#plus i hope no one in healthcare has that view but if they did i would think it could potentially also affect the parent’s care

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

on one hand yes a fetus requires nutrients from the parent’s body but on the other hand. sometimes people calling it a parasite feels a little strange

[faroreswinds]

There's been a recent critique of what's being called the "social justice villain/puppykicker" where a villain who is framed - or at the very least believed by the audience - to have a righteous cause in their actions has to remind the audience that they're a villain by performing some evil deeds. Do you think there are people who view Ed*lgard and to an extent anyone who works with her as this? Cause it somewhat explains where the "Ed*lgard was right" "Ed*lgard's war is a revolution" takes come from. Plus another part of the "social justice villain/puppykicker" critique is that the heroes who oppose the villain are criticized for "maintaining the status quo" which is what people accuse Dimitri of doing (even though he wants change, has mentioned it multiple times, and a couple endings shows he does change things).

I mean, based off your description of the phenomenon, it sounds right to me.

Houses, and especially Hopes, frames Edelgard's war as at least somewhat justified. Only Dimitri's route really pushes back on the ideology of the war's basis, but even then Dimitri "sympathizes" with Edelgard to a degree.

The game rarely every goes "You know, maybe trying to conquer other nations is a bad thing." It's criticism is more "Maybe we shouldn't kill people to make changes to the system." Which is still a good criticism, mind you, but that's basically the only criticism it makes.

Part of that is the game's treatment of Foldan. The developers seem to have forgotten that Foldan is not a single nation, but three. The game, and fans, discuss the three nations as a package deal. It would be like me saying "You know the problems of North America? It's the healthcare system!" as if that has any legitimate meaning. North America has several nations in it, and they all have their own healthcare systems.

But that's basically what Houses does. Replace "North America" with "Foldan", and "healthcare" with "the Church" and that's pretty much what the game does. "You know the problems of Foldan? It's the Church!".

But the Church exists differently in each nation. In the Empire, it has basically no relationship with them anymore. In the Kingdom, it is a major ally and influence. And in the Alliance, it's just... there, I guess, but no one pays it any mind.

But the game seems to ignore these differences. It insists that the Church is the source for all of Foldan's problems.

Now, if the game had actually built itself around this idea properly, I would have no complaints. Let's say... Edelgard really only wanted to stop the Church from influencing the Empire. Let's say the Church was controlling Emperors for generations and she wanted to break those chains. But in the process, she had to go up against the Kingdom because they are allies with the Church, and the Alliance decided to enter the war on their own to get a piece of land-pie.

Well then, I would have no complaints about Edelgard starting a war.

But that's not what she does. She says it's just to take down the Church, but if that's true then why did she try to also take over the Alliance and the Kingdom? Come on, son, that's too much.

I can't blame fans too much on this one. The game really wants us to sympathize with her. Even freaking Seteth- the man who saw multiple wars already and had his daughter kidnapped by Edelgard- is all like "maybe she's not so bad after all." Brah.

[thosewickedlovelies]

AND THEY WERE WALLMATES: Banana Bread (part 1)

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: probably T for mature themes (implications of sexy times and violence). It will go up later ;)

Summary: You share an apartment wall with Javier Peña, but that doesn’t make it any easier to get to know him. You didn’t think your baking would be the catalyst (read: Javi is jealous that Connie gets all the extras).

Tags: Mention of blood; super vague description of wound care; alcohol; TW for Javi: you have FEELINGS bby

Word count: 2,791

A/N: I guess technically this starts at the beginning of season 1, but I don’t plan on referencing the events of the show, so imagine they’re working on things less intense than trying to catch Escobar. I found Javier really tricky to write for, so I hope this reads okay! I’m so excited about the future chapters I have outlined for this lol pls get hype.

Masterlist

---

You had only been living in your new place for about a month when you got new neighbors. You were glad for the company- the four-apartment building was fairly new, and didn’t feel very lived-in. You did your best to add some personal flair to your apartment, but it still had the effect of reminding you of your own newness to this place, your lack of any deep personal connections.

Your other neighbor didn’t exactly help with that. Javier Peña had lived here for awhile before you moved in, but that was all you knew about him; you didn’t speak much beyond your neighborly greetings and his insinuating smiles. He never hides his lingering glances, but nor does he make any other moves- you sense he’s a safe type, all bark and no bite (without consent). So you always amusedly but politely ignore the invitation implicit in your exchanges. They don’t seem to have a lot of depth anyway, as if he’s just trying for the sake of trying. Granted, he probably never has to do much more than that- you’re very aware of how attractive your neighbor is on the surface. You just prefer to feel a connection slightly deeper than surface level before going home with someone.

You learn more about him from Connie, who tells you that he works at the embassy with her husband, Steve. In “janitorial services.” You raise a bemused eyebrow at that, but respect your neighbors’ privacy and don’t ask further questions. You help Connie get a job at a hospital a few blocks away from the one you’re a nurse at and promise to help her practice Spanish.

The building feels more lively now, and you’re happy to have a confidant upstairs, especially one who’s more privy to the life of your enigmatic hall-mate. You don’t know if it’s the neighborly care you feel for your new friend or if there’s some other unconscious change, but you begin to keep an ear out for Javier. You do share an apartment wall, although you don’t glean much through it. Some standard kitchen rummaging, television noise, the occasional bedroom guest (whose enterprises you try not to listen to, but damn if the man doesn’t have a perfect voice for after-dark activities). The most noticeable thing about him is the odd hours he keeps: sometimes in tandem with Steve’s schedule and sometimes not, you can never predict when he’ll be in or out.

--

Little do you know, you’re not the only one paying attention. Javier has spent many an evening alone with only whiskey and the television for company, but now there are other things to stimulate his senses. The smell of your baking filtering through the wall, even lingering in the hallway the next morning. The sound of you singing to the radio while clattering about the kitchen. Sometimes he turns the tv down to listen and imagines there being no wall between your two homes. What would his life be like with someone to infuse that kind of sweetness and light into it?

He doesn’t mean you specifically, necessarily. If, once or twice, your face jumps to mind while he’s taking care of himself in bed, he thinks nothing of it. You’re his beautiful neighbor- it’s a fantasy begging to be played out.

But damn if he hasn’t been tempted to make it a reality. He gets to taste your baking sometimes when you leave extras with Connie, and one day she catches his brow creased in a frown, distracted halfway through a slice of walnut banana bread.

“Javi,” Connie repeats, trying to get his attention.

“Yeah.” Javier snaps out of it, looking up.

“You’ve been staring at that piece of banana bread for a full two minutes. Is it gonna do a trick?”

He decides to lean into it, see what Connie’s reaction might be. “Only if the trick is getting me out of my pants. I don’t know a man alive who could resist the shit she makes.” He scoops another forkful into his mouth to prove his point, letting the rich, nutty flavor remind him of other places. Homes. Real homes, made of people, not the solitary kind he lives in now.

She rolls her eyes at his crudeness, but agrees. “You’re right about that. I don’t know where she gets the energy to do this after hospital shifts.”

Javier hides his next thought with another forkful of bread and a noncommittal noise. Wonder if she’d have as much energy for it if she had a man to tire her out. It was automatic, a question he couldn’t help debating with himself. Surely no one who spent that much time in the kitchen could have energy to spare on…other pursuits.

Connie is regarding him shrewdly. He avoids her gaze, focusing on finishing his plate in large mouthfuls to avoid the questions he can feel brewing. But he’s not quick enough. “Has she always brought you extras too?” she asks. Too casually, idling with her fork.

“No,” Javier says dismissively, and it’s not quite a scoff. “She wasn’t here long before you showed up. We’re not as close as you two.” Understatement. Did he sound sour about the fact?

Before Connie can ask any more questions he rises from his seat. “Well, don’t let me keep you. Tell Steve what I said.” With a nod of farewell, he turns and strides out the door.

--

One night you’re awoken with a start from where you’d fallen asleep on the couch. Heart pounding, you sit up, listening intently. You’d never felt unsafe here, but you’re aware of the potential dangers. What had woken you?

