#the most anyone else has to do on any given day is two jobs

[megatraven]

man sometimes I really really do wish that I could be appreciated by my boss(es) because quite frankly having me do like 4 separate jobs on any day we’re shortstaffed is ridiculous

[shierajones]

Rise of Red

So I’m watching this movie and doing Simone Biles levels of mental gymnastics to make this all connect to the original story and have the plot holes fill in. Here are my attempts at cohension from the beginning:

SPOILERS!!!!

It’s been 30 years since Auradon was founded.

The math isn’t mathing but sure, let’s say after D3, everyone went on adventures, Ben and Mal got married and they all took time to mature and grow in their roles. As the years have passed, they recognize what a terrible job Beast did as a leader and they want to increase trade and foreign relations with other countries.

Uma says that Ben and Mal put her in charge of everything while they (along with Evie and Jay) are making alliances with other countries.

Of course! Because Beast sucks as a leader so they don’t trust him to take back over even if only temporarily. Gil and Harry (and most of the pirates we’ve seen) are missing from Uma’s crew, because she asked them to help Ben and Mal on their journey. Hook is serving as Captain in Uma’s absence and Jay and Gil have grown very close since traveling Auradon together through the years so it makes sense.

Chad is Cinderella and Charming’s son, but Chloe will one day be queen of Cinderellasburg.

Cinderella and Charming had fertility issues at first and Chad is adopted. Chloe is their miracle baby and, though younger, is the true-born heir to the throne. They love and support Chad in all things and have pampered him his whole life. Given the struggles they had to conceive, they don’t regret showering Chad with love but they recognize he’s a bit spoiled and not fit to be king one day.

The future shows Red and the Queen of Hearts ruling on the throne together. I guess we’re assuming since she’s black and red it means she’s evil.

We never actually see that this future is prevented. The ultimate endgame may still be the same, that Red rules with her mother. I’m going to say, this future was not prevented, just that the Queen of Hearts turn to evil was delayed.

In the past, many of the heroes and villains that we know are in high school together.

Many but not all. This is just a blip in their histories and the stories to come in the future are still canon. We don’t actually see any of the villain/hero pairs (Maleficent & Aurora) (Hook & Peter Pan) (Hades & Hercules) so outside of two couples being established (Jasmine and Aladdin in love and Ella and Charming flirtation/mutual pining) there’s nothing that makes some of the stories automatically false. I’d say some of the events in high school just blacken their hearts more and turn them into real villains.

Bridget and Ella’s personalities seem to be switched (with a more evil skew on Bridget’s end as an adult). This one is long.

Ella was Bridget’s only friend and because she was grounded, she wasn’t supposed to be able to make it to the Castlecoming. She cancels on Bridget and leaves her alone. However, Fairy Godmother is also friends with Ella and has been practicing her magic more and is now in possession of a powerful spellbook (more on that later). She wants a way to help her and is finally successful casting an enchantment that gets Cinderella to the dance for a short time. When her curfew hits, the spell will be reversed and send her home. When she gets to the dance, instead of finding Bridget, she gets caught up in Charming and after the song playing changes to So This is Love, they share their first dance. The two are so engrossed in each other and discovering their feelings are mutual that she doesn’t notice anyone or anything else. However, Bridget sees her and is excited at first until she realizes Ella isn’t seeking her out. She’s stuck on Charming. The song playing when Ella walked in is Shuffle of Love and Bridget is trying to focus but makes a mistake. She turns again to Ella to see if she’ll jump in and help but she’s still too distracted by Charming. Left heartbroken she moves and just watches them on the dance floor while staying isolated on the sidelines. She tries to ignore her feelings because she should be happy for Ella but she can’t stop crying a little. She should’ve been there for her. Isn’t that what friends are for? Then, Uliana comes to talk to her and seemingly comfort her. For a second, she thinks she’s coming around to be her friend. She doesn’t think twice when she offers her a cupcake. Suddenly she’s transformed to a monster and everyone around her starts laughing. Ella and Charming’s attention is finally broken from each other and they turn to see what’s going on. Upon seeing this monster, they laugh too thinking it’s just a prank—with no idea who the monster is. But Bridget’s last shred of hope is broken seeing her only friend laugh at her pain after ignoring her the whole night. When Ella finally realizes who it is, she tries to run after her and loses her shoe. She almost catches her to comfort her but then is whisked away by Fay’s spell and finds herself back at, sitting in the barn. Ella, still grounded is left feeling a mixture of joy, love, pain and regret from the events of the night. She can’t contact Bridget or see her until school starts again on Monday. By Monday it’s too late. Bridget, having spent the weekend with no one to talk to or comfort her decides Love Ain’t It and takes on a new mantra for her life. She looks into the Looking Glass and sees her evil future with her daughter. Fine, if that’s what she becomes, why try? At school, Ella tries to apologize and beg for forgiveness but it’s too late. She tries to tell her how her kindness made her strong, how she’s always respected that about her and loves her like a sister but it’s not enough. She tries to show her with her actions. She takes on the persona Bridget always had because it was good, it was kind, it was true strength. She doesn’t want to suffer for one mistake and doesn’t want Bridget to allow that night to define her, but again, it’s too late. Bridget already knows how this story ends and it’s not with love and friendship. She decides to let the fear and power be her friend and becomes the worst bully they’ve ever seen.

Uliana and her crew were troublemakers so would never have been able to open the spellbook and prank Bridget.

Before Red and Chloe showed up, Uliana and her crew were going to lure someone else in to get the book. Fay! They manipulated her with fear and hope—the promise that she could use the Sorcerer’s book when they were done to perfect her magic. So she did it, just like her daughter tried to take the wand in D1.

Merlin just lets Red and Chloe into school, partners them with their mothers “coincidentally” and sees the open window after the break in but doesn’t try to find out who else was able to escape.

He’s aware that Red and Chloe are time travelers and knows there’s a reason to change the timeline as they have. He knows what’s to come with Beast banning magic and shipping off the villains. He wants to change that story too and these girls are the catalysts. This change in history is going to open the doors for magic to be welcomed back to Auradon in the future as they return and have to fix what they’ve changed.

[plummy-squish]

I just finished the book Cultish: The Language of Fanaticism by Amanda Montell. It’s about the language that cults will use to essentially brain wash their members (not in the typical brainwash way that you think about). It’s “the technical terms, the redefined words, the shorthand, the clichés, the euphemisms, logical distortions, and so on set members apart from and above their pedestrian neighbors, families, and coworkers". Montell does not necessarily view "cultish" – the "language" she identifies as the set of linguistic tricks cult leaders use to coerce and manipulate members – negatively, but she believes that people should at least be able to recognize it.”

Anyways fucked me up! In the past two days I’m seeing it everywhere, in marketing, in the slogans in my job, in popular work out groups, cliche phrases we all say…… and then i watched the latest episode of severance! I don’t think I’ll watch this show, and more specifically Mr Milchick and other unsevered employees the same.

In this last episode i wanna talk about that acronym ORTBO that they introduced because it’s the most obvious tactic that they used.

“Thought terminating clichés squash independent thinking” -Amanda montell

Episode 4 Spoilers ahead:

O- outdoor

R-retreat

T- team

B- building

O- occurrence

Wtf when have you ever heard this weirdly stated acronym? Well the innies do all the time! So this is normal for them to hear, i mean they are from the MDR department! Macrodata refinement, even with that longer version of the word it still doesn’t feel like a full explanation as to what their job does. But to them because they are introduced to it and taught to not question their bosses for fear of punishment and so they just go with it. Which now mdr has become part of their everyday vocabulary they don’t even question the meaning.

Cut to this episode, our innies are unconesntionally ripped out of their regular office space and put into this isolating harsh environment phrased as a reward. They are told they have been good enough to earn this trip and give it a title, the ORTBO, and they are very lucky to be experiencing this.

Later when they have been walking for a lot time, feeling lost and hungry are a considering eating a literal frozen dead seal because this “reward” isn’t feeling like a reward. Dylan reminds them, they are on an ORTBO and he repeats its vague meaning trying to convince them not to doubt the company. Almost trying to convince himself as well. This is the same Dylan that’s been getting fed incentives of seeing his family on the side and have been told he’s extra special. He has more to loose than anyone else right now and by repeating it is trying to stop everyone from doubting. Aka the orbto is working.

“Creating special language to influence people’s behavior and beliefs is so effective in part simply because speech is the first thing we’re willing to change about ourselves . . . and also the last thing we let go” -Amanda montell

Cults will make up words and introduce them in this way to make a group of people feel connected. Like they have been let into this new group of special workers allowed out side and given a term phrased as a reward to squash any train of thought leading to doubt or questioning. The further they go on this team building occurrence they will understand the reward.

They also use this new group language to make the group feel superior and anyone on the outside intrigued into what people are talking about. Making learning the language feel connecting with others and like you are understanding the deeper meaning. They feel superior and anyone on the outside feels like they are missing something.

Cross fit does this well! They have new work out terms like dms (delayed muscle soreness) so if a CrossFit gym bro is talking to a regular gym bro and uses the term DMS, the regular gym bro feels dumb for not knowing what this is and not keeping track of it. And is now curious as to what CrossFit has that he is missing before he knows it he’s sucked in. (I bet you they will bring back this term later if they can to alienate other employees in other departments)

Um hello even in the way they advertised this episode is using this tactic! They didn’t give us the meaning or context they gave us the word and now we wanna know what this new acronym is in the next episode.

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Severance universe has literally created a whole new language to keep certain people in the know and others confused. Watch for it!

It’s not always in acronym form; Sometimes it’s a saying, sometimes it’s just a common word given a double meaning to those in the group and out of the group.

Another day another dollar- something we hear all the time to make us just go to work and endure shit we shouldn’t

Doubt your doubts before you doubt your faith- something we would hear all the time growing up as Mormon to stop people from questioning and like it’s bad to have critical thought

Endowment- to people out side Mormonism it means gift people inside it’s a whole secret ritual that you are sworn to secrecy or off yourself before telling another soul

lol my work calls its self a village

Its everywhere! It’s in our marketing! It’s in our gyms! It’s at work! We don’t even notice because it’s working.

“Words are the medium through which belief systems are manufactured, nurtured, and reinforced, their fanaticism fundamentally could not exist without them.”-Amanda Montell

Anyways this book has fucked me up and has made severance even better for me

[loganhowlettshousewife]

lazy mornings and the proposal

animal - bonus headcanons

friendly reminder that i am not a writer, i'm just a girl who loves logan howlett and wanted to write something exploring his animalistic side since i so rarely see it done. my first language is also not english, so please do not be rude when giving me any feedback.

i wanted to let everyone know that even with the epilogue coming out soon and the series being officially over, i'm still not ready to let go of these two. so if you have any ideas or prompts or questions about feral!logan feel free to submit an ask!

warnings: mentions of sex, light sweat kink (oops)

series masterlist │my masterlist

there’s nothing better than a lazy morning with logan, staying in bed long past sunrise, chasing the warmth that can be found in each others arms. it’s rare, these days, now that he’s gotten a job as a lumberjack and has to be up fairly early most mornings for work, making sure to wake you before he leaves, kissing you deeply and reminding you that he loves you. gone are the days where the two of you would stay home together, locked in your own little world with no one to bother you.

he’d wanted - no, he’d needed, really- to get a job. it gave him something to do with his days, a purpose other than stalking your every move, following behind you like a shadow as you went about your day. it’s a distraction, and a welcome one, one that gives him the opportunity to be a more balanced version of himself, to find peace and trust that you aren’t going to disappear if he leaves you out of his sight for more than a few seconds.

he brings home a decent paycheck, much more than you were making by selling the extra produce from your garden. it’s unnecessary, everything you own had once belonged to your grandparents and has long been paid off, but it’s nice to have the extra cash, to be able to go into town with logan and splurge on expensive alcohol for him and gorgeous new dresses for you.

he’s good at what he does, hacking away at wood with his unnatural strength given to him by his mutation. he’s the best at what he does, to the point where you occasionally worry it’s become too obvious that he’s not like the others, but he always comes home safe.

the smell of wood and sweat cling to him like a second skin and you bury your face in his neck, understanding his obsession with doing the same to you, loving the way the smell of him surrounds you, makes you feel like he’s the only thing in the world. maybe it should be gross, he’s exerted himself all day and is covered by the proof of it, but there’s something about it that makes you melt into him every time.

he takes off his muddy shoes and picks you up, ignoring your squeal of protest at the unexpected gesture, smirks when you wrap your legs around his waist. he brings you into your bedroom to take the stress of his day out on your body or into the bathroom where you run your hands over his bare skin and wash away anything that isn’t your loving touch. either way, the tension leaves him the moment he’s returned to you, able to recognise that you’re safe.

you love the life you’ve built, the ease and comfort of it, and yet those lazy mornings, so few and far between, are still your favourite. the days where logan doesn't have to go into work and you push back your daily chores for later because you would much prefer to stay snuggled up in bed, laughing as he kisses your neck and bare shoulders, twinning your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

the night he proposes starts off like any other. he returns home from work to the smell of dinner in the oven, takes you apart under the warm stream of water from the showerhead beating down on your skin, lets you wash away the grime from his body and dig your hands into the tense muscles of his back, massaging away the day’s activities. he melts into you, letting you care for him in a way he’d never let anyone else, and you smile beatifically.

when you exit the shower, it’s to the sound of the oven timer going off, announcing that the dinner you’d prepared for the two of you is ready. you hardly notice when logan doesn’t follow you out of the bathroom and into the kitchen as usual - some days he returns from a long day on the job and refuses to leave your side, on others he needs moments of solitude peppered in to keep the overstimulation at bay.

he stops in your shared bedroom as you plate the food, giving logan double your portion size as usual.

his body requires more energy to function, his healing factor taking a lot out of him. it’s not something logan ever noticed, since he doesn’t bother to worry about his own health most of the time, but you see the way it affects him when he doesn’t eat the way he should. it’s horribly taxing on his body, making his veins protrude from his skin in harsh lines, a reminder that no matter how easy it is to ignore it when looking at his muscular and imposing stature, his body is still starving.

you’ve made it your mission to feed him, and so you narrow your eyes into a glare until he finishes his plate, leaning over afterwards to kiss the annoyance from your lips, muttering praises and thanks that have your skin tingling and face feeling hot. 

he’s healthier now, a layer of fat covering his muscles, a softness to his body that wasn’t there before. it’s something you pride yourself on, the knowledge that you’re taking good care of him.

he doesn’t talk much throughout dinner, though he never does. you tell him about the latest book you’ve started reading, going back and forth on whether or not you’re truly enjoying it, complaining about the characters personalities while raving about the writing style. it makes logan smile, watching you be so passionate.

he gives you a few vague sentences about his day at work when you press him about it. “it’s not that interesting,” he says, the same excuse he gives every day. occasionally, he’ll have some gossip to share about the men he works with, his enhanced hearing allowing him to listen to their conversations without being forced to partake in them, but not today. “would much rather listen to you talk, darlin’.”

with desert in front of you and a peaceful lull in they conversation he takes your hand, kisses the back of it with his slightly chapped lips before getting down on one knee and pulling out the ring he’d bought a few weekends ago while you perused the farmer’s market stalls. it’s not big or flashy, the night is hardly out of the ordinary in any way, but it’s perfect. your eyes prick with tears that you attempt to hold back but fall anyway the moment you blink.

this is what makes yours and logan’s relationship, the understanding that there’s no need to be anything but yourselves, that as long as he’s here promising to love you forever, pleading you to do the same, there’s nothing else that could come close to matching the joy in your heart as you say yes.

taglist: @mystiquesvendetta @raeinyourdreams @babey-fruit-bat @meetmypointlessaddiction @kneelforloki @deaky-with-a-c @hypermarvellove @littlepeanut03 @the-ruler-of-death @aliengutzstuff @misscrissfemmefatale @mynamesstevenwithav @teaganthemorningstar @blackkatzz @leryg0 @fries11 @forksloree @i5uckersblog @dragovegogrimborn @quillycrow @melday0105 @just-a-little-cellist @scorpiosaintt @akasha157-blog @insanesosciopath @eridektbh @trickstergabriel69 @lord-bingus666

[parkerslatte]

Incompatible | Part Two

Eris Vanserra x Fem!Archeron!Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: none.

Summary: Y/N receives word from the Inner Circle that she is to spend a few months in the Autumn Court. Azriel helps her pack and brings her to the High Lord of Autumn.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

Part One | Part Two |

•••

Three days later, Y/N sat in the River House, peacefully enjoying her afternoon. The past three days had given Y/N a sense of peace. Her family and Inner Circle did not crowd her as much as they used to, mostly leaving Y/N alone to her own devices. The only member who graced her presence was Nyx and Y/N couldn’t be happier. The small child napped beside her as she flipped the page of her book, her mind only half paying attention to it. 

The past seventy two hours had been strange for Y/N, she would constantly find her mind drifting to a certain High Lord. His copper hair, his amber eyes, his impeccable clothing. Everything about him caught Y/N’s eye the moment he saw him. But most of all it was his personality. The way his demeanour changed the moment they were alone. The genuine care and concern he had for her made Y/N smile into her book. No matter how the Inner Circle said that Eris was only being kind for his own gain, Y/N knew that his affections were truthful, she felt it.

Three days. He said that in three days time he would find a way to get her out of the house but nothing had happened yet. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking on Y/N’s part. She was only human and Eris was the High Lord of Autumn. Realistically she wouldn’t blame him if he were only playing into her fantasy. But there was still that small glimmer of hope– knowing– that he would show up. 

As Y/N turned the page of her book, the peaceful atmosphere in the room immediately disappeared as Rhys entered the room followed by everyone else. Nyx immediately woke up crying. Rhys and Feyre rushed to his side uttering soft apologies. 

“I can take him to his room,” Azriel offered. 

Rhys nodded and allowed Azriel to pick him up. His shadows swarmed around the small boy in a comforting manner. Azriel swiftly left the room before closing the door behind him. 

“What’s going on?” Y/N asked, eyes darting around the room. 

“A letter came through today from Eris,” Rhys said. 

Y/N perked up. “What did it say?”

“I cannot go into detail but it demands that you spend a few months in the Autumn Court,” Rhys explained.

“Really?” Y/N got to her feet, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. 

Feyre nodded. “But we came to ask if you really wanted to go.”

Y/N frowned. “Why?”

“While Beron was High Lord, the Autumn Court was not a safe space for most, everything the upper class fae did was for power. It has not been too long since Eris killed his father and took over so I do not know how much it has changed,” Rhys explained. 

“But ultimately it is your choice whether you wish to go,” Cassian piped up. 

Y/N frowned. “Why does it sound like you are all trying to scare me away from going?”

“We’re not doing that,” Rhys said. “We are just warning you about what you may encounter. Life was difficult for fae living in the Autumn Court, for a human, it may prove to be more dangerous.”

“I’m sure that if I were in any danger, Eris would help me,” Y/N said. “And even if he wasn’t there to help me, I am sure I would be able to help myself. Despite what most of you may think, I can handle myself. I did any and all jobs on my farm for six years until you all took me from it.”

No one responded.

“I am going to the Autumn Court,” Y/N said her tone was final. “When do I leave?”

“Azriel will take you after you have packed a bag,” Feyre said. 

Y/N nodded. “I will go and pack my things.”

Before anyone had the chance to respond, Y/N left the room. As soon as the door closed, chatter resumed in the room in hushed whispers. Y/N rolled her eyes before walking down the hall to her room. 

“So you decided to go,” Azriel said, appearing from the shadows. 

“Yes,” Y/N replied without looking at him. 

“And there’s nothing I can do to convince you not to go?” Azriel asked. 

“No,” Y/N said, opening the door to her room. 

Azriel huffed out a laugh. “I wasn’t going to convince you to stay.”

Y/N finally looked at him. “You might be the only one. Everyone was trying to scare me into not going.”

“I know that you are going to shoot me down immediately but just listen to what I am going to say,” Azriel said. 

Y/N sighed. “Go on.”

“They are just trying to protect you,” Azriel said and Y/N groaned. “I know that our methods have been stupid.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Y/N mumbled, sitting down on her bed. 

“But,” Azriel emphasised, “it was only done to make sure nothing happens to you. Everyone here loves you, Y/N. We just want what’s best for you and if that includes going to the Autumn Court, I will accept it.”

Y/N eyes him carefully. “What is up with you being accepting of this? The last time I checked you hated Eris.”

Azriel chuckled and sat down on the bed next to Y/N. “I don’t hate him. I don’t think I can after all of his explanations for any previous actions after he became High Lord. I only dislike him.”

“Aww,” Y/N teased. “You’re making new friends.”

Azriel glared at her. “He is not my friend but I…trust him more than I did a few years ago.”

“Why?” Y/N asked.

“Since becoming High Lord, Rhys made me send my spies to see how Eris was acting at High Lord. He wanted to know if he would simply double cross us after we helped him kill his father. It is not my place to tell you what I found out but the way he acted was different to how I ever saw him,” Azriel explained.

“How long were you spying on him for?” Y/N asked.

“Not long,” Azriel answered. “A few weeks at most but in those few weeks I noticed him dismissing many members of his court, all of which lived and enforced Beron’s rule. I only spied on him once more after that.”

“When was that?”

“Three days ago, after he left our meeting,” Azriel said. “He took a liking to you and I just wanted to know if it was genuine or not. Rhys didn’t ask me to do it so don’t mention it to him.”

Y/N felt her heart beat faster. “And was it genuine?”

Azriel offered her a tight smile. “It was genuine.”

A smile bloomed across Y/N’s face. “Really?”

Azriel nodded and looked away from Y/N to the bag sat by her bed. 

“Why did you want to know if it was genuine?” Y/N asked.

Azriel shrugged. “You’re my friend, if something was amiss with his affections, I didn’t want him to lead you on.”

Y/N smiled. “Thank you, Az. Honestly, since I’ve been here you have been the only one keeping me sane.”

Azriel smiled though it seemed forced. “No problem.”

Y/N looked away from Azriel and to her bag. “Will you help me pack? I think it would be more fun with a friend here.”

This time when Azriel smiled, it was genuine and he stood to his feet. “Of course.”

It didn’t take long until Y/N’s things were packed into her bag. She didn’t have too many things since her things were spread out across the places she spent time in. The last thing she packed was a small sketch Feyre did of her when the two were eighteen and thirteen. Y/N smiled at it before she closed her bag. 

“I’m ready to go now,” Y/N said, turning to Azriel. 

“Do you want to say goodbye to everyone?” Azriel asked. 

Y/N sighed. “I suppose I should. Shouldn’t I?”

“Even if you don’t want to say goodbye to Rhys, at least say goodbye to Feyre and Nesta,” Azriel suggested. 

Y/N sighed before agreeing. She picked up her bag and together she and Azriel walked through the house.

“I’ll miss you,” Azriel said. 

Y/N looked at him, surprised. “Wow, I’m surprised that the big bad shadowsinger can admit he will miss me.”

Azriel laughed. “Ease up on the alliteration.” 

Y/N chuckled along with him before Azriel cleared his throat. “I am being serious though. I will miss you. With everyone spending time with their own families recently, I’ve been spending a lot of my time with you and you have become a good friend, one of the best actually.”

Y/N stopped in her tracks and turned to Azriel. “Thank you, Az. That means a lot to me. These past few years have been a lot and you have helped keep me from throwing myself down ten thousand steps.”

Azriel smiled, looking away. “I can hear everyone in the foyer.”

Y/N gave his bicep a small squeeze before the two continued to walk. As they entered the foyer, all eyes fell upon Y/N. 

“You packed quickly,” Rhys said.

“Azriel helped,” Y/N answered. “I have just come to say goodbye.”

One by one, Y/N bid everyone a goodbye, spending more time with her sisters, before moving to stand next to Azriel. “I will see you all in a few months.”

Feyre smiled at her and gave her a small wave. “Make sure to write to us. Nyx will be confused about where you have gone.”

Y/N nodded and turned to Azriel. “Let’s go.”

Azriel held out his hand and Y/N took it. Shadows surrounded them and Y/N was encased in darkness. 

***

The moment the shadows vanished they revealed the beautiful scenery of the Autumn Court and Y/N couldn’t help but let out a gasp. The sun streamed through the trees and cast shadows upon the cobblestone path leading to a small village in the distance. 

“This is the Autumn Court?” Y/N asked Azriel.

“Yes,” Azriel answered. “I will admit it looks more…welcoming.”

“Of course it does,” a new voice spoke up. A voice that sent shivers down Y/N’s spine. 

Y/N turned to the source of the voice and smiled. Eris stood in the centre of the path. He was dressed a lot more casually since the last time she had seen him. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows, displaying his forearms to the world. He looked even more beautiful than he did when she had seen him three days ago. 

“I have taken up…replacing any negative voices in my court that want to still abide by my fathers rules,” Eris explained. “My court is no longer the place you remember, shadowsinger.”

Y/N dropped Azriel’s hand upon seeing Eris, missing the way Azriel’s face dropped. 

“Eris,” Y/N said, stepping forward. “I must say you look dashing.”

A smirk fell upon Eris’s face. “My dear, you are already starting with flirtations. I was not expecting this so quickly.”

Y/N smiled bright. “I’m full of surprises.”

Eris took one more step forward, his gaze never leaving Y/N’s for a moment. “I bet you are.”

Azriel cleared his throat, interrupting Y/N and Eris. Eris looked at Azriel, a hint of annoyance on his face. “I didn’t realise you were still here, shadowsinger.”

“I want to say goodbye to my friend before you whisk her away,” Azriel said, his voice holding none of the warmth she had gotten used to over the many months of his company.

Y/N turned to Azriel and smiled. “Believe it or not but I will miss you too, Azriel.”

Azriel’s smile was small as Y/N took a step towards him. She leaned up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “I’ll be okay, Az.” 

Azriel circled his arms around her waist. “I know, I just want you to–”

“I swear if you say be safe,” Y/N warned.

“–have fun,” Azriel finished. 

Y/N pulled away from the hug. “That response was better than I thought.”

Azriel dipped his head. “I will see you soon, Y/N.”

Y/N took a step back from him, unconsciously stepping closer to Eris. “See you soon, Az.”

Eris smiled at Y/N before he turned his gaze to Azriel. “You are free to return to your court, shadowsinger.”

With a final parting goodbye, Azriel disappeared into his shadows and he was gone. 

The moment he was gone, Y/N immediately felt relief. A large weight lifted off her shoulders that she did not realise was there. For the first time in years, Y/N did not feel the prying eyes from the Inner Circle upon her. For the first time in years she felt free. 

“Are you okay?” Eris asked, the wind lightly blowing the copper waves out of place. 

Y/N smiled brightly at him. “I think I have never felt this good in a while.”

Eris smiled back at her and offered her his arm. “Well, let us drop your things off at the cottage and I shall show you around my court.”

Y/N linked her arm with his. “I would like that very much.” 

Eris picked up Y/N’s bag and carried it in his other hand. “It is about an hour walk away, if you wish me to winnow us there it is no problem.”

“No, I wish to walk,” Y/N said. “The beauty of this court is incredible.”

“Not as beautiful as the woman standing in front of me,” Eris said, a cheeky grin on his face. 

Y/N laughed. “Well, has the handsome man on my arm looked in a mirror? Because his beauty outshines everything around him.”

If it were even possible, a faint blush dusted across Eris’s cheeks. “You flatter me, Y/N.”

Y/N smiled. “It’s not flattery if it's true.”

Eris looked at her and smiled. “That’s true.”

Y/N laughed but that laugh slowly faded away. “I’m sorry for calling you a man. I know that is not what you are. A ‘male’ is the correct word, isn’t it?”

The smile faded from Eris’s face. “Y/N you can call me whatever you wish. I am a male, that is true but I am a man in your eyes, just as you call yourself a woman, not a female. You are not fae, I’m not going to force you to use the way the fae speak around me.”

“Are you sure?” Y/N asked. “After all, I am in the land of the fae, I don’t wish to be disrespectful.”

“Y/N, believe me when I tell you that you are in no way being disrespectful,” Eris replied.

Y/N smiled at him and they continued to walk down the cobblestone path. 

***

“I hope you don’t mind the dust on the surfaces,” Ers said as he unlocked the door to the cottage. “I changed the bedding and cleaned the best I could. Alas, duties kept me away from making this a perfect welcome for you.” 

“It is already perfect, Eris,” Y/N said, looking at the cottage before her. It was beyond beautiful with flowers growing up the trellis and falling over the doorway. 

The door unlocked and Eris picked Y/N’s bag back up and gestured her to step inside. As Y/N did, her eyes lit up. 

“It reminds me of the cottage on my farm,” Y/N said quietly. 

“We have similar decor taste’s then,” Eris said, closing the door. 

As Y/N looked at Eris and his relaxed form she found herself drifting closer to him. She wanted to touch him, she needed to feel his skin on hers. Despite these feelings, Y/N restrained herself and stepped further into the cottage. Everything was slightly dated and a little mismatched but it was perfect to Y/N. Her own cottage was the same way. 

“I used to come here to escape my father,” Eris said. “Everything in here consists of things I have collected over the many years I have been alive.”

“And how long is that?” Y/N questioned.

Eris placed his hand on his chest in mock offence. “Y/N, are you asking me my age?”

“Yes,” Y/N said. “Honestly I am a little confused by how the fae age. Are you immortal or do you just age very slowly?”

“Technically we are immortal and age slowly but the ageing process sometimes depends on the fae themselves. I have known others my age who look hundreds of years older, to put it in your case, decades older,” Eris explained. “I myself am five-hundred and thirty three.”

“You don’t look a day over five hundred and thirty two,” Y/N teased. “Since I so unkindly asked your age, I myself am twenty-eight, twenty-nine next month.”

“Well that is an excuse for a small celebration,” Eris said. 

“There is no need,” Y/N said. “I haven’t celebrated my birthday in many years.”

Eris hummed. “Well I suppose just this once, Y/N, that I will go against what you say because since you are in my cout, I will make sure you get the best damn celebration I can plan on such short notice.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “There isn’t a chance you will simply forget about it?”

That smirk that Y/N had begun to love was plastered on his face. “Not a chance.”

“Then make sure it is the best damn celebration you have to offer,” Y/N said. 

“I plan on just that,” Eris said.

Over the course of their conversation, Y/N had failed to realise how they had slowly inched closer together. If either she or Eris took only one step forward, their chests would be touching. She could feel the warmth radiating from him and she basked in it. If only he would wrap his arms around her body and pull her close–

Y/N stopped the thoughts swarming through her head. She had never felt this deeply for someone before and she didn’t understand why she was beginning to now. Y/N cleared her throat and took a reluctant step back. 

“If I am going to be here for a few months, I should start by unpacking my things,” Y/N said, picking up her bag. 

Eris seemed to snap out of a daze as he slowly followed Y/N’s movements with his eyes. “Do you wish for any help?”

“I’ll be okay,” Y/N said. “Though is there anything you don’t want me to move or touch? It is your cottage after all.”

“No, do whatever you wish. I am rarely here these days,” Eris said, looking at his beloved cottage. “Though I regret to say that I must return to the Forest House, I still have duties to attend to for the following days. I have left food in the cupboards for you, I will return with more tomorrow.”

“When will you be back?” Y/N questioned. “I only ask because I want to explore a little more and I doubt it is not safe for me to be wandering around without an escort.”

“There are a few things that need my attention for the following days but after that I am all yours for the next few months. All my paperwork will be split between my trusted court officials,” Eris explained. “There are wards surrounding the property up until the wicker fence, so you can go outside if you wish to. I won’t confine you inside for the next couple of days.”

Y/N nodded. “Thank you, Eris. Not just for allowing me my freedom, but for making sure I feel welcome and not like a caged animal.”

“There is no need to thank me,” Eris said. “I hope you enjoy it here.”

“I already am.”

Taglist:

@talesofadragon @impossibelle @the-sweet-psycho @lilah-asteria @acourtofbatboydreams

[radiocrypt-id]

The bad kids haven't really looked too closely at the Rat Grinders (meta wise I know it's a commentary on different play styles and how shitty xp farming is and how op players/parties can become by doing the bare minimum if they put in the time while everyone else plays the damn game) but I find the split perspective problems absolutely fascinating. I can't wait for the Bad Kids to look at the Rat Grinders with envy and anger that the Rat Grinders got to live a normal highschool life without all this insane danger and experience being a teenager without it being the end of the world for them. Right now they just hate the Rat Grinders energy and are matching it back (which is a very high school thing to do. To have beef with a whole other group of kids and not even know why but you'll die on this hill because they started shit first)

Because to the Rat Grinders, from a purely outside perspective, the Bad Kids are fucking monarchs of the school, right? They skipped classes, ran around town, fought people, got arrested, hung out with a big devil? Every new staff member came at their recommendation? One of them has both her dads working at the school?? The destroyed school property, got teachers killed, straight murdered the coach? These fucking kids run around and are apparently scott-free? because the principal liked their chaos enough to let it go and help them avoid the police? To the Rat Grinders, the Bad Kids are untouchable. They're exempt from the law. They're liars, cheats and need to be humbled. It's unfair. From everyone elses perspective, it really does look like the Bad Kids have been given crazy favourtism.

Meanwhile, all of the Bad Kids have died at least once. They've been irreparably changed and are in a constant state of fight or flight. They assume everything is dangerous and anyone might be an enemy because for two goddamn years that was the exact case! They couldn't trust any adult first year! Literally anyone could have been infected with Kalina second year! who knows what happened with the Night Yord but I fucking bet they had issues with Yorbies pretending to be helpful just to kill them! Everyone, for two years, has been out to get them! They can't even sleep! And now they have to grind so hard or they fail. Adaine has a seemingly full time job after school basically every day because she literally can't afford to live? Fabian has taken on the most physically strenuous classes and sport one dude could and has dreams of also being a social legend because he's fucking lonely in that big house and he just wants to fill it. If anyone in the party fails or dies Riz is shit out of luck and wont ever get into a university? He so desperately wants his friends with him so he's working over time and ignoring his limits to make up for his party members not caring about the future. Fig is going through the strangest arc I've ever seen in my life? she's hard avoidant and taking three classes, so a 250% work load, because she's desperate to fill her time so she can't think about all the other work she has to do that if she ignores too long could crush her under the debt of her band from her label, or how alone she feels without her girlfriend around. Gorgug is so desperate to prove himself that he's doing four years of school work in one, trying to play catch up and also prove himself at the same time, he's taking it all so seriously but also is so fucking tired. And Kristen. Mother fucking Kristen "hey girlie" applebees. Expected to dedicate her life to a god with no direction, with the weight of failure being her gods death, while also being in school and also at your friends insistence needing to run for student body president and getting your priorities so mixed up and being completely left behind by her peers who didn't have to rework their entire world view and understanding of life in the span of a few months every few months.

The Bad Kids are in a terrible place. They're suffering. I want them to just say it out loud, to stop pretending they have it handled and are fine. I want Riz and Adaine to yell at the party to get their shit together. I want Fabian to tell someone how alone and abandoned her feels. I want Kristen to scream at Cassandra that she agrees, that it's not fair, she's just a kid, how could she be enough all on her own with no help? It sucks a god can only rely on a child, for both the god and child! They're both suffering from this arrangement! Neither is happy! I want Gorgug to beat the shit out of Porter with his inventions and rage at the same time, to make the best shit and use it in the most stunning way anyone has ever seen. I want Fig to finally get some freaking help, to have her teachers and parents reach out in a meaningful way and stop telling her to figure it out alone because clearly the pressure is too much for her to handle and she's drowning. I want someone, anyone, to look at the Bad Kids and tell them to stop. To help them. But I know it wont be that easy. I know it'll be the Rat Grinders yelling at how unfair it is the Bad kids get everything while they're on the sidelines that'll get under the Bad Kids skin and they'll yell about how awesome they are and that they didn't ask for any of this shit to happen to them and to fuck off. I know it's gonna get so much worse before it gets better. I know they'll figure it out and that it'll be a painful road there.

