know what y’all think~

Chapter links:  02

AO3 | Fanfic

It was a picturesque late summer day, the sun was shining brighter than All Might’s smile and the clouds were fluffier than Fat Gum— Man I should really.. not get into poetry. That was terrible. Nanami thought to herself as she began daydreaming. She’d been cooped up in her office for what felt like ages and the temptation to escape from her office was palpable. She’d call it an escape, but in her defense, she’d chipped away rather efficiently at her mountain of paperwork and her last appointment of the day wasn’t for another couple hours. Before the mental argument for frolicking over to the nearby café could be made, she’d already grabbed her keys and purse and was out the door of her office. Walking down the hall, she made small talk and greeted her colleagues and coworkers in passing. It had only been a year and a half since graduating, but she was confident that hearing her name with Dr. in front of it would never get old.  

“Well look who decided to leave their cave today…” a distant voice called from behind. The figure coming towards her was waving a bit too enthusiastically for someone who’d just worked 12 hours straight.

“ Ha. Ha. How very original ~” she replied dryly.

He stopped at a comfortable distance in front of her and smiled. Forgetting how nice it was to see a friendly face after being cooped up in her office, she reflexively returned a tired smile of her own.

Dr. Tanaka was one of those colleagues who was just cool enough to be considered an actual friend outside of work and after her own, long shift she could use a casual chat with a friend.

“Headed out for a break?” He continued.

“Finally, yes. It’s just too nice outside and mama needs a sugar rush. Want to come with?”

“No thanks, I think I’m going to finish my rounds and head home, but if you’re looking for sugar, I’d avoid the usual spot. Some petty criminals were caught there earlier so it’s cordoned off for the rest of the day.”

“Really?” She sighed, annoyed at the inconvenience.

“Yes, really. But, there is a place I passed by this morning that had one of the best mochas I’ve had in a while, you should try it out and let me know what you think.” He replied seeing her perk up at the mention of anything related to chocolate.

“Well, I’m down to do a little coffee shop research,” she replied having already made her order in her head.” I’ll give it a try.”

“There’s a good sport. What’s the worst that could happen? Here’s the address” he texted her the location and an adorable café with way too many sweets popped up—Tanaka was definitely a good friend.

Mentally already at the café, she said her goodbyes and headed out the door, determined to seize what was left of the day and some pastries.

 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 On her way, Nanami decided to take the scenic route. It was about the same distance as her usual spot, just in a different direction. Having already mentally noted the directions, she took the opportunity to really appreciate what she’d been missing. All the sounds and sights of a peaceful Friday afternoon. People walking about on errands, the sound of kids playing in the park nearby, and the smell of something amazing letting her know she was headed in the right direction. A creaking noise broke her out of her reverie and she looked up to see a load of large steel beams being moved by a crane. It seemed way too risky to be moving such large materials in a place that densely populated, but she figured they had to build it somehow and continued on her journey.

After another block she turned the corner, spotting her destination. Walking in, she was thankful the atmosphere matched the photos and had already planned on thanking Tanaka for such a solid recommendation. The barista actually looked like she was enjoying her job and cheerily informed her that the pastry she’d picked was baked fresh every day in-house to complement their homemade syrups. Could this day get any better?

While waiting for her order, Nanami got a text that her appointment needed to come in earlier, and she’d need to return to the office soon. Eh, that’s alright, I’ll still have 30 minutes to enjoy the food on the walk back. The barista called her name and she hurriedly picked up her order, assuring them she’d be back again.

One foot already in another daydream, she leisurely made the walk back to the hospital, taking in the sights. The people eating in the bistro, the smell of flowers in the local shop, the sound of the wires creaking and buckling above the strange man in the alley… Hold up.

Oh shit. Nanami thought to herself, already exasperated.

As much as people called doctors heroes, she wasn’t that type of hero. Her quirk just wasn’t meant for that kind of work. However, judging by how precariously the beam was dangling above his head, she thought she might need to reconsider. Before she could finish her internal conflict, her feet were moving. If I could just get in range to yell at him, he might be able to get out of the way in time. Maybe. Did she really want to take that gamble with a stranger’s life though? She knew the answer before it was asked, pressing forward towards the site.

He was across the street and she hopped over the guard rails, thanking her lucky stars she took a passing interest in parkour that one year in college. Just as she cleared the rail, the cord holding the beam snapped. Her heart sunk, knowing what she’d have to do. Unless he had a speed quirk, she was his only chance. She and her quirk...