You hear a swear from the hall, and your muscles relax as you recognize Javier’s low voice. There’s a beat of silence, then a scraping, clinking sound. He must have dropped his keys. But then he grunts, and concern sweeps over you. You’re a nurse- you recognize the sound of a man stifling his pain.

There are long delays before each new noise that indicates an action. The doorknob twists as he grunts again, but it’s a moment before the key turns in the lock. It seems to take an age for him to get through the door; his motions sound clumsy before he closes it. Safe in the privacy of his home, so he thinks, he lets out a longer sigh, the pain and exhaustion now obvious in the sound. But you can hear his fumbling through the wall, and you worry your lip between your teeth. It is your place to go see if he’s alright?

Finally you decide that it is. You’re his neighbor and a healthcare professional, and it is your professional opinion that he sounded in-pain enough to warrant a check-up. Plus, you heard him that way before he got inside, you reason. So it’s not as if you were just being snoopy through the wall.

Just in case, though, you grab some muffins you made earlier as a backup excuse (once again mentally thanking whoever left the cookbook in your apartment). 11:30 isn’t too late for a friendly drop-by, right?

You knock softly on his door. “Javier? It’s me.” Nervous energy taps in your fingers. You’re never even been on his side of the hallway before.

There’s a shuffling sound, and the door unlatches. A narrow gap opens, into which Javier plants himself, and you immediately zero in on where he keeps one leg wedged behind the door. He leans into the elbow propped against the doorjamb above his head, while his other hand already holds a glass of what you can smell is whiskey. He looks like he would rather be anywhere but here at this moment. “Neighbor,” he greets dryly, a neutral expression on his face.

“Uhh.” You’ve never been this close to him before, and his appearance catches you off-guard. His usually combed hair is messy, waves tangling over his forehead, and he’s sweaty, the open collar of his shirt damp and the exposed skin gleaming with moisture.

Javier raises an eyebrow expectantly, taking a sip of his drink. His glances down at the plate in your hands, and it prompts you to speak.

“Hi, Javier. Uh, sorry, I know it’s late, but I thought I’d bring you some of these-“ you lift the dish “-before they come with me to work tomorrow. They’re banana bread muffins.” Your voice falters with your confidence. Your eyes can’t help but flicker over his face and chest, taking in the smear of dust on his jaw, the redness of the knuckles wrapped around his glass. Mostly you’re trying not to look at the leg he’s definitely hiding, which you can tell he’s keeping his weight off of.

--

Javier stares at you, not buying it for a second. His lips purse for lack of a cigarette to wrap around. He shifts the weight he has on his arm- damn, his leg hurts- and wonders what could have possibly prompted you to start bringing him baked goods now of all moments. “Why aren’t you bring those to Connie’s?” Like usual.

“Um, well-“ He sees your gaze finally drop to the leg he’s kept out of view, and too late remembers who got Connie the hospital job.

“I heard you drop your keys, and it sounded like you were in pain,” you confess. “I’m a nurse, Javier. I can help if you need it.” Though apologetic, your tone is firm, face sincere as you offer him aid. Him, your grumpy neighbor who does nothing but leer at you.

Well, he isn’t that proud. Javier sighs, and opens the door further. Your eyes widen as you see the long slice in his pant leg, blood still damp around the wound beneath. “Shit, Javier, what happened? It doesn’t matter, shit, sit down.” You surge forward without waiting for permission, tucking yourself under the arm of his uninjured side and steering him toward a dining room chair. Where he’d been about to sit down down and tend to the cut himself. He supposes your apartments mirror each other, but your familiar reaction to the layout still surprises him.

“Whoa, hey, watch the whiskey,” he exclaims, flailing out the arm holding the glass, taken aback by your sudden manhandling. With one hand still occupied by the muffins, you direct him solely with an around his waist and your shoulder propped under his armpit. He couldn’t have resisted if he tried. If it weren’t for the fiery pain in his leg, your hold would have him feeling a very different kind of heat.

You give him a look that says you won’t be fooled by his blustering as you deposit him onto the chair and the plate on the table. “May I?” you ask, kneeling, hands hovering above his wound.

“Oh, now you’re asking permission?” He scoffs in disbelief but waves a hand in consent, leaning back in the seat.

You scoff right back at him. “Look, I see blood, I make the macho men sit, okay? Why didn’t you go to a hospital with this?”

Javier studies you as you carefully lift the denim to peer at the cut on his thigh. He takes a sip of whiskey to buy time (as well as dull the stinging pain). You’ve put on a robe over what looks like pajamas, but you seem too alert to have just dragged yourself from bed. And yet...was that a pillow mark on your cheek? Just there, arcing from your temple to your jaw…

“Javier?" you're looking up at him, a touch of confusion on your face.

“Did I wake you up?” he hears himself asking.

Her gaze drops again. “No,” you answer. “Well, yes, but I fell asleep on the couch, so it was a good thing.”

Ah, that explained the pillow mark.

Finally you stand. Your hands rest on your hips, heedless of your fingertips smudged red with his blood. “It doesn’t actually look too bad. I have enough supplies here to fix you up. You stay here, take off your pants if you can manage it by yourself, and I’ll be right back.” And with that you whisk away, robe swishing through his front door.

Javier remains where he is, a bit stunned by this turn of events, your sudden insertion into his life. He shakes his head. Maybe whiskey and blood loss shouldn’t go together. He tosses back the rest of his glass anyway in order to wrangle off his jeans.

By the time you return, he feels more composed, if rather uncomfortably vulnerable, sitting in just his boxers with a bloody slice across his thigh. He watches silently as you arrange various medical supplies on the table and pull up a chair across from him. You perch on the edge of it and look at him before doing anything else. “Are you gonna tell me how you got this?”

He’s not about to tell you it was a fluke accident during one of Carillo's interrogations. Somehow, while his back was turned, the guy got free and tried to escape, swinging a knife wildly as he hurled past Javier. The cut was long, ugly, but shallow. He’d live. He couldn’t say the same for the man who delivered it.

--

Javier considers his answer. “Can’t,” he says. “It’s better if you don’t know.” His gaze skitters away as he speaks.

He works for the government with a poker face like that? “Janitorial work, huh?” you say dryly. Sighing, you reach for the antiseptic. “At least tell me what made it. So I can treat it properly.” You look at him steadily.

Javier looks back for a long moment. “A knife,” he says at last.

You nod, and rip open a packet of gauze. He sucks air through his teeth as the antiseptic sears the wound clean, but otherwise doesn’t speak while you work. Which is fine. You notice he’s drained his glass, and you empathize. Frankly you wish you had a drink yourself right now.

Once you’ve cleaned the cut it’s easier to see the damage. Which is minimal, thankfully. Most of the blood was probably from him moving around when it happened. You explain what you’re doing as you seal the wound closed. Only when you’re almost finished does he speak.

“Why don’t you ever bake me anything?”

It’s so unexpected that your hands still. You stare at him in astonishment, waiting for him to elaborate.

“What I mean is…christ,” Javier mutters. The unflattering fluorescent light overhead highlights the dark circles under his eyes as he scrubs a hand over his face. “You always leave extras of stuff at Steve and Connie’s. Never here.” With me.

You resume your work on his thigh, surprised to feel a tinge of guilt. “You didn’t seem like a baked goods kind of guy,” you reply, hoping you don’t sound too defensive. It was true, after all. Though you never got a sense of threat from Javier, neither did he seem the type who would appreciate domestic gestures of friendship.

He didn’t look offended, however. I’ll try anything once,” he says, the ghost of a familiar smirk suggesting he’s feeling better. But then he leans forward, all traces of smirk vanishing. “And your lemon drizzle cake was incredible.” Javier looks at you seriously. His face is too close for your level of acquaintanceship, but you don’t move away.

Surprised, you assess him anew, wondering if you’re catching a glimpse of the man beneath all the masculine posturing. He’s nicer-looking this way, you muse. His face softer, brown eyes wide and sincere. You hide just how pleased you are at this insight (which you’re sure he has no idea he’s giving you) beyond allowing yourself a small smile.

“Well, maybe next time I’ll bring you some.”

--

Javier can’t quite find another quippy response, so he just gives a small nod, finding it hard to draw back even after you break his gaze. He tries not to fidget as you place a final strip of tape over the gauze bandage.

“There,” you declare, your work complete. “That should hold you for tonight.” You stand and gather up your supplies, giving him care instructions as you go. “Got it?” You seem much more relaxed than when you first arrived, confidence in your work squaring your shoulders. It’s…compelling, much more so than your usual reserved smiles in the hall.

“Yes ma’am.” Javier nods, not having heard a word. “…Thank you,” he adds, begrudgingly grateful.

You smile wryly at him. “Goodnight, Javier.”

You’ve nearly reached the door when he speaks again. “Javi.”

“Hm?” Pausing, you turn back to him.

He clears his throat. “You…you can call me Javi.”

Your smile is much warmer this time, brightening your eyes, and Javier feels his heart pound. “Goodnight, Javi.”

[anotheronechicagobog]

Crockett Marcel x reader D’accord (Oneshot)

Written by: @anotheronechicagobog​

Warnings: Mature themes, America has HORRENDOUS gun laws, seriously as a Canadian I get second hand anxiety about your gun laws/judicial system (even though Canada’s is far from perfect)/healthcare system, April is not written well here but I’m gonna do a nice fic for her soon, pardon my French (literally, quite a bit of this fic is in French with translations)

You’d been surprised to find another Francophone in Chicago. After you’d moved there from Quebec, you weren’t expecting much. Only a couple of “Oui, oui,” and “hon, hon, hon”’s from some unintentionally insulting Americans. So when, during your fifth shift, you swore in your native tongue “merde!” you’d been pleasantly surprised when Crockett had responded without missing a beat.

You’d shown him French-Canadian food, he’d shown you Cajun food, and you had each gained a confidant at med. And you’d both needed it. You were in a new country with very different social customs and laws, and April had kissed him while Choi was deployed leaving him a magnet for gossip. You’d both just needed someone to talk to, and speaking French with each other was just an added comfort.

“What did Doris say this time?”

“I don’t care that people are talking about me, I really don’t. Gossip is just part of hospital life and that’s fine, but I am so tired of being glared at and avoided. People aren’t even bothering to get to know me. I am just so tired about having to fight for a basic level of confidence in my colleagues for something that I didn’t even do! She kissed me, she just walked up and kissed me, how is this my fault?”

“I’m sorry Cherie.”

“I know. How was your day?”

“Anderson pretended to shoot at me again.”

“Seriously? You should report him to HR.”

“I don’t know, I don’t want to be overreacting.”

“He is pretending to have a gun and waving it at you on a daily basis because he knows that you are from a country with decent gun laws. What about the day he comes in with a real gun? And loaded? What if he actually shoots you? You need to report him, Cher.”

“Okay, I will. At the end of the day.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You sat at Molly’s away from the main group, shunned by your colleagues. “It was just a joke, Y/N, can’t you take a joke?” But it didn’t feel like a joke. Not to you. You already felt like you should be wearing a kevlar vest on a regular basis; you didn’t need to be made fun of for your very real fear. You were busy moping when someone plopped down in the stool beside you. “Mon journée a sucé. Dites-moi que le vôtre était meilleur.” (My day sucked. Tell me yours was better)

“Voyez-vous la foule de gens qui me regardent et qui parlent de moi là-bas?” (Do you see the crowd of people looking at me and talking about me there)

“Zut. J'espérais vraiment que ça irait mieux.” (Damn. I was really hoping it would get better)

“Moi aussi.” (Me too)

“The hell are you two speaking? Swedish?”

“... It’s French, Hermann.”

“If you say so Y/N... You guys want another round?”

“Yes, please, kind sir.” Trying to make a joke with the man everyone said had a heart of gold and a belly full of laughs at all times.

“Well, okay then. French people are weird.” Both you and Crockett sucked in a breath. Explaining was always the hardest part. “We are not French people. Crockett is Cajun, and I am French-Canadian.”

“Okay, I don’t know what Cajun is, but isn’t French-Canadian just a Canadian who speaks French?”

“Mon Dieu.” (My God)

“Sacre bleu (Damn it), Hermann. No, a French-Canadian is not just a Canadian who speaks French, and unless you want to start a war in a country you don’t even live in, I advise you to refrain from speaking in that manner again. And just for the record, a Cajun person is someone descended from Acadia settlers in Nova Scotia who left for Louisianna to flee the British.”

“... Okay. I’m sorry I asked.” You just held your breath as Crockett swore under his breath. You opened your eyes, grabbed your glass over bourbon and downed it. “Je sais que je viens juste d'arriver, mais je veux déjà partir.” (I know I just arrived, but I already want to leave)

“Allons-y alors.” (Let’s go then) Marcel threw cash down on the bar before you could argue and helped you put your coat on. “Avez-vous déjà mangé des tapas? J'ai entendu dire qu'il y avait un super endroit à quelques pâtés de maisons d'ici.” (Have you ever eaten tapas? Heard there is a great place a few blocks from here)

“Montrez le chemin.” (Lead the way)

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was a new hot button topic of gossip the next day at MED. You and Marcel. Of course, no one was that cordial. ‘He couldn’t have a nurse so he went for an intern?’, ‘What, she thought being an intern is too difficult so she’s hooking up with a doc so she doesn’t fail?’. None of anything they were saying was true. First of all, April kissed and then rejected him all while she was dating someone else, second, he wasn’t even your attending. You did your ED rotation before he got here. You were on your pediatrics rotation, and kicking ass at it. Third, he didn’t know anyone here besides you thanks to April, so who exactly was he gonna say ‘give her a pass for me’ to? You just rolled your eyes and continued working. At the end of the day, that was what would speak for you. 

You hadn’t been very close to April, or anyone in the ED really, they’d all had their own drama going on the entire time you were there, so you just faded into the background. But now, April was making an effort to talk to you. You would have found it odd, had it not been at the time the rumours were really flying, and if you hadn’t seen the burning question behind her eyes. She was jealous. She damn well wouldn’t admit it, but she was. And you were angry at her, and at least you were grown up enough to admit that. She had hurt Crockett. Damaged his work relationships and reputation before he’d even started. So you acted like you enjoyed her company. You talked about literally anything that wasn’t Crockett Marcel. You watched as her questioning eyes grew more and more desperate. If she was going to come to you acting like a jealous girlfriend she should have had the decency to be honest. But she wasn’t. And Crockett was paying the price. So you tortured her a bit. It wasn’t that bad, honestly. Plus, what made her think she had any right to know about relationships you may or may not be in? But her feelings did become noticeable. To the other nurses, doctors, interns. Suddenly everyone was aware that she had kissed Crockett, and that Ethan wasn’t the only doctor she had feelings for. You felt bad for Crockett, he’d gotten sucked into a wormhole before he even knew his feet were leaving the ground. The same thing could be said for Dr. Choi’s fist. 

You pushed back the curtain and marched over to Crockett who was too busy arguing with Maggie to notice you at first. “Have you gotten a CT done yet?”

“Oh- Dr. Y/L/N. Uh, let me check. Uh... Here.” Maggie handed you and a skeptical Will the tablet with Crockett’s head CT already loaded. The black and white image should have comforted you. It looked good, no injuries or anomalies. But you kept looking, you kept gripping the tablet no matter how much your knuckles, and fingers, and wrists were starting to hurt. “Cher?” You slowly looked up, Maggie and Halstead had left the room at some point. “You seein’ something Halstead didn’t?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have the voice to. Instead, you regarded his face intently. Choi had only gotten in a single punch, thankfully, so there was only bruising around his right eye. You moved to stand in front of him, standing in between his legs which were dangling off the side of the bed. “Cher?” The bruise was already purple, the section around the forehead turning black. Your lips pressed into a firm line. After setting the tablet on the end table you gently took Crockett’s face in your hands. Ignoring the rest of him, you gently drifted your fingers around the bruising. Your stomach sunk the more you looked at it. It wasn’t inflamed, there wasn’t any bleeding, his CT was clear. But you just couldn’t shake the weight in your gut. You didn’t even know what you were looking for. But you kept looking. “Cher.” No inflammation. “Cher.” No bleeding. “Cher.” Clear CT. “Cher.” Keep looking. “Cher.” Crockett delicately grabbed your wrist, finally grabbing your attention, bringing more than the bruise on his eye into your focus. “I’m okay, Cher.” His eyes were boring into yours, pleading for you to listen to him. He moved his hand from your wrist up overtop of your hand before intertwining your fingers together and leaning his face into your clasped hands at the side of his face.

“D’accord?” (Okay?)

“D’accord.” (Okay) He smiled gingerly. Still looking at you with soft eyes that made you melt he opened his mouth, you could tell that words in his native language were on the tip of his tongue, when the curtains in the room were pushed back suddenly. April stood, tall, strong, and with a look of utter betrayal on her face. No one in the room said anything, no one in the room breathed. Slowly, as if she were avoided a cornered coyote, April backed out of the room, her chest starting to shake, her eyes watering. Soon you were left alone in the room, your hand still wrapped in Crockett’s. Now in full view of the entire ED staff and gossip mill.

[musette22]

Body Politics

Read on AO3

Paring: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan (Evanstan)

Word count: 9.4k

Rating: E (so 18+ only please!)

A/N: Okaayyy! So it took a while, but I finally wrote the thing based on this prompt (which I unfortunately accidentally deleted, but I saved the prompt itself):"hello! I saw some pics of chris with various politicans for his new project and thought about a stucky/evanstan fic in which chris/steve wants to film a clip with a newly elected senator who turns out to be bucky/seb and chris/steve just can't deal with the hotness." 

It’s… a bit longer than I intended it to be - surprise! As always, I’ve posted it to AO3 and I’d recommend reading it there because it really is quite long (that’s what she said). Hope you enjoy the filth 💖 N.B. I know you asked for Senator Sebastian, but it seemed to fit better with the story to make him a Representative instead! Hope that’s ok!

Body Politics

Chris has done dozens of these videos by now. In fact, he did two of them just this morning. He knows the drill, he knows what he’s doing, there’s really no reason to be nervous anymore. And yet, as per usual right before he’s going in, his anxiety is peaking, causing him to feel jittery and queasy, and like he’s suddenly forgotten everything he’s supposed to know about the American political system.

God, he’s going to make a massive fool of himself. What the fuck was he thinking? Should’ve just stayed in his lane, like plenty of people told him to. He sighs at his reflection in the mirror, splashing his face with cold water in the hope it will help him focus.  

“Ready?” Mark asks him, as soon as he steps out into the hallway where Mark had been waiting for him.

“Absolutely,” Chris nods, all put on confidence and ease which he definitely isn’t feeling. “Let’s do this.”

Mark is well aware how bad Chris’s anxiety tends to get before this sort of thing, but he doesn’t comment. He knows Chris will be fine as soon as the cameras turn on and he can stop being Chris Evans, meatball and anxious mess, and start being Chris Evans, movie star and aspiring politician – or, as most people view him, real life Captain America. Chris doesn’t mind that image so much. He’s proud of what he’s done with the character and besides, Steve Rogers is a better man than he’ll ever be. Sometimes it’s a little frustrating when people seem to be more excited about meeting Cap than about what it is Chris is there to discuss with them – things that are important not only to him personally, but to the fate of the entire country. But on the flipside, his Cap persona has opened a lot of doors for him, and that makes the occasional flare of irritation more than worth it. Politicians and civil servants are just people too, after all. Well. Most of them.

Today, Chris is meeting with Democratic Representative Sebastian Stan. Stan is quite new on the Hill, and Chris was doubtful whether meeting with him would be worthwhile. But Mark had said he’d heard good things about the guy, plus he was willing to meet with them, so Chris had decided to give him a chance. Since it was all quite last minute, he hadn’t really had time to do much research on Stan and just read the notes that Mark had sent him earlier this morning. 

Chris was impressed with the guy’s resume, and despite his usual nerves he was quite looking forward to speaking with him. It was undoubtedly going to be better than interviewing some stuffy old Republican. Again. Chris is well aware that he signed up for this whole bipartisan thing himself, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t occasionally get the urge to throw hands when he hears someone like Ted Cruz or Dan Crenshaw spout their conservative bullshit.

Chris walks into the office that’s set up like a small film set: two simple folding chairs set up on a worn rug in front of some antique, mahogany cabinets, giving the appearance of nonchalant sophistication. Next to the chairs are some studio lights and reflectors, and two cameras, one behind each chair.  

Mark takes a seat on the far end of the room, there to observe and chime in if necessary, while Chris hikes up the knees of his dress pants before sits down on one of the folding chairs. He crosses his legs, tapping his pen against the papers resting on his knee while they wait for Representative Stan to arrive.

After a minute or two, the door behind Chris opens, and he gets up, ready to greet the Representative. He turns with a smile, which freezes on his face as he comes face to face with the guy he’s supposed to be interviewing.

Fuck, he’s gorgeous.

The thought flits through Chris’s mind, unbidden and very, very inappropriate, under the circumstances.

It’s true, though. Standing before him, wide smile on his face and his hand held out expectantly, is a man who wouldn’t have looked out of place on the kind of red carpet that Chris frequently finds himself on, too. Chris’s body moves on autopilot, greeting Stan and shaking his hand, while his brain produces nothing but static, helplessly stuck on a litany of holy shit he’s gorgeous what do I do what do I say.

Representative Stan is dressed in a perfectly tailored, aubergine suit, his chestnut hair slicked back in a way that could’ve seemed skeevy, but instead looks sleek and sophisticated. His steel-blue eyes are bright and intelligent, but there’s a glimmer of something almost mischievous in them, too – as if Stan knows something Chris doesn’t and he may choose to waylay him any minute. Stan’s jawline and cheekbones could cut glass, and his mouth… Chris has to make a conscious effort to look away from his mouth, or this could get really awkward really fast.

It’s only when both of them have taken place on their respective folding chairs and Gino, their camera guy, asks them if they’re good to go, that Chris’s brain decides to cooperate again. Not fully, but just enough to be able to focus on the questions he knows he needs to ask. He clears his throat and plasters on a smile, hoping fervently that he at least outwardly appeared like he knew what he was doing while he was inwardly busy having a melt down over a pretty boy.

He shakes himself. It isn’t just a pretty boy. Sebastian Stan is a United States Representative. One who is now looking at him expectantly from the chair opposite, ready to answer Chris’s questions about healthcare for all, gun control and gerrymandering.

Oh, Christ.

Stealing himself, Chris nods at Gino, signaling for him to turn on the cameras. He takes a deep breath, and starts.

“Representative Stan, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you so much for sitting down with us today and for agreeing to answer some of my questions.”

“Please, call me Sebastian,” Stan replies, smiling. “And the pleasure is all mine.”

Chris swallows, trying hard not to get stuck on the word pleasure or the way Sebastian’s slight New York drawl sounds coming from that beautiful mouth, and asks his first question. “Sebastian. Could you tell me, in sixty seconds, what your stance is on gun control?”

---

Representative Stan’s – Sebastian’s – answers are all incredibly thoughtful yet to the point, and with every reply Chris feels himself sinking deeper and deeper into a state of despair. He’s pretty and he shares Chris’s opinions on basically everything? This guy is trouble. Heaps of it.

When Chris asks question four, he almost falters when he thinks he catches Sebastian looking him up and down, gaze lingering for a moment on his hands and shoulders. But surely that’s just wishful thinking? Just in case, Chris quickly checks Sebastian’s left hand: no ring. When he meets Sebastian’s eyes again, the corner of his mouth ticks up into a hint of a smirk, as if he knows exactly what Chris was doing.

Immediately, Chris feels his cheeks heat up. Not for the first time in his adult life he’s grateful for the fact that his beard covers most of his face. He clears his throat again and sits up straighter, trying to appear as if he’s listening intently to Sebastian’s next reply instead of freaking out about the possibility that Sebastian might be interested back. Just the idea makes Chris feel too hot under the lights suddenly, his collar too tight around his neck.

He holds it together relatively well for the remainder of the interview, only tripping up and staring at Sebastian’s mouth as he talks maybe two or three times, and honestly, he kind of feels like he deserves some kind of medal for that. When his final question, regarding constituencies, has been answered, Chris represses the urge to sigh in relief. As soon as the cameras turn off, he reaches up to loosen his tie just a tad, needing to get some air.

And, lo and behold, Sebastian’s gaze tracks the movement, before settling on Chris’s mouth for just a moment. A thrill of excitement runs through Chris’s body, head to toe. Is he reading this right? Fuck, he hopes he’s reading this right.

“Thank you, Sebastian,” Chris says, standing up and watching Sebastian do the same. “This was all very interesting. It’ll be a valuable contribution to A Starting Point, I’m sure.”

“Not a problem,” Sebastian replies pleasantly. “It’s been very” – he pauses to lick his lips, not breaking eye contact – “enlightening.”

Oh, boy.

Chris holds out his hand again and Sebastian takes it. There’s no mistaking it now: the handshake lasts too long for it to be entirely professional and there is definitely more eye contact than necessary. Chris’s heart is beating in his throat by the time he finally pulls his hand back, daring to subtly let his fingers brush Sebastian’s wrist. He watches in satisfaction as Sebastian’s eyes darken a fraction, a spark of heat flashing through them before he smiles pleasantly again and turns around to thank Gino and Mark.

Chris internally slaps himself in the face. Jesus, this is such an inconvenient time and place to develop a crush on someone. Still, he already knows he’s helpless against Sebastian’s charm and he’ll probably spend the next few weeks or so pathetically (and unethically) watching the footage they just shot and daydreaming about all the things he wish he could’ve done to him. It’s just not fair for someone so smart and dedicated to also be this hot.

When Sebastian turns to him again, Chris valiantly pretends he’s not in the middle of a mental breakdown and gives him a smile.

“So, Chris,” Sebastian starts, pensively rubbing his chin. “Can I call you Chris?”

“Of course,” Chris hastens to assure him. “I’m just regular old Chris.” Regular old Chris? Pathetic.

“Okay then,” Sebastian replies, and his eyes are dancing. “Chris it is. So, I’m sure you’re busy, but I’d love to pick your brain on something. I wonder if you have a moment?”

Well, damn. Maybe Chris won’t just be daydreaming after all.

Chris nervously rubs the back of his neck. “Sure, yeah. No problem. You were my last interview for the day anyway, so I’ve got time.” He looks at Mark, who’s standing over by the doorway. “Are you okay going ahead without me? I’m not sure how long this will take so there’s not need to wait around for me, I guess.”

Mark, who, unlike Chris, is not an idiot, looks far too knowing. “Absolutely. You take your time, Chris. Do what needs to be done, and all that,” he grins. “I’m gonna head back to the hotel, got plenty of work to be catching up with. I’ll see you later.” Turning to Sebastian, Mark adds, “It was a pleasure meeting you. Take care. Be safe.”

“Yes, sir,” Sebastian replies, giving Mark a playful wink.

Mark turns to smirk at Chris one more time before he grabs his briefcase and heads out the door behind Gino and his assistant, leaving Chris and Sebastian by themselves. The sudden silence is a little stifling, and Chris is the first to break it.

“So…” he says, like an idiot.

Sebastian inclines his head with a smile. “So,” he replies, looking back up at Chris from under his eyelashes. “My office is a little further down the hall, if you want to follow me. It’s not much, but at least it offers better seating than a couple of folding chairs.”

Chris laughs, a little louder than the comment warrants, but he’s nervous, okay? He’s not sure where this afternoon will take him, but he sure hopes he’s not reading this wrong and Sebastian isn’t going to break out some official documents for them to discuss the moment they step into his office.

Sebastian leads the way through a maze of corridors, occasionally raising a hand in greeting while Chris tries to keep his head down. He doesn’t mind being recognized or stopped, usually, but he’d rather not have to chat to some random stranger while he’s on his way to what is potentially a really hot and really inappropriate hookup. He gets a few looks, but he keeps his gaze fixed on Sebastian’s back, and fortunately it isn’t long before Sebastian opens a door on the left hand of the corridor, gesturing Chris inside.  

It’s just a normal Capitol Hill office; not too big, all white walls and dark wooden furniture that’s seen better days but that still does the trick. The window looks out onto a lawn, high enough up to ensure no one is able to see inside when they look up on their lunchbreak walk. Sebastian’s desk is littered with papers, most of them organized into neat piles and held down by paperweights. A man after Chris’s own heart.

The door closes behind them with an audible click, and Chris stills. His instincts tell him to fill the silence with mindless chatter, but he knows he’s likely to say something embarrassing that could well end up jeopardizing this whole rendezvous. So he bites his tongue, and waits for Sebastian to speak first.

Sebastian takes his sweet time – whether because he doesn’t know what to say either or to rile him up, Chris isn’t sure.

“Take a seat,” he says eventually, gesturing to the sturdy, armless chair in the middle of the room, about two yards between it and the wooden desk near the window. Chris, starting to wonder if this is going to be just business after all, does as he’s told, expecting Sebastian to take place behind his desk.

Sebastian doesn’t. Instead, he perches on the edge of his desk, one foot on the ground and crossing his wrists on his left knee. Chris is having flashbacks to being called into the principal’s office, only much, much better.

“I really do admire your initiative and ambitions with this website,” Sebastian says, sounding genuine. “It’s always a risk for someone from the entertainment industry to venture into politics and usually I’d say it’s not a great idea.” He pauses, and Chris fights the urge to squirm in his seat. “But then, usually,” Sebastian continues, “people are after some kind of power or influence, whereas you’re concerned with making sure people are informed enough to vote, and vote wisely. I think that’s a very admirable aspiration.”

Chris sends Sebastian a grateful smile. “Thank you. A lot of people think I’m just sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong and I should stick to acting, but I care deeply about these issues. My career has afforded me a platform, an opportunity to make my voice heard, and I can’t not use that opportunity to try and make a difference.”

“That’s exactly it,” Sebastian agrees. “Sure, you’ve got a famous face and name, but you’re not taking advantage of it. You’re using it to do some good. And, um –” He pauses, biting his lower lip around a smile and tilting his head a little to the left, before finishing, “Well, let’s just say I think that’s very sexy of you.”

Chris barks out a surprised laugh. “Glad to hear it, Rep- Sebastian,” he corrects himself. Gathering his courage, he deliberately, slowly lets his gaze sweep Sebastian’s form, head to toe and back again. “And as it happens,” he goes on, deciding to throw caution to the wind and just go for it, “I think you’ve got many excellent qualities yourself.”

A slow smile spreads over Sebastian’s handsome face, lighting up his features and momentarily stealing Chris’s breath away.

“That so?” Sebastian looks down at the floor for a moment, then looks back up at him through his eyelashes – to devastating effect. Chris is pretty sure he lets out a quiet gasp, his heart tripping over itself in his chest.

Jesus Christ, where is his cool when he needs it? Or his game, for that matter.

“I’ve gotta say,” Sebastian continues, head still cocked and fixing Chris with his gaze. “You’re not at all how I was expecting you to be.”

“How were you expecting me to be?”

“I don’t know.” Sebastian gives him a considering look. “Less down to earth, less likeable, more Hollywood?”

Chris huffs a laugh. “Yeah, people usually tell me I’m a little disappointing in real life. Shorter than they were expecting, not as muscly, etcetera etcetera.”

Sebastian frowns, a little wrinkle appearing on his brow that Chris immediately wants to smooth out with his thumb.

“Oh no, I don’t think you’re disappointing at all. You’ve exceeded my expectations, if anything. I figured it probably took tons of make up to make you look as dashing as you do on screen, but if anything I think you’re more handsome in real life.” Gesturing at him, Sebastian clarifies, “The beard, the waist, the shoulders – it’s… quite something.”

“Oh,” Chris says intelligently. “Thank you.” He winces. “I mean-”

“You’re cute,” Sebastian interrupts, grinning.

“I –” Chris falters again, dropping his head into his hands. “Fuck, I swear I’m usually smoother than this.” He looks back up at Sebastian a little sheepishly. “You just kinda caught me off guard. I guess you surpassed my expectations, too. I wasn’t expecting a Representative too be quite so…”

“So?” Sebastian prompts, still watching him closely.

“Gorgeous,” Chris breathes.

This time, it’s Sebastian who sucks in a breath, his eyes widening just a little. It’s small, almost imperceptible, but Chris is watching him closely so he notices. Seems Sebastian isn’t quite as unaffected by all this as he first appeared. That knowledge makes something in Chris’s chest loosen, helps him regain his footing a little.

Keeping his eyes locked with Sebastian’s, Chris slowly uncrosses his legs, planting both his feet firmly on the ground. Sebastian’s eyes drop down to Chris’s lap before they flick up to his face again. His perfectly white, straight teeth – more Hollywood than Capitol Hill – sink into his plump bottom lip, right hand dropping to his waist to casually unfasten the button on his suit jacket.

For a few seconds, neither of them speaks or moves, the tension in the room almost palpable now. Chris suppresses a shiver when Sebastian slowly gets up and walks over to him with an air of a predator approaching its prey.

Unconsciously, Chris holds his breath, then lets it out again in a rush when Sebastian plants his hands on Chris’s shoulders and proceeds to straddle his thighs, sitting down squarely in Chris’s lap.

Chris makes a sound, somewhere between surprised and helplessly turned on, his hands flying up to rest on Sebastian’s waist. “Whoa, I- okay.” He swallows nervously.

“Okay?” Sebastian checks.

Chris nods, a little too quickly to be suave, but hey, this is kind of an unusual situation.

Sebastian relaxes infinitesimally, the only sign that he’s not quite as confident here as he appears to be. “God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, eyes drifting over Chris’s features.

From up close, Chris can count Sebastian’s eyelashes, can see the hint of a stubble on his jawline. He’s intoxicating, and Chris doesn’t dare move an inch as he lets Sebastian study him. Finally, after he’s looked his fill, Sebastian’s gaze comes to rest on Chris’s mouth. His tongue, pink and wet, flicks out to wet his own lips, and Chris’s mouth starts to water. He aches with how much he wants to kiss that pretty, pouty mouth.

After a long, loaded moment, Sebastian leans in, his breath ghosting Chris’s lips for a second and making his heart race in anticipation, before he finally presses their mouths together.

The kiss is soft, lush, almost sweet. Chris holds his breath, his stomach flipping like he’s some kind of blushing virgin being kissed for the very first time.

Then, Sebastian makes a sound – a tiny, throaty noise that’s almost a moan but not quite, and something inside of Chris snaps. He groans, parting his lips and urging Sebastian to do the same, and then they’re kissing, hard and openmouthed. Chris slides one hand up Sebastian’s neck, burying his fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. Sebastian moans for real this time, hands smoothing over the fabric of Chris’s suit jacket, lingering on his shoulders and arms.

“Fuck,” Sebastian mutters against Chris’s mouth, squeezing his biceps. “So fucking hot.”

Chris is used to being called hot, of course. It’s inescapable in his profession. But coming from Sebastian, quite probably the sexiest man on God’s green earth, the words mean a lot more than they usually do. It emboldens him enough to wrap an arm around Sebastian’s waist and pull him closer against him, pressing their groins together briefly.

“Uh,” Sebastian hiccups, pulling back a fraction to look down at Chris. His pupils are blown already, lips reddened and spit slick, and Chris wants. He wants this man so much and he hardly even knows him.

“God, look at you,” Chris breathes, staring in something close to awe. “Pretty as a picture, sittin’ in my lap.”

Sebastian swallows, his eyelids fluttering at the compliment, and then he slowly and deliberately grinds down. Both of them groan at the friction, Chris’s own hips jerking upwards of their own accord, and Sebastian does it again, simultaneously leaning down to capture Chris’s lips in another kiss. Soon, they’ve found a sort of rhythm, their hips rolling in time with the slow, luxurious thrusts of their tongues into each other’s mouths. It’s intoxicating - the smell of Sebastian’s aftershave mingling with fresh sweat and arousal making Chris’s head swim.

Already, he’s uncomfortably hard inside his slacks, the need to rut, to seek relief, becoming almost unbearable the longer they spend slowly grinding together on that office chair.

“Sebastian.”

Sebastian hums, dragging his mouth over Chris’s cheeks before taking his earlobe between his teeth, worrying it gently. Chris makes a pitiful noise. He throws his head back automatically, inviting Sebastian to attack his exposed neck next. Licking along the tendons that stand out, Sebastian presses wet little kisses to his throat and jaw, too much and not enough at the same time. It’s like Sebastian has a map to all of Chris’s weak spots, like he’s trying to tick them off one by one until he reaches the spot marked X.

Just when Chris thinks he’s going to have to beg him for some relief, Sebastian pulls back, placing one more lush kiss on his lips before he climbs off Chris’s lap.

On instinct, Chris’s hands fly up in a gesture of surrender. “I’m sorry,” he says, panting slightly. “Did I-“

But before he can finish his sentence, Sebastian has quickly taken off his suit jacket and thrown it carelessly to the side, sinking to his knees in front of him. He pushes open Chris’s legs with a hand on either knee, a question in his eyes as he looks up at him.

“I hope you’re alright with this, because I really wanna suck you off.”

Chris does absolutely not squeak. “Yeah, I’m – I’m alright with that.”

“Excellent,” Sebastian grins, feral and beautiful. Slowly, he runs his hands up Chris’s thighs until he reaches his belt, opening it quickly and efficiently. Chris lifts his hips a little so that Sebastian can pull down his slacks just enough to reveal the bulge of his erection, the tip, red and already wet, peaking out over the waistband. Sebastian let’s out a low whistle. He reaches up to press his palm to Chris’s dick through the fabric, squeezing lightly as if to get the measure of it.

Chris inhales sharply. Somehow, Sebastian looks even better from this angle than he had before, and he watches Sebastian’s every move with lidded eyes. “C’mon,” he murmurs, hoping he’s not overstepping.

Sebastian’s eyes snap up to his face, the look in his eyes is downright predatory. “You want it?” he asks, squeezing Chris again and licking his lips.

Chris can’t help but roll his eyes a little. “You know I do, Congressman.”

“Oh, that do it for you, huh?” Sebastian sounds amused, that cheeky twinkle appearing in his eyes again that gets Chris’s pulse racing.

“You do it for me,” Chris replies honestly, reaching down to card a hand through Sebastian’s hair. “I’ll admit it’s kind of hot that you’re in politics and have a lot of the same opinions as I do. But to be honest, if you’d been working at my local gardening center, I’d still have done a double take. You’re just really fucking gorgeous, Sebastian.”

Sebastian looks at him with big, round eyes, his mouth hanging slightly open. He swallows once, then licks his lips. Hoarsely, he asks, “How are you real?”

Before Chris has had a chance to reply, Sebastian is taking him out of his underwear, wrapping a hand around the base of his cock, and taking him into his mouth. Chris groans loudly, his mind blanking out for a second at the exquisite feeling of Sebastian’s hot, wet mouth around his dick.

“Jesus, fuck.”

Sebastian pulls off for a moment, just long enough to mumble, “Language,” before he reapplies himself to his task.

Blinking through the haze of pleasure, Chris stares down at him. “Did you just..?”

Sebastian just moans around him, but his eyes are laughing. Chris can’t help it – he laughs too, out loud, the sound quickly turning into another moan when Sebastian takes him deeper still. He swallows him down, all the way into the back of his throat, making himself gag a little. Pulling back to gulp in a breath, Sebastian keeps his slick, red lips wrapped around the head, gently suckling while his hand grips him with the perfect amount of pressure as he strokes along Chris’s shaft.

Chris hopes he’s not overstepping when he brings his right hand to Sebastian’s head and slides his fingers in his thick, chestnut hair, tugging at it experimentally. If the sound Sebastian makes is anything to go by, he’s more than alright with that development. Chris curls his fingers, messing up Sebastian’s perfectly styled hair and reveling in the effect it has on him, the way it seems to make him sloppier, more desperate.

Sebastian lets him fall from his mouth for a moment to lap at his shaft, before mouthing at the base of it, burying his nose in the coarse hair there. Chris isn’t sure what it is about that particular gesture that hits him, but suddenly the urgency he feels intensifies threefold. He gives Sebastian’s hair an unsubtle tug, pulling him back down, and Sebastian happily lets himself be steered, taking Chris into his mouth once more and beginning to suck him off with renewed vigor.

Sebastian’s mouth is exquisite. Chris has never felt anything quite like it, and it’s not long before he’s a panting, delirious mess. “Oh god,” he breathes, “if you keep that up, I’m not gonna last long.”

Abruptly, Sebastian stops what he’s doing, looking up at him with slightly wild, dark eyes. A gossamer strand of saliva still connects his wet, reddened lips to Chris’s cock.

“I want you to fuck me.”

The words ring out loud and clear in the otherwise silent room, and Chris blows out a quick, steadying breath. He strokes Sebastian’s cheek, thumb trailing over his slightly puffy lower lip.

“You have no idea how much I want that,” Chris says regretfully. “No idea. But I wasn’t exactly anticipating this to happen today, if you know what I mean.”

Sebastian’s eyes light up. A moment later, he’s getting to his feet and hurrying towards the built-in cabinet near the window. Chris watches in confusion as Sebastian produces a black, leather gym bag and rummages around in there for a second, reemerging with a triumphant sound.  

“I’ve got stuff.” Sebastian sounds a little breathless as he holds up a packet of condoms and a small bottle of lube.

Chris grins, raising a single eyebrow.

“I’m a single, gay man,” Sebastian explains, rolling his eyes. “I do go out occasionally, you know. Plus I used to be a boy scout. Always be prepared, and all that.”

“Hey,” Chris says, holding up his hands. “I’m not judging.”

“You totally are,” Sebastian snorts. “You should stop that and fuck me instead. Deal?”

Oh, but Chris loves this. He loves the banter, the way the extreme sexual tension of just moments ago has shifted into something more lighthearted, though still undeniably charged. It’s been a while since he’s had anything more than a one night stand, and those typically leave little room for levity, in his experience. Usually, people are so preoccupied with the fact that they’re sleeping with Chris Evans, Captain America, and so desperate to please him, that it almost becomes a little off putting.

With Sebastian, there’s none of that. Yes, Sebastian’s clearly very attracted to him, but he doesn’t hesitate to crack a joke or make a smartass remark. Chris admires that kind of self-assuredness, that independence, if you will, while he also manages to make it clear how much he wants this.

How much he wants Chris. And the feeling, Chris thinks, as he slowly lets his eyes trail up and down Sebastian’s slightly disheveled form, his entirely mutual.

Purposely lowering his voice, Chris says, “Take off your shoes, socks and pants.”

A visible shiver runs through Sebastian at Chris’s commanding tone.

Chris smiles wolfishly. “That’s what I thought. Today please,” he adds when Sebastian doesn’t move immediately, just stands there like he’s frozen.

Sebastian jerks into action, going over to the desk where he puts down the supplies before turning back to face Chris. Slowly, he starts to toe off his shoes, which he kicks aside, followed by his socks. Chris watches intently as Sebastian’s hands drop to the buttons on his slacks, unbuttoning them one by one before hooking his thumbs in the waistband and pulling them down, past the modest swell of his ass. They fall to the floor and he steps out of them easily. Chris’s eyes glue themselves to the bulge in his dark grey briefs, where a wet spot has formed at the front. Next, he lets his gaze trail over Sebastian’s long legs, elegant and yet with firm, muscled thighs that Chris would love to feel wrapped around his waist one day. Or his head. He’s not picky.

Sebastian just stands there, letting himself be looked at, seemingly savoring the attention. Finally, he reaches up to loosen his tie, deftly pulling it off and dropping it. He starts unbuttoning his dress shirt, next, but Chris stops him after he’s opened the last one.

“That’s enough.” He goes to sit up a little straighter in his chair and beckons Sebastian closer. “Come here.”

Obeying beautifully, Sebastian walks over to him, but not before snatching the condoms and lube off the desk. He comes to stand in front of him, holding Chris’s eyes and waiting for further instructions.

“Take off your briefs.”

Sebastian lets out a shaky breath. Slowly, he slides his underwear down his legs and steps out of them. His dick isn’t too large, but it’s pretty, and makes Chris’s mouth water instantly. Reaching out, he puts his hands on Sebastian’s hips. He darts a quick glance up to his face to check if this is okay, when Sebastian just bites his lip as he looks down at him with a heated look in his slate grey eyes, Chris lowers his mouth over Sebastian’s cock.

He lets out a pleased little hum at the taste of him on his tongue, swiping it around the head to lap up the precome that’s gathered at the tip. Sebastian moans beautifully, hands resting on Chris’s shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle.

“Chris,” he breathes, letting his head fall backwards. Chris looks up at him through his lashes, marveling at how pretty Sebastian looks even from this unflattering angle. He bobs his head and sucks him off with relish, taking him down over and over, until Sebastian’s thighs start to tremble.

“Please.”

Chris pulls off with a wet sound. “Please what?” he asks, voice even rougher than it was moments before.

“I need –” Sebastian whimpers, hips jerking, and Chris thinks he knows exactly what he needs.

He sits back against the back rest and pats his lap. Sebastian takes the hint immediately and climbs on, straddling his thighs. His flushed, leaking cock presses against the front of Chris’s dress shirt, sure to leave a stain, but Chris couldn’t care less. He’s got a lap full of mostly naked Sebastian; he does not feel particularly worried about dry cleaning right now.

Chris allows himself a moment to take Sebastian in. With his flushed cheeks, and dark eyes, glossy with arousal, he’s breathtaking. His hair is mussed and his toned, tanned torso visible through the gap in his opened dress shirt. His cock is hard and flushed, the base surrounded by neatly trimmed pubic hair. Sebastian’s been biting his lips, it seems, because they look extra red – a little raw from the way his teeth have been worrying at them while Chris sucked him off. Needing to taste them more than he’s needed anything in a while, Chris leans in, wrapping an arm around Sebastian’s waist and pulling him into a deep, hungry kiss. He runs a hand along Sebastian’s long legs, which are remarkably smooth, like the rest of him. Sebastian balances a line between strong and elegant, and Chris is mesmerized by it.

“God, you’re stunning,” Chris rumbles, trailing a hand from the hollow of Sebastian’s neck all the way down his chest, abs, and then bypassing his cock to slide around to his backside. He grabs a handful of that small but perfectly formed ass and kneads it. Sebastian’s breath hitches, and Chris splays his hand over Sebastian’s tailbone before he deliberately dips his middle finger between his cheeks. When the tip of it brushes Sebastian’s smooth, tight hole, Sebastian gasps, his pupils dilating impossibly further until there’s barely anything left of the beautiful ocean blue of his irises. Their gazes lock while Chris gently teases at Sebastian’s hole with his finger, rubbing little circles there that don’t do a thing yet to loosen him up but that have Sebastian squirming in his lap nonetheless.

It takes approximately a minute of this before Sebastian breaks, whining in the back of his throat in a way that Chris is pretty sure is unintentional.

“What is it, baby?” The endearment is out before Chris can check himself, but the way Sebastian shivers against him shows he doesn’t exactly seem to mind it. “You need something?”

“Yes,” Sebastian breathes.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Want your fingers in me,” Sebastian answers instantly, though the way his voice trembles tells Chris it’s harder for him to say it than he’s trying to make it appear. “Please.”

“Anything you need, baby,” Chris assures him, leaning in to steal a kiss.

He takes the lube from Sebastian’s clenched fist, popping open the lid and reluctantly drawing his hand back from Sebastian’s ass to coat his fingers in the stuff. They’re back a moment later though, slick fingers rubbing over Sebastian’s hole with intent, before he starts to work the tip of his forefinger slowly inside. Sebastian sinks his teeth into his bottom lip as Chris slowly slides his finger in deeper, his mind bombarding him with signals of hot, tight, wet that go straight to his already rock-hard cock.

He can’t wait to be inside Sebastian, but first, he needs to make sure he does a thorough job opening him up. The last thing Chris wants to do is hurt him. In fact, he’s already ready to fight anyone who ever hurt Sebastian in the past or is planning to in the future, and he’s rather not have to kick his own ass.

“More,” Sebastian demands. His tongue darts out to lick his own lips, and Chris’s cock twitches at the sight. Lining up a second finger next to the first, he slowly presses it in as well, carefully stretching Sebastian’s tight entrance, readying it for his cock. Just that thought alone is enough to make Chris’s brain short-circuit for a second. Sebastian rests his forehead against Chris’s, his breathing picking up, but it doesn’t sound like he’s uncomfortable. So Chris doesn’t stop, instead slightly spreading his fingers to gently pry him open further.

“You’ve got – big fingers,” Sebastian pants, rocking back on them just a little.

“Sorry,” Chris says guiltily.

“No – ah. That’s, that’s really not a bad thing.”

Chris smirks. “I see. You want more?”

“Yes, please,” Sebastian breathes, the last word fading into a moan when Chris adds a third finger to the first two.

“There’s a good boy,” Chris says, kissing Sebastian’s cheek almost sweetly. “Asking for it so nicely.”

Sebastian sighs contently, melting a little further against him. Slowly, Chris starts to slide his fingers in and out while Sebastian’s fingers dig hard into Chris’s biceps. Since Chris knows sometimes the discomfort of the initial stretch can cause an erection to flag, he brings his left hand to Sebastian’s cock to stroke it tightly, just until Sebastian’s eyelids start fluttering from pleasure instead of tension.

Chris keeps him on the edge for a while, aware that he’s probably done enough to prepare him, but unable to stop staring at Sebastian, where he’s open and wanton and beautiful in his lap. It’s only when Sebastian whimpers and buries his face in Chris’s neck, breath hot and moist on his skin, that Chris remembers he’s working towards something here.

“Shhh,” he coos, rubbing Sebastian’s smooth back with his free hand. “It’s alright. I’m gonna give you what you need, okay?”

Sebastian nods shakily, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Chris’s throat.

“Please,” he pleads, somewhere between sweetly and desperately, and Chris’s heart does a funny thing inside his chest. He has to kiss Sebastian again then, deep and slow and consuming, swallowing his beautiful moans as he crooks his fingers inside of him to makes him cry out softly into his mouth.

Finally, Chris makes himself pull back, pulling out his fingers and wiping them on the bottom of his own shirt.

“Okay,” he says, feeling a little unmoored and shaky himself. “Alright, stand up for me, honey.”

Sebastian does, climbing off Chris’s lap, and standing there on slightly unsteady legs, like a baby deer, waiting to be told what to do next.

“Take off the shirt and bend over the desk.”

It’s an order, but Chris watches Sebastian’s face carefully so see his reaction, ready to propose something else if he isn’t comfortable with this. He needn’t have worried. Sebastian instantly turns around, all but ripping off his shirt and then pushing aside some of the papers on his desk before bending over it. He keeps his legs straight, making his ass stick up in the air a bit as he presents himself for Chris’s hungry gaze.

For a moment, Chris can’t believe his luck. He came here today with a purpose; to work on his project, his brain child that he cares about a lot, and it had gone well, and that was all Chris has hoped for from today. To find himself in this position now, with the most attractive man he’s ever seen laid out before him like some sort of fata morgana, patiently waiting for Chris to fuck him stupid, that’s something he could never have anticipated. It’s better than anything he could have dreamed up.

“Jesus,” he says out loud, too caught up in his feelings to have much of a brain to mouth filter left. “I can’t believe I got this lucky. Look at you.”  

“Chris,” Sebastian says, sounding a little impatient now. Which makes sense, considering he’s naked in his office on Capitol Hill, draped over his own desk, while some actor guy with his pants open watches him from a chair.

Chris shakes himself and finally gets up. Taking off his suit jacket, he drapes it over the back of the chair, and calmly turns around. He walks closer but still doesn’t touch Sebastian, just stops a few feet away. Something tells him that despite Sebastian’s impatience, he probably quite likes being on display like this. Feeling bold, Chris decides to take it a step further and test him a little.

“Show me,” he says.

Sebastian goes still. “What?”

“You heard me,” Chris repeats calmly. “Show me.”

Chris thinks he hears Sebastian murmur a curse, but then he lifts his arms and brings them to his ass, grabbing his cheeks and parting them, spreading himself open for Chris’s inspection. Chris can’t help the soft groan that escapes him at the sight. Reaching out, he smooths his palm over Sebastian’s lower back, then over the curve at the top of his ass, thumbing him open a little bit further.

“Fuck, that’s pretty.”

And it is. Sebastian’s pink hole is wet and slightly relaxed with how long Chris just spent fingering him. It makes Chris’s mouth water. He briefly entertains the thought of eating him out, but then Sebastian makes another impatient noise, wiggling his ass a little.

“Come on,” he pleads. “Do it, Chris. Just- please.”

A new wave of arousal washes through him, fast and strong, making him feel a little lightheaded.

“Okay, yes, I’m – Fuck. Just one second.” Chris doubles back for the lube, then grabs a condom and prepares himself as quickly as he can with his shaky, fumbling fingers. He positions himself behind Sebastian, his clothed thighs pressing into the back of Sebastian’s bare ones. With his left hand, he grips Sebastian’s hip as the other lines up his cock, resting the tip against his entrance.

“Please,” Sebastian repeats, sounding more desperate than ever, and then Chris is pushing forward, slowly sliding into the warm, welcoming heat of Sebastian’s body.

He grits his teeth to stop himself from moaning too loudly. Despite the thorough preparation, Chris’s brain whites out for a minute at how tight Sebastian feels around him because of his muscles clenching instinctively at the intrusion. Sebastian is making aborted little noises that could be pleasure or pain, and once Chris’s brain comes back online enough to register them, he leans down over Sebastian’s back to press a kiss to his spine as he fully bottoms out. He stays there for a moment, trying to keep his breathing even and kissing up on Sebastian some more in an attempt to distract or comfort him, whatever it is he needs.

But it must not be as bad as Chris thought, because it’s only a couple of seconds before Sebastian starts to push back against him.

“I’m good,” he says hoarsely, “you can move now.”

“Oh, thank god,” Chris sighs. He pushes himself back up to his full height and draws out a few inches, groaning at the drag of Sebastian’s inner walls around his cock before pushing back in. He means to go slow, to let Sebastian adjust, but it feels so good that he can’t help but slide in deep and stay there for a moment, drawing tight little circles with his hips that have Sebastian shuddering below him.

Unable to help himself, Chris pulls back and snaps his hips forward again forcefully, burying himself deeper into Sebastian’s welcoming heat. Judging by the sound Sebastian lets out, he does not mind. In fact, as Chris starts pumping his hips and driving into Sebastian over and over again, Sebastian starts to become louder and louder, moans and curses falling freely from his lips.

Chris adores every single sound Sebastian makes as he lays into him, but part of him is still conscious of the fact that they’re at Sebastian’s place of work. The door may be locked – at least, he hopes it is – but he doubts the room is soundproof, and he’d never forgive himself if their little tryst ended up jeopardizing Sebastian’s job or reputation in any way. Since Sebastian doesn’t respond to Chris’s pleas to keep it down, Chris doesn’t see any other option than to bend forward and put his hand over Sebastian’s mouth, muffling his cries.

“I’m sorry,” he says, genuinely regretful. “If we’d been somewhere private I’d’ve let you be as loud as you want, sweetