#well at least someone thinks i'm doing okay

[the-cats-noodles]

Everytime I see this, everytime, someone brings up marriage as an exception and I can't help but think, really?

I get it, promises are important (to death do us part, which is in and of itself an unrealistic standard but whatever i dont have time to talk abt that) but I feel like people forget that marriage for love is relatively recent? The point of marriage being to join households and pass on property is much older (and the origin of the whole "only death can make us separate" bc property and inheritance) like, the reason people stayed together was bc of duty not love and that was a very different environment than the one now (which is good) but it still means we're talking about a standard that is unrealistic in our current environment (not to mention the insane amount of murder over not being able to get divorced in the past, like it's a very good thing we can end marriages now)

There's nothing wrong with marrying someone and wanting to stay with them forever (we chose to do this for love and that was good actually), but can we stop pretending this idea is universal?

Making a promise is all well and good, but people change and their promises do too.

Like, yes you keep growing as you get older and yes you might grow closer with your partner (and that's perfectly normal and okay) BUT you might also grow apart and that is ALSO PERFECTLY OKAY

Saying that marriage is something to exclude from the idea of decentering permanence is kinda ignoring all the people who really shouldn't be staying together but "have" to (for the kids, reputation, etc) and anybody involved definitely feels that dynamic shift...

Just, yeah "keep your promises" but also know that breaking them is a part of life and its much better for both parties if you break a promise instead of wither away trying to uphold it for some perceived sense of duty or obligation to people whose opinions literally DO NOT matter

(If you wanna be with one person forever? great! If they don't agree bc they don't love you anymore? Oh well, tough luck, I guarantee you'll be better off letting them go then forcing them to stay in a legal contract, which is what marriage becomes when you don't feel love for the other party anymore)

Also I get most people don't want to force someone to stay in a situation that makes them miserable, at least I really hope they don't, but when (as a society) we place more importance on the whole 'till death do us part' bit and less on the 'I love you and want to show it' (or even say the only way to show it is to hold onto that person forever) then it kinda forces people into this idea of "having" to stay

And look, counseling is great, it can work wonders, but it is NOT a miracle worker. It can't fix everything and it doesn't have to bc A LOT of marriages aren't broken they're just fizzling out

Am I making any sense? Who knows, but I was raised in a community where ending a marriage or relationship was worse than cheating bc "marriages are work"

They are, but you also retire from work when it becomes a strain and you can't do it anymore. You can quit a job if it doesn't fit. I'm not saying marriage is a job, but I am saying that if we expect marriage to involve work we can expect it to reach the point where people just DONT WANT TO DO THAT ANYMORE and that's okay

I'm begging: please stop insisting marriage is different from other relationships in this regard bc it isn't. It's sweet and a wonderful experience but it's still just a love between two people and we can't expect that to be magically enough to stop the natural progression all relationships go through.

You lose friends over time but some stay around. You lose family over time (like, no contact in this case not necessarily through death) but some stay around. You lose lovers and partners over time but some stay around. And that's okay, u just don't see how the last one is somehow expected to have more weight.

(Which I believe was op's point? That they're all temporary and that's a good thing actually)

Like everything is temporary, it's just sometimes that temporary lines up with our lives bc we ourselves are temporary beings, and it's okay if it does and it's okay if it doesn't.

I think a lot about how we as a culture have turned “forever” into the only acceptable definition of success.

Like… if you open a coffee shop and run it for a while and it makes you happy but then stuff gets too expensive and stressful and you want to do something else so you close it, it’s a “failed” business. If you write a book or two, then decide that you don’t actually want to keep doing that, you’re a “failed” writer. If you marry someone, and that marriage is good for a while, and then stops working and you get divorced, it’s a “failed” marriage.

The only acceptable “win condition” is “you keep doing that thing forever”. A friendship that lasts for a few years but then its time is done and you move on is considered less valuable or not a “real” friendship. A hobby that you do for a while and then are done with is a “phase” - or, alternatively, a “pity” that you don’t do that thing any more. A fandom is “dying” because people have had a lot of fun with it but are now moving on to other things.

I just think that something can be good, and also end, and that thing was still good. And it’s okay to be sad that it ended, too. But the idea that anything that ends is automatically less than this hypothetical eternal state of success… I don’t think that’s doing us any good at all.

[pluckyredhead]

Do you think Dick has a favourite brother?

I LOVE THIS QUESTION. I'M GOING TO ANSWER IT AT UNNECESSARY LENGTH.

But for the tl;dr crowd: yes, 1000000%. It's Damian. Dick would not admit this under pain of death, even to himself, but it's Damian.

THE LONG VERSION:

So Dick and Jason are not close and never have been. I always sort of blink in bewilderment when people say they are, or were when Jason was Robin, because they are demonstrably not, and that's what's interesting and tragic about them.

The fact of the matter is that Dick simply wasn't around very much when Jason was Robin. The Doyleist reason for this is that he wasn't really being treated like a Bat character: he was a Titans character, appearing in Titans books, with only the occasional cameo in Batbooks. He and Jason get along very well in Jason's first origin story (when Jason was a circus acrobat and his parents were eaten by crocodiles); in fact, Dick tells Bruce he wants to adopt Jason and Bruce is like "Not if I adopt him first!" But after that, Dick simply...wasn't there very often.

If you need a Watsonian reason for this, it's pretty easy to extrapolate one. Dick and Bruce were not getting along well during this period, so of course Dick would avoid Bruce and Gotham. And yeah, I think it's fair to assume Dick felt some kind of complicated feelings about Bruce having a new Robin, especially post-Crisis when Bruce made Jason Robin without Dick having any say or even a warning that it was going to happen. I tend to headcanon that he resented Jason a little, but was mature enough to know that it wasn't actually Jason's fault, and partially decided to stay away so that he didn't take that out on Jason. But Jason, a smart and sensitive kid, interpreted this as Dick avoiding him because he didn't like him.

And then Jason died.

Dick took that hard, and I think it was less "my brother who I had a close relationship with died" and more "this child followed in my footsteps and it killed him and I wasn't even there for him when I had the chance." To me, that absolutely forms the subtext of the relationship he develops with Tim.

Not at the start. At the start, once "A Lonely Place of Dying" is over, he's as checked out with Tim as he was with Jason. The Doyleist reason is the same - Dick literally just wasn't supposed to be in Batbooks too much - but the way it plays out is sometimes really funny in an awful way. Like in and just after Knightfall, when Bruce gets his back broken by Bane and is like "I've known Jean-Paul Valley for two weeks and he barely has any training, most of it done by my extremely new 13-year-old Robin...I think I'll make him Batman." And then Tim's dad and Tim's dad's doctor, Shondra Kinsolving, get kidnapped, and since Bruce has been aggressively romantically pursuing Shondra to the point of it being uncomfortable and inappropriate, he's like "Okay going to rescue Shondra! I mean, your dad! I'm taking Alfred with me! Tim, you're in charge of Gotham and Jean-Paul byeeeeee!" And then JPV immediately gets unhinged and violent and tries to kill Tim and Tim keeps calling Alfred like "Um can you please come back and help" and Alfred's like "No" and Tim's like "Okay well did you at least rescue my dad?" and Alfred's like "Also no." Anyway Dick finally comes to Gotham and Tim is like "THANK GOD, HELP, BRUCE MADE AZRAEL BATMAN AND HE'S TRYING TO KILL EVERYONE, I NEED AN ADULT" and Dick is like "He made someone who isn't me Batman??? 😡😡😡" and then just...fucks off back to New York and leaves Tim to deal with it. Very out of character, VERY funny.

BUT ANYWAY. Then we get to around 1996 and 1. Dick is no longer on the Titans which has a whole new lineup and 2. there's an editorial shift emphasizing the Batfamily. This is where the line really expands: Robin (started in 1993, but still pretty new), Nightwing, Birds of Prey, Azrael, eventually Gotham Knights in 1999 and Batgirl in 2000. Dick moves to Bludhaven and spends way more time in Gotham.

This is when Dick looks at Tim, says "Is anyone gonna big brother that?" and doesn't wait for an answer. All of a sudden he's behaving in a way that suddenly feels in character for him (although the idea of Dick as a big brother/mentor...really wasn't a thing for him prior to this era, so it's more of a new development that feels correct in retrospect). He's training Tim, he's giving him advice, he's teasing him about girls, he's coming up with inside jokes, he's giving him noogies. It's like he watched a bunch of 80s sitcoms to learn how to be a big brother and applied his research accordingly.

And Tim? Tim absolutely blossoms under the attention. Tim, who has been adultified by every other adult in his life since he was, like, eight, is getting treated like a kid. Tim, whose parents are never around, and don't pay attention when they are around, has an adult he looks up to who wants to spend time with him, for fun. Tim, who has hero worshipped Dick Grayson since he was...well, according to the math, he was one (1) year old so let's ignore the math, but he was small, is now basking in the full force of Dick Grayson's off-the-charts charisma. This is the best thing that has ever happened to Tim. This is the dream.

I want to be clear here: I think Dick's extreme reversal here is a delayed reaction to Jason's death, but I don't want to imply that he doesn't care about Tim as an individual. He loves Tim as much as Tim loves him. Tim's good opinion is incredibly important to him. This relationship goes both ways.

Annnnd then both of their lives fall apart extremely rapidly, and Damian shows up, and Bruce dies. And Dick tries to get out of it, but ultimately it ends how it has to: with him accepting the mantle of Batman, and responsibility for Damian.

The relationship Dick has with Damian is nothing like the relationship Dick has with Tim. Tim is his little bro. Damian is his baby. He's fourteen years older than Damian and as much of a parent figure as a sibling figure. And Damian is difficult and exhausting but Dick slowly, slowly coaxes a degree of trust and affection out of him that even Bruce will never achieve. And he can only do that by making Damian Robin, which means Tim has to stop being Robin.

This is where Dick and Tim fall apart, because what they need in this very vulnerable moment is so diametrically opposed, and neither of them are wrong. To Dick, asking Tim to step down - or up, from Dick's perspective - from being Robin is a compliment. Dick fought to free himself from Bruce, to become his own man with his own name, and so asking Tim to do the same thing is a show of faith in Tim, in his skills and experience.

Whereas Tim's hero-worship has always been for Robin, not Batman, and every glimpse he has had of a future beyond Robin has always been a dystopia. But more importantly, Tim has just lost his father, his stepmother, his mentor, his girlfriend, and his two best friends. He desperately needs to be able to lean on Dick, the grown-up he admires the most, and instead, Dick is kicking him out of the nest.

In other words: Dick is saying, with all the love and trust in his heart, "I need you to help me by being a fellow adult." And Tim is saying, with all the love and trust in his heart, "But I need you to be my adult." And they both get a no.

This is water under the bridge now, and they've healed even though they've never really talked it through because Bats don't do that (although what I wouldn't give for a Nightwing/Red Robin miniseries where they do everything but talk about it). But I do think Tim looks at the closeness and affection between Dick and Damian and feels some kind of way about it to this day, because it's so clear to everyone that Damian is Dick's favorite...but Tim remembers when he was Dick's favorite. And what Tim doesn't see is that Dick values him as a genuine partner in a way he will never quite achieve with Damian, because to him, Damian will always be his baby, even more so than he is Bruce's. (Dick is Bruce's baby, actually, not Damian. In this essay I will...)

(I could see a really interesting dynamic developing between Jason and Tim here, as the ones on the outside of that mutual appreciation society, but sadly the comics have never gone there. Alas.)

Finally, I think the relationship between Dick and Duke is very much "I just work here." Like, Dick is grown, he's out of the house, he's largely matured past the Bat-drama. He likes Duke but he doesn't feel the compulsion to brother him the way he did with Tim, and Duke doesn't need the mother henning Damian did.

IN CONCLUSION, and hooboy, sorry anon, most of this wasn't at all the question you asked:

Duke and Dick get along fine but aren't particularly close.

Damian is Dick's precious baby and always will be, even when Damian is an adult and annoyed by this treatment (but privately kind of loves it because he is a princess at heart).

Tim is Dick's buddy, his pal, his equal. If Dick were ever going to talk something through with a sibling, it would be Tim. (But that would require Dick admitting that everything isn't perfect or asking for help, so it'll never happen.)