Revamp? No, that sounds lame. Renovate? Okay well now I just sound like I have some weird home improvement power—but enough of that. Focus, girl.

He heard the beam falling and glanced upwards, his expression making it clear that he knew it was too late to use whatever quirk he had to get out of it. Right before the look of acceptance could settle onto his face, she jumped beside him, her hand stretched upwards towards the beam. Her fingertip and the metal made contact for a split second and then… “clink”. A thousand more tiny clinking noises followed soon after. She’d done it.

Though disassembling the beam into a thousand tiny nuts wasn’t amazing per se, it beat turning it into a plume of toxic dust for passerby’s to inhale or disassembling the beam into two and risking the halves falling onto another street or a nearby building. Judging by the very alive man next to her, she’d say she did a pretty good job for a not-hero.

It seemed as if the alley was closed off enough that thankfully no one else on the street had noticed the commotion, and the construction workers would take a few minutes to get down to where they assumed the beam would have landed. Now came the hard part: Making sure no one knew exactly what happened and that I was ever here.

Nanami was very secretive of her quirk. She used it sparingly to help people and perform everyday tasks with a bit of convenience, but deep down she knew it had the potential to be something else. She’d learned the hard way to keep it in check and avoided overindulging. Only her parents and her closest friends knew what it was and even then, she did her best to downplay it. Especially after the incident.

She snapped out of her inner monologue to see a very shocked man standing next to her, staring at her as if he’d seen something that was both extraordinary, yet familiar. He was a little taller than her but seemed close to her in age. He was wearing what appeared to be a stark white raincoat and had distinctive, pointy hair—not just pointy, she noted, there’s whole arrows at the end. Quirks really produce some interesting phenotypes…

Remembering that she needed to remedy the situation and get back to the office as soon as humanly possible, she broke the silence.

“Uhhhm, hi. Are you alright?” she began nervously.

“How did you ...” He still looked like he had seen a ghost, but she needed this interaction to end before the construction workers came and started asking questions.

“Look, I know this must be a bit jarring, but I really need to go. Will you be alright until someone else arrives?” She quickly realized being both direct and smooth was more difficult than she’d imagined.

An emotion she couldn’t put a name to flashed across his face and he recomposed himself.

“Could I at least know your name to thank you?” He asked innocently.

“Oh no, you don’t have to thank me. But if you really want to—just do me a solid and promise me you’ll keep this between the two of us, please?” She said antsy and almost pleading, knowing the workers and passerby’s curious about the missing giant beam and metal rain could come by at any second.

He paused and she could tell he wanted to say more but didn’t. “Of course, thank you for you hel—”

With the verbal confirmation that her secret was seemingly safe, she ran like the wind out of the vicinity and back to the safety of her office. After recollecting herself, she realized her treats had gotten lost in the melee and her pockets were now full of various nuts and bolts. No wonder why it was so hard to run... she thought to herself, emptying out 10-15lbs of bolts from her coat pockets.  Looks like I won’t need to go to the hardware store for a while…

She quickly shrugged it off and walked into her appointment, already plotting to do nothing but sip some wine at home and chastise herself for not being more discreet about using her quirk.

 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 As Chronostasis was inspecting the sight of the Hassakai’s latest development, he had lost himself completely in thought. By the time he realized his error he was sure it was too late. He had never used his quirk on an object that large and in that moment of hesitation he feared the worst. Then in an instant, a woman stood beside him under the falling beam and did what he’d only seen one other person do before: Overhaul. With a single touch she disassembled the object and reformed it into something else. Perhaps it was a fluke, he considered, but if so, why did she seem so desperate to keep it a secret? As she bolted before he could finish his sentence, he followed her silently a few blocks before she entered a nearby hospital.

After reconfirming with himself what he’d seen, he made a prompt call, forgoing the usual formality in his calm urgency.

“We need to talk. Now.”

[paladin-lynx]

SquipJere Week 2020, Day 1: Retro

@squipjerebmc’s SquipJere Week 2020 Day 1: Retro

Ships Involved: The SQUIP x Jeremy Heere (Technical Difficulties/Squipemy/Squeremy/JereSquip/SquipJere)

Setting: Canonverse, set in the time interval between “Loser Geek Whatever” and “Halloween”.

Trigger/Content Warnings: Non-graphic mentions of masturbation; electric shocks

Author’s Notes: Happy SquipJere Week! I meant to get these done like a month ago so I could pre-plan and not rush, but my writing motivation has been kinda low lately. But I’m still gonna try my best to get a piece out for each day! Some of these might be loosely connected – I haven’t decided yet. But I hope you enjoy!

Sometimes, teenage boys needed an escape from the crazy, loud world around them.

Jeremiah Heere had always had three main methods of just forgetting about his problems for a little while: jerking off, talking to Michael, or playing video games.

But considering with the introduction of a supercomputer into his brain the first two options weren’t actually options anymore, he had to settle for the third.

It wasn’t like Jeremy had any shortage of games to play, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t play them without a Player Two – although normally he was the Player Two. But there was definitely something bittersweet about not being able to call up his long-time friend and lose themselves together in the mindless images on the TV screen.

But it was for the best, Jeremy reminded himself. When he reunited with Michael, he’d be better. He’d be cooler. And he could potentially help his friend move up from just being the weirdo loser headphones kid at school. But for now, he needed to break the chains in order to upgrade.

So for now, to try and stave off the nerves that often decided to just rise up out of nowhere – honestly, why was the human brain so stupid sometimes? Jeremy could see why his SQUIP often got frustrated with him – he flopped back onto his bed and booted up his trusty old Game Boy Color. He was still surprised it had survived this long, but unlike other things in his life, Jeremy was actually quite careful when it came to tending to his video games and their respective consoles. Maybe he’d only started being so careful after an unfortunate accident involving a slushie and Michael’s Dreamcast, but even so – now he was careful.

He quickly forgot that anything outside of his game existed, eyes glued to the screen as he tapped away at the controls. All was peaceful for a good while before he felt a familiar buzz at the back of his head and a certain Keanu Reeves lookalike appeared standing over him, frowning thoughtfully.

“Out of all of your video game systems, you chose to play that one?”

Jeremy’s gaze swiveled over to the SQUIP. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s so…” The SQUIP hummed, and Jeremy could all but feel it searching for the right word to use. “…retro.”

“…Is that a bad thing?”

The SQUIP tutted at him. “Technology evolves so quickly nowadays. You may be looked down upon if you don’t keep up with it, or if you are still attached to the older, menial versions of things.”

Jeremy’s brow furrowed. “…Is that part of why Mic—” He caught himself. He wasn’t supposed to bring a certain someone up. “…uh, why people think I’m so weird?”

“A small part.” The SQUIP offered him a sympathetic smile, although Jeremy was pretty sure the look in the SQUIP’s eyes was more amused than anything else. “You do get quite a few of your odder interests from Michael. It’s another reason why we needed to get you away from him. We’re modernizing everything about you, from your fashion sense to your hobbies.”

Jeremy sat up more on the bed, setting the Game Boy aside for the time being. As argumentative as he could sometimes be with his SQUIP, he was nothing if not eager to learn and improve. It was why he asked so many questions. “But even Rich plays video games, and he’s considered cool.”

“Ah.” The SQUIP raised a finger. “But he plays recent games. I don’t believe Rich will use a system if it is more than a few years old, and he invests his money to buy new consoles as soon as they come out. Of course, he prefers ‘more mature’ systems like the Xbox, but that’s personal preference. You having an affinity for Nintendo is harmless, but it would be better for you to pick, say, the Switch over…” He waved over at the Game Boy with a slight grimace. “…that.”

Jeremy frowned, peeking down at his innocent Game Boy before looking up at the SQUIP again. “But…does it matter if I’m only playing the older stuff by myself? It isn’t like anyone will know.”

The SQUIP shook its head. “Everything you do, whether alone or with company, will somehow reflect back on you. Besides, if you have a girl in here one day, what would she think? What if Brooke ends up coming over?”

“I don’t think Brooke would care…”

The SQUIP sighed, pinching the bridge of its nose. “You’re awfully intent on this, dear. These ‘retro’ pastimes of yours are still a consequence of your proximity to Michael. If you’re truly cutting him out, then you have to give up these things, too.”

Jeremy’s cheeks warmed indignantly. “I like them for myself, not just because of him!”

The SQUIP huffed, turning its gaze unto the Game Boy, looking down at it as if it were a bug it was getting ready to squish under its sleek digitized boots. “I don’t see the appeal in such outdated hardware.”

Jeremy picked up the Game Boy and held it against his chest like he was trying to protect it from the SQUIP’s scrutiny. “Clearly you understand some appeal to older things, considering that when I first got you, you looked like Keanu from Bill & Ted.”

The SQUIP narrowed its eyes. “Only my face. The rest of me was more advanced. I tailored my aesthetics so that I’d look like someone you’d pay attention to. Someone you’d find intriguing.” It smirked slightly. “Dare I say, attractive.”

Jeremy’s face warmed again and he sputtered for a moment. “M-my point is that just because I like vintage stuff in the comfort of my own home doesn’t mean I can’t be cool!”

“I’ll say again, I can’t comprehend your attachment to such old technology. The games from those consoles absolutely pale in comparison to anything made now.”

Jeremy shrugged. “It isn’t necessarily about them being good. It’s the nostalgia of it. AotD has been out for years but w—I never get tired of it.”

The SQUIP hummed, once again looking at the Game Boy now pressed against Jeremy’s chest. “What is it that you’re even playing?” Jeremy opened his mouth to answer, but the SQUIP rolled its eyes before he could even say anything. “Hamtaro, Jeremy? Really?”

“Oh, shove off! I told you, it’s for the nostalgia!” Jeremy defended. He realized he’d raised his voice and braced himself for a shock, but all he got was a tingle of static rushing down his spine, making him shiver and blush again. He lay back down, electing to ignore his SQUIP and return to his game of, yes, Hamtaro.

He could still see the SQUIP’s tall frame out of the corner of his eye, watching, tilting its head to the side in that almost endearing way that meant it was analyzing something. But when it didn’t do anything else, Jeremy just focused on the screen before him, clicking at the controls once more.

“Up up down down left right A.”

Jeremy yipped softly as pain flared in the back of his head and he moved one hand to immediately clutch at the tender spot. He looked over to the SQUIP with wide eyes, about to demand what the hell it was doing, only to blink when he realized it was no longer standing there.

“What the fuck?” he mumbled, brow creasing before he slowly turned back to his Game Boy. However, as he pressed one of the buttons, the screen fizzled and the handheld became dangerously hot in his hands, making him gasp and drop it onto the covers beneath him. “Oh God, what did you do?”

Finally, though, the screen returned, except instead of the white-and-orange sprite for Hamtaro, instead the screen was taken over by a different pixelated hamster. This one was jet black save for the white on its muzzle, paws, tail, and tips of its ears, and its eyes were a striking, very familiar bright blue. Jeremy blinked, slowly picking up the Game Boy again and staring at the screen as the black hamster blinked a few times and looked around itself in confusion before it suddenly appeared very disgruntled.

“This is not what I intended to happen,” a text box appeared as the hamster peered up at Jeremy with those big blue eyes. Jeremy’s own widened.

“SQUIP?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Wh—How did you—” Jeremy stumbled over his own words, staring at the sprite. “You’re a Ham-Ham.”

The hamster scowled at him – or at least, Jeremy assumed it was a scowl. It only had so many bits to work with to get its point across. “I suppose I am. I can still shock you, so speak carefully, love.”

Jeremy couldn’t help cracking a tiny smile, shaking his head and leaning back as he continued to watch the SQUIP’s new form. “What the hell were you trying to do?”

The SQUIP gave a shrug, front paws raising in emphasis. “I was trying to better understand your interest in the Game Boy Color. As well as in this game. I suppose I h—”

The text cut out there and Jeremy could all but feel the SQUIP sighing as it waited for Jeremy to finish reading before it deleted the text and continued: “I suppose I had a miscalculation about what would happen when I synced with it.”

Jeremy laughed. “I think this old-school tech is trying to spite you for insulting it.” He grinned. “You look kinda cute like that. And if you’re still in my head, can’t you, y’know, just talk to me there instead of through text boxes?”

The hamster blinked, and it was obvious the SQUIP had been so busy processing the change that it hadn’t considered that as an option, but before Jeremy could poke more fun, he felt another fizzle at the back of his head. The Game Boy’s screen had another freak-out before the game returned to normal with Hamtaro once again in his proper place within the game. Soon enough, the SQUIP reappeared beside the bed, brushing off its clothes as if it had just walked through a hall of cobwebs.

“Have a fun trip?” Jeremy teased, not even minding the warning static on his back.

The SQUIP rolled its eyes, crossing its arms. “I suppose the console is…endearingly antiquated.”

“Yeah, see? That’s the whole point of having vintage stuff!” Jeremy smiled and returned to his game, already missing the black-and-white sprite that had previously been there, as much as he adored the irreplaceable Hamtaro. “Could you change your form to look like a hamster? You really did look cute.”

The SQUIP sighed, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed and watch Jeremy play with almost timid curiosity. “…Perhaps I’ll consider it, if you behave.”