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Can i get headcanons for whats it like everyday in the mansion

I hope I did okay on this, I tried to just summarize a general average day for you

While there can be a lot of chaos in the mansion with so many people going through so many different things, on any random given day it's actually more normal than you might assume. They've all lived together for so long that they essentially function as a family, and they tend to get along for the most part. If it's a training day, their days start early. They're usually up by 6 or 7 on training days, all working in groups to train specific aspects for their job, or just working out together and getting in their exercise for the day. If it's not an exercise day, they all tend to sleep in to different times, and if they don't have work at all for the day some of them can sleep quite late.

Usually Slender handles breakfast as he's always the one up the earliest, but generally they try and rotate shifts for meals. I think they'd have a board in the kitchen, and whoever is going to cook the following day will write down either what they want to make for their meals, or they'll write a few foods that they can vote on and they'll make whatever wins. Depending on their schedules and how much they like cooking a creep might cook all three meals or just one or two, as cooking for that many people is a lot of work, so they tend to work in pairs sometimes as well. After breakfast, they tend to disperse for the day. Anyone on duty to handle chores (dishes, cleaning, organizing, etc.) will usually begin doing that, and anyone who has a mission to handle will get ready for that. Anyone who has nothing to do usually hangs out in their friend groups in the mansion, and they'll go out or stay in and play games or watch something, or just hang out. Most days in the mansion are actually pretty calm, with not a lot of rambunctious energy and trouble happening. Someone will make lunch and everyone home who is hungry will group back together to eat and chat, and then they tend to disperse again.

Dinner is the one meal in the mansion that requires mandatory attendance (unless you're not feeling well) because Slender likes to have everyone together for dinner. They all fill up Slender's long dining table and eat and talk and joke around, and it's when all of them tend to be most content. I said in a very, very, very old post that they have different events happening every day of the week as well. Monday night is Slender's book club night in the mansion, Tuesday afternoons Toby and Helen host an art club, Wednesday mornings Jeff hosts a workout class to help everyone learn new exercises and target specific types of workouts, Thursday night is movie night and Friday night is game night and BEN is in charge of both of those, Saturday afternoons Slender teaches cooking and LJ teaches baking, and Sunday afternoons is group therapy hosted by Slender. The only one that requires attendance is therapy, but generally, everyone tends to go to different events every week when they feel up to it, which is pretty often. They're all required to be back in their bedrooms between like 12-12:30, but they're free to do anything before that, and they can stay awake if they'd like to, Slender just tries to encourage healthy sleeping routines. The only exception to that is EJ since he's nocturnal, so he tends to have the mansion to himself overnight, which he doesn't mind because he likes the quiet. Anyone with an overnight mission will leave for their missions around the time everyone else goes to bed, and they tend to return in the early morning hours and try to quietly shower and go to bed so they can sleep as much as they need.

[dcdreamblog]

Love the blog, just wondering what your take is on the 'Superman has a secret identity' theory that makes headlines every so often when the tabloids run out of other stories? Usually with their fave celeb as the culprit. I usually find that part in bad taste. Everyone has a right to privacy, what if a supervillain actually believes that hogwash, etc. Although as for the latest one it was great that Mr. Wane ran with it and wore blue for a week to raise money for disaster relief. If nothing else his now-viral remarks to Luthor about how 'if he was superman, your buildings would have been redesigned via accidental super fight collateral damage a decade ago, my god man hire a better architect' made for satisfying watching for LexCorp's many critics.

Luthor's the most outspoken disbeliever of that theory, maintaining that the most powerful 'man' in the world, with his own known private hideout in the Arctic, would have no reason to run around pretending to be a normal human. Bruce Wayne might be kind of a dim bulb, but he had a point when he told whatever poor sod from the Daily Planet was covering the Metropolis Spring Gala that Superman seems too personable (at least from interviews and eyewitness accounts) to be anything other than 'just some guy.'

So on the spectrum between the two billionaires what's your take? Does the Man of Steel walk amongst us? If he does, who would he even be when he's not wearing the cape?

Without even having to THINK about it very hard I would come down on Wayne's side in this particular debate just because I don't trust Lex Luthor as far as I could throw him and I have a MUCH higher opinion of Bruce Wayne as, I can imagine, does anyone with some combination of a heart, soul or a brain. As far as the hypothesis goes, it's pretty much confirmed by the Man of Steel himself. He's given multiple interviews where he has shared the outline of his origins and while most people focus on the fact that he's the last son of the lost planet Krypton what he does also say in those interviews is that he was discovered by a human couple and raised as their own in the manner of a normal human child. Now of course he has never shared ANY particular details about his 'foster parents' because any stray detail could be traced back to them but that pretty much seals the deal doesn't it? If he was raised by humans, one would imagine that he went to school, had dreams, wanted a job and a house and a social life and all those things that human beings get used to having and wanting. Anytime we don't see him directly in action we have to imagine it's because he's out there...doing whatever it is he does during the day! That being said I don't think I can, nor will I, speculate as to who or what he might be in that life behind the scenes. It's none of my business, it is none of the WORLD'S business and nothing good could ever come from finding out. What I will say is that I do not believe for a SECOND the most tired and well trodden theory on the subject.

(Bruce Wayne meeting with Daily Planet reporter Clark Kent) Daily Planet reporter Clark Kent is NOT Superman, people come on! It just doesn't add up to the facts. Clark Kent had a totally average childhood, more or less. He was born in the small hamlet of Smallville, Kansas to Jonathan and Martha Kent which is disproving enough in and of itself. Superman has stated he was obviously a foster child. Clark Kent is, by all records, his parents' biological child. There are records of his attendance of school, vaccination records, his journalism diploma, the whole nine yards. There are two main reasons this story remains so popular. In Superman's orbit he is the one who most resembles Superman...in that he is a dark haired white guy with blue eyes and a strong chin. Analysis on his posture and his gait have shown that he doesn't move or articulate like Superman as you would know if you have ever watched the man on television, read or listened to his writing or just been aware of him as a public figure in Metropolis for YEARS. I still get the Planet here in New York just because him and his wife are some of the best journalists I've ever read. And in that is the other reason, his wife, the world renowned Lois Lane who in the early years of Superman's career had a public infatuation and casual romance with the Man of Steel. Many people got very attached to this public love affair and have never quite forgiven Lane for her public "break up" with Superman in the aftermath of her engagement to Clark Kent. This is just real people shipping for all its nonsense, Kent doesn't have to be Superman for Lane to have married him. Lane and Kent have been partners in crime for basically Kent's entire career and maybe Lane just decided she loved Kent more strongly, or that Superman was unattainable, or any one of ten billion other reasons that don't have shit to do with me or anyone else. Kent and Lane's marriage has also put the inevitable final coffin in the theory with the birth of their son Jonathan who by all accounts is exactly as human as his father. Ignoring all the times and in all the ways that Superman and Kent have been filmed or photographed in the same place because Superman and Kent have been close friends for a very long time because Superman is publically very close with a large group of the Daily Planet's staff ever since his first appearance in Metropolis. Bottom line, yes, I believe that Superman spends his 'nights' as a normal human somewhere on this big blue marble. But his only distinguishing features are that he's a white man with dark hair and strong shoulders. He could hide that with a big enough coat.

[sirowsky-stories]

Hello! Here I am, yet again posting a themed fic at the wrong time! I'm trying okay, but shit keeps getting in the way...

Description: The day before Valentine's, you and Pero are sent on a mission to repair a broken machine at the sister factory to the one you work at. And of course, the hotel reservation gets screwed up, and obviously you end up having to stay much longer than expected.

Warnings: Pero Tovar x Female Reader (no descriptions of reader beyond being female), both main character's pov, Valentine's Day theme, forced proximity, only one bed, coworkers to friends, friends to dating, vague references to a planned SA but no descriptions whatsoever, protective!Pero.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Word Count: 11,572 Sirowsky's Masterlist All dividers by the amazing @saradika-graphics

   “Is this a joke?” You’re too stunned to even be upset about it yet, because this is just too fucking rich.

   “I’m afraid not,” your supervisor Gary apologetically shakes his head. “Look, if there was anyone else we could send, we would, but…”

   “But what? There are two thousand people working here, so don’t tell me you don’t have anyone else to send,” you grumble, not really out of anger, that’s not part of your overall makeup, but more out of nervousness.

   “I meant in the sense that you’re probably the only one who can put up with him for that long.”

   “That doesn’t mean it would be easier on me. It just means I can tolerate feeling like shit better than most.”

   “I’m sorry, I know it’s a bad deal for you,” he sighs, and he does look like he feels genuinely bad about it, but he’s also not leaving any options open for you.

   “And you’re still not gonna budge, are you?”

   “We have to send someone…”

   He gives you the details for the hotel and the keys to a company car, and you’re given one hour to go home and pack for at least a two-day stay in the neighbouring town.    The factory where you work is relatively new, only about ten years old, but it’s been performing excellent from the start, which means a sister factory has been in construction for the past two years just a hundred-and-fifty miles to the east.    It was officially launched six months ago, and there have been very few hiccups since.

   But a couple of days ago, a complex overhead crane began to malfunction, and then completely broke down, and that’s the machine which you have quickly become a master at handling, despite only having been working here for a little over a year. And you’re happy to go and help the new factory back on its feet, that’s no problem at all, you’re only excited about the fact that the company is doing so well, since it means you’ll get to keep your job.    Your issue with all this is that the only person who really knows how to mechanically repair this particular machine, is Pero Tovar.

   He’s been working here since the mother factory was first built, and he was the one who hatched the idea to build the crane, and then both designed and built the damned thing, largely on his own.    He’s a genius, for lack of a better word, but he’s also the most unfriendly person you’ve ever met.    And now, you have to not only work with him on repairing the damaged one, but you also have to travel and live with him for as long as that takes.

   Gary told you that he’d made reservations for you at the nearest hotel to the sister factory, but that they only had one room available, since it’ll be over Valentine’s Day, so you’re quite certain that no matter what happens, this is gonna be a horrible week.

   It’s still only 7am when you arrive back at work with your small suitcase, locate the correct company car and throw your luggage in the trunk, but you don’t get in.    You have no intention of angering your travel mate, so you’re not gonna assume anything in terms of whether he wants to drive or not. You lean against the side of the car with your arms crossed and your cap pulled low over your eyebrows, trying not to think about just how much this is gonna suck.

   He arrives just a couple of minutes later, parking his own car and then walking over to you with brisk steps.    You’ve never seen him dawdle, but he never seems rushed either. More like he just has his own pace through life which he keeps to no matter how fast or slow the world around him is moving. Like he’s perpetually unaffected by absolutely everything, which he probably is.

   “You wanna drive, or should I?” you ask before he reaches the car, so you’ll have time to move out of his way if you need to.

   But he doesn’t answer. He just walks up to the boot and throws his bag into it, shuts it, then heads for the passenger side.    A bit surprised, you take the driver’s seat, but you’re sure as hell not gonna ask him why he doesn’t wanna drive. It just seems out of character, so far as you know him, because he’s always in control of everything around him.    He’s the one person in the entire factory who has every license required to operate every piece of machinery or vehicle available, and he never seems the least bit unsure of what to do or when.

   Still, he’s not a supervisor. He has the same rank as you, which seems ridiculous given the disparity of skills between you, but it does mean that technically he can’t order anyone to do anything. And you’ve never heard him try.    People very nervously come to him with their problems or questions and for the most part, he just sighs and takes care of it, usually without a word but with a fair bit of growling. And if it's something simple enough that the person asking should be able to do it themselves, he’ll begrudgingly instruct, or show them, no doubt hoping they’ll never bother him again.

   But for all his expertise, the only times he outright tells people what to do, is when they’re asking for help. Beyond that, even on the occasions when he overhears operators talking about a problem and he knows how to sort it out, he never says a word without being asked.    And you’ve never been able to work out if it’s out of a deep respect for rules and procedure, if he just doesn’t give a shit, or if he secretly enjoys hearing them struggle with stuff that’s simple to him.    He’s about as easy to read as a book with every page blacked out.

   Which is one of the many reasons why you’re glad it isn’t a longer drive, since you wouldn’t dream of trying to start up a conversation with him.    But even without asking, you know he doesn’t want to stop by the hotel and check in before going to the factory, so you head straight there.    They’re expecting you, evident in how the gates swing open before you’ve even come to a full stop in front of them, so you roll your window down and wave to the security camera as you drive through.

   Parking by the large Arrivals entry at the back, where all new materials are brought in, you step out and wait for someone to come and escort you inside. Since you’re not employed at this factory you can’t enter the factory floor without a yellow vest and a supervisor to take you to the area that you’ll be working in.    Safety procedures are so precise that not even Tovar, who’s done this several times before, is allowed to step foot inside without an escort.

   “Good morning,” a cheerful older woman greets you after just a minute. “I’m Hannah, supervisor of the assembly team.”

   You notice that she only introduces herself to you, so she’s clearly met Tovar before. She’s carrying two vests and hands them to each of you, waiting until you’ve put them on fully before she invites you inside.

   “How big of a failure are we talking about?” you ask as you follow her out of the morning sunlight and into the crisp white, fluorescent lighting, which seems so dark in comparison.

   “Complete. My estimate is that we’re looking at both mechanical and hydraulic malfunction, and there also seems to be a problem with the software.”

   “In that case we have to consider the possibility that the software is the root cause.”

   “I wasn’t aware the crane could sabotage itself,” she ponders, turning a corner around a plastic processing machine before you reach the assembly section, which sits two floors lower down to make room for the giant overhead crane in question.

   You still have to walk halfway through the rest of the factory to reach the control panel, but while you do, you get a good look at two sides of the machine. It has a scientific name, but all workers just call it MAP, short for the three processes it’s capable of performing simultaneously: moulding, assembling, and packaging.

   “If the software fails to accept new commands, especially if they’re related to the assembly arms rather than the material deposits and moulds, then it can end up over-reaching or colliding with itself, which isn’t necessarily visible on the outside, since the turning radius is shorter than it appears to be.” You rattle off the explanation without pause, and she turns her head to the side to look at you while you continue to walk.

   “You mean it can crash into itself without us noticing?”

   “Unfortunately, yes. And when it happens because of a software problem, there’s no guarantee the system will be able to identify the collision and inform you about it, so then the only option it has is to default to its primary security mode and completely shut itself down.    But we won’t know if that’s what’s happened until we’ve had a chance to look at the failure logs.”

   You’re highly aware that Tovar is walking right behind you, and it makes you feel self-conscious in terms of your knowledge about the potential problem.    He knows so much more than you, and yet here you are, talking about the machine that he developed as if you’re every bit as familiar with it as he is. You wouldn’t even blame him if he told you to shut up and leave it to him, because honestly, he’d be well within his rights to.    But he doesn’t say a word.

   Reaching the control panel, you find a whole group of operators waiting with tools of every kind, ready and possibly even eager to pitch in and start fixing stuff, but you merely nod at them and then the two of you set to work. They won’t be able to help with anything until you’ve identified what the actual problem is.    Still with his mouth firmly shut, Tovar begins to dismantle a cover which protects a kind of black box, designed to record and store all malfunction log entries of the operating system for the entire machine, while you start tapping keys to assess how big of a problem you might be dealing with.

   “Shit… The system’s completely crashed,” you relay your findings to your colleague. “We might be looking at a partial or even complete reconstruction.”

   As always, without being asked a direct question, the grumpy Spaniard doesn’t reply, but you’re expecting that. You’re just trying to keep him informed.    But when he manages to gain access to the box, what he finds is even worse than you’d imagined.    The box contains servers, about a hundred of them, and there’s a small screen on one end where he can access specific logs by searching for dates and times. But when he activates the screen, it’s already displaying thousands of entries, all flashing red to indicate problems.

   “We will need to look at the main servers,” he instructs, and the operators immediately spring into action to unscrew the access panel for the primary system.

   It only takes them seconds, and then the core of the computer is revealed.    There are about five hundred servers in there, each with its own little sequence of tiny lights on the front, to indicate where there might be problems. They can shine green, yellow, and red, but also flash in each colour and in a specific order to tell him what’s going on.    But more than half of them have gone dark. Not shining red or flashing, but completely dark. Dead. Which means those servers have suffered such a catastrophic failure that they’ve burned through their circuits.

   “That didn’t happen all at once, did it?” you guess, peering over Tovar’s shoulder after he kneels in front of the open panel to take a closer look.

   “No. This started months ago and slowly built into a cascade. The entire computer must be replaced and the operating system re-uploaded and installed.”

   You can’t quite hold back your heavy sigh of disapproval as you realize just how long this is gonna take.    It was bad enough to be stuck here and living with the unfriendliest person in the world when it was just gonna be for a couple of days, but now it’s looking more like it’s gonna be a couple of weeks.

   “Fuck…”

~~~    You don’t arrive at the hotel until almost 9.30 that evening, after trying to get as much of the dismantling as possible done, so you’ll be able to get started on the rebuild already tomorrow morning. And you’re so tired by the time you get to the room that you don’t even care about having to sleep in the same room as Tovar. All you want is just a shower and then as many hours of rest as you can possibly get.    However, when you walk into the room and see a large double bed, instead of two separate ones, sleep suddenly seems very far away indeed.

   “T-there were supposed to be two beds…” you nervously stutter, while racking your brain to try and remember exactly what Gary had said about the booking.

   Did he say that they only had one room available, with double beds, or with a double bed?    The more you think about it the more convinced you become that it was in fact the latter, and your pulse jumps to what seems like twice its normal pace.    But your colleague doesn’t respond, nor does he look the slightest bit concerned about it.

   “’I’m gonna go talk to the front desk clerk again,” you say while already heading for the door, grabbing a key card on your way out.

   Pero sighs deeply after hearing the door close behind you. Nobody likes him, for good reason, so he isn’t surprised that you don’t want to share a bed with him, but it also offends him somewhat.    It’s not like he’d ever do anything to you. He’s not a kind or sweet person, but he sure as shit isn’t an abuser either. He would never lay hands on a woman without permission, and he’d rather chew off his own arms than hit someone who couldn’t possibly defend themselves against him. There’s no victory to that kind of fight.

   But of course, you can’t know how he thinks since he never shares any of his thoughts with anyone.    Hence the sigh.    The likelihood of another room being available is very low, though. Gary wouldn’t have booked this if there was any better alternative available within the company’s budget, so while he waits for you to return, he takes a quick shower and brushes his teeth.

   You come back just as he leaves the bathroom, which is right next to the front door, so the two of you almost collide in the hallway. And if he isn’t mistaken, he catches a glimpse of you eyeing his naked upper body with what doesn’t appear to be disgust or disinterest. More like the opposite.    It’s only there for a millisecond before you’ve schooled your expression and turned your entire face away, but he could swear there was a sliver of desire within you just then, and he’s quite surprised at how much that pleases him.

   “Uh… wh-.. Hrm…” you try, but whatever you meant to say, it doesn’t seem to find its way out, so you simply pass him in the hall and head for your suitcase which is parked at the foot of the bed.

   Since he’s done with his evening toilet, Pero ends up following you there, rounding the bed behind you and pulling the covers back on the right-hand side of it.    He’s only wearing his boxer briefs and when he sits down, his back is to you, so he can’t see if you steal any more looks at him, but it does secretly bemuse him to imagine that you do.

   “There weren’t any other rooms available,” you finally manage, just after he lays down and pulls the covers over himself. “They apparently have a Valetine’s Day special here every year, offering all kinds of romantic couples spa treatments and even a speed-dating event, all of which seem to be very popular.”

   Your voice is small and nervous, as if you’re worried that he’ll scold you for speaking too loudly in his presence, which seems excessive. He’s never been cruel to you.    At least, not by any of his own definitions of cruelty.    He’s lying on his side with his back to you, so he can’t read your expression, but he wonders if you’re actually scared of him, because that’s what it sounds like.    It’s quiet for a minute then, and all he hears is the zipper on your suitcase being opened and you grabbing some things before heading for the bathroom, so he assumes everything’s okay, and with the day you’ve had, he falls asleep not long after.

   He wakes up to his alarm the following morning at 5:45am, and rolls out of bed on routine, heading for the bathroom. Rounding the foot of the bed, he notices that the covers on your side are already immaculately made up and when he looks up, he finds you sitting at the small table in the corner by the TV, dressed and ready, fiddling with your phone.    Momentarily confused, he glances at his wristwatch, wondering if he set the alarm the wrong time or something. Because why would you get up earlier than you need to when you got in so late last night?

   He would’ve slept another half-hour himself if not for the fact that you need to go to the hotel restaurant for breakfast since you didn’t have time yesterday to buy something you can eat in the room or on the way.    Your head is bowed as you’re looking at the screen, but he can still see how tired you are, so clearly, you didn’t sleep nearly as soundly as he did, which seems to match with your nervousness last night.

   And while he’s doing his morning toilet, he realizes that something about seeing you look so tortured really annoys him. Deep down, he knows why, but he doesn’t allow himself to go there.    Returning to his bag on his side of the bed, he steals glances at you, trying to quell the stronger feelings that your presence keeps stirring up, but he can’t seem to gain control of himself, which leaves him sour and cranky. So, when he finally has cause to speak to you, it comes out with much more of a sting than he’d intended.

   “Let’s get going.”

   It sounds harsh and almost accusatory, which comes as a surprise to Pero himself, because you’ve been ready to go since before he woke up, so he has no right to hurry you on.    Still, you don’t protest or challenge him, even though you absolutely should, and as he leads the way down the corridors to the elevator, he wonders if he truly has left such a horrid impression on you over this past year, that you genuinely do fear him.

   You’re a happy person. He’s not good at interacting with people, but he’s excellent at reading them, and he’s been working closely with you since you first started, so he’s had plenty of opportunities to study you. And what he’s seen is a lot of humour and a generally positive attitude, even when things are tough. You’re the one who keeps everyone’s spirits up in the breakroom, coming up with little games and puzzles to keep your coworkers entertained and let them forget about the problems out on the factory floor.

   But he hasn’t seen that side of you for even one minute since the two of you were sent on this repair mission, and the only reason he can see why that would be, is because you’re on your own with him.    It’s not like the two of you haven’t been on your own in your sector of the factory before, but it’s different when you’re in an unfamiliar environment surrounded by people you’ve never met, and can’t even go home to your own bed at the end of the day.

   Pero has never had more than temporary relationships with women, because he does know how unfriendly he is and why he behaves that way, which means that there’s a lot he doesn’t know or understand about the fairer sex. But what he does have extensive experience with, is seeing how the world treats you, and how powerless you often are to change your own circumstances or even keep yourselves safe.

   He’s lost count of how many brawls he’s gotten himself into, and walked away from largely unscathed, simply by intervening whenever he’s witnessed men behaving badly towards women. He doesn’t do it out of the goodness of his heart, he’s not even sure his heart is good at all, but simply because it irks him. And he doesn’t expect or accept any thanks for it because he only does it to keep from losing his fucking mind with the urge to vomit all over those kinds of guys.

   But now that he watches you hurriedly fill a plate from the breakfast buffet, ignoring all the things he knows you normally love to indulge in when you get the chance, like the Nutella croissants and raspberry yoghurt with fresh berries, he realizes that he’s the only one who’s being disrespectful towards you right now.    He should apologize for barking at you, maybe compliment your cute red nail-polish with little white hearts, or perhaps express some concern over how tired and stressed you look.

   Instead, he finishes filling his own plate and takes his seat opposite you, without a word spilling over his lips.

   Work is slow and tedious, each new hard drive being installed takes about twenty minutes because each one has to be independently connected to the core system, in the correct sequence, before you can move on to the next. And on top of that, the hydraulics in all eight of the machine’s mechanical arms needs to be replaced, which is where most of your focus lies, while Tovar primarily works on the computer.

   He’s better at it than you or anyone of the other operators, so it’s only logical, and you’re somewhat relieved to not be around him much today.    You hadn’t been able to bring yourself to lay down next to him last night, so you’d spent the night on the floor instead, thankfully waking up early enough that you’d had time to make your side of the bed before he noticed.    Not that you’re sure why he’d be bothered by that. He doesn’t give a shit about your comfort, so why would he care where you sleep?

   Unfortunately, this means you haven’t gotten much sleep at all since the floor was hard and cold and you kept having to change positions to keep various body parts from going numb.    But working on the mechanical arms means working with the sister factory operators, and they’re proving to be just as good fun as your regular coworkers, so while the day might have started out crabby, by lunchtime you’re feeling pretty good.    Until you hear that Tovar has left the factory over lunch, taking the car into town to eat, without asking if you might wanna tag along.

   You wouldn’t really have expected him to ask, that’s not his style, but he could’ve let you know that he was leaving to give you a chance to go with him and maybe buy some breakfast for tomorrow or just a damned Valentine’s gift for yourself.    Today is the 14th after all, and since it was supposed to be a day off for you, you had a whole day planned back home.

   Nothing fancy, just a nice solo dinner and dessert, a spa bath and some skin pampering, and then just relaxing on the sofa with the book you’re currently reading and some of your favourite music.    It would’ve been a perfect day. But instead, you’re literally covered in engine grease, the kind used for airplanes, no less, and there’s no point in washing more than your hands before digging into your microwave meal which you bought from a vending machine outside the management offices.

   Your colleague returns within the allotted half-hour break, which seems odd considering the time it usually takes to order a meal, receive it, and then eat it, plus the drive back and forth into town. But you’re sure as hell not gonna ask him about it. He’s made it clear he wants nothing to do with you.    So, you get back to work, doing your best to ignore him for the rest of the day.

   However, it being a holiday, albeit a small one, the staff aren’t gonna stick around until 9pm like last night. They start packing it in before 6pm, and since you can’t be there without a chaperone, you’re both forced to leave early as well, which means you now have an entire evening to spend with the one person you’ve ever met who hates spending time with a single living thing.    On fucking Valentine’s Day.

   He drives this time, and you’re so tired and fed up with this whole situation that you never even ask if you can stop by a grocery store on the way. And once back in the hotel room, you’re all but ready to collapse and sleep for the rest of the evening, but then you remember that you’re not in any way interested in sleeping next to your travel companion, which just sours your mood even more.

   “Do you need the bathroom any time soon?” you ask after arriving back in the room, and he just shakes his head, so you grab your toiletry bag and some clean cozy clothes from your suitcase and then lock yourself in there for what’s gonna be a very long shower.

   For a long while, you just sit on the floor underneath the spray, and cry. Maybe because you feel particularly lonely today, or maybe just because you’re so tired, but whatever the reason might be, you don’t care enough to try and work it out.    But after what has to be an hour, possibly even more than that, you start to feel overheated, so you quickly clean your hair and scrub your skin before stepping out and getting started on some moisturization.

   You still don’t wanna go out into the other room, though, so you take your time blow-drying and styling your hair, even though you’re just going to bed. Then you clean and dry all your product bottles before putting them back into your toiletry bag.    And then you can’t find any more excuses to stay in there any longer, so with a deep sigh, you unlock the door and step out into the cool and dry air of the bedroom, heading straight for your suitcase without even looking to see where Tovar is.

   Until something catches your eye.    There’s a glimmer towards the head of your side of the bed, and when you look up, a little gift box is sitting on your pillow.    You turn around once, scanning the room, but he isn’t in there. What is in there, sitting on the small table in the corner, is a classic silver tray with a cover, and a single red rose resting in front of it.

   Confused, you look from the silvery little box with a perfect bow on top, to the silvery tray in the other end of the room, utterly unable to connect the dots and unsure of where to even start with this.    Finally, after at least a minute of perplexed deliberation, you decide to open the gift first.    It’s about the size of the palm of your hand, and it isn’t wrapped, so you can just lift the top half of it off, but once you do, you kinda forget how to be a human being for a split second.

   Because this must be from him. But how the fuck does he know? You’ve never had a genuine conversation with the man, and he’s never once expressed any interest in learning anything personal about you. So, how could he possibly know that you’ve wanted a d’amour gold diamond necklace from Cartier for years, and just never felt like it was an acceptable expense?    It’s not the priciest piece of jewellery, just shy of a thousand bucks, but that’s still way beyond what you feel is acceptable to spend on what’s essentially just an accessory.

   Yet, here it is. The exact piece you’ve been dreaming about one day feeling like you can gift yourself. It makes no sense.    Tearing your gaze off the sparkling jewellery to try and regain some clarity of thought, you then remember the tray, and slowly approach the little table, suddenly extremely curious but also kinda worried about what might be under that cover.

   The rose is also of the expensive type, as big as a coffee cup saucer and blood red, with a sweet and soft aroma. You know the kinds of florists who sell these and it’s about the last place you’d ever expect to see Pero Tovar. The mental image alone is enough to make you snort.    And then you lift the cover and once more lose your marbles, because the tray is absolutely filled with all your favourite treats.

   From strawberries to your favourite sour candies, to caramel brownies, peanut butter cookies, your favourite chocolate, grapes, and two bottles of the best sparkling water you know.    Even if your solo Valentine’s hadn’t been cancelled you never would’ve treated yourself to all this. And once again you’re left wondering how in the hell the unfriendliest man in the world has accomplished this.

   But he’s not here, and his phone is sitting on the bedside table on his side of the bed, so you can’t reach him. Which has to mean he did all this so that you’d have a night to yourself in the middle of all this work, and the thought damned near makes you cry again.    So instead, you take the necklace out of the box and put it on, then you grab the tray, move it onto the bed, turn on the tv and snuggle up while you search for something to watch.

   He comes back around midnight, to give you as much space as he can without making himself miserable with too little sleep before work tomorrow, and he tries to be quiet when he steps out of his shoes and sneaks into the bathroom.    Once he’s used the toilet and brushed his teeth, he stays in the bathroom while he undresses and then quietly makes his way to the bed. But once he sees you, he has to stop for a moment and just look at you.

   The bedside lamps illuminate you where you lay, curled up against the headboard with the covers bunched up as a third pillow for you to hug, still fully dressed and with the tray of sweets in the middle of the bed, most of it already eaten. You’re holding the rose so that the soft petals touch your cheek, and around your neck the thin chain and tiny diamond glimmers.    You’re far away, sleeping soundly with a slight smile in the corner of your mouth, and it makes him feel warm to see it.

   You always smile, even when you have no apparent reason to. It’s how he’s used to seeing you, and it’s an unexpected relief to have that smile back.    It takes him several minutes before he realizes that he’s been staring at you for far too long, and promptly reaches over to lift the tray out of the bed and take one of the spare blankets to cover you with, before he carefully crawls into bed beside you and falls asleep still watching you smile.

~~~    The alarm on his phone is automated, set to 6:15am for the entire week, and it goes off when it’s supposed to.    He turns around and reaches for his phone but then hits snooze instead of turning it off. He’s dead tired and not at all in the mood to get up, so he tries to go back to sleep, hoping the alarm will magically turn back time and give him another two hours.    But then that feeling hits him. That feeling which tells him something’s off and he needs to be alert, so he opens his eyes.

   He’s still lying on his left side, facing your direction, so when he looks up, he meets your eyes staring back at him.    You’ve sat up and you look tired and confused, but also… softer, maybe. Less tense than you have these past two days.

   “When did you get in? I didn’t hear you.” You seem truly surprised to not have noticed him coming back, but then, you have no idea how stealthy he’s had to be earlier in his life, and how those skills still serve him on occasion.

   “Midnight,” he sleepily slurs without lifting his head off the pillow.

   “Oh. I was trying to stay up… to thank you.”

   He doesn’t reply to that, because he really doesn’t know what to say, and he much prefers silence to outing himself as both stupid and incompetent where conversation is concerned.

   “I spent all night trying to figure out how you could possibly know how much I love all these things,” you quietly continue in your raspy morning voice, which he finds himself enjoying far too much, “but then I decided that it doesn’t really matter. Because I know you aren’t nearly interested enough in people to ever stalk anyone, so however you found these things out, I don’t think there’s anything bad about it.”

   You haven’t asked him anything, or indirectly posed an inquiry of any kind, so there’s nothing for him to answer, which is why he simply keeps looking at you. But in his mind, he recalls all the moments when he’s overheard you talking to your colleagues, freely sharing your interests, tastes, and dreams, as well as what things annoy, scare, or unsettle you. And he wonders if you’re even aware of how much you openly reveal about yourself without hesitation.

   He thinks you must fear a great many things to be so ready to be known. To have such a need to never be misunderstood or caught on a lie that you’ll tell complete strangers about your thoughts and feelings on almost any subject, just to ensure they’ll know in advance why you might react negatively to certain things. Because that way, no one can ever call you a liar or attack you for being dishonest or unapproachable.    He thinks you must be terribly scared of people in general, and that being completely open is your way of both protecting yourself and ensuring you won’t become closed off from the entire world.

   But for all your vigilance, like everyone else around him, you don’t seem to notice him when he works within earshot of you, or just passes by close enough to overhear a few words or sentences of whatever conversation you happen to be in.    He’s good at blending into the background when he chooses to, but he’s also aided by the fact that everyone overlooks him because they know he won’t interact with them even if they try, so it’s like their brains scrub him out of their senses to make sure they don’t waste any energy on him.

   “What I do need to know,” you continue, oblivious to his internal memory trip, “is why you would ever spend a thousand bucks on a gift for someone you don’t care the least bit about.”

   The alarm goes off again, and since he’s wide awake now, he sits up and switches it off, turning away from you as he throws his legs over the side of the bed.

   “We need to get going,” is all he replies, fully aware that he’s avoiding the issue and using the fact that you still haven’t asked him a direct question as an excuse not to answer.

   But he knows the answer. He knows it painfully well. And there’s a part of him who seriously hates that truth.    You’re always unsure around him, for good reason since he’s never made it possible for you to be comfortable and relaxed in his presence, but his dismissal this time is more than just rude. It’s cruel, because it leaves you completely unable to judge his behaviour.

   Did he do this for you because he’s trying to manipulate you? Or because he expects a favour in return? Is he trying to get into your pants?    He can tell even without looking at you that these questions now flood your mind, as the tension of fear makes the entire room electric from one moment to the next.

   Ordinarily, you don’t shy away from tough conversations. You hate it when things hang in the air like thunderclouds waiting to strike at you. But you’re also smart enough to pick your battles and you’ve understood from day one, that all discussions involving Pero are gonna be largely pointless, especially when he behaves this erratically.    But he wishes you would pick this fight.    He hates to see your fear. If only he had the guts to let you know that.

   The workday continues just like the previous ones, with the two of you on separate tasks, him working on the computer and you out on the main body of the machine, teaching the operators how to reset and mend the hydraulics.    You’re tremendously skilled at all functions of this complicated machine, especially considering how short a time you’ve spent learning it, so he’s never concerned about you working on it. The sister factory operators, on the other hand, he could outright strangle with their own incompetence.

   And it only gets worse today, after he overhears a conversation between a few of them while they’re making their way to the lunchroom.    As usual, they don’t notice him still working where they slowly pass while quietly speaking amongst themselves, and the first sentence he hears is enough to set his teeth on edge, so he abandons the work and sneaks after them.

   He’s in a seriously bad mood that evening, and you can’t help but think it has to do with you, for some reason. He doesn’t wanna look at you and every time he has to, his mood seems to sour even more, and since you have no idea what you could’ve done, it just scares you.    So, by the time you get back to the hotel, around 9pm, you’re not even thinking about laying down in the same bed as him.

   Using the same tactic as the first night, you offer him the bathroom first and then take your time in there once he’s done. Then you sneak out and quietly pull the covers and pillows down on the floor, where you make a bed for yourself.    You don’t hear anything from him, so you assume he’s already asleep, and after a little while, you manage to drift off as well. But the floor is hard, and you’re not used to that, so you wake up frequently as your body goes sore and occasionally numb from the pressure, forcing you to switch positions.

   All of which means you don’t really get a lot of sleep, and by the early hours of the morning you’re finally all but passed out from exhaustion. And of course, that’s when his alarm goes off.    You’re sleeping so heavily just then that you go back to sleep the moment the alarm is turned off, and it isn’t until you feel a hand on your shoulder that you finally wake up fully, with an instinctive, sharp jerk away from the unfamiliar touch.

   “What are you doing on the floor, Sonriente?” he asks, and he still sounds almost angry, which makes you shrink away from him.

   But you can’t find a single word to explain how he is the reason why you’ve put yourself in such an uncomfortable position, so you just turn away and start trying to wake your limbs up enough that you can stand and maybe begin to feel a little less vulnerable.    Surprisingly though, as soon as he sees what you’re doing, he immediately reaches out and helps you until you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. Which only further confuses you because why would he help you when he’s angry with you?

   You’re trembling slightly when he lets go of you, and you’re not sure if it’s because your limbs are still in the process of waking up or if it’s adrenaline, but either way, he notices, and it seems to connect the dots for him.

   “You sleep on the floor because of me?” he quietly asks, while slowly backing away from you, and he looks either shocked or hurt. You can’t tell which.

   “I don’t know why you’re so angry… but whatever I’ve done-…”

   “No,” he cuts you off sharply, shaking his head and closing his eyes as if it’ll somehow make all of this go away. “It is not you.”

   There’s something very raw and open about him in that moment. As though his innermost being is exposed and trying to crawl back into the shadows of his heart, but hindered by whatever this thing is that’s making him so angry.

   “It is never you…” he barely whispers, and now he is the one who’s trembling.

   “But then… why? Why could you barely even look at me yesterday, and why did it seem like you only got angrier every time you did?” you question, feeling slightly bolder now that you’re starting to see how vulnerable he is in this situation.

   A ripple seems to go through him, and suddenly all the hairs on his arms stand up, and the trembling in his hands intensifies.

   “I can’t say it.” He’s gritting his teeth as he speaks, so the words come out in a slight growl, but you can sense now that this isn’t directed at you at all. “But I would never hurt you.”

   He sinks to one knee on the floor in front of you, still with his eyes closed and his head bowed, and his fists closed tightly against his thighs, but somehow you’re not the least bit scared of him anymore.    You slip off the bed and drop to your knees before him, carefully reaching a hand up to his shoulder to see how he reacts, and the moment you make contact, another ripple goes through him.

   But in the aftermath, he softens. His shoulders drop and something seems to unlock within him, so you decide to take both his hands in yours, fully expecting him not to accept the small act of comfort. But he does.    Piece by piece, he surrenders, first by letting his hands be held, and then by holding yours in return.    He’s breathing hard, and you can see the pounding of his heart in his neck and on his temples, but the longer you hold onto him, the calmer he becomes.

   “I’m sorry… for ever letting you think you had to protect yourself from me,” he eventually whispers, and his voice trembles with the anger that still simmers within him. “I promise you will never have to.”

   You feel like you’re seeing him for the first time all over again, or at least seeing sides of him you never would’ve thought even existed if this stupid trip had never happened. And it emboldens you in terms of how much you dare to stand up for yourself and demand a few explanations. Because you sure as shit have questions and it’s about time he answers them.

   “Why did you buy me the necklace, Pero?” You keep your tone soft, but you also let your voice remain strong to let him know you’re not gonna tolerate any excuses, and then you wait patiently while he gathers himself.

   “Because you were stuck here with me,” he eventually begins, and his voice is full of uncertainty now, which is something you never thought you’d hear from this man. “I know you had plans for Valentine’s and it all got ruined, but then you also had to put up with me and I just thought… maybe it would bring your smile back for a while.”

   “My smile?” Of all the reasons to give someone a gift, making them smile is certainly good enough. But this particular man wishing to make you smile is entirely unexpected.

   “You always do. Like there is a happy little film playing on the insides of your eyes all the time. Have you not noticed how everyone you meet smiles back at you?” he wonders, and you think back to all the people you’re regularly around, and then all the people you’ve met for the first time recently.

   And he’s right. Everyone always smiles at you, even the most sour office workers whenever they have to set foot in the factory where they’re no longer the experts on everything because their knowledge is all theoretical and they wouldn’t be able to operate much of anything out there on the floor.    Everyone smiles at you. Except Tovar.

   “You are sunshine,” he continues, “drawing people in with your light and warmth. It is impossible to resist.”

   “But you do. I’ve never seen you smile, not at me or anyone, for any reason, not even a smirk,” you counter, before you slip a hand out of his to reach up and gently lift his chin, because you need to see his eyes. “So, why are you suddenly acting like this matters to you?”

   It takes him a minute, in which he keeps trying not to look at you, but his eyes still return to meet yours every few seconds, as if he really can’t resist.

   “It always makes me happy to see you,” he finally admits, and he looks so small and unsure suddenly, which stuns you somewhat, because you would never even have imagined that Pero Tovar could look anything but tall, broad and competent. “I’m sorry that I am not better at showing you this.”

   It’s still so difficult to wrap your head around this, because in the entire year you’ve been around him, this man has never shown any level of care for another human being, whatsoever. As in, you’ve seen him sigh and continue working as if nothing happened, after a guy standing next to him accidentally crushed his own foot.

   “So… you’re saying you care about me?” you ask, needing the outright confirmation before you’ll even be able to begin accepting it.

   He pauses again. But this time, he meets your eyes the whole time.

   “Yes.”

   You’re a little late to work this morning, but he’s very relieved to have had the conversation you ended up having after waking up.    It had damned near broken his heart to find you on the floor, knowing it was all his fault for being such a fucked-up person that he can’t even tell you he wasn’t angry with you. And he’s absolutely certain that anyone else would’ve either gotten angry with him or just tried to avoid the conversation all together.

   But not you. You always take the hard road, because that’s how much honesty means to you, and you always manage to do it without losing your temper or getting rude about it. It’s one of a long line of things he admires about you.    And that’s precisely why he’s never dared to actually talk to you.    He doesn’t know how to do any of that. How to have honest and open conversations without losing his shit at some point. It’s destroyed every relationship he’s ever tried to have, and he’s been so scared of losing the calm and harmony you bring into his life by just existing in his presence, that he never would’ve attempted it.

   But this morning was different, because you didn’t get angry or defensive or even demanding. You just kept opening doors for him and for the first time in at least twenty years, he found the courage to step through them, one by one.    And now, when you park at the sister factory for your fourth day of working on MAP, he feels like maybe this won’t be as bad of a day as he had initially thought.

   As usual, Hannah comes out to escort you both, but there’s a grim look on her face today, and while Pero can guess the reason behind it, you still have no idea what happened here yesterday.

   “Good morning. I’m afraid we’re a bit short-staffed today so you’ll have to make due with just two extra pairs of hands on the hydraulics.”

   “Is there a flu going round, or something?” you ask, which is a valid question given that you worked closely with the three men who are out sick today and who could’ve infected you with a disease.

   “No, no. It seems there was an incident here yesterday, and a few of our workers were injured.”

   “Oh. Was it another malfunction?”

   “It appears to have been an altercation, actually,” Hannah explains, to which you raise a shocked brow. “None of the boys are talking about it, so we don’t know exactly what happened, but between them they have broken hands, arms, noses, ribs, a dislocated shoulder and a shattered knee. So, whatever went down, it was serious.”

   At this point, Pero notices a slight stutter in your steps, just before your head turns ever so slightly in his direction.    You know that he can fight, and you know he isn’t afraid to get in the middle of it when he wants to, so you’re probably guessing that he was involved in this altercation and that it explains his temper problem from yesterday. All of which is correct, and none of which he intends to confess to in front of the supervisor, which is why he’s relieved when you don’t say anything.

   Once by the control panel for MAP, however, where no other operators are working, since they’re already busy with the hydraulics, you only wait until Hannah’s moved out of earshot before you come at him.

   “What the hell, Tovar? Did you mess up those guys?” Your voice is low, but the tone is heavy with accusation and even a bit of disbelief, so you clearly never noticed the darker shades of these particular operators as they worked with you.

   “Yes,” he admits without shame or hesitation, to which your shock doubles.

   “Why would you do that?”

   He doesn’t want to answer this one, so he gets to work, hoping you’ll let it go as you usually do when he shuts you down. But of course, this is one of those times when you decide to take the fight, probably because of the progress with communication you had this morning.

   “None of them even worked with you, what reason could you possibly have to break their fucking bones?”

   Disgusting words spoken in entitled and arrogant voices suddenly flood his mind once more, and his anger re-emerges with full force. But he manages to stay in control of himself, so while he turns his head to meet your questioning gaze, none of that anger spills onto you, and it only takes you a second to realize why.    Your breath seems to die inside your lungs and for a moment he worries that you’re about to pass out. But then you suck in a shaky breath and tears form in your eyes as the understanding dawns on you.

   It’s a horrible thing to see, watching as you involuntarily envision what could’ve happened, the nausea and sudden weakness which seems to creep into your very bones even at the mere suggestion of the plans that Pero interrupted by taking them out.    If he’d needed any reassurance that his actions were just, your reaction is more than enough. But it only lasts for a few seconds, and then a different emotion begins to replace the fear and discomfort.    It takes him a minute to figure out what it is, and just as he does, you step towards him.

   The strength of your arms when they wrap around his waist is almost enough to bruise him, but he doesn’t mind.    He might not often feel deserving of someone’s gratitude, as the things he occasionally does to aid them are largely self-serving, but he does this time. Not because this threat was more real than any other, but simply because he knows and cares about you.    He’s tried not to. Tried every day not to let you creep further under his skin and infect him with your joy, but he never stood a chance.

   You don’t speak and you don’t need to. Your body tells him the truth of what you’re feeling in that moment, in the tiny shivers which keep making you tremble against him, and the strained breaths you struggle to take with your face buried against his chest. He can feel how hard you’re trying not to cry, how you bite it back with each inhale and then almost lose control of it every time your lungs empty.    But he also feels the relief within you when he wraps his arms around your shoulders and rests his cheek against the side of your head.

   In this moment, he has become your safety. The place where you choose to be because it makes you feel better. And for all his accomplishments, his inventions and ideas, technical skills and comprehensive knowledge, this is the only time he can recall ever feeling truly proud of himself.    Because you’re choosing him. You. The strongest and most impressive person he’s ever met.

~~~    That night, you fall asleep lying next to him, and although he’s tired after a long and emotional day, he stays awake for a little while just to look at you. Just to make sure you’re still smiling in your sleep.    And in the following five days, which it takes to finally fix the machine, this becomes your routine every night.    So, when the day eventually comes when it’s time to return home, you’re both mildly disappointed by the prospect of going back to your empty beds.

   Still, it’s nice to come home. You see your cars still parked where you left them when you drive past the employee lot on your way to the company car slots. It’s past office hours so once you’ve collected your things, you drop the keys in a kind of mailbox designed specifically for that purpose, and then begin making your way back to your own vehicles.    Neither of you are in a hurry, and he decides to walk you to your car before he heads to his own, just to help you feel safe. He’s noticed that you’re still rattled about the incident he prevented, in how you’ve been jumpier than usual.

   “I never thought I’d say this,” you quietly muse once you reach your car, “but I’m gonna miss your presence tonight.”

   You say it with a smile, but there’s insecurity within the expression, making him think that what you’re really going to miss is the feeling of safety which his closeness over the past week has given you.

   “But it will be nice to sleep in your own bed, yes?”

   “Definitely.”

   “And we will meet for the debrief first thing in the morning,” he concludes, hoping to leave you with a brighter perspective. And perhaps also hoping that you’ll reassure him of your desire to see him again.

   “The debrief?” Your question is genuine, reminding him that this is your first time working away and that you’ve probably never been told about the follow-up procedures.

   “Yes. We must meet Gary in the morning and explain everything that’s happened and what we have done.”

   “But won’t he have gotten continuous updates from the management team over there?”

   “Of course. The debrief is to ensure that our recollection and experience of what has happened concurs with theirs, to eliminate the risk of either side trying to hide any problems or complications.    So, we will need to tell Gary about the user errors which led to the breakdown.”

   “Okay. But we’re not telling him about…” you trail off, unable to finish the sentence because the thought alone still makes you curl in on yourself.

   “It would not do much good. Those men will be dealt with by the sister factory’s human resources unit.”

   “How so? We never told them what really happened, so why would their HR get involved at all?”

   “Because I hacked their phones and took a look at their search histories and saved videos, and even the small percentage of things I anonymously sent to their HR representative will be enough to get them arrested eventually,” he confesses, and it somehow still surprises him just how warm it makes him feel inside when he sees the relief in your frame.

   “Careful, Pero. I might start spreading a rumour that you’re secretly the sweetest guy in the world,” you joke, but there’s a hint of seriousness behind the teasing tone.

   “Go ahead, Sonriente. No one would believe you.”

   He says it with a soft note to his voice, just to make sure you know he wouldn’t mind if you did decide to spread rumours about him, regardless of what they might concern, if it would in any way help you feel good.

   “That’s definitely true,” you agree, mirroring his softness, and a slight spark lights up somewhere in your eyes then. “But you know, I kinda like that I’m the only who’s seen this other side of you.”

   “You may take all the credit for this yourself, because no one else has a hope of drawing it out of me. But it seems, against you, I have no defences anymore.”

   The smile you give him in response to that is enough to make him wish he could always sleep beside you. But this is where you finally part ways for the night.    He waits until you’re safely locked inside your car before he heads over to his own, already missing your closeness when he takes a seat and buckles up, and already accepting the fact that he won’t get much sleep tonight.

   It almost feels stupid how relieved you are to see him again the next morning. And the way his eyes light up when you walk into Gary’s office, just a few seconds past the dotted time, makes you wanna sit down on his lap rather than the chair beside him.    But you notice how discreet his reaction is now that there’s an audience, compared to how directly he’s been allowing you to see his emotions while you’ve been couped up together in that hotel room.    So, even though he might like you, he’s not prepared for the world to know about it, which is why you greet him with just a polite nod while you take your seat.

   “Good morning,” Gary grumbles in his characteristically sour morning mood. “So, this took a bit longer than I’d hoped, but I see you got the MAP working again, well done.”

   “Yeah. It was shot to shit when we got there,” you chip in, immediately back to expecting Tovar not to speak unless he’s asked a question, since that is still his normal state of being.

   “I saw the pictures of the hard drives. Someone sure did a real number on that thing.”

   “I’m guessing more than one someone. But we’ve shown them how to operate it correctly now, so hopefully it won’t happen again.”

   He asks you to go over the repair process day by day, and he has a lot of questions along the way, and true to form, your colleague remains silent unless Gary addresses him, so it ends up being a lot of talking for you.    But as it begins to wind down, you start to wonder if Pero is being deliberately silent specifically because he wants you to talk through it.

   He’s always quiet at work, that’s not unusual. But this was his repair job, not yours. You were just the extra hands, which means that this debrief should be primarily directed at him, yet by keeping his mouth shut, he’s forcing the supervisor to focus on you. And in doing so, you’re getting a chance to unpack everything that’s happened, at least in your own head, even though you’re editing stuff out before you speak.    Gary knows better than to push his top employee for a comment when the man is clearly not in a talkative mood, so it works perfectly, if indeed that is what the Spaniard’s doing.

   “Alright, I think I’ve got everything I need, so unless either of you have anything you wanna add, we can wrap it up here.”

   “Nope, all good,” you cheerfully declare, feeling lighter than you have in the past few days.

   “No critique you wanna hurl at me? About the hotel or the car? No jackass operator giving you a hard time over there, or anything?”

   From the corner of your eye, you see Tovar shift ever so slightly in his seat, and you wonder if he’s thinking about the men he hurt, or the one bed hotel room you initially hadn’t wanted to share with him.    But he says nothing, so you just shake your head at your supervisor and then the two of you leave his office and head onto the factory floor to get started on your regular workday.

   It’s nice to be back at your own station with your regular crew. It feels safe and familiar. But you find yourself thinking about Pero almost every second of the day. Wondering what he’s up to whenever you can’t see him at his station and wondering if he’s thinking about you at all whenever you do see him.    He never looks at you while he’s working, at least not that you can tell, so by lunchtime you’re pleased when he falls in beside you while you walk towards the breakroom, although it is a bit disappointing when he still takes his usual spot at the far end of the room rather than choosing to sit with you.

   But you do understand. It’s not like he’s gonna become a different person just because the two of you have begun to build a friendship, and you wouldn’t want him to.    So, you take your usual seat and play along with the customary banter, answering everyone's questions about the sister factory and what you got up to over there, and it all feels comfortably normal.

   Until someone makes a remark about Pero, the kind of thing you would’ve previously just ignored, but which now that you feel closer to your taciturn colleague, you suddenly find offensive.

   “Bet this one charmed everyone’s socks off,” the operator smirks, throwing a thumb in Tovar’s general direction after you’ve just finished describing the difficulty of coming in as the experts and trying to find a good working dynamic with a different crew.

   And in that moment, the fact that the Spaniard never defends himself, despite seriously fucking people up for just talking about hurting you, just makes you feel like it’s your turn to have his back and teach this crew not to talk about him like he isn’t even there.

   “No, he didn’t. But he did manage to charm my pants off.”

   You say it frankly, leaving no question that it’s the truth, even though you’re twisting the narrative a bit to make it sound like the two of you hooked up, when you’re actually just referring to him making you feel safe enough to sleep beside him in nothing but your panties and a top.    Still, the effect it has on the entire room is worth the fib.

   They all know you’re not easy. It takes a lot just for someone to get a date with you, courtesy of trust issues because of previous experiences. Nothing traumatic, thankfully, but enough that you always have your guard up and actively look for red flags in every guy you meet. Also, you’re very clear on what you want and what you tolerate, as well as what you don’t, which is enough to deter a great many men.    So, for you to let a mystery like Pero anywhere near you, he has to have insanely good game, and not one of the people in that breakroom with you can picture a reality where that’s even possible.

   Which results in a highly amusing blend of shocked and disbelieving faces, some frozen while they’re clearly trying to visualize this alternate universe, while others are just staring at Tovar, still sitting there perfectly calmly in his usual spot, reading something on his phone.    And the best part is, none of them have the guts to ask him about it, because they’re all just as scared of him as you still were two weeks ago. Which means that all they can do is live with this incredibly shocking revelation, presumably forever.

   You continue to chuckle about it for the rest of the day, and when the next shift arrives to relieve you, from a distance, you can see how they too are informed of this latest piece of gossip. So, odds are, this is now gonna be the talk of the factory for the foreseeable future.

   “You know you will be the topic of discussion for a long time now,” Pero cautions as if he’s just read your mind, while he comes to help you clean up before you leave your station.

   “It’s harmless, I don’t mind. Besides, it is true.”

   “Technically. But I do not like them thinking of you as a conquest. Mine or anyone else’s.”

   “Okay. Then shut them down,” you smile, and he can tell there’s a hidden meaning behind those words, but he can’t quite make it out, so you decide to spell it out for him. “Let’s go on a date.”

   Your confidence ebbs out about halfway through the sentence, resulting in a sudden fade of both volume and potency, so the word date comes out all strangled and barely even audible. But you’ve said it now, so you might as well soldier on.

   “What I mean is, I would like to go on a date with you. You’re free to decline, of course,” you elaborate, feeling more insecure by the second, even turning your head down to look at your shoes because you suddenly remember how much rejection stings, which you somehow hadn’t thought about until just now.

   “Do you like empanadas?” he asks then, and his voice is soft, just like it always was when the two of you were alone together in the hotel room this last week.

   “I’ve never tried them,” you confess, still unsure of what he means by that, but then he gives you a little smile.

   “Then I will make them for you. My mother’s recipe is a bit spicy, but I think you can handle it.”

   Relief and joy wash over you as you realize he’s agreeing, and your responding smile feels like it blossoms out of you. Like there’s no connection between your brain and your heart in that moment, it just happens because the feeling is too big to control.

   “Okay. So… your place?”

   “You choose. If you wish to have the option to leave if you feel uncomfortable: my place. If you wish to eat by a table and not sitting in the sofa: your place.”

   “For the record, I know I’d feel safe at your place. But yeah, a table might be nice,” you chuckle, and he nods in agreement, so you decide to be bold. “How about tonight, maybe 6pm?”

   “Sure,” he quietly agrees, but you can tell he’s pleased that you didn’t suggest waiting until the weekend.

   “Great. And if you’re gonna cook then I’ll get dessert.” You say it while starting to walk towards the assembled crews, ridiculously happy to see them still flabbergasted at the realization that their grumpiest colleague apparently has more game than all of them.  

But when you turn your back to him, you miss how his expression changes as he follows you, turning from a controlled interest and mild happiness, to almost tearful with gratitude that you’d still choose to spend time with him even when you no longer need to.    He might not be ready to show it in front of the others, but the brightness you pour into his soul with just your smile and your willingness to give him a chance, would make him glow in the dark if it was visible.    You might not have figured it out yet, but Pero Tovar already belongs to you, so all you need to do to have your forever Valentine, is simply to keep choosing him.

   I’m not gonna write THE END on this one, because I feel like I’m gonna be returning to these two at some point, so please let me know if that’s something you’d like to see.    All my love, always.    /Jay

@pedrostories @harriedandharassed

[justadeadreaper]

Calling König's toddlers picky eaters is the understatement of the century, if there ever was one. The word picky does not even describe how abhorrent his children are when it comes to eating food. Unlike their father, who will virtually eat anything you put in front of him no matter if it is burnt or decayed due to how he was brought up with food being a limited supply, so he is just happy to eat for once (for context on how horrific be one time you found a whole ecosystem in a bowl in his fridge that smelt like complete rot and he said it was still fine to eat), they will refuse anything and if you dare bring new foods around them expect it to be thrown onto the floor. For weeks on end, they will refuse any other food but their current fixation, then randomly, their little minds decide one day that the food is now their greatest enemy and will refuse to eat it and anything else until they find their next fixation. 

The foods they always like? The main ones are any type of fish or meat that was fried or breaded, cheese, or anything made of potatoes, cream, bread, pasta, and strawberries. The foods they always hate? The obvious ones, like most toddlers their age, are vegetables and fruits, but their hate list also includes anything new, slimy, or that smells or looks slightly off.

Given how picky they can be, König has had to become creative in getting them to eat a healthy diet.

Luckily, with having a well-paid job, a dodgy side hustle/”hobby”, and enough savings to make an average person have a heart attack König can afford to be able to get creative when he is cooking for his darlings. He will spend hours upon hours searching online for recipes and then perfecting them to make sure that the taste of vegetables will be unrecognisable so that they will finally eat them. No matter how hard or time-consuming it is, he continues to do it just because he knows it is the best for his toddlers and he can have nothing but the best for the lights of his life. After enough tests and trials with having his toddlers be his taste testers, he realised what worked best and spent thousands upon thousands of euros to get the equipment to continue doing this.

The first step König makes to put his big plan into action is to make deals with some local farmers and fishers at the market in one of the nearby villages or towns who will drop off fresh produce like meat, vegetables, fruits, grain, and dairy products for him and his kids to eat and in return, he pays them highly for both dropping off the food and giving him some of the best product. He also pays a few to help him set up his own mini farm in his garden so that he can grow a few things himself and with his toddlers so they appreciate their food more as they know where it comes from (if anyone is interested, I can expand on this idea). His next step is to order cookie cutters online, whether they be ones he had to have custom-made or ones he just found randomly when scrolling on some shopping site he had the recruits recommend him; the reason why he decides to order them is because he realised that his toddlers are more likely to eat their food or try new food if it is themed around their interests. 

And, his final step is to redo his entire kitchen from the stove to the sinks to the fridge (he decides to get two double fridges rather than the single one he had before) while getting more utensils that are not the normal things like a spatula or grater as they are more appliances like food mixer for baking or a slow cooker or a rice cooker until his kitchen was full of cooking equipment. He had brought everything he could think of and that others at KorTac or online had recommended, even if it was over the top and had cost him tens of thousands of euros, but his children were worth it all, even if it was a bit of a sink in his pocket.

With his set-up complete and recipes at hand, König can begin cooking for his picky eaters. Due to his toddlers’ preference for fried food such as chicken nuggets, he will put the chicken through the grinder himself to make a paste into which he can put chopped vegetables such as onions, peppers, corn, or mushrooms into which he can then season and bread after using the cookie cutters to make special shapes such as dinosaurs or shark or stars or rockets, it just depends on his what his toddlers’ interests are. He makes tiny edits to most of the recipes, since he prefers to make the components by hand, to make them healthier so that his toddlers have all the nutrients they need so they do not suffer like he did as a child where certain nutrients were neglected in favour of others. König will then spend hours in the kitchen preparing his meals, never letting his toddlers see his crafty tricks that get them to be healthy, which he will then serve to them like it is their regular food.

Examples of the displays of main dishes he puts together for his toddlers are fried fish in the shape of sharks with vegetables cut out in the shape of fish and potatoes that look like coral as it is plated on a water/ocean-themed plate if the toddler’s interest is sharks or a mashed potato volcano with a broccoli forest and vegetable shavings grass with dinosaur nuggets running away as it is plated on a forest-themed plate if the toddler’s interest is dinosaurs or vegetable shavings grass with chicken nuggets in the shape of bunnies with potato fries in the shape of Easter eggs or carrots as it is plated on a grassland-themed plate if the toddler’s interest is bunnies as Miffy has been getting extremely popular or alien shaped chicken or fish nuggets with mashed potato meteors, vegetables shaped into planets or stars, and one massive fry in the shape of a rocket as it is placed on a galaxy-themed plate if the toddler’s interest is the stars and space. Normally, the main dishes will come with a side of any food group he does not add to the main dish, or it may be extras he thinks his toddlers will like but wants them to control the amount they have, like a mixture of cheese he shredded or others vegetables he cut up that they can use to break up their main meal or a fresh bun he had brought.

While the examples of desserts and snacks he makes for his toddlers are milk bread sandwiches with a filling of cream, jam, and fruits that are cut into any shapes his toddlers want that day, or he will use an ice cream machine he brought to make a more healthy version of ice cream that he will sneak more fruits into that he thinks will match the flavour (such as strawberries and blueberries or peaches added into vanilla ice cream or bananas added into vanilla ice cream) with frozen or dried fruit shavings as a topping or a snack they can chew on in the middle of the day or tiny, or little cupcakes filled with fruit pieces and topped with homemade cream that can fit into their tiny little hands as he uses cut up fruits to add features such as spines or bunny ears or marshmallows with details on like stars or paw prints or specially shaped pancakes that are decorated with fruits and whipped cream to give details to make it look like their interests like dinosaurs or cats.

But this is not everything. With the countless recipes he has, he can make countless displays so that his toddlers are never bored. He may substitute one ingredient for another if he wants his children to try new foods or if he wants to change the taste slightly to stop boredom. He may substitute and swap options for new variety or when he thinks his kids are lacking, as he just wants to make sure they are healthy and try any food possible.

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Emily Prentiss x Reader Headcanons

Mostly SFW, but a few lil spicy ones throughout (below the line).

Chews on pens/pencils when she's anxious or deep in thought and it's inexplicably hot.

Has a glass of very nice, very expensive red wine every night.

Fluent in Arabic, French, Spanish, and Italian. Passable in Russian.

Seems quiet and mysterious at first but is actually just a huge dork.

Breaks down crying every time before starting her period and will say, "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm so emotional today," and you're like... "Babe, don't you start tomorrow?"

Usually a no-strings-attached-sex kind of person, mostly because relationships are hard with her job. You're the exception.

Will fold like a wet napkin for nice chocolate.

Notorious for ghosting lol. Sometimes even used a fake name. A bad habit from her undercover days.

Not subtle at all when coming on to you. Pretty much asked you for a date out of the blue.

Loves that you can talk about the deep, dark stuff, but can also make her laugh like no one else.

If for any reason you wake up in the night–stomachache, nightmare, scary storm–she is up with you. She'll claim she can't sleep either, but really she just wants to hold you and make sure you get back to sleep okay.

Watches you breathe at night. She finds it deeply comforting.

Takes you once a year to her grandfather’s cottage in the French Alps, where she spent a lot of time growing up.

Grew up Catholic. She’s not religious anymore, but sometimes she still likes to listen to old hymns and chants, like they had at the mass she and her mom attended in Italy.

Opens every door for you always. In fact, she’ll be hurt if you don’t let her open the door.

An incredibly good listener. She loves hearing about your day, no matter how mundane it was, because her days are usually filled with the darkest, most horrific things.

Has two tattoos. (1) On her ankle. A word from the Qur’an (لِّتَسۡكُنُوۡۤ) that roughly translates to “that you may find tranquility.” She got it in Italy when she started to realize she liked girls, because girls were the only people in whom she ever found tranquility. (2) On her hip. A small asterisk a la Kurt Vonnegut.

Insanely protective. She will not let anyone touch you, say anything to you, even look at you with nefarious intentions.

Has a little note on her phone where she writes down your favorite things–takeout, flowers, ice cream flavors, the brand of tampons you use–so she'll always remember.

“Call me when you get there.” Has to know where you are at all times. You gave up arguing and just constantly have your phone location shared with her. It’d be suffocating except that, given her job, it makes sense.

Loves that you are so independent. She’s watched too many BAU relationships fall apart because their partner was frustrated with the demanding BAU work schedule. You don’t really mind. Of course, you miss her, but you also really like your alone time, so things balance out nicely.

Puzzle fiend. There’s almost always a puzzle going on the coffee table.

Queen of leaving people on read. It’s nothing personal, it’s just that texts usually fall by the wayside when she’s in the field.

Secretly loves it so much when you brag about her. She’ll act all embarrassed about it, but it means a lot that you’re proud of her.

A hipster in the sense that if something is popular, she automatically decides she doesn’t like it. You make fun of her a lot for this.

Falls in love with you every time she notices one of your little gestures–having a second go-bag packed and ready at all times, doing the laundry, packing little granola bars in her purse because you know she forgets to stop for lunch, returning books to the library for her, etc.

Incredibly stubborn. Thankfully, you are, too, so you’re well-matched. On the downside, sometimes it takes forever to make a decision because neither of you are willing to back down.

Swears like a sailor when she’s not at work.

Kind of quiet with other people, but will talk with you late into the night, until you fall asleep. You love that you get to fall asleep to her voice.

Touches you like you’re made of gold, like you were made to be cherished and held on to.

Cheek/nose/forehead kisses. all. the. time.

Kisses you good morning and good night, every time, no matter when she gets home or when she leaves.

You would never guess it, but she lives for gossip. She doesn’t want to be part of the drama, but she sure as hell wants to know about it.

Drives her wild (in bed and out) that you are 100% hers. It is not in your nature to cheat, you are wholly devoted to your person, and she is over the moon that she’s that person.

Acts like a top, is a top.

Can drink coffee at midnight and be conked out twenty minutes later.

After a particularly hard case, she’ll come home and want to just hold you really tight against her chest, sometimes for an hour or more. You always let her.

Big spoon, always. She likes to feel like she’s keeping you safe.

Favorite food is the sweet potato burrito from Muchas Gracias, but they only have them at lunch and she is never in DC at lunchtime, so sometimes you go buy her one and pack it for her for lunch the next day. It makes her day every time.

Honestly it’s a struggle when you have to get up before her because she has you in a ninja death grip that is almost impossible to get out of.

Her feet are always cold, so she has a huge collection of fuzzy socks.

Movie buff. Has a giant checklist of all the Oscar noms during awards season, and you watch one almost every night she’s home.

Loves to shower with you. You will get clean, but you’ll get fucked first.

A wizard with a wand (iykwim).

She still gets butterflies when you hold hands.

[kitsunexgari]

Chapter OneSummary: Wanting to make a name for herself, Lexi (an investigative journalist) finds herself hot on the trail of the story of the century after being transferred to Seoul by management in her hometown of New York City. After months of research on the legend of the Squid Game she manages to track down the notorious recruiter. Only she doesn't realize that he's been tracking her much better and soon he has her exactly where he wants her. Tags: Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Hostage Situations, Guns, Face Slapping, Threats of Violence, Threats of Rape/Non-Con Notes: This is just an introductory chapter to establish a few things so not too much dark stuff happens in it but it definitely won't stay that way so keep that in mind.

Squid Game

The two words that haunted her every waking moments and sometimes even her dreams. Were they real? Did they actually happen? Or was it just a rumor being passed around on the streets from the desperate and delusional? It was something she was attempting to find out but as more and more time passed she couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t more of a fever dream than a reality. 

She’d been sent overseas as an investigative journalist. It wasn’t even a job she really wanted to have. It was a job to pay the bills until she could do what she’d always wanted to do, and that was to be a writer. Novels. Not meaningless articles and puff pieces about the local art scenes in various countries. That wasn’t anywhere near exciting. The problem was that she was aware that if she didn’t somehow get her foot in the door with a big story first she’d probably never make it as the writer she really wanted to be. It was the only thing that had kept her working as a reporter, the potential networking she could do to get where she wanted to be. 

It was only once she was transferred to Seoul did she start hearing this rumor. It wasn’t anything that her boss was interested in covering. Not by her or anyone else. According to him it was all made up nonsense but according to the people on the street the story was quite the opposite. Some people claimed their friends had gone to play this game and vanished entirely, never to be heard from again. There was no real way to verify this as it was, seeing as how anyone she heard this story from was homeless, an alcoholic, or both. She had tried to do her research on the names she was given but there was little to nothing to track. 

If the authorities had any information on this type of thing going on they had no official word on it and she’d tried that too. Law enforcement was less than helpful, only responding to her once as if she were an absolute crazy person and not a journalist. Between her routine assignments and writing the mind numbingly boring articles that she had to put out every day she continued to do what she could to investigate the leads she needed to investigate to find out if any of this was true or not. 

Just when she believed that it may be time to throw in the towel, she was given a tip from a random woman in a bar. One that she believed to be accurate since the woman was able to produce one of the business cards from the game. There were three shapes on the front and a number on the back. The woman said she fully intended to call it and join this game so she was extremely reluctant to give up the card. What she was able to get instead was the story of how this woman had been given the card in the first place. 

That story in of itself sounded like complete bullshit but it was the most solid lead she had going for her at that point in time so it was at least something to keep investigating. The woman told her that in order to get the card she had been challenged to a game of Ddakji in one of the subway systems as she was waiting for her train. The man, as described by her, was tall and handsome, wearing what she believed to be an expensive business suit. He also carried a briefcase. This information was almost as useful as it was useless, considering there were probably a million men in the city that looked like that. However, the one detail that did set him apart from anyone else who might look like that was the game he would be playing. 

It was from there that she went on a mission to try to find this man, an alleged recruiter for the Squid Game. Something which she was sure was being recruited for at that very moment if she was able to find someone who had just gotten the card. The legend told that hundreds of people were sent to some island after being selected so she figured she had time to figure out who this man was, where he might be. Though if she missed him this time around there was almost no telling when he may appear again, if he did at all. For all she knew it wasn’t always the same man, or there was more than one. 

All of her spare time became dedicated to riding the trains, going from station to station, hoping to find anyone who fit that description while also playing that game. Day after day and night after night she rode the trains. Every line from beginning to end. Yet time and again nothing came of it. She’d been at it for weeks with no progress and asking anyone around her about this alleged guy playing this game once again met her with a bunch of weird looks or blank stares. She knew she couldn’t keep going after this, that it was running her completely ragged and sooner or later she would have to give it all up as a pipe dream, wondering what could have been instead of what was. There were probably other, better stories to follow that could put her on the map. Why was she wasting so much time on this? Why had it become such an obsession? 

Late one night, as she sat on yet another random platform waiting for another train to take her to another station, she heard some type of commotion down the platform kind of next to her. Close enough that as she turned her head to look she could see what was going on but far enough away that the people involved wouldn’t have any reason to notice her or what she was doing. That was when she caught him. The tall handsome man in the business suit, with the briefcase, playing Ddakji with what looked like a homeless man. She sat up and turned on her phone aiming it to record what was going on as discreetly as possible, only stopping it when it seemed like the game was over and the business man was moving on. He had to come towards her and pass her to go back up the stairs to leave. She kept her head down as if she were looking at her phone for some other reason until he was almost gone. That was when she got up and started to follow in the same direction that he was headed. 

Now that she knew what he looked like it was easy to keep track of him as she walked out of there. Being of a smaller size she blended into what little was left of a crowd there. He never once turned to look over his shoulder nor did he seem to peg her as someone who was trailing behind him. Things got a bit more complicated when he hailed a cab but she was able to get one right behind him and convince the driver to follow it after also offering him double the usual rate for the ride fare. 

This took her to a nice part of the city where his cab stopped outside of a building with luxury condos. She had her driver stop past that location and down the street before she got out and doubled back to the building. Luckily, he was still in the lobby area once she had gotten inside, managing to catch the door before it shut as someone else was leaving. She entered casually as if she were supposed to be there, glancing at her phone every so often as if she were texting someone and not paying attention to whatever this guy was doing. 

She was able to keep an eye on him as he stepped over to the elevators and pressed the button to call one down. Using her phone camera, she recorded him over her shoulder from behind so that she didn’t have to actually turn to look in his direction and be all the more suspicious. The elevator doors opened and he got on. She stayed where she was until the doors had closed completely then walked over to them to watch which floor it was going up to. The numbers continued to climb further and further until they stopped on the 27th floor. She immediately pressed the button to call another elevator and as luck would have it, seconds later it opened up letting a few people out before she got on then pressed the button for the same floor. 

Shifting from foot to foot anxiously, she watched the numbers go up and continue to go up, hoping that they wouldn’t make any random stops along the way. She’d already risked missing him in the first place by not finding some excuse to get on the elevator with him but she thought that would be far too suspicious. Especially if he had happened to notice her without saying anything about it. The elevator finally stopped and the doors opened to the 27th floor. She looked both ways and realized she had no clue which way he could have gone until she heard what sounded like a door closing down the hallway off to her left. She headed in the direction of the sound, but part of her knew it would be somewhat futile seeing as how she would have no way to tell what door had just closed and for what reason. It didn’t mean he was the one who had entered it. 

Her pace was still slow and casual even though she was the only one in the hallway at that point. She looked at every door as she passed, noting that there were names on each door under the numbers for convenience sake. Yet, nothing really stood out to her as any specific door that this man could have gone into. She also didn’t know if he even lived here, he could just be visiting someone else. Maybe her best bet was to go back down to the lobby and just wait it out. Follow him once he left the building. She would wait all night if she had to. This was as close as she’d gotten so far and she wasn’t going to let go of this lead easily. She glanced at the door closest to her before turning back to the elevator waiting area. Once she got there she called the elevator and stood back to wait. 

“Looking for someone?” 

“Hmm?” She looked up when she heard the voice speak but before she could turn around to see who had said that to her she was grabbed from behind, a cloth placed over her nose and mouth as she was held tightly against a considerably strong body. She struggled, doing the best she could to attempt to escape this grasp but in the end it was no use. Her vision soon began to tunnel before everything went completely dark. 

When she came to, she found herself tied to a chair in a very fancy looking dining room. Her hands bound behind her back and her ankles tied down to the legs of the chair for good measure. Her head was pounding and her vision was still a bit blurry but the more she woke up the more she realized how completely fucked up this situation was. She hadn’t even told anyone where she was going or what she was attempting to do. Not since everyone had thought she was insane anyway. It wasn’t like she had a bunch of friends or family who would notice her missing either. She’d been quite a loner since before she’d even gotten to Seoul, far more focused on her career than having a social life. 

A man came into the room a moment later. The exact same man that she had seen on the subway platform playing that game. It was obvious to her now that he’d noticed her and had been waiting to get the drop on her, but how? She’d barely done anything to stand out. It didn’t seem to make sense. Then again, if all of this was real and he really did recruit people to play this incredibly illegal game then he was probably more aware of his surroundings than she’d given him credit for. She had to admit he was far more attractive this close to her than she had initially given thought to. From his pocket he pulled a phone, her phone, one which he set on the table and slid towards her. 

“I’m going to need you to delete any footage you have of me.” He said in a polite yet somehow creepy tone. Maybe it was just how calm he was as he spoke that made it creepy. She guessed she’d have expected him to be angry or something but if he was, that wasn’t coming across in his tone of voice or mannerisms. 

“Why don’t you just break it?” 

“That would be unnecessary I think, since as of now I don’t intend you any harm but that could easily change if you aren’t willing to comply.” 

“Who are you?” 

“Erase the footage.” 

“You’re going to need to untie me for that, if it wasn’t obvious.” She rolled her eyes, attempting to play off her fear of this situation as annoyance knowing that he very much held her life in his hands. He chuckled and walked around to the other side of the table where she was sitting, standing behind her for a moment before she felt his hands over her wrists to untie them from the position they were in. Once she was released she brought her hands in front of her only to feel the cold metal of a gun pressed to the temple of her head. She wished she could have said this was the first time that had happened but having lived in New York City most of her life it had happened before. 

“You won’t want to try anything stupid, just remember that.” He warned her. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” She said, attempting not to sound like a smart ass about it but kind of failing. She picked up the phone and used the face ID to unlock it. Holding the phone in a way he could see the screen as well, she went through her photo albums and videos to also show him what she had and that she was deleting them. “There, done.” 

“Where are they uploading to?” He asked. 

“What?” 

“I can see they are being sent somewhere, as backup, not just a cloud either. Somewhere that you’d have to access yourself. Is that right?” 

Shit. How did he even know that part? 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She lied. There was the sound of an amused chuckle before the chair was turned around to face his direction and the gun was jammed under her chin as he got down to look right in her eyes. 

“Yes you do.” He insisted, “And you’re going to tell me where that place is.” 

“What good will that do? You’d need to be me to get into it.” She hissed, “And newsflash, you’re not getting in there without clearance or drastically changing your appearance to look exactly like me.” He stared her down for another moment before backing up and shaking his head, it looked as though they were caught in a stalemate. He knew he couldn’t kill her if that footage was going somewhere else, and she knew that as well. 

“It seems we are at an impasse.” He said after a moment, “And something tells me you aren’t going to be an extremely easy woman to compromise with, am I right?” 

“Something along those lines, yeah.” 

“Well then,” He said, “If we can’t come to a compromise then the only other solution is pure submission.” 

“What the hell are you talking about? What do you think you’re going to do to me?” 

“Looks like I’m going to do anything I fucking want.” His oddly terrifying grin widened before he struck her across the face with the back of his hand hard enough to send the chair toppling over which sent her to the floor in a daze. She blinked a few times, desperately trying to cling to consciousness as long as she could but between whatever he’d drugged her with before and the sudden blow to the head it was no use. The last thing she was aware of as everything went dark was the sound of unhinged almost sinister laughter. 

[gars-weaponeer]

Coruscant 20 BBY Being on parole has its perks. Instead of sharing barracks with the rest of the civilians assigned by the GAR, Iellan was given a repurposed storage closet as a room. It was tiny, barely big enough to fit a bed and a trunk. The room served only as a place to lay his tired bones after a long day of fixing blasters, the luxury of space and storage was for the Jedi, not for an Ubese criminal like him.  But Iellan didn’t mind. 

He didn’t have many belongings to begin with other than the mask on his face and the clothes on his back, along with a pair of sentimental trinkets, so he didn’t need all that space. However, what Iellan really liked about the room was that it was his own. He didn’t had to share it with no-one so he had turned it into his little safe haven, filling it with all the shiny little things that made his life a bit brighter. That included a handsome pair of rugged ARC troopers Iellan had grown very fond of.

Echo and Fives loved his tiny room, and they often looked for excuses to spend free time there, even spend the night if it was possible. Privacy was a luxury for clones, so having the opportunity to be with their boyfriend without any prying eyes was something they enjoyed a lot. 

And so did Iellan. After being alone for so many years, the company of the two clones stirred something deep inside him. A need he did not know he had until both troopers had to leave for another mission, leaving him behind. Those days waiting for Echo and Fives to return safely were dreadfully lonely, so Iellan settled to enjoy their company as much as he could.  Like that moment, the three of them were cramped inside his bunk, just talking. They could spend hours conversing about the most mundane things and Iellan would still enjoy it. Even after he had been given permission to explore Coruscant’s nightlife, he would trade his liberty if it meant spending more time with his beloved clones.

“Ever Wonder what will we do once this whole mess ends?” Fives spoke up, his head resting against Iellan’s back. “Fives, we don’t even know what’s going to happen tomorrow.” Echo retorted with a soft chuckle.

“I know, But like… Do you wonder what our lives would be like? We won’t be fighting any battles so what purpose would we have?” Fives made some gestures with his hands as he spoke. “Would we be allowed to retire maybe? Would we be allowed to live on a nice planet? marry? have children and such?” Fives mind was usually filled with fantasy, which was useful when he needed to think out of the box for missions. “Get “Jobs” like nat borns do.“ “We will most likely be assigned as security for the Republic.” Echo said matter-of-factly. He had always been more centered. It was well known that Echo knew the reg manuals better than anyone on the 501st. You needed to know the rules to know how to bend them. “Oh, so we will all turn into Corries, great.”  Fives said sarcastically. “Nah vod, I would rather retire. Red doesn’t go with my handsome face.” The clone posed dramatically to emphasize his statement which prompted his two companions to laugh.

Iellan however, couldn’t help but dread the future. Unlike the clones, he did not belong to the GAR.  He was a prisoner on community service. If the war ended, would he be taken somewhere else to serve his sentence? or would he be locked away as there is no use for him anymore? And after he completed his sentence, would he be allowed to work for the GAR? Would he be allowed to still relate to the clones? Or would they be brutally separated by laws and restrictions?

His whole life had become the GAR and his work as a weaponeer, he did not want to return to the lonely life of a low rated mercenary. He wanted to stay here, where he was wanted. where he could do something he loved.

It was wrong for him to think this way but… he kind of wished the war never ended. “What about you, Meshu'ika?” Fives’ voice brought him back to reality. “What about me?” His voice was a soft whisper, he physically couldn’t raise his voice without his mask. Echo and Fives knew to keep quiet to listen to him when he spoke. “What will you do when the war ends?” Fives repeated.

“Oh… I don’t know.” Iellan admitted, moving slightly so he could get better access to his boyfriend’s hair, passing his slender fingers through the rich dark locks. “I try not to think of it that much…” He admits, placing a tender kiss on Fives’ forehead, knowing full well Echo would demand one as well later on.

“But I think I’ll be fine, as long as we stick together.”

Wooh! I'm on fire finishing one of these per day! My wrist is gonna make me regret it at the end of the week. Tiny note: Meshu'ika is - if my Mandoa is correct- "Little Gemstone"

Taglist: @clonexocweek (If you wish to be added, please let me know.)

[rooniper]

The inevitable Ralph Lore Masterpost

Here it comes. After my second re-read and a week of talking about this fictional cringefail tragic girl dad to anyone who would listen, here it finally is, because I felt a need to write all of this down for future reference and also because I am very close to exploding at any given second of the day.

Also: do keep in mind some of this is my personal speculation/theories/ramblings and probably not canon, but I did try to stick to just the book as much as possible. This is not a coherent essay. Really, it’s a word vomit because I can’t stop thinking about the funny Phone Man. I still probably missed some things, feel free to chime in in the replies, might make a Part 2 unpacking some of the lore/non-Ralph related bits in the future who knows.

Anyways, in no particular order (AND OBVIOUSLY; SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT):

Pre-Freddy’s Era Details I Couldn’t Fit Anywhere Else (Or: Upbringing, College and some Coppelia’s Mom Speculation)

There’s not much info about Ralph’s childhood from what I could gather, except two things: he was bullied in school to the point where he had to hide in a locked bathroom stall to get away from his classmates, and his father was a major a-hole who had extremely high expectations for him and also used to scare him out of wanting to play hide-and-seek with him which. Goddamn. The quote “all your life you’ve gotten used to not pushing buttons” really, really doesn’t help the horrible parents allegations. So yeah the man has daddy issues, jot that down.

Expanding on the previous point: a lot of his parenting of Coppelia seems to be directly influenced by his own upbringing. The paragraph-long tangent about how he’s purposefully awful at hide-and-seek because he never wants Pel to feel as scared as he did is an obvious example, but he also brings her gifts from work pretty much constantly (and sidenote: he thinks of taking things from his job that he never breaks the rules at to bring to her all the goddamn time, while being actively hunted by murderous animatronics. That’s so goddamn wholesome I’m sorry even when he’s scared out of his mind he’s constantly thinking of her). He never puts her down the way it’s implied he was put down as a child, he seems really supportive of her hobbies by the way he talks about her reading. I have more to say about his parenting skills, but the fact that he’s terrified of becoming like his own father/parents seems to be a giant part of them.

He’s a college dropout who majored in psychology, aiming to specialize in child psychology, which makes so much sense but also I find incredibly ironic considering he later exhibits very VERY obvious signs of what’s probably PTSD and doesn’t clock it at all. But that is also going to be its separate point, put a pin in that.

It’s not just implied, but pretty explicitly stated by Ralph himself that he’s a massive overachiever. He was probably pretty academically successful in college, considering he mentions it was a surprise to most people that he’d drop out to get into security work. It’s pretty strongly implied this was mostly because he was pressured into succeeding by his parents. My man has that helicopter parents burnout syndrome, and escaped it by going into a job where he could still interact with kids like he wanted to as a psychologist but actually be happy, and that means a lot to me actually.

(Very important sidenote, because I don’t know where else to put this: the fact that his real dream job is to make children’s toys is just so real to me, especially as someone who’s also experienced academic burnout. It makes so much sense for him to want to do something with his hands where he can create something tangible after being pushed into being traditionally ‘successful’ in academia by his environment. Also put a pin in this as well because I have another point to make about the whole toymaker thing)

He seems to be at least low-contact with his family, which is understandable from what we know about his father - I’d say it’s likely he even cut contact completely after dropping out of college. The fact that he never mentions his parents as a possibility when he talks about babysitting options, or the fact that he doesn’t even consider them taking care of Coppelia when he is literally about to die seems pretty telling to me. I mean, alternatively, they could both be dead, depending on how old Ralph is, but since Coppelia’s only eleven that seems a bit unlikely.

Coppelia’s mom is a mystery. There is exactly one mention of her in this entire book and it doesn’t come from Ralph, but from Pel, so we know she does in fact exist but that’s about it. When Ralph talks about parenting Coppelia he never mentions her mom, even as far back as when Coppelia was one year old. They probably divorced when Coppelia was really young, and Ralph likely has full custody, since he never mentions Coppelia going to her mother’s for the weekend or anything like that. And that’s all we know.

Freddy’s and Related Tidbits (Or: I Stuffed Everything Related to his Relationship to Fazbear Entertainment in this Section)

He’s worked at Freddy’s for at least eleven years, because he mentions Coppelia being a month old when he already had the job and recorded his first training tape. If FNAF 1 indeed takes place in 1993, that means he was already working at Freddy’s by 1982 and likely earlier. Which, side-tangent, would imply that either Fredbear’s Family Diner was removed enough from Fazbear Entertainment by then for him not to know anything beyond the vague existence about the bite of ‘83, or that FNAF 1 takes place after 1993. But at this point the timeline is confusing enough that who knows.

He’s never moved up to management despite being there for more than a decade, also doesn’t appear to know Henry or William (especially if you believe the whole Dave-is-probably-William theory).

He was employee of the month 22 times. He also likely competed against his murderer ex-boss in disguise for the longest employee of the month award streak which is the best goddamn thing I’ve ever heard.

He’s written some of the rules at Freddy’s. Because of course he has.

He leaves passive-agressive notes to the dayshift guard and also thinks about shoving a ballpoint pen in the cleaning staff’s faces. And also talks about reporting people for slacking off. What I’m trying to say that he’s probably not the most popular of people with the rest of the staff, and doesn’t appear to realize why that could possibly be. Worst enemy of folks who don’t want to take their shitty minimum wage job extremely seriously.

On a related note, he takes his job so seriously oh my god. He does like twenty other jobs each night while the animatronics are trying to kill him. He’s probably the only person still doing reports. Management is very much implied to never read them. He writes them anyway. The fact that he was genuinely called ‘the Phone Guy’ and also was in training videos is also amazing (and also pushes the Trans Phone Guy agenda for anyone who considers Kim from the FNAF movie to be a stand-in for him).

This is specifically night-shift related: While it’s true that his survival instincts are absolutely shot, he is, when pushed, demonstrated to be capable of extreme violence against animatronics, which actually good for him. He kicks Bonnie’s head off. He beats Chica to death with a mop. He shoots Foxy with a watergun and also throws a lightbulb at him. This is not particularly important to anything but it’s extremely important to me.

Anyways, he’s really, really loyal to this company. Like, too loyal. Like, he was very much responsible and instrumental in shutting down rumors and speculation among staff after the bite of ‘87 and likely after the MCI as well too loyal. He’s management’s mouthpiece for their dirty work and that makes me feel a certain way because it’s so obvious he cares a lot about this shitty kids’ restaurant, enough that he’d defend it at all cost even when there’s so much evidence against it. This will come up again when I talk about him gaslighting himself.

This is mostly me speculating on the previous point, but I’m pretty certain a lot of his defending of the company is also a coping mechanism that he uses to grapple with the trauma brought to him by the fact that he’s spent a huge chunk of his life working for a conglomerate that’s gotten people killed. He genuinely insinuates Jeremy was responsible for getting chomped, because he must’ve done something wrong, the animatronics would never attack anyone without reason (right?). When he talks about how the media blew children going missing out of proportion, it seems less like he believes it and more like he doesn’t want to believe it - especially considering he’s only brought Coppelia to Freddy’s once in her life. He never lets her near it. He shuts her down immediately when she talks about working at it. Which, at least to me, demonstrates that on a subconscious level, he knows what he’s saying isn’t true. It’s just easier to say it than face the facts.

And lastly, he’s so clearly and passionately loyal to the Fazbear’s franchize. This fucker genuinely loves working here and is sad to go, even though management treats him like shit. We already knew that, but still, dear god those people could not care less if he lived or died and he STILL takes his night guard duties so goddamn seriously. He’s so clearly really invested in it, he talks about what a magical place Freddy’s used to be for kids, he talks about how much the job means to him, all the while it’s actively trying to kill him, he defends it to the point that it’s actively ridiculous, and in multiple endings he still gets blackmailed, disappeared or worse by the people he’s defending. And- I don’t know. It just makes me really sad. Again, I do believe his over-the-top enthusiasm for his job is probably him compensating for the fact that he doesn’t want to face the incredibly traumatic stuff happening to him, especially because as the week goes on, he gets less and less enthusiastic with every night, and just- Yeah. Fazbear Entertainment doesn’t deserve him.

Characterization, Diction and Things Like That (Or: Everything Else)

Let’s get the more positive stuff in this section out of the way first: we already knew this from the phone calls, but the way this man talks just sends me. “Time to make the donuts” when walking into a shift my favorite of his Phone-Guy-isms, but also unironically saying “oh boy!” and “what rotten luck!” right when you’re about to die is equally important to me.

Kind of related but not really: this man truly is a dad through and through because MY GOD the amount of bad puns and/or stupid references he makes is criminal. The fact that they get him actually killed in some of the endings because he keeps laughing at his own terrible jokes is also great. My favorite examples include thinking “my, what large ears you have” immediately before Foxy mauls him, the Irony Curtain, the how many night watchmen does it take to change a lightbulb, and so on. The fact that he also finds all of this absolutely hilarious means so much to me. Ralph truly is a cringefail girl dad, RIP to him he would’ve loved those awful shirts with puns that were popular with dads going to Disneyland in the 2000s.

Not gonna lie, and I’m not sure if this is just me reading too much into it, but he also reads as at least slightly neurodivergent to me. And I am ready to die on that hill. He doesn’t really seem to be the best at social interaction or with figuring people out, from the way he talks about not being able to tell if his coworkers are only laughing at his jokes to be polite or not and how he doesn’t seem to understand why they would be upset with him shoving minimal errors in their faces. He notices a single hat out of place in one of the Party Rooms and immediately goes to correct it. He makes a point about how much he hates messes and the whole “you need order, you crave order in your life” quote resonated so deeply with me that it’s uncanny. He’s a “stickler for rules”. The fact that he worked at one place for eleven plus years also makes me think he’s probably not the best with change. I could go on. I don’t know, I wouldn’t be able to tell you why, but I just can’t see him as fully neurotypical.

He’s also just a really curious dude, to the point of his curiosity overriding his survival instincts. Which is a horror protagonist trope if I’ve ever seen one. The scene where he lifts up a strange robot cupcake he just found directly to his face with zero hesitation is just. Yeah.

He loves Foxy, which we already knew, but also the fact that he explicitly states that he’s still scared of him and Pirate Cove by association makes me kinda sad. Also, related point, he’s a self-proclaimed fan of pirate stories, so I’m pretty sure that’s where Coppelia gets her taste in books from, but that’s besides the point.

In general, he just really loves the animatronics, too? Like he waves at them after his shift. Like I already mentioned, he talks about how much they mean to him, and how much he loves the fact that they brought joy to kids. It’s kinda sweet.

The most questionable thing about him is the way he. Uh. Talks about guns/cops in a way that kind of makes me remember he was raised in Utah around the 1960s. There are a few specific passages that make me extremely concerned about what his opinion on the second amendment is. But that is luckily left unspoken so I’ll be moving along.

The job stresses him out so much he consumes a packet of raw poptarts because he’s so hungry by the end of it. Which, while iconic, is also very deeply concerning. Which brings me to my biggest point

My god this man has Trauma. So much Trauma. He represses so much. The entirety of the beginning of Night 3 is just him describing that he forgets details about his shifts as soon as he leaves them. He gaslights himself constantly that nothing bad is happening (after Night 1, for example, he calls the entire shift the night before a bad dream and convinces himself he’s just “misinterpreting” events, which is goddamn concerning), but he’s also actively wasting away despite telling himself he’s not (my man looks into the mirror and his only and first comment is that he looks terrible). Not to mention the dissociation. He spaces out when he comes home on two seperate occassions, and loses and entire hour each time without realizing it. God I hope in the endings where he survives he eventually gets therapy.

Coppelia and Life Outside of Work (Or: This Section is Concerningly Short)

This man loves his daughter so goddamn much. So, so much.

No but seriously the interactions between him and Coppelia are so pure and well written and they were my favorite part of the book, somehow, even though I wasn’t originally sold on the concept. The “with what?” “excellent point, I’ve got nothing” kills me still. The scene where Coppelia curls up next to him after he comes home from his shift makes me want to sob. He makes her pancakes and they banter and she test limits but it’s obvious she also loves her dad, and that is- AAAAAA

Back to my bullshit, though: Ralph does kinda read as the type of parent who’d spoil a kid rotten if given the opportunity to do so. At some point Coppelia directly says that he “gets her everything she wants”, and- yeah. This is similar to the point I made previously about him bringing her gifts all the time. She does seem like a good kid, though. He’s just a girl dad to the extent that he’d probably wear a shirt with girl dad written on it, you know?

He’s also really protective of her. And worries. A lot. Not just when he calls home or rushes home to check on her, but also when he talks about being a security guard at her school and whenever he forbids her from ever ever going near Freddy’s. Say what you will about him defending a company to a possibly unethical extent, but he’s not about to endanger his daugher over it, and I respect that.

The only concering thing about him and Coppelia is the fact that Coppelia apparently drew herself stabbing him when she was little. Which is. Well. Not ideal. The fact that he finds this completely normal is very in character, though.

On Coppelia by herself, though: the fact that she ‘tinkers with stuff in the basement’ concerns me. I wouldn’t at all be surprised if after the canon ending, she ends up to be a technician at Freddy’s at some point. Also, the fact that she’s a gamer warms my heart.

Now, on other outside-work activities: I love the implication that my man not only bowls and always pays for dinner, but that he bowls and pays for dinner while dining with his serial killer ex-boss. God, that’s awesome, I love that so much.

Tying back to a point I made previously and also to a point I saw some people make that I really, really resonated with: there are actually a lot of parallels between Henry/William and Ralph, especially concering parenting. I don’t think the fact that his dream to be a toymaker is accidental, either, or the fact that he goes out of his way to point out that he wants to make toys that aren’t at all mechanical. Because even though he’s also a dad trying to make his kid happy with his creations, unlike William and/or Henry, he doesn’t want to make anything bigger than himself, or anything innovative; just wants to make simple things and make a kid’s day better. I don’t know man keeps me up at night, you know?

And, because this is only important to me: he owns a Kit-Cat Clock. This is somehow the most fitting thing I could’ve read about his taste in home decor.

And because I don’t know how else to end this: that’s a wrap! Was this book perfect? Hell no. The Bronwen plotline makes my brain hurt. But was it incredibly fun? Oh hell yes. And now I have a reference point for any future writings I do where Ralph is an active character, so that’s a major bonus. I have many thoughts but not enough time to put all of them down so I’m stopping here, major thanks to @graceandtheidiotsquad for pushing me over the edge and making me actually finish this with a reply lmao. And that’s all! Phone Man please get out of my head now before I go insane.

[strawberrystepmom]

cw body image discussion. self ship coded. f!reader is feeling insecure and gojo is there to help work through the blues. he's mildly possessive and reader is really down on themselves. reader and gojo are in a semi established relationship (aka idiots in love). wc 1.6k

divider thanks to @/cafekitsune as always

The third time you pull a blouse over your head with a huff and toss it to the ground below your feet is when Satoru finally realizes that something is not right with you today. 

It wasn’t the instant frown upon waking up that alerted him, in fact that’s kind of just normal so he ignored it, but he has noticed you’ve been wound tight from the moment your eyes have opened. Your shoulders are hunched, he’s worried you’re going to give yourself a headache with all that scowling, your coffee sits on the nightstand getting cold while you glare at your reflection in the full length mirror against the wall.

Flipping onto his stomach and stretching horizontally across your bed, he appraises you where you stand. Even grouchier than usual, you’re dazzling. You’re wearing nothing but your least sexy nude colored bra and high waisted black trousers, bare feet stomping across the wooden floor as you rush back and forth from the closet back to the mirror.

He knows what’s happening and that he has never quite been good at stopping it but he wants to try, if only to make you smile at his failed attempt at comfort. You know him well enough to know that there’s meaning beneath his flippant words and veneer, something that saves him from a lot of trouble on any given day.

“Princess?”

His little nickname captures your attention and you shift from glancing in the mirror to him for just a moment, eyes narrowing slightly when you take in his relaxed posture. It must be nice to be him - ever the bored boy king watching the rest of us mortals folly. Raising your brows, you fold your arms over your chest defensively and stare at him.

He knows this defensive position better than anyone ever could. You’re internally wounding yourself and curling into your own torso, covering where it hurts the worst with your arms. Your heart breaks and he can see it on your face, eyes still narrowed and shoulders rounded forward. Trying to make yourself smaller, broken into pieces, something you feel will make you more palatable.

He hates it but he knows you don’t do it on purpose. You spend a lot of your time lifting others up and it’s easy to forget yourself in the fray. He sees it as his responsibility to step for you when you can’t do it for yourself and he cannot imagine allowing anyone else to ever do so.

He’s yours, in name, in body, in heart, and it’s his job to remind you of how perfect you are even when you forget. 

“C’mere,” he wags his head, motioning for you to join him on the bed while he pats the spot next to him. You sniff unenthusiastically and shuffle to the side of the bed, sitting and letting your legs hang off the edge of it. You don’t want to join him in his all too comfortable state but you realize quickly you are going to be left with no choice when he sets his head on your thigh and wraps his arms around your waist.

You feel yourself soften when you look down at him, all white lashes and big eyes and hair over his forehead as boyish as you remember it being when you were 16 and he was 17 and he laid his head in your lap just like this. It feels like a lifetime ago, years and tears that have passed, but part of you even knew then that it would end up just like this for the two of you despite the constant denial of those feelings. 

Even still, you deny his affection for you out of some strange attempt to hurt yourself rather than him. It makes no sense and you sigh. How anyone puts up with you is truly a mystery yet here the one person who puts up with you the most sits, cloudless sky eyes searching you for answers. He foolishly believes he may yet solve you someday.

Unfolding your arms, you reach out and pet the strands away from his face. Remembering you’re supposed to be having a fit, you frown and he smiles up at you. It feels like the sun moving in from around a cloud and you chuckle.

“You gonna make it?” He asks and you know what he means. 

What do you need from me? How can I make this better?

If asked, he’d swear you’re the only one who actually listens to what he’s saying instead of picking out what you want to hear. If someone were to ask you, you think you’d say the same about him. Nobody understands you the way he does, a fact you used to resent but now welcome with open arms. Isn’t the core of being loved just being understood at the end of the day?

You think for a moment before flopping backward on the bed, his head still in your lap and his arms still looped around your waist. Satoru shifts slightly, pulling one arm out from under you and using it to gently pet your cheek. 

“Probably not,” you finally respond and he looks across your body at your face and smiles, shaking his head and rubbing his freshly shaven cheek over your pants.

“I’m ugly, I’m stupid, I’m the butt of every joke,” you lament, gaze shifting directly to the ceiling to keep from looking at him while your eyes mist over with tears. Speaking the things you think about yourself only makes them feel more true but he doesn’t let you lament for long, unlooping his other arm from your waist and grabbing your hand.

He sits up and you look up at him. He looms the way a god does and he looks just like one, something that makes you rush to try and cover yourself up. It’s a pity he wastes his time with you, meant for something far better than hanging out with you. You feel a tear slide down your cheek and sniff, covering your face with your forearm.

“None of that is true and you know it.”

He remains hovering over you, backlit by the sunlight in your bedroom, but you refuse to look directly at him and settle for gazing through the tiniest crack in your vision that your forearm isn’t covering. 

“Everyone loves you so much it makes me feel jealous sometimes.”

Despite your sadness, you giggle. He’s so funny sometimes that you wonder if it’s intentional or not.

“There’s no reason to. People are just being nice.”

He scoffs and before you can blink, he’s on his knees and sliding his oversized form across the bed. Straddling your hips, settling either of his thighs on the side of yours, you groan and let your arm flop at your side. He isn’t putting his full weight on you but you sniff and make a face anyway. You’re still only partially dressed and he licks his lips at the sight, soft skin warmed by sunlight.

“Do you know how many threats I’ve had to make to keep people away from you?”

Shaking your head, hair dragging across the blanket beneath your body, you wonder if he means it. He has alluded to this exact scenario many times in jest but you always assumed it was just that - a joke. A little chuckle shared between the two of you.

“I’m not joking,” he replies seriously, eyes giving him away. “You’re not just liked you’re desired, pretty girl.”

Your cheeks heat and your belly stirs despite how the rest of you feels. Shifting your head so that you’re no longer looking at him, he reaches down and cups your cheek with the same gentleness he always does but guides your face back in his direction. His thumb caresses the soft round and you bite back another smile.

“I’ll keep doing it, too,” he mutters with a grin and a nod and you raise your brows. You don’t really care that other people desire you, knowing that the issue with how you feel lies solely within your own heart, but it’s nothing less than sexy that he insists on throwing his weight around in his longstanding mission to make you love him as much as he loves you.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers and you smile, leaning into his touch despite all of your previous attempts to shrug it off. “The smartest person I know, brave, dependable…”

He trails off and leans over you, stopping himself with his forearm on the bed and kisses your forehead. 

“I could go on forever but I don’t want to make you later than you’re already going to be after four outfit changes,” he offers and you laugh. A real one. The kind of laugh that makes a big smile stretch across your face and he places his thumb in the divot of your dimple as you do.

“You’re right.”

He beams, pressing his thumb so deeply you feel the inside of your cheek against your teeth. 

“Obviously.”

The rebuttal only makes you laugh harder and you kick your legs out beneath him, trying to shove him off of you.

“Get off, I’m gonna be late,” you warn and now he plants some of his weight over your hips, both big hands cupping your face as he repeatedly dots your face and cheeks with kisses.

“Nope, I’m gonna make you even more late and you’re just gonna have to live with it.”

And live with it you will as his lips travel from the round of your cheek and tip of your nose to your own lips, tongue brushing against the seam insistently.

[theomenroom]

as the sole mental health professional on a spaceship light-hours from earth for years, literally everyone else on the ship was a current, former, or prospective client of besk's, from launch day forward.

given that the ship was full of traumatized people already (look at the life on earth timelines, or, hell, just the fact that flulu lost a leg in combat), and that they were doing something stressful and isolating and new, probably every adult on that ship had been through besk's office at some point in the first few years. sooner, if they had any process of regular psychological screening that wasn't delegated to congruence.

if she was going to have a social life, it would be by befriending her clients in a way that stretches the bonds of therapeutic ethics. if she were to have a love life, it would involve sleeping with a client.

no wonder she was lonely! no wonder she was pining after someone she left behind on earth!

she thought having the twins would make her less lonely because that way there'd be a person (two people, but judging by their names i think she found out she was having twins after becoming pregnant) she'd have a pre-existing relationship with so that they couldn't be her clients.

her very obvious cries for help (developing a drinking problem, naming her son after depression, and that's just the ones that are visible in hindsight to people who were five or six when she died) went unheeded because she very likely didn't have the kind of close friends that anyone else on the ship had, and everyone else was used to delegating mental health to someone else. and she was that someone else.

speaking of, i don't really buy the popular interpretation that besk and instance were close (either as a couple or as friends). i get why people ship them; instance is the person who talks the most about besk other than the twins, and they're tangent's two parental figures, but i think the second explains the first. besk looms large in instance's mind because the child she is mentoring/raising is besk's. instance doesn't need to have been close to besk to be what she is to tangent (a thing i've explored my opinions about elsewhere). it makes more sense if instance and besk had a mutual professional respect, but the version of besk i'm suggesting looking for here didn't have any friends on board.

the twins take after her tendency to isolate; dys by running away and tangent by pushing everyone else away, but in both cases they're isolating and in both cases they want someone to find them (dys shows this when he shows sol the drainpipe; tangent has her tendency to seek instance's praise).

dys's tendency to be unflinchingly consistent in his ethical stance toward vertumna's natural world might be him taking after her, but without the social bonds leading him to relate to other humans in the same way (he was kinda abandoned after tangent came under instance's influence), leading to the events of glow 18.

besk was under an entirely unique kind of stress. her former clients (every other adult on the ship) would remain her former clients even if she retired (and that's assuming they accepted her retirement). she couldn't take a break from the fact that everyone around her were her clients. from looking at her kids' friends and wondering how many years she had until they'd be crossing the door to her office.

the vertumna group set her up for failure by choosing to have only one mental health professional around without a lightspeed lag measured in hours for a group of any size at all, and again by selecting someone who didn't bring any family or partners with her for the job. and she paid the price for it, tang and dys got left to pick up the pieces, and the lesson the adults seem to have taken from it is "don't be a counselor"