Jason and Dick can't be in a room together for five minutes without fighting and Dick finds him wildly frustrating, but they will throw down for each other. When they aren't punching each other.

(And to answer the corollary: Damian's favorite brother is Dick. Tim's favorite brother is also Dick. Duke's favorite brother is Tim by default, since he doesn't know Dick very well and Jason and Damian are both too annoying, but really he's closest with Cass. Jason's favorite brother is Ace and he has communicated that often and loudly (but really it's probably also Dick).)

[dokyumms]

seventeen's reaction to their s/o being a surgeon !

pairings: ot13 x gn surgeon!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 861

cw: none

a/n: another request done! i'm definitely not a surgeon, so this is probably not accurate T-T also, i'm going to try to start posting on a schedule eventually... but i'm not sure yet. anyways, enjoy this kings ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

scoups - he didn't even realize he could fall more in love with you until you told him you were a surgeon. not only are you smart, but you save lives (and he just thinks you look hot in scrubs)? oh he's dug himself up a deeper hole. he tries to do what he can to help you, always offering to pick you up from work even if you clock out just hours before he has to go to practice.

jeonghan - he enjoys being your stay at home wife and sugar baby lol. when he found out, he probably showed the most excitement he'd shown in a while, "so, this means you have enough money to buy me a dyson hair dryer?" he likes knowing that you're working hard while he rots on the couch, but he hates when you have to get up for work at 5:30 in the morning. you can't count how many times you've almost been late for work since jeonghan will trap you in bed with him until the very last minute.

joshua - honestly the best moral support. he really loves that you help others for a living and wants to get involved, making bracelets for all your surgical patients. whenever you're burnt out or tired, he's there to catch you as well. he wants to make sure you're always in the best state to do your job well, so occasionally he'll nag on some of your bad habits, "we need you alive so you can keep other people alive silly,"

jun - he's very curious about your job, "you do what?? tell me more," he always asks about how your day was and won't sleep till you tell him every detail. so, now he knows all the drama between your coworkers. anytime he gets injured he immediately sends a photo to you with absolutely no warning and asks you to diagnose him (because he lowkey thinks surgeon = doctor 😭).

hoshi - very explosive reaction to say the least... "WHAT?? that's like such a scary job though??? how..?" he's honestly a little scared of you now. one time he sent you a picture of a vase he accidentally broke and was like "you won't dissect me or something because of this... right?" but anytime a member disrespects him? he's instantly using you to threaten them.

wonwoo - if he didn't have enough respect for you already, he certainly does now. he lovesss having a book-smart partner. sort of like jun, but he does more research so he can engage in more conversation with you. he even read a book all about it so you don't have to explain all the medical lingo to him.

woozi - secretly very impressed. he tries to be nonchalant about it when he finds out like, "okay.. cool," but then he'll end watching a ton of videos about it later. he would've never thought someone like you could have such an enduring job, you're always so bright around him! if it were him, he'd never be in a good mood lol.

dk - he's definitely worried about you all the time now, but also you're biggest cheerleader! anytime you have a big surgery coming up, he always send you good luck messages, "my y/nnn, you got this! i'll be cheering you on ๑˃̶͈̀Ⱉ˂̶͈́๑" he totally checks up on you like every hour as well, "are you eating? well you should eat :)"

mingyu - like jeonghan, he's now your stay at home wife. he literally packs you lunch every morning and even puts in little sticky notes with surgeon-related jokes... are they funny? well, more or less, but he always draws little doodles of you in your scrubs that make you giggle.

the8 - he admires you so much for your job, and he makes sure that you know it too. when you get home from work he's just like, "you're so cool, you know," if you EVER downplay yourself, he's constantly reminding you that you shouldn't try to make it sound like your job is easy. and to your dismay, he's always flexing that he's got a surgeon as his partner.

seungkwan - impressed and worried. whenever you mention having a big surgery, he's more nervous than you (even if it's already passed). he's really big on making sure you're taking care of yourself, offering to treat you to a spa day whenever you have time. plus, it's an excuse for him to do face masks with you.

vernon - bro will NOT stop making 'grey's anatomy' references. it's too late to stop him. "there're no 'mcdreamys' at your job right?" he makes you watch the show with him and asks if it's accurate. other than that, super chill and respects your work ethic.

dino - he's scared of you, but also super proud. you won't catch this guy even coming close to disrespecting you anytime soon. also someone who will confuse surgeons as doctors, so you have to explain to them that they're really different, and no, you can't write him a doctor's note so he can skip practice because he has a 'mega bad headache'

[prael]

Conciliation

ILLIT Moka x Yunah // part 2 to Punishment

words: 6,035 Masterlist

Two weeks have gone by. Two weeks since the incident in their dorm room. For Yunah, it's as though that night never happened. It was just some afterthought that had been shoved down in the deep corners of her memory, as though she would sooner forget and have Moka pretend it was nothing at all.

Moka thinks of nothing else.

She thinks about it in her classes, daydreaming when she should be practising. Rehearsals have become a stop-start procedure, with everyone turning to Moka with the same question: are you okay? She feels so pathetic. Embarrassed at herself, but still thinking, wondering, wishing, that maybe tonight might be that night; that Yunah might snap at some point and give her just a single touch.

She's thought about doing it again, just the same way, touching herself while Yunah is around. Even the mere idea has Moka wet with shame. It would work, surely, it has to work. Then Moka talks herself out of it. Doing it again, trying to instigate a reaction, she may as well just confess, beg, and plead with Yunah. Admit that she likes her. Tell her just how crazy it makes Moka when she walks around the room in only a t-shirt and panties. When she shakes her hair loose out of a ponytail, her brunette hair cascades in the moonlight, looking so soft and thick, and Moka can't get over her.

They're on their way out of the country, for another big show. Another sleepless night spent travelling. Another opportunity for Yunah to glare at Moka when she's obviously not focused or too busy stumbling through her moves. Another opportunity for her to sit there, only her and her dirty, little thoughts.

There's a slight turbulence, enough to make the sleeping Yunah move in her seat, her head rolling to the side. She looks peaceful and beautiful. That same fringe she's so particular about always ends up in her eyes, so naturally, Moka wants to reach up and push it away, but she forces herself back, that's the last thing she wants; to wake her and look suspicious.

"Not sleeping?" A voice from the other side, makes Moka tear her eyes away from Yunah and find Minju. Minju gives a curious look at Yunah before returning her gaze to Moka.

"Can't sleep," Moka confesses with a sigh.

Minju doesn't reply at first, the look she is giving, makes Moka believe she is contemplating whether she should share or not. "Me neither. Keep thinking about tomorrow."

Moka hums a vague affirmative in response. She wants to appear agreeable and that she isn't preoccupied with the thoughts of someone else.

Minju gives her a wry smirk. "What about you? You keep spacing out."

Her question strikes a chord in Moka. For some reason, she can't deny it or lie about what's been going through her head, and even when she should probably deny it, Moka still finds herself talking about her. "Have you ever liked someone who hated your guts? Like so much it physically hurts," Moka can't help the questions slipping past her lips. It's pathetic really. She should know better, and she knows she's saying too much and too openly, but it's not her fault. She just can't handle it all, not for another minute.

"Are you saying there's a guy you like?" Minju asks, which at least offers Moka the reassurance that the others haven't realised what's going on; why else would she ask that? "You know we're not allowed to date anyone, Moka."

"I know, and I'm not going to date anyone, but I can still like someone, right?"

Minju laughs. "Yeah, you can do what you like," she replies while stealing another look at the older girl across from them, sleeping. "So why does he hate your guts then?"

"Well, I—"

Yunah sighs, breaking the conversation as the pair suddenly falls quiet. They freeze like deer caught in the headlights of a car as Yunah, shifts in her seat, adjusting her position before relaxing again. There is a relief between them, letting out a heavy breath at the realisation that their friend is still very much asleep.

"Lucky her," Minju finally says, shaking her head. "I can't wait for us all to be back in our hotel rooms and having some proper sleep." Minju sighs, turning back to Moka. "You were saying?"

"Oh, it's nothing. Don't worry about it, forget I said anything," Moka rambles. She finds herself silently cursing herself. If the truth of her desires slipped and spilt out, there's no telling what kind of trouble she would be in. But Minju looks at her in a strange sort of understanding, nodding and giving her a reassuring smile.

Moka returns the sentiment and lays her head on her friend's shoulder. Her heartbeat starts to slow down, and as time passes, sleep draws in, luring her into its clutches, and at last, her eyelids flutter shut.

-

It's 4 am and they're shambling into the hotel lobby, weary, eyes burning, muscles tired, with sore shoulders and legs.

"We've booked rooms for you all. We just went with the same arrangement as the dorm," the manager explains, sending Moka's heart crashing. She and Yunah. Of course. She nods weakly and trudges to the lift alongside her members.

Yunah opens the door, and Moka follows. They haven't spoken a word to each other. The moment the hotel door is closed, and Moka drops her bag on the floor, Yunah takes off her jacket, hanging it on a hook. Moka slips her shoes off, trying her hardest not to make eye contact.

"Moka?"

Fuck. Why couldn't she just walk past without saying anything? Moka's cheeks feel hot. Why now? She glances up, and the look she receives from Yunah doesn't give anything away.

"What's gotten into you? Are you sick?" She snaps, walking right up to her. A rough hand takes hold of her chin, forcing her face up and it shocks Moka so much that it knocks her off her axis for a moment.

There she is. Again. So close. It takes a moment, or three, to figure out what she even said. Moka goes to shake her head, but with her face being held so firmly in place, it's impossible. "No, I'm fine." She swallows. "Just a little nervous."

"Why are you lying to me?"

Her face is still gripped, she's forced to keep eye contact with her and she hates it. She hates that her skin prickles as Yunah's beautiful gaze pours down.

"Whatever," Yunah says incredulously, her hand holding Moka's jaw. Moka nods as best as she can and then she's released. She misses her touch the moment Yunah's hand is gone and she's left to drop her head. "We can't have you being distracted tomorrow. Just get it together."

The older girl retreats into the bathroom, closing the door and leaving a disgruntled Moka alone. She could scream, but instead, she swallows down her frustration.

Moka undresses and slips into her shorts and tank top. She flops onto the soft covers and waits. Curses and empty wishes run through her mind; her fist tightens into a frustrated ball and her eyebrows furrow. How is she supposed to do anything like this? How can she think about anything other than her?

Soon, Yunah returns, but all Moka gets from her is silence, nothing, absolutely nothing, and yet here she is, lying and waiting. Pathetic, it's downright fucking pathetic. She takes a deep breath and lets herself turn and stare at her back. "Yunah?"

"What?"

"Why did you make me feel good?"

"You talk about that like it meant something," Yunah responds, turning her attention away from her phone. Her beautiful hair fans out against the pillow.

"Did it?"

Yunah responds with her own question, "Did you want it to?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry." She turns her attention back to her phone, effectively dismissing her and the conversation altogether.

"Please—"

"Goodnight, Moka," Yunah bites. Her tone leaves no more room for discussion. No room for questioning.

Moka clamps her mouth shut, squeezing her eyes tightly closed. What more could she say? How many ways could she plead with her before it becomes demeaning? But the silence in her room makes the ache between her thighs feel unbearable and impossible to ignore.

It's nearly an hour later when Moka gives in, dipping her hands between her legs. She rubs against the front of her shorts and shudders as she teeters on the brink of losing her senses and giving in to her desires. But the bed shifts, the sheets move, and she stops.

Yunah rolls over and she looks at Moka, as though expecting her to do something, anything. The eye contact alone has Moka feeling so small and helpless.

"Do it," Yunah whispers.

"W-what?"

"I know you want to. These past weeks you've been so distracted. I know you're always thinking of it, of what happened, what I did. I see the way you look at me."

"I... I'm sorry."

Yunah rolls her eyes. "Just do it."

"But you hate it. It makes you uncomfortable, I can't—" Yunah cuts Moka off as she moves closer, she slips her fingers past the waistband of Moka's shorts, down to the wet warmth of her cunt. "Yunah," she whimpers. Moka bites her lip to hold in the noises, but it's impossible to stay silent as Yunah runs teasing touches over her lips, threatening to slip between them.

"You can't do it, can you? Not on your own, not since I've touched you." She says it so plainly that Moka can't help but agree. She knows the truth. "But you don't want to ask for my help because you know I'll just say no. So here I am, doing it for you." Yunah's finger slides between Moka's lips and runs up to her clit. It makes Moka gasp. "Think about why that is. Why would I want to help you?" she murmurs as her fingers circle the hard, little nub.

"I don't know." The words are barely audible.

"I think you do," Yunah says and then her fingers go away.

"No, don't stop."

"I know it's hard, Moka," Yunah whispers. Her fingers are back. They're running through the lips of Moka's cunt, sliding easily, making the skin slick and sensitive. Moka can hardly think as the fingers run up and down, stroking and teasing, edging closer to the opening. "But I need you to say it."

"Because," Moka chokes out. Her head is spinning, and she feels so dizzy. She can hardly form a single thought. All she knows is how good she feels, how desperate she is for those fingers. "You like making me feel good. Because you want it just as bad."

"Because I want it, Moka," Yunah whispers, pushing a single finger into Moka's tight entrance. It sinks in so deep and she moans. She's so fucking sensitive. The feeling of the finger as it enters and stretches her, the feeling as it curls inside, the way it moves slowly and deliberately, is enough to have her trembling. Yunah has to lean in and put her mouth by Moka's ear. "I can't get the fucking thought of you out of my head."

"Oh god."

The words have the desired effect and Yunah's hand moves faster, the thrusts come harder and Moka is completely helpless. Her body starts to arch, her back rises off the mattress and her chest is pulled upwards as if offering herself to the other girl. Her little chest rises, her nipples hardening under the material of her top. Yunah looks at her body and smiles. She pushes a second finger inside, her thumb begins to work her clit and Moka's hands are holding tight to the pillow behind her.

Moka doesn't care that she's moaning, or that she can't stop saying her roommate's name. All that she cares about is how her body is starting to clench, how her hips are bucking and how her legs have gone so rigid, and it's just the best feeling, the best thing that she's ever experienced in her life. Moka opens her eyes and finds Yunah staring. Her face is so close; Moka wants her closer.

She has the overwhelming desire to taste Yunah's lips, but not the strength to pull her down, so she settles for the fingers inside of her and the hand that keeps working her cunt until the orgasm comes.

Moka pulls the pillow tight around her head, muffling the sound that spills from her mouth. She feels her walls tightening around Yunah's digits, her entire body clenching and shaking, and her eyes rolling back. She's so close.

Yunah climbs over her, kneeling between her slender thighs and her fingers never leave. They're so deep. The pressure is too intense. She feels the walls inside of her start to tighten, the heat growing inside her. Moka's head turns and buries into the pillow she holds onto for dear life.

"Look at me, Moka," she coos, leaning into her. "I said look at me."

Yunah takes Moka's hand, prying it away from the pillow. Powerless to resist, Moka's arm is pushed above her head, and then the other. They're placed together, held under Yunah's grasp and Moka's head is free and forced to look at the beautiful woman on top of her, forced to see those deep brown eyes and that gorgeous hair, that pretty face with the full lips, the perfect lips, the ones Moka wishes were pressed against her. But that would be too much. Moka would never want anything more ever again. If she kisses her then it's game over, all she would ever need would be right here. Moka could never think about anyone or anything other than her, ever again.

Moka's stomach tightens, and her face contorts. She lies there helplessly as she is overcome, and the climax hits. She can't help it. She's moaning so loudly and she's clenching around Yunah's fingers. Her legs shake and her arms try to pull themselves away, to have something to cling to. But she can't move. All Moka can do is give into the pleasure. It washes over her, the sensation coursing through her body, making her toes curl.

She leaks messily onto Yunah's hand. The sounds of wetness fill her ears, the lewd, squelching noises as the fingers continue to work her pussy, fucking her through the high and prolonging the sensation until her mind blanks, her body convulses and her voice breaks into a pathetic whine. Moka's head thrashes back and forth, and she's crying, sobbing out loud.

She's left panting, chest heaving as she looks at Yunah who's smiling. That beautiful smile, the one she loves to see.

"You're so pretty when you cum, Moka." She says it most sweetly, and her eyes seem so sincere. Moka wants to kiss her more than ever, and she wants Yunah to feel good too, just like she did. But her body feels like jelly and she can barely move. So she can only lay there and try to catch her breath.

Yunah lowers, laying her head on Moka's chest, her ear pressing gently to her heart, as though listening to it. Her body still twitches and shakes and her legs remain spread with Yunah still nestled between them. Moka tries to calm herself, and she can feel Yunah's breathing slow and soften, her weight shifting on top of her.

"I'm sorry, Moka. For ignoring you, but I knew this would happen. I knew that once I gave in, I wouldn't be able to stop," she murmurs. Moka can only manage a hum in reply. She doesn't even understand what Yunah means, not really, she can barely understand her words. Yunah puts her hand on her waist and slips her own pyjama shorts over her hips and down her long legs. She kicks them off and they're left tangled up at the foot of the bed.

It's when Yunah raises her head from Moka's chest that Moka realises what's happening. Yunah slips her fingers into the waistband of her shorts, pulling them down and off of her legs and throwing them aside. Moka feels so exposed. She can't hide the fact she's blushing, that she's so nervous, that this is what she's been waiting for, what she's wanted.

Yunah pulls her own shirt over her head and throws that off the bed too, and now Moka's staring. Tight and toned. Perky. It's like she can't help but let her eyes roam. She's the most perfect girl in the world. Moka's hands reach up to her, running along the curves of Yunah's body, the smoothness of her skin. Her thumbs brush over her nipples, feeling them harden and rise.

Yunah sighs, and Moka wants to make her do that again. She wants to hear all her pretty noises, just like Yunah said she loved hearing hers. So, she sits up and her hands go around Yunah, holding onto her, bringing her closer. She's so tall. Moka's face presses into her chest and she breathes against her, feeling the heat and inhaling the sweet scent of her.

Moka is so nervous. So anxious that she will do something wrong. She has to force herself to lift her head and part her lips, to lean forward and place her mouth over the stiff, little peak on Yunah's breast. She sucks, pulling it in, feeling the way it moves, the way Yunah lets out a breath and the hand that comes up to her hair. Fingers run through her black locks, nails drag along her scalp, and Moka moves her head to the other, repeating the motion, sucking the skin, flicking her tongue over it and pulling it with her lips.

Yunah moans and the grip tightens, she holds her head, and the other arm wraps around Moka. Reassurance in the form of a touch. It tells her she's doing well, that Yunah's liking it. That's all that matters. Moka wants her to like it, she wants to please her, and she wants to know how to make her feel good. She smiles against her smooth skin, placing kisses, licks, and bites all over her. Appreciation for this girl and her beautiful, wonderful body.

Then Moka finds herself lying on her back. Yunah climbs on top of her and Moka's heart thuds hard against her chest. This is everything she's wanted.

"Don't freak out," she whispers, her breath against Moka's face.

"Never."

Yunah shifts her weight and then Moka feels it, the wet heat of Yunah's cunt against hers, and the sensation of her body on hers. Moka looks down at their bodies and can see the point of their connection, where their skin meets. The sight of it alone makes her mouth go dry, her stomach flips, and it takes all her strength to keep herself together. And then Yunah rocks her hips, grinding against Moka, her slick pussy rubbing against Moka's. The sensation of her skin moving, her wetness, it makes Moka's eyes roll back.

"Yunah..." Moka gasps, her body arching, and Yunah pushes her down.

She does it again, and again, sliding against her, pushing her hips hard. Her breathing is growing faster, and heavier, and her moans are so quiet. Sparks ignite in her lower body. The pressure, the heat. It feels so good to have Yunah against her like that.

Yunah leans down and buries her face in the crook of her neck and she kisses and nibbles at her skin there, whispering against the spot. "Why does this feel so good?"

"I don't know," Moka gasps. She's losing her breath already. She's panting and she feels so hot and dizzy, but in the best possible way.

Yunah can't hold back, she can't hide the fact that Moka makes her lose her control. This cute, petite little thing below her; with her innocent, big brown eyes, and her adorable smile, that makes Yunah want to melt, she's her weakness. Moka, who she heard so many times, night after night. Moka, who she's ignored and tried to put from her mind, but can't. And now she has her. She has her little Moka beneath her, squirming and panting and whining, and Yunah's hips can't help but rut down into her.

Yunah can't get enough of it. Moka's pussy feels so soft and warm against her own. The slick mess that grows between them, it's addicting. The sounds are even worse. She wants to make more. She wants Moka to scream.

All the confusion Yunah once felt has vanished, and in its place, a sense of belonging, a feeling that she has to do this. That she's supposed to be in this bed with Moka and no one else. She never understood it. She was scared to admit it. But now there is nothing else she could ever ask for.

Yunah takes Moka's hand, interlocking fingers and squeezing. It's reassuring, and Moka's grip on her hand is strong, it tells Yunah she's feeling the same way.

"Moka."

"Yes," Moka answers.

Yunah looks down at the younger girl. Moka's face is contorted with pleasure, her lips are parted, and she's breathing so hard. She's completely lost to her sensations, and the sight makes Yunah's heart flutter, her skin burns and her body feels weak. "Moka," she whispers again. This time Moka's eyes open, looking straight at her. Their gazes lock and their fingers squeeze. "I like you."

"I like you too." Moka's smile is the most beautiful thing Yunah has ever seen, it triggers an instinct to fuck her harder. Moka's hand snaps to Yunah's hip and holds her tightly. She's moaning louder now. She can't hide it.

The bed creaks, the headboard hitting the wall. The sheets become tangled. They're sweaty and panting, and Moka's moans grow more desperate by the second.

Yunah can't stop herself any longer. Her stomach tenses tight, her body is on the verge of breaking and she can't take much more. "Moka," she calls her name, she's saying it so desperately. "Fuck, I'm going to cum." She can't hold on. Moka feels too good. Everything about this moment is perfect. It feels so right. Yunah can feel her own pussy twitch, she's getting closer to that edge. She can hear Moka whine, she's almost there. She wants Moka to finish. She needs it. "Cum with me."

"I want it, please Yunah. Please make me cum."

Yunah grinds harder. Moka's moans are so pretty. They fill her ears and they're the only sound in the room. They're music, they're the most perfect thing she's ever heard and the best song Moka has ever sung.

Yunah feels Moka's fingers tighten on her hip as she bucks her own up to meet Yunah's thrusts, and the sensation overwhelms them both. They cling to each other, both bodies trembling as the climax washes over them. Moka cries out, and it's loud. She doesn't even try to muffle herself as she squeezes Yunah's hand, and her hips jolt against hers. Yunah's face buries itself in Moka's neck, groaning into the skin, kissing, biting and sucking as the heat consumes her and her mind blanks, the pleasure takes over.

They lay there for what feels like forever, panting, their hearts thumping in their chests, the sound filling their ears.

It's then that Yunah looks up, pulling her head away. She looks down at Moka. Moka, her Moka, staring back up at her with her big eyes. The most gorgeous girl she's ever met. Her skin is so smooth and flawless. Her little nose, her cute lips, and the black, messy hair splayed on the pillow behind her, framing her face like a painting.

"Moka."

"Yunah."

Yunah leans down, pressing their foreheads together and Moka smiles, she can feel it against her face. Their breaths mingle and their hearts are so close, and Moka is holding onto her.

"I shouldn't have," Yunah pants, "shouldn't have lied to myself. Shouldn't have tried to ignore this."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not okay." She can feel Moka's lips brushing against hers. They're so close. It's just a little movement to close the distance between them, but Moka does it. She pushes her head up, and then Yunah's lips part. She kisses her and Yunah can't help but kiss her back, her tongue slipping into her mouth. Their tongues swirl and slide. Moka moans against her lips. The sound sends shivers down her spine. And Yunah wants her. She wants her so bad.

Moka is panting when Yunah breaks the kiss.

"It's okay now," Moka whispers, her breath ghosting over her. Yunah feels so weak. She's completely helpless.

"I think we need to talk about some stuff. But not now, not right now."

"No, not now," Moka replies with a giggle, leaning up and stealing another kiss.

Yunah gives her a lazy smile, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. She rolls onto her back, lying next to Moka, their legs still half-tangled. They lie in a comfortable silence. It feels so natural and normal as if it were always supposed to happen, that they were always meant to end up here. Yunah turns and looks at her, watching Moka stare at the ceiling.

"Is it weird that I want to do it again?" Yunah asks.

"Probably," Moka answers. She looks at her, grinning, "But so do I."

-

Thirty minutes later and Yunah finds herself mounted over Moka's face.

She's on her knees, straddling the girl, and the tip of her tongue is tracing patterns against her cunt. She's writing out love letters with her tongue. Signs her name on her clit and makes her legs shake.

Yunah braces, flat-palmed against the wall and throws her head back as she cries out Moka's name, grinding her pussy against the tongue. Sensitive and overused, yet still she wants this. She has to. It's not an option at this point. She's going to ride her until she can't possibly take anymore.

There's no coming back from this. There is only this, them, this room. The whole world has fallen away. It doesn't matter.

Moka is all that matters.

The warm tongue pushes past her lips and sinks into the soft heat, tasting her from the inside. She's moaning into Yunah's cunt, sending the most beautiful vibrations against her and Yunah is so fucking sensitive. Her thighs are shaking and she feels weak, she's struggling to hold herself up, but she can't bring herself to get off her.

"Your tongue, fuck," Yunah moans. The wet tongue laps at the mess, licking up her slick. Yunah can feel Moka swallowing, gulping her down, her little noises growing louder as she feasts. She's going to cum all over that pretty face. She's going to ruin Moka's perfect features and make them shine. Yunah is so close. She can't stop herself from thrusting forward. Her pussy is aching for more, throbbing as Moka eats her. She needs this, wants this.

"Moka... I can't stop, please don't stop," Yunah pants, pushing herself back onto her. Moka grips Yunah's thighs and digs her nails into them. "Fuck!" Yunah squeals. Her hips jerk forward. It's happening. It's too much. Moka's tongue won't stop, it swirls inside of her, and Yunah's legs are trembling.

Her thighs close tight around Moka's face, trapping it between her legs and her back arches, her mouth open, her voice hoarse and broken as she cums, and the walls inside of her clench tight.

And Moka is still eating her out. Yunah can feel the hot mess dripping from her pussy. She feels so sensitive. She can barely stand it, and her body twitches and spasms, and her heart pounds so hard. Her mind blanks. She's so tired, her body aching and exhausted, but her pussy still wants more.

"Yunah," Moka calls to her, patting her thigh and bringing her back from the brink of collapse, "Yunah, I can't breathe." Her little, muffled pleas have her snapping back to reality, realising that Moka's face has gone bright red. Yunah shifts, and she watches the way the girl gasps for air.

"Fuck, Moka." Yunah climbs from her and collapses beside her, chest heaving, sweat coating her skin. "Are you alright?"

Moka doesn't respond at first. She lays there, taking a breath and then she's turning, moving and climbing onto Yunah. "More than alright."

Yunah smiles at her, a sleepy smile that makes Moka blush, and she reaches up to push her black hair from her eyes. Her pretty little eyes are half-lidded and glazed, and her cheeks are rosy and flushed. Lips wet, with Yunah's arousal, it might be the hottest thing she's ever seen. "You're so pretty."

Moka giggles, a bashful laugh as she looks away. "Stop it."

"No," Yunah whispers with a smirk that she knows Moka likes. "I won't."

She flips Moka over and the girl lands with a yelp, a surprised and adorable little sound. She takes her liberties, to kiss and to bite, to suck her skin. Yunah is marking her. Deep kisses on her neck, bites that make Moka's body flinch and writhe, and her little noises are like the prettiest melody in the world. "So pretty," she repeats. "All mine."

Yunah moves down her body, her kisses trailing and leaving little bruises. She sucks her nipples into her mouth, swirling her tongue, sucking and nibbling on the stiff peak and making Moka's body buck up. Her mouth goes to the underside of her breasts, to the flat expanse of her stomach. She sinks her teeth in and Moka is whining. Her back is arched, her head pushed back and she's gripping the sheets, and Yunah is getting closer and closer to her destination. "My pretty girl," she murmurs into the smooth skin.

"Yunah," Moka whines and Yunah looks up, finding her staring, biting her lip. Her eyes are wide and desperate, pleading.

She lifts Moka's leg and kisses the back of her thigh. The younger girl is so sensitive. Her skin shivers as Yunah's mouth moves closer to her core. "Once we're home, Moka, I want to fuck you. Like really fuck you, hard, fast. I've seen those videos. What you watch when you're on your own." Moka squeals and her face goes crimson. She covers her head with a pillow. Yunah can't help the smile as she continues, "I want to do those things with you. One of those strap-ons. You'll look so pretty taking it."

Yunah kisses the girl's clit and Moka's entire body flinches. A hand shoots to Yunah's hair and grabs tight, holding onto the locks. She smiles against her, teasing her pussy, her mouth kissing and sucking on the lips of her cunt. "You can do anything you want to me," Moka gasps. Yunah can't help the laugh that slips out, a laugh of amusement and happiness, and Moka is squirming.

"You're gonna have to be more specific than that." Yunah kisses the mess from her lips, and Moka lets out the cutest, most frustrated noise, her hips lifting and her back arching.

"You can use me."

Yunah stops for a second. She raises her head and finds Moka looking at her. There is a blush to her cheeks and she looks embarrassed, and maybe even a little shy, but that glint in her eye is undeniable.

Yunah lowers herself, pressing a soft kiss to Moka's inner thigh. She takes her time, making a show of it, and Moka's breathing is getting heavier, more impatient. "Yeah?" She kisses her again. "Let me bend you over?" Another kiss. "Hold your face down on the bed while I fuck you?"

"Please," Moka whines, "Yes, yes."

"What else?" Yunah's eyes flick up. Moka's chest is rising, falling, rising.

Moka whines again. She throws her head back. Her body trembles. Yunah kisses her cunt. It's a deep kiss. It has Moka's hips bucking against her lips. "You can be rough with me," she finally manages, her voice breathy.

"Rough?" Yunah's eyebrow arches. She dips her tongue past the wet entrance and laps at Moka's heat. The girl's body is writhing against her mouth and Yunah can't help the muffled giggle. She's so cute like this, so easy to tease. Moka is panting. Her face is contorted in a desperate need for more, for release.

"If you want to," she mumbles, and Yunah is so tempted to tease her further. But Yunah is just as eager. She is so desperate for more of her taste, her body, her scent.

"Maybe," she whispers against the wet lips, "maybe, I'd rather be soft with you." Yunah sinks two fingers into her tight, wet hole. Moka gasps, and then moans. Yunah's mouth latches to the little nub of her clit, sucking it and swirling her tongue. The fingers thrust into her and curl. The walls tighten and tremble. "Take my time, fuck you slowly."

Yunah starts a slow rhythm with her fingers. Moka is whimpering, moaning and trying to buck into the fingers. But Yunah is stronger. Her free hand grabs the younger girl's thigh and forces her down, keeping her still and making her accept the pace.

"Slowly," Yunah repeats, "So slow you'll think it's torture. And I won't let you cum, not for a long time, until you can't bear it anymore." She kisses the skin, kisses her pussy, and then looks at Moka who's staring. She's flushed, her eyes wide and needy, her lips parted, and her body is trembling. "Until your little body is begging for release." She pushes another finger into Moka. She can feel the tightness around her digits and the way she throbs.

"Oh fuck," Moka moans.

"Or maybe I'll fuck you hard and fast." Yunah pushes down hard on Moka's thigh, and the pace picks up, the fingers slamming in and out. The lewd, wet sounds that Moka makes are enough to drive her crazy, the sloppy, messy sounds that come with every thrust and the sight of Moka's pussy, spread wide, stretched and accepting everything she's given, it has Yunah's head spinning. She feels delirious, high off of the pleasure she can give this pretty girl. "Hard, fast. Pound your pussy and make your entire body ache. Make you scream, make you beg me to stop because you can't handle anymore."

Moka's throat strains, and her body tenses. "I can't," Moka moans and Yunah can feel her pussy twitching, clenching around the digits inside of her. So easily does she cum against Yunah's fingers, and she's crying out, loud, without restraint. She doesn't even try to hold it back, and she's so wet. Her cum is leaking out, soaking her fingers, and it's the hottest thing Yunah has ever seen. She can't take her eyes away. She can't look anywhere but the way that Moka is cumming against her fingers.

She curls her fingers a little more and moves a little faster. The flow of cum becomes stronger, and Yunah can't stop the groan that leaves her. "Fuck." Moka's body is thrashing, she's whining and whimpering, and then it sprays a little, her cum, squirting from her and soaking her hand, her arm, the sheets. It leaks and sprays, it's the hottest thing she's ever seen, and Moka's body is spasming. Her hips are bucking and the moans sound so pretty.

And then Moka goes limp, she collapses onto the mattress and pants. She's staring up at the ceiling and her body is still trembling and shaking. Cum still leaking out and staining the sheets. All she sees are stars; pretty, beautiful stars.

"I'll never get tired of seeing you do that," Yunah murmurs as she pulls her soaked hand away.

"Shut up." Moka giggles and pulls her hands to her face. She covers her blushing face. "It's so embarrassing," she mumbles into her palms.

Yunah laughs, climbing from between her legs and lying next to her. Moka turns, lying on her side. "It's not," she whispers, "it's hot." Yunah runs her hand up Moka's bare thigh. Her hand slides to her ass and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Really hot."

[complete-clownery]

some fun facts about this whole picture

(also just because I share all of this with you guys, nothing is set in stone, if you have your own theories that's the coolest thing ever!!! Share them with me please!!)

🍜Some of y'all said that Macaque was sitting alone but believe me just because Bai He turned around to chat with MK and Mei she is only there because Macaque came and Macaque is only there because Bai He begged him to tag along,

THEY COME IN A PAIR DO NOT SEPARATE IN GROUP PICTURES!!!

🍜 You might have noticed that some of the chopstick holders and sauce holders have stickers on them. Those were put there by MK. He first did it when he was much younger to help decorate the shop because he overheard a convo between Tang and Pigsy discussing renovation and finances - it was a whole thing - Pigsy even got mad at MK, but they figured it out eventually and nowadays when the stickers get too worn MK replaces them with new ones

🍜 Mei is showing Bai He a puppy video you can hardly see it

🍜 Mei hardly even touches Red Son in the illustration, Red Son is just completely distraught by the idea of being so close to someone. (He's very embarrassed they might be blushing a bit too (I just weren't able to draw that properly lol))

🍜 Yeeah Yeah okay,,, I know there is a shadowpeach shaped question in the room bugging your minds like: omg clownery is it on purpose that they are the only characters that we can't see the faces of???

🍜MK is sitting on the outside of the boot because he keeps on getting up and helping pigsy around (it's not even a conscious decision anymore, whenever they sit down with the others he sits somewhere, where he can easily get up to land a hand to Pigsy (or to anyone in general))

Except from this one ;]

And my answer to that is: I made this drawing on a whim, I started drawing it purely to mess around with perspective and expected to give up halfway bc it looked ass, I could have hardly given it any deeper meaning or thought. How could've I possibly planned anything? The core elements of this picture are all developed while I was drawing it...

See when I sat down and got an idea about a group picture I wanted to differentiate the celestial monkeys (excluding MK) from the main group

This picture takes place some time after season 3 and a bit before season 4. I would like to say that Wukong and Macaque are not a part of this group. Especially in season 3 both of them have done terrible shit and regardless of where they're sitting and what they are doing, they're not part of it all.

For Macaque this is pretty easily illustrated, he is the one who stands out the most, not a lot of people want him there since they did try to kill members of the group even if he was under the influence of LBD. He's at a different table. MK invited them bc MK genuinely wants to be friend Macaque, but this was already stated: Bai He wants Macaque to be there - I have a lot of head canons about their relationship but I'm not going to talk about this here cuz this rant might get even longer - but Bai He at first was scared as fuck with Wukong around, she only felt better when Macaque was there. She has gotten better since then, as you can see she's pretty comfortable with MK and Mei (even Red Son surprisingly), but she still needs Macaque there.

Well for once he is turned away from the pov, we cant see his face already distancing him from you guys the viewers.

Making Wukong stand out and look isolated is a bit more tricky... He's in the group seemingly chatting with Sandy, he's there, part of the whole thing, but there are subtle hints about his environment and body language you might notice:

Also I think It has been made pretty evident in the show that Wukong loves eating right? If he was perfectly at ease he would at least have 3 bowls of noodles, yet he barely touched anything, he's not eating.

His body language is also closed off, arms crossed, legs just next to each other tightly, he's not comfortable, he's somewhere else, Sandy is there but his talking at Wukong rather than talking to him.

I mean he almost got Mei killed and the whole plan screwed since he was unwilling to cooperate and share his plans with the others. I like to think that Mei just straight up ignored him for a while,, same with pigsy,, those two had enough of Wukongs past getting MK in trouble, they do not like him (and them being so buddy buddy with him in later seasons is annoying af to me,,, maybe season 5 gets some form of pass, because more time has passed and Wukongs actions in season 4 were considerably better, but they were waaaaay too comfortable with him at season 5,,, it bugged me a lot)

I think they're also very aware of each other's presence (I have a whole au that plays between season 3 and 4 explaining how Macaque started living on the FFM with Wukong, so in that context,,,, damn they are having a BLAST especially Macaque, he would like to be anywhere but near Wukong :] )

🍜Also they're sitting away from each other as far as possible, and (this was not planned and got pointed out by one of my friends) Wukong is sitting closest to the sun and Macaque is the one who is in the shade the most

Sorry about the big monkey rant, I am just so extremely shadowpeach pilled that it distracts my brain form everything else

And once again: I tell all this stuff to you guys, but feel free to come up with your own theories about the illustration, details, backstories, whatever you have in mind. You guys have different interpretations makes it all the more fun!!

Please share your theories with me in the comments I would love to hear them 🍎🍊🍊

I'll edit this if I have more ideas 💡

Wow okay

[anamericangirl]

It happened again! Nother convo between me and a lib friend.

Me: I thought you didn't support the death penalty?

Friend: I don't! And I never well. Those are human beings in a correctional facility. The purpose of them being there is to help them transition back into society as a normal human being.

Me: As someone who studies criminal psychology I regret to inform you that the criminally insane do not magically become normal people while in prison.

Friend: That doesn't mean we shouldn't try. [This is my favorite quote in here because this friend says religion should be outlawed because if we can't see God he doesn't exist. So his logic of "Just because we've never seen it doesn't mean we shouldn't try" goes out the window when it's religion, but he's all for it when it's gender ideology, criminal correctional facilities or communism being a good form of government.]

Me: So can I ask you about all the memes you've been posting? [Context: He's been posting memes non stop about how that healthcare guy got shot and saying it's hilarious]

Friend: Dude there's a huge difference between someone who made a mistake and someone who deliberately fucked over millions of people with health care scams

Me: I really implore you to watch criminal psychology videos with me sometime. These are not people who made a mistake, these are people who take pleasure in murdering as many people as they can.

Friend: They can still be helped. CEOs can't be helped, they're too far gone.

Me: I literally just watched one about a woman who killed her pregnant daughter and then cut her open and ate the baby inside of her, and you think she can be helped but CEOs can't be?

Friend: Yes I do, she's still a human being.

Me: She's not, she's dead. She got the death penalty for that. It was in Texas.

Friend: And what problem did that solve?

Me: Well there's not a woman who killed her daughter and ate her unborn granddaughter in the world anymore, so she can't go on to do that again.

Friend: Yeah but that's one person. This CEO killed millions of people.

Me: It's two people, and I dunno about you but I really feel like when you literally murder someone you don't deserve the life you've been given anymore, no matter how many people you murder. If we're gonna weigh the severity of murder on a bell curve that's fucking retarded. We don't go "Yeah he killed 10 people but he doesn't lose his humanity card until he kills a lot closer to 6 million people." I feel like in both cases we should probably get rid of the murderer.

Friend: Well, you got your wish apparently since both are dead so what the hell are you complaining about?

Me: I'm not complaining, I'm trying to understand your logic. You're completely okay with someone getting shot to death because you claim they've killed millions of people, but then when someone kills 1-10 people and is in prison you fight for their human rights. I'm personally glad that in both cases they can't keep hurting people because I'm of the opinion that the death penalty for heinous criminals who are a danger to society is a good thing. My confusion starts with you being okay with one but not okay with the other. You're entirely inconsistent on who you're okay with being killed.

Friend: I'm completely consistent with who I'm okay with being killed. If they're nazis, billionaires, CEOs, maga, racist or antivaxxers they can get killed and I'll be happy.

Me: What's the bar for CEO? Because a small business owner is still a CEO. And when you say racist, do you mean specifically white racists who are racist against non-white or are you at least being consistent there and also hoping black and latino people who hate white people die too?

Friend: It's not racist to hate white people.

Me: Got it. And the CEO question?

Friend: CEO and billionaire are the same thing.

Me: They absolutely are not. The term "CEO" literally means "Whoever is in charge of a business or corporation." That means that a family owned business does in fact have a CEO, even if that business is only worth like $10,000.

Friend: That's not the definition of CEO, CEOs are billionaires in charge of companies like EA and Ubisoft. A small business owner is a small business owner.

Me: The guy who makes tiki torches is a small business owner, you want him killed?

Friend: He's a nazi.

Me: He's a nazi because the KKK bought his product?

Friend: Yep!

Me: It is shocking how easy it is for you to wish death upon someone. So you think the tiki torch guy should be shot?

Friend: Absolutely, yes.

Me: Let's change the subject, this is getting stupid. You still ride horses?

Friend: Yeah

Me: Fucking nazi.

Friend: [He sent a groggy anime girl emote]

Me: What? The KKK owns horses, haven't you seen Django Unchained?

Friend: I'm going to bed.

Me: By the way the tiki torch CEO is a left-winger who went on CNN to say he was appalled by the protesters using his torches.

Friend: Don't care.

Me: Still shoot him?

Friend: Yes. Good night.

Me: Aight.

I'm still reeling from "murderers can be helped but CEO's can't be because they're too far gone."

lol.

lmao even.

There's nothing wrong with being a CEO. It's not a crime. So wtf is he talking about they're too far gone and can't be helped? Like the problem with the United Healthcare CEO was that he was supposedly a murderer but I thought murderers could be helped???

Being in charge of a business isn't a bad thing omg. Sounds like your liberal friend, like most liberals, is just jealous some people make more money than he does.

Consistency would kill these people.

[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

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @stobinmonth.

Tell Me Everything

Prompt #1: Gossip | Word Count: 910 | Rating: T | POV: Robin | CW: Weed Mention, Gossiping About Someone's Sexuality | Relationship(s): Platonic Stobin, Background Pre-Steddie | Tags: Scoops Ahoy, Missing Scenes: S3 & S4, Steve's Bisexual Awakening

"I'm so bored!" Robin complains. If she has to be stuck here with Steve Harrington, he can at least entertain her. Scoops Ahoy has been beyond slow all day. Those damn assholes over at Orange Julius have been working hard to steal all their customers. Free samples, without her snarky commentary? Ugh. 

Not that Robin wants more customers. But she also doesn't like to lose, and right now, they're losing.

"Entertain me!" she demands. 

"Well, uh, I guess I have gossip," Steve says, peeling a banana, wandering around the backroom.

"Oh, I'm so sure I'll care about any gossip you might know," Robin says, elbow resting on the table, face in her hand, "But go ahead. Tell me everything."

Steve rolls his eyes, plopping in the chair across from her. He takes a big bite of the banana, and it's disgusting.

"So. You know Eddie "The Freak" Munson? From school?" Steve asks, pointing his surely stolen banana at her. Inventory day is going to be interesting, that's for sure.

"I'm familiar, yes," she says, playing it cool. She's in band with Eddie, and will get to be again next year if the gossip mill is right and he didn't graduate, again. But she doesn't need to advertise that she's in the band to Steve Harrington. He might already know, he should if he pays any attention to anybody else in the world. But she doesn't need to point it out if he doesn't.

"He didn't graduate. I know," she says. This is lame gossip. 

"No, well, yes. I think. But that's not it. Uh, last night I was meeting him out at Skull Rock—"

"Why were you meeting Eddie Munson at Skull Rock?" she asks, raising a pointed eyebrow. She knows why. Pot. But she's needling him, just for fun.

"I wanted to join his shitty band," he says sarcastically, rolling his eyes, "I was buying weed. Duh. It's the only thing getting me through his summer. But, get this. I get out there, and I hear him having an argument with another guy. Real heated. Up close and personal."

Robin's stomach flip-flops, and she sits back in her chair. She doesn't want him to finish his thought. Because she can see it in his eyes, she knows what he's about to say. Because she can see herself in Eddie Munson, but she definitely doesn't want Steve Harrington seeing it, too.

Steve leans over the table, trying to whisper, but still chewing, "Turns out he's gay, did you know that?"

Robin feels the blood drain from her face, but is determined to power through it, "What makes…what makes you think that?" she asks.

Steve rolls his eyes, taking another big, phallic bite. 

"I just said I saw him. Out at Skull Rock," Steve says, chewing like a cow. How do girls find this attractive? Steve Harrington is a gross boy, not a king.

"You said he was fighting, that's not exactly damning evidence."

He grins, then twists the dagger, "Like, I moved closer. In case I had to help."

"You were gonna help? Who? Eddie? Or the guy he was fighting with?"

Steve doesn't answer, "But then the guy kissed him. Like, kissed, kissed. Eddie pushed him back. But not right away or anything. He liked it."

Robin squeezes her hands together under the table. It's okay. She expected this. It's Steve Harrington. 

"Who was the other—no, nevermind," she says. She doesn't want him adding to this story. He can't just tell everybody about this. He can't. "You're not, like, telling other people this, are you? Just me?"

But there's no further discussion, a customer rings the bell out front, and Steve tosses his banana peel on the table, and picks up the ice cream scoop, twirling it in his hand as he pushes through the swinging door.

"Hi, I'm Steve Harrington. I'll be your Custard Captain."

His lines are getting worse by the shift. 

Robin leans forward and rests her forehead on the table.

She'll just pretend this never happened. 

Not even a year later, Eddie Munson has Steve pinned to the wall of the boat house, broken bottle to his neck, and Robin has eyes. Steve's enjoying it.

Which, gross. 

But also: Well, well, well. 

Steve turned out to be cool with her, of course, and he's her best friend. One drugged bathroom confession, and she has replayed that 'Eddie Munson's gay' gossip session in her head over and over. Steve hadn't actually ever said anything negative. She'd inferred that, for sure, but he hadn't actually condemned Eddie.

Or her. 

He was just stating facts. 

She's the one that assumed the worst. She knows Steve now, and this reaction he's having to Eddie is brand new information. For her, definitely, and maybe even for Steve by the look in his eyes.

Once the dust had settled, she steered him away from all the prying ears.

"Well, that was interesting," she says.

"Yup," he croaks, still looking a bit shaken. 

"Now you wish you'd had a different experience out at Skull Rock last summer, don't ya?"

And he nods, fervently, and she can't wait to see how this bisexual awakening plays out. If she thought he was embarrassing himself like a fool in front of girls at Scoops Ahoy, she can't even imagine how dumb he'll make himself look in front of Eddie Munson.

She just knows she wants a front row seat, and a fresh dry erase marker.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @stobinmonth to follow along with the platonic soulmate fun!

[itsdappleagain]

Hello. I want to introduce an interesting concept that I read about recently called "casteism." It defines the systemic hierarchies in places like the United States. It's going to take race and racism out of the picture for a second. Let's take the US as an example, since I live there.

In America, the dominant caste- those with the most historical legal and societal privilege- are white people. If we want to go further into that, we can define castes in other areas as well, such as gender or sexuality. For example, a heterosexual white man is the most privileged and represented in the United States (always has been able to vote marry, own property, not be considered property, etc.), whereas a queer Black woman is among the least privileged and represented. These hierarchies were instituted a couple hundred years ago with the institution of slavery in the USA, and its our job in the modern age to recognize where the biases we grow up with come from and how we can overcome them.

I don't know if or not you're American, but Tumblr has a huge amount of USAmericans on it and a lot of the shows discussed in this post are American, so lets say it applies.

So, consider this. Was the only representation for white men in media as an insulting caricature of a criminal, thug, idiot, or submissive caretaker to someone "more important?" If you call the cops on a white man for taking a walk in his own neighborhood, does he get shot for it? Did white men used to only be allowed into the country as property? The answer is no, because white men are in the dominant caste in America, and always have been.

So, you were raised in this caste system where white people have always been considered to be above other races, or are influenced by it. There exists messaging and systemic issues everywhere in the US that drill that system into our heads from a young age. Cops and judges are more likely to arrest and convict Black youths for the same crimes that a white kid is given a slap on the wrist for- especially if they are less well off and unable to afford a good lawyer, as is often the case. The convicted person is then behind on education, unable to get a job beyond minimum wage positions, and the cycle of poverty continues.

This does not, and let me really emphasize this to you, occur with white people.

So, let's cycle back around. You said:

"while the comic is about people discriminating against shows with a female lead by focusing on the white guy, the comic implies the show is already discriminative."

So the show is "discriminating" against the white guy by...not having a white guy as the focus?? Help me understand what you're saying here, seriously. If writers and showrunners are able to win the fight to put a non-white woman in the leading role of a show, a role that is just handed to white men and has been for hundreds of years, that's discriminating against the hypothetical white guy by not being about him?

"If somebody is racist towards a white guy, that's fine, because a specific few that aren't even alive anymore were bad people? Well then we can also justify racism against black people, as there have been a handful that've killed and stolen."

How and why do you think that's what racism is??? You think racism happens because someone in their entire race was a bad person at some point??? The issue in the United States is that it used to be legal to OWN SLAVES, and after slavery was abolished (except in prisons) there were still systemic injustices. I could go on for hours on this subject, but I won't right now.

So, okay, let's wrap back around to "That's the exact same attitude biphobes and aphobes have, claiming there's no discrimination against bisexual people or asexual people."

Hi. I'm asexual. No it's not. Your argument for making something not be about the white guy is actually akin to "straight pride." Heterosexuals are part of the dominant caste. Bisexuals and asexuals are not. Discrimination exists because they are different from the dominant caste (straight), just like discrimination existing towards non-white people because they are different from the dominant caste (white), or discrimination existing towards women, intersex, genderqueer, trans, or nonbinary people because they are different from the dominant caste (cis male).

In conclusion, members of the dominant caste who are not and have never been systemically discriminated against don't experience discrimination. I'm white. White people don't experience discrimination for being white. Consistently overlooking non-white, non-male, and/or queer characters in favor of a white male character is an issue in fandom spaces (and other ones, good lord. I'm thinking of the Barbie Oscars).

Others please chime and correct me if anything in this response is wrong concerning systemic racism and everything. I read about a lot of this recently in a book called Caste by Isabel Wilkerson, and I recommend it if you want to read more on America's caste system and how Nazi Germany referenced it when drafting the Nuremberg Laws.

If you comment something stupid and/or unnecessary on this I will reply with critical thinking questions.

[muirmarie]

thinking about my bad things happen bingo card....thinking about compelling voice - whatever is happening on the ship, mccoy isn't affected because mirror!spock started a bond w/ him, and when the mental attack starts mccoy's brain reaches out to spock and spock feels it and immediately shields him with the broken bond, but like maybe.....has to finish the bond to do so? maybe spock isn't physically near mccoy? maybe it's actually pre-existing mckirk? maybe spock is say on a landing party with KIRK when it happens, and he has to explain what he just felt/what he just did to kirk? and mccoy is hmmm not having a good time of it, but he's at least not being compelled/remote-controlled like the rest of the ship is maybe? and spock and kirk have to find a way to get back onto the ship with mccoy's assistance? perhaps with kirk pushing for spock to do the same bond with him to ensure he won't get mind-jacked, and spock being like......so.......this is an uh................mating bond....................

also still trying to decide on a good villain for terms of endangerment. I'd say khan but I'm already using him for the scarpia ultimatum one. i keep going back to gary mitchell, but i'd really have to wibbly-wobbly timeframes, OR I'd have to bring him back. but the idea of him being kirk's ex and fucking with mccoy to hurt kirk is.......something, maybe.

[usual more ramblings under the cut, as i do]

or it could just be an entirely new villain, too, i could run with that. i don't wanna make it a bad guy from mccoy's past per se because i'm already doing that with tongue-tied.......god what if i actually started finishing some of these fics, would that be wild or what lmao....../sobs

listen, i like to rotate things in the back of my brain sometimes, and sometimes i do that for, uh, [checks calendar] months and months, evidently! but i can't do that for terms of endangerment unless i have a bad guy lmao. okay. okay i can just. not. rotate that one. for now. sorry i've been thinking a lot about A Bad Guy kissing the inside of mccoy's wrist, but it's a faceless Bad Guy, and i was just trying to give him a face.

would actually kind of love to have it be a bad guy from spock's past, but then i'd have to come up with a bad guy from spock's past. also to be clear i do not care about snw so please do not give me an snw bad guy, i'm sorry, i love that you love it, i love that for you, but it's just not for me.

i just need someone to kiss the inside of mccoy's wrist, and tell him he's doing so well, and then push the knife a little deeper into mccoy's side.

honestly i think i might have to run with mitchell.

sorry i'm once more having a bad pain day because life is a joke and i don't think i'm in actual writing shape today just rotating things in my mind and rambling away shape lmao sorryyyy luv u byeeeeeeee

[solarmorrigan]

18 with platonic stobin please! (Sorry if this sends twice I got an error message >:( whack)

Did not send twice, but I'm glad it came through at least once!

18. Headache - Platonic Stobin

cw: mentions of alcohol use

-

Robin is certain of three things:

1) Today is going to be terrible, 2) she’s dying, and 3) Steve is the worst.

Well – okay, no, that last one isn’t really true; he’s actually making breakfast for them both right now, which is great, because, again, Robin is probably dying.

It’s just he has the audacity to bustle around their kitchen like he hadn’t had just as much to drink as Robin had last night, like the morning sunlight filtering in through the windows isn’t stabbing painfully into his eyes the way it is Robin’s, like his stomach isn’t roiling like they’re on a ship in a storm, like the dark circles under his eyes and his sallow complexion don’t indicate he’s every bit as hungover as Robin is.

“How are you even functioning right now?” Robin whines from where her head is half hidden behind her arms, slumped over at the kitchen island.

Steve shrugs. “Practice, I guess?” His voice is a little croaky, but he sounds otherwise unaffected, and Robin hates it a little.

“There is no way you’ve been this hungover often enough to just be used to it,” Robin argues. “I would’ve noticed.”

“No, not hungover,” Steve answers with the soft breath of a laugh. “Just– migraines, y’know?”

Robin gives a vague, affirmative grunt, but it takes a few long moments for the meaning of the words to reach her through the soupy mess of her brain.

“Wait,” Robin mumbles, braving the murderous rays of the sun to look up at Steve where he’s standing over the stove. “This is what a migraine feels like?”

“I mean, I don’t know exactly how you’re feeling right now, but– are you nauseous?” Steve asks.

Robin swallows thickly, humming in the affirmative.

“Kinda dizzy?”

“Mm.”

“Light and noise make you feel kind of like you want to die?”

“God, yes.”

“Head hurt so much that you wish it would actually just fall off?”

Robin jams the heels of her palms into her eyes, nodding pitifully.

Steve hums. “Then that’s about it, yeah.”

“Oh my god.” Robin drags her hands down her face, staring blearily at Steve as he pokes nonchalantly at the eggs he’s currently scrambling. “You do this regularly?”

“Sometimes it’s not as bad. Sometimes it’s worse. That’s when I get stuff like trouble seeing, or talking. But I guess?” Steve shrugs again, the line of his shoulders stiff; it’s clear he doesn’t feel well, but he’s far more active than Robin thinks she has the capacity to be right now. “Like, this sucks, but I’d still classify it as okay enough to go to work. Maybe run errands, if they’re important.”

“Oh my god,” Robin mutters again, laying her head back on her folded arms. “You deserve financial compensation for being alive.”

Steve snorts. “When you find someone to talk to about that, let me know.”

The quiet clink of porcelain against tile sounds just beside Robin’s head, and she opens her eyes, unable to remember when she’d closed them. Scrambled eggs and buttered toast are laid out temptingly on a plate before her, looking good enough that she’s willing to contemplate actually eating them despite the faint protests of her stomach.

“Did you take something for your head already?” Steve asks.

“Tylenol,” Robin says, fingering the edge of the plate. “Definitely hasn’t kicked in yet.”

Steve rounds the island, coming to stand behind the stool Robin is perched on. “Here, sit up straight for a minute.”

Robin groans, but slowly drags herself upright. Behind her, Steve laughs.

“Don’t complain; I’m gonna make it worth your while.”

Before she can ask just how he’s going to do that, Steve’s hands come up to rest at the juncture of Robin’s neck and shoulders, large and strong, a little clammy, but comforting and warm all the same. Then he digs his thumbs into the tense muscle at the back of Robin’s neck, and she thinks she might actually murder him.

The pain only lasts a few moments, though, before the stiff muscle gives way under Steve’s attention, loosening and relaxing until the persistent ache that’s been radiating from the back of Robin’s head begins to ease.

“Holy shit, you’re magic,” Robin says, hushed, almost reverent, shifting slightly in discomfort as Steve moves on to her shoulders, before the muscle there yields, too, granting another ounce of relief.

“Magic, huh?” Steve teases, sounding warm and smug. “I’m gonna remember you said that.”

“Tell anyone and I’ll deny it. You’re too full of yourself as it is,” Robin says, though it comes out with zero conviction, on the tail of a pleased sigh.

“Uh huh.” The massaging motion of Steve’s hands slows and tapers off, leaving him rubbing warm, comforting circles just at the slope where her neck meets her shoulders. “Well, now that I’ve worked my not-magic, do you feel like you could eat?”

Robin looks at the eggs and toast again and finds that her stomach has calmed a little now that her head isn’t pounding. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good. I didn’t put all that work in just to have it go to waste,” Steve says, moving back around the island to hop up on his own stool, pulling a second plate towards himself.

“Oh, yeah, ten whole minutes of work. You poor thing,” Robin drawls, but there’s an amused little smile tucked up into the corners of her mouth.

It might not be such a bad day after all, she decides, and she’s probably not dying, but she does know that Steve is actually, probably, the best.

[hils79]

Hils Watches Snowfall - Ep 1

I'll admit I'm a little wary of this after I bailed on Blood after 5 episodes. BUT I've been waiting 84 years for this! They announced that Winwin was playing one of the main roles in a vampire drama I think back in either 2021 or 2022. And then it got stuck in the censorship locker forever. Finally, in true cdrama style, it dropped with barely any warning at all.

So, fingers crossed it's at least watchable even if it's not good.

Just making sure that everyone knows that vampires aren't real

I would be screaming way more if someone somehow flicked a matchstick through the window and impaled my hand with it

Okay this is already ridiculous but in an entertaining way. Like, sure dude, pull out two huge guns in slow motion to kill a guy you don't even know is a vampire

There's whump and then there's this dude who has been both shot multiple times and run over by a car multiple times

It's annoying because he seems really familiar to me but I definitely haven't seen him in anything

Oh are they setting up a love triangle between him, the blind girl and the vampire dude?

Okay I'm not usually a fan of the disabled character gets magically healed trope but I do like the way it was done where she accidentally got some vampire blood in her eyes while washing her face

Well, that was definitely an interesting start. All it's really done is introduce the characters and there wasn't much in the way of plot so I look forward to watching more.

Also, WHERE IS WINWIN?

[leupagus]

So I'm seeing a fair amount of comments like "it's about time!" and "finally!!" and "what took them so long???"

And they bug me because... okay, I'm going to say this as gently as possible, but if you didn't know about this before reading my silly little post, what makes you think you've been aware of anything else the Democrats have been doing? If this is how you heard about Tuesday's shenaniganery, why do you consider yourself well-informed enough on Democrats' activities to say they haven't been doing enough?

I'm not saying this as part of a "how dare you criticize Democrats" rant, I promise. I'm pointing out that the way we Americans* consume information is deeply fucked, and that just because we personally haven't heard about something doesn't mean that it hasn't happened. There is a trend in media to coddle and cape for conservatives while harshly criticizing liberals (think of all the "this poor Trump voter never realized voting for Trump would mean bad things for them personally, isn't it terrible??" articles that we've literally never seen written about any liberal or leftist voter, ever, while getting furious because... one Democrat talks about egg prices). And not just amongst corporate media, whatever that means; TikTok and Instagram are rife with people assuring you that voting doesn't matter, all politicians are corrupt shills, we're doomed because everyone in power is a feckless coward (unlike us viewers, who are all good people but are also completely helpless). There is a huge market for being angry at Democrats, and while I don't think there's any deep conspiracy other than the age-old Mommy Problem, it's worth considering what effect that might have on how much we actually hear about anything good that they do.

We should always be cynical about politicians, to be clear. But we should also be cynical about the news media, social media, and our society itself at this juncture. Heck, we should be cynical about cynicism! Throwing our hands up and saying "both parties are the same, they all need to go, throw them all out into the street" is a great way to feel morally pure but a lousy way to effect any sort of change for our country. If your congressperson or senators suck, by all means work hard to throw them out. But consider how helpful it is to claim that all 630-odd members of Congress, regardless of party, are equally contemptible and should all be run out on a rail. Do you really think that will encourage good and decent people to run for office? Because here's the thing: someone's got to do that job. We cannot abolish Congress, no matter what your anarchist friend tells you. The past weeks and the coming months and years are about to show everyone in stark, horrifying detail just how necessary a functioning American government is, and someone needs to run it. If you want those people to do better than Trump and his lackeys, you have to at least be aware of what they do better.

TL;DR — if the original post provided you with any new information, consider widening your pools of places you get information from. Sign up for your representative's and senators' newsletters, get a subscription to a good local paper, read the headlines from Reuters or AP or heck, just follow a congressional staffer nerd (Aaron Fritschner is my personal fave). I promise that there are shitty, stupid, shortsighted things that Democrats are doing right now, but there aren't as many as you think; and there are more thoughtful, smart, and capable things they're doing than you know.

*Yes this is a post for Americans by an American; if you're not American then this isn't about you.

Tuesday's House Budget Vote and what you may not have heard about

I'm reposting this from a reblog of a really great post about the work that Representatives Mullin and Pettersen did in voting against the GOP budget on February 25th, because I don't want to detract from that message.

Instead, I want to talk about the larger implications of H. Con. Res. 14 itself, and why the Democrats risked so much (in Mullin's and Pettersen's cases, actual harm) in order to show up for this vote.

The vote in question is starting the first of quite a few votes for the upcoming GOP budget; it's not a done deal by any means, this was just the vote to get it started, so to speak. But it was still a very, very, VERY important vote, because not only would failure be catastrophic, but so would a win that just barely squeaked by.

And this one squeaked like a fucking mouse in Murray's Cheese Shop.

Speaker Johnson has been waffling on putting this to a vote because there were several outspoken GOP members who talked a big game about opposing it. Usually this doesn't matter, since most bills get some bipartisanship, but at present the House is in GOP hands with only a three-member margin of error, with two seats vacant (note: those two vacancies are FL 1 and 6, which are holding their special elections on April 1 — lol — and which are EXTREMELY unlikely to flip but hey miracles happen! Donate or phonebank if you'd like!). And Democratic representatives have been voting in a bloc against...well pretty much everything the GOP's been pushing through since Trump took office. Not only that, but this budget is legit unpopular with a number of Republicans, so much so that Johnson pulled the vote at first on Tuesday because he knew it would fail if the GOP members who'd threatened to vote against it actually went through with it. What he needed was to either convince them all to fall in line, or resort to cheating.

So he did both!

He and Trump strongarmed all but one of the GOP holdouts into voting yes (Congressman Massie is in many ways a turd in a toilet, and his reasons for voting no were bad, but he did stick to his guns, I'll give him that). Reports of Trump actually screaming at one of the (female, naturally) GOP holdouts are...well, unsurprising, but that's how panicked they were about getting this bill started. Usually the Whip does this work, but Tom Emmer's been laughably bad at it and so they had to get Trump to actually do some work. Which is itself sort of astonishing. But even then, they weren't sure they could get it done.

Which leads us to part two of Johnson's plan: blatant cheating. During Pelosi's last session as Speaker, she allowed for proxy voting in light of COVID and, you know, the general state of things, but the second the GOP got back the gavel they nixed it right in the bud. This puts the Dems at a disadvantage right now because at least three of them are out for medical reasons — Mullin and Pettersen, as well as Congressman Raúl Grijalva who's fighting cancer at present. (He was the only Democrat who couldn't get to the floor for this vote, fwiw, and anyone who insists he should've can suck my left tit.)

So Johnson adjourned the House for the evening, sending everyone home, but told the GOP members to stay and then tried to rush through the vote before the Dems realized what was happening. His hope was that enough Dems would be caught flat-footed/not see the recall notice/be asleep watching Taskmaster (whoops that was me) by the time they got the message to get back to the floor. That way he could lose the holdouts but still pass the budget onto the next phase.

However! While Nancy Pelosi no longer rules the Democratic caucus with her iron fist and fabulous coats, my man Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries learned quite a lot from her (and is pretty fucking genius himself). Not only did he and the other House leadership expect this kind of chicanery from Johnson, they had planned on it.

Because here's the thing: Mullin and Pettersen didn't get on a plane at the last minute on Tuesday; they'd gotten to DC on Monday, without telling anyone they were in town. They actually hid from the GOP members all day Tuesday in order to lull Johnson into thinking he had more of a margin than he did; if the GOP holdouts really had voted against the budget, then it would've failed. Which would have been a biiiiiiig problem for Johnson and Trump.

As it is, it's still a biiiiiiig problem for Johnson and Trump, because now they know just how razor-thin their margin is. More importantly, they also now know that the Dems will fuck with them just as much (if not more) as they will fuck with Dems. Congress (and the USA in general) has operated for years on the assumption that Democrats operate in good faith, while taking it for granted that of course the GOP ratfuck as much as humanly possible.

This moment is a chilling one for the GOP; they can't assume anymore that Dems will play fair or fight clean. Which seems like a very small thing in the larger picture right now, I know, and I also know that people would love for their Democratic representatives and senators to be more vocal and angry in public ways. I get that!

But this move on Tuesday night? Is actually going to have far bigger consequences than any meme or viral video or clever soundbite from a politician. Democrats are no longer playing by the rules that the GOP's ignored for years (if not decades); they're playing by the GOP's own rules, and they just might win.

[silverview]

i thought i'd do a self-indulgent little roundup post about my birthday, so i can look back on it someday and get emo about how lovely it was :')

concludes with my s/f report from the thursday evening show, all spoilers clearly marked!!

on the day itself i got some amazing gift fics from @donotbelasagne, @batatadulce9 & @kookaburrito (in order of posting), which was completely unexpected & wonderful 💕💕 if you like freaky rpf then you probably know where to find them! AND...

kooka also sent me this reece locket and this AMAZING lazoo doll which. i actually started yelling when i opened it & saw what it was. LOOK AT HIM. LOOK AT MY HORRID BABY

this is why i had to post the stitchup showdown opening, to at least provide context if not an explanation for my love for him 💗

my bf got me some amazing presents too, and we saw stage/fright – his 1st time, my 5th. details about the show further down, but first...!!

💕 REECE HUGGED ME!! 💕 and wished me happy birthday!!! 💕 he is the absolute sweetest and i just... yeah no words. i have rewatched the video of it a million times already. i was wearing heels so it was a biiit of a stretch for him to reach 🙈

i think this confirms he's not on ao3 lol because when i said "it's my birthday!" he didn't go pale and say "YOU! >:O"

on friday i had the best day with the lovely @spcvarney 💗 & we did a tour of the wyndham's!! she posted about this already, but the staff told us that reece has been claiming to feel ghosts touching his shoulder & stuff in the theatre 👻 of course he has

supposedly he had the same experience back in 2005 when he did as you like it there. no wonder he seems so happy there. they said that the alleged ghost has a history of reacting badly to swearing, and especially to the word cunt. 🫢

they let us go onstage, which was amazing. they asked us not to take photos of the stage/fright set & props. so of course i didn't. :) it really is an amazingly beautiful place

yesterday was my birthday party & it was rlly nice to see my family & friends, including some wonderful in9 fans, and i had the BEST time nerding out with them in person 💗 @wintersoulwitch managed to come by IN BETWEEN the evening & matinee s/f performances which was actual legend behaviour, & their varney tshirt was easily a highlight of the whole experience

at the party itself i found out that i didn't just pass my january exams (the ones that made me wish i was dead), i actually nailed them 😭😭

@mifhortunach came a long way for the party & i can't say how exciting that was 🥹❤️ we've been friends for the longest time & every time we hang out irl i have so much fun. they were the one who introduced me to in9 in the first place, so that was a nice full circle moment 😅

today i was so wrecked that i slept all morning & only woke up in time to see them off. it has been a very... VERY intense three days & this post can't possibly capture it all but yeah, these are just some highlights

i feel really lucky. i love my friends, including the ones not mentioned here & the ones who don't know that i think of them as friends. idk how i come across on here, or in person. i'm not someone who has never been deeply lonely & shy & insecure. being in this fandom is one of the strangest & loveliest things that's ever happened to me, because the people are amazing. sometimes i think about how it won't last forever, but that's okay, i'll enjoy it for as long as it lasts

my time gets stretched pretty thin. i'm never on here as much as i'd like to be, & i usually don't reply to people as fast as i'd like to. a lot of in9 fans are in the uk, so my nocturnal habits are pretty antisocial. thanks for being kind to me & patient with me :')

⚠️ stage/fright spoilers beyond this point!!! ⚠️

thursday eve was a GREAT performance!! the audio is mostly me + my bf cackling with joy. the audience were well up for it. really enthusiastic, laughing a lot. the whole play felt looser and more energetic than usual, everyone in the cast was clearly vibing

reece especially – marcus was sassier and more over-the-top than usual, and he corpsed a bunch during kidnappers, covering his mouth with his hand. on "i know how to answer the phone" he did a little jig for no reason and then burst out laughing at himself

speaking of kidnappers, the guest was julian clary (jewel ink lairy) and he was FANTASTIC, so so funny. he called s&r "heterosexual cunts" & i think the looks on their faces can best be described as delighted astonishment

i should point out that my straight, non-fandom, comedy writer bf feels that the "pudgy & homosexual" line IS most likely a reference to s&r themselves 💁🏻‍♀️

hugo's gloves were among the props left out onstage. plus the ghost light, gramophone, creepy jars, and trepanning chair from that segment. and the hare (we think it was The Hare)

the boys skipped some fairly important dialogue in their last scene: the reference to bcdr and the explanation as to why the song was cut. not sure what happened but i think reece just fastforwarded a bit by mistake. it still worked and it was still absolutely perfect. ❤️

i had happy tears in my eyes all through the song. reece was audibly belting it out and clearly having the time of his absolute life.

when miranda hennessy came out of the stage door, there was a huge cheer from a group of women across the alley who yelled "we know her!" she ran over to them & they all hugged & laughed & they said how proud they were :')))

[hhughes]

౨ৎ ‧ 𝐒𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐒

𐙚 ─── pairing: violet kingston x luke hughes

𐙚 ─── summary: in which violet asks luke to the sadie hawkins dance

𐙚 ─── word count: 1.6K

𐙚 ─── a/n: I adore high school luke and vi so much🥺 as always I hope you like it and please tell me what you think. I feel like a lot of out luke and vi pieces, especially the younger ones, really showcase luke's adoration for vi, and this really gives us more of an insight into how smitten violet is for him <3

“don’t start,” violet states when she arrives at their chosen table at the cafeteria, her and dylan the first two to arrive as usual.

“I didn’t even say anything,” he defends lifting his hands and violet sends him a knowing look as she takes the seat across from him

“not yet. but by that little glint in your eye I can tell you’re about to and you can save your breath. I’m not asking him, I'm not even sure I'm going," violet says and dylan lets out a frustrated sigh. he's been trying to convince her to ask luke to the sadie hawkins dance for at least two weeks straight but to no avail.

"I'm just saying, if you don't ask him soon, you might miss your shot. another one asked him today, that makes it what? three total..." dylan says and violet freezes mid-bite, lowering her apple and staring wide eyed at her friend

"who?" violet asks, her heart squeezing a bit at the thought of Luke going to the dance with someone else

"veronica williams," dylan asnwers and violet's face immediately turns sour. the nerve of that little -

"why are we talking about her-who-shall-not-be-named?" luke asks as he gets to the table, taking his regular seat next to violet, his arm automatically looping around her waist. he smirks as she slaps his hand when he reaches for a cracker in her lunch box, squeezing her hip in retaliation

"just telling vi who asked you to the dance today," dylan answers innocently and luke shrugs when he feels violet's eyes on him

"don't know why she bothered asking me, she knew I was gonna say no," luke says and dylan hums in agreement. it was a well known fact that violet and veronica didn't exactly get long, to put it lightly.

what started out as an innocent kindergarten friendship blossomed into a toxic competitive rivalry at the end of middle school and ever since then veronica has made it her mission to try and upend violet on every little thing. violet was almost sure half the extra curriculars she did was just because violet showed an interest in them.

violet didn't care when veronica ran for student government, or applied to be the head editor of the school paper, or challenged her for captain of the dance team. violet thrived off a little competition and she loved winning fair and square, as she often did in these little battles between her and the other girl.

violet couldn't quell the growing ball of jealousy, annoyance and insecurity at the thought of veronica going after luke. violet wasn't oblivious to the other girl's model-like appearance, and most of the time she was actually quite nice, when her attention wasn't directed towards violet.

dance captain, president of student government and editor of the school paper? those were all things violet would be more than happy to give her. but luke? her luke? was not something she was okay with sharing. violet knew luke wasn't even veronica's type. she was only doing it to get a reaction...

"easy tiger. are you missing the part where I said heck no? s'no need to get yourself worked up over it vi, you know that's what she wants. and then you have to deal with all that at cheer practice," luke reasons

"I'm quitting cheer," violet announces and luke pulls away to look at her, but she clenches the sleeve of his hoodie on the arm around her waist, keeping him close.

"what? why? if this is about veron-" luke protests but shuts up when violet stuffs a cracker in his mouth

"it's not. I've been wanting to quit a while. I only did it because I wanted to try something out of my comfort zone. and I did, but I don't love it, not like I love dance, and I would rather spend more time doing something I love. besides now I have the time in my schedule to coach your little cousin's winter concert-"

"violet, you don't have to quit cheer to choreograph my little cousin's first grade concert. I promise you no one is gonna remember it in a few years," luke says, pushing his lunch bag closer to her as violet steals a chicken nugget from his container

"she's gonna remember it. why are you so against me quitting cheer anyway? I thought you hated it?" violet asks

"I don't hate it, I just hate the way the football players think that you being a cheerleader means that they have the right to flirt with you 24/7. like what is this? high school musical?" luke grumbles and violet smiles

“gabriella wasn’t a cheerleader…” violet replies amused

“and troy wasn’t a football player…” luke responds

“so what exactly is the high school musical reference?” dylan asks

“you know… stick to the status quo or whatever,” luke mumbles, throwing dylan with a crumpled piece of paper

“you know what I’m gonna miss about cheer?” luke asks, his hand ending up on violet’s thigh and she places hers on top of his

“what?” she asks and he smirks slightly

“seeing you in the uniform,” luke teases and violet playfully pushes his chest

“I can keep the uniform,” violet teases back and luke’s eyebrows raise

“oh? you gonna come wear it at my games? be my personal little cheerleader?” luke asks, his head dropping closer to hers and violet is hyper aware of his nose being centimetres from hers

“you wish,” violet breathes and luke grins

“a man can dream,” luke teases, leaning back with a hand on his chest

“a man can dream to disappear and no longer be witness to this,” dylan mumbles and luke kicks him against the shin

“you uh- going to the dance?” luke asks, scratching the back of his neck, his nervous tick showing and violet smiles slightly

“I’m thinking about it,” she replies

“you should wear red if you are. it’s your colour,” luke says, knowing he already has a number of red ties in his closet

“everything is my colour,” violet teases and luke grins, kissing her on the cheek

“true,” he says, tugging on the strings of the hoodie she was wearing, not even noticing its the very one he was searching for that morning.

. . .

“can you calm down? what’s the worse that could happen? he says no?” violet’s little brother asks and her horrified gaze snaps towards him

“oh my god! what if he says no… what if he thinks this is totally lame and he’d rather gauge his own eyes out than go to this dance with me,” violet says and trent just stares at her for a few seconds before glancing at her poster and back up

“I think it’s sweet and if he doesn’t, then he doesn’t deserve to go to the dance with you,” trent says folding his arms over his chest and violet smiles at her little brother

“look he’s coming,” her brother says excitedly, and she spots luke on the ice instantly, feeling her heart speed up in her chest as he skates over to them, a puck in his hand

“here you go bud,” he calls, throwing the puck over the glass for trent before directing his attention to her

“that for me kingston? you gonna let me see it?” luke teases and violet blushes, shakily opening the poster and pressing it against the glass so he could read it.

hey 43, do me a hughes favour and assist me in scoring a date to sadie? 🩷

violet feels like her cheeks are on fire by the time luke finishes reading and sends her a big grin.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he teases, pressing his hand flat on the glass and violet mirrors his action

at the end of their winning game, luke couldn’t wait to get off the ice, shower as quick as possible and go see his girl. doing a little jog towards her and picking her up in a bear hug when he’s in touching distance

“lemme see it. lemme see it,” he says excitedly and violet giggles as he puts her down, reaching for the poster

“can I keep it?” luke asks, clenching the poster tight and violet nods

“thanks for coming, where’s trent?” luke asks, grabbing violet’s hand as they make their way out of the building

“probably passed out in the car by now,” violet jokes and luke squeezes her hand

“are you coming over for dinner tonight? you have to… I have to show mom your poster. she’s gonna love it,” luke pleads

“yeah I can come to dinner,” violet agrees, pulling out her phone to text her parents. never being able to say no when he pulls those big puppy eyes on her

“so what colour dress you wearing?” luke asks as he puts his gear in the trunk

“red,” she answers sheepishly and luke smiles, hooking a finger in her belt loops and pulling her into him

“what are you doing?” violet giggles as luke teasingly lifts the edge of her hoodie

“checking to see if you wore the cheer uniform,” he says and laughs as she swats him on the arm

“are you insane? its way too cold. and I think I embarrassed myself enough for one night,” violet replies and luke pecks her on the nose

“I think you looked cute. standing there with your little sign. I’m gonna woo you with my dance moves,” luke teases moving his legs an attempt of some sort of shuffle move and violet laughs

“are you laughing at me?” he asks, tickling her waist and pulling her into another hug

“those legs were made for skating lu, definitely not dancing. lucky for you, you have a super good teacher,” violet says and luke hums agreeing, pressing a kiss to her head

[sophie-hatter-jenkins]

Part 1: Coastal

A March 2025 Hinny Microfic for @ginnystrophyhusband using Prompt 24

950 words (because I'm not terribly good at the actual 'micro' bit, but it's still technically okay. probably.)

Set in the same universe as this fic. A prequel of sorts, I suppose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Apparating with her eyes closed is a very weird experience. Frankly, it’s disorientating enough without going in blind, but she trusts Harry. She stumbles when they arrive, but of course he steadies her, just like she knew he would.

Still, she’s still a bit annoyed about all the secrecy.

“I still don’t see why you couldn’t tell me where we’re going,” she grouses.

“I promise it’ll be worth it.” She can’t see his face, but she knows he’s smiling; she can hear it in his voice. That isn’t all she can hear; he’s bubbling with excitement, but he’s nervous too. Whatever this is, it means a lot to him. “Just keep your eyes closed until I say, yeah?”

She rolls her eyes behind her firmly shut eyelids. “Okay, okay.” 

“You’re a trooper, Gin.” There’s laughter in his voice as he takes her arm. “Right, it isn’t far now. I’ll guide you.”

She moves slowly and carefully in response to his gentle tug at her elbow, a little unsure of her footing. He’s right, though—it isn’t long before he announces that they’ve arrived, wherever the hell it is that he’s taking her.

“Can I open them yet?”

“No, not quite. Just… just hang on a sec.” He drops her elbow, and starts muttering under his breath. She doesn’t recognise the spell, and whatever it is seems quite complicated, because it takes a while.

While she waits, she thinks about what she can tell about her surroundings. Despite being deprived of her sight, it’s actually quite a lot.

She can hear the caw of seagulls, and not too far away, the crash of waves on the shore, so they’re near the coast. There's a tang of salt in the air so the sea must be very close, but the ground beneath her feet is level and solid, so they’re not actually on the beach. Harry stops muttering, and she hears the squeak of a reluctant gate, before he guides her forward a few more steps. She recognises the familiar warm tingle of a passing through a ward on her skin, and thinks she can smell lavender, and maybe… mint? They’re in someone’s garden, she decides. 

“Okay,” he tells her, proudly. “You can open your eyes.”

She’s right. She’s standing in a garden, and a very pretty one at that, but she pays absolutely no attention to it at all, because oh! The cottage that the garden belongs to, the cottage that’s right in front of her, is absolutely beautiful.

It’s got white-painted walls and a dark slate roof. The front door is painted blue, and there are matching window boxes filled with a variety of plants that she recognises from Herbology. She knows instantly that she’s somewhere very special.

“So,” he asks, and she can hear his nervousness again. “What do you think?”

“It’s gorgeous, Harry!” With some effort she manages to tear her eyes away from it to look at her boyfriend. He looks relieved, and happy and eager, and it absolutely melts her, like it always does. “But why are we here? And since I’m asking, where exactly is here?”

“Wales,” he tells her. “Pembrokeshire, actually. And we’re here because… well, because it’s mine. I bought it.”

“You live here?” It’s a shock, but not a surprise. She knew he wasn’t keen on staying at Grimmauld long term. She just hadn’t realised his escape was quite so imminent.

“No, not quite,” he explains. “But I will be. I’m moving in next weekend. I just wanted you to see it first, because… well, I didn’t just buy it for me, I bought it for us, because I was hoping you might consider moving here with me?”

They’ve talked about it already, of course, so he isn’t blindsiding her completely with this suggestion of moving in together. It’s just that all their conversations so far have been purely hypothetical—or at least, she thought they were. Apparently, she was mistaken. He’s actually bought her—them—a house? It’s simultaneously utterly insane and incredibly romantic, and so very, very Harry.

She spins slowly on the spot, taking in the neat garden, the sand dunes beyond the gate, and the stretch of sand leading down to the sea that seems to go on forever. It’s all as utterly gorgeous as the cottage.

Beside her, Harry’s still talking, rambling really. “...still quite a distance to Holyhead, but closer than Devon. Or London. Plus I know you weren’t keen on London, and to be honest neither am I, so I thought you might like it here better.” He doesn’t do it often; only when he’s really nervous, and only when something really matters to him, she’s noticed. “I’ve nearly finished the wards, and I thought Bill would check them for me so it’ll be really safe. You could help with the decorating, paint colours and wallpaper too if you like. We’ll need some furniture, I don’t want to bring anything from Grimmauld and you can—”

She grabs the front of his hoodie, fisting both hands into the fabric, and pulls him down towards her, crashing her lips into hers. As expected, it shuts him up pretty effectively. 

She doesn’t release him for several long, breathless moments, and when she does, his beautiful, sea-green eyes are darkened and glazed, but full of hope.

“Yes! Yes of course I’ll move here with you!”

His face absolutely lights up. “Really? You’re sure? I mean, you don’t want to see inside first?”

She shakes her head. “Don’t need to. I already know it’s going to be perfect.” 

She knows that’s true, because she’s going to make sure of it. Harry’s found them the perfect house. She’s going to make it their perfect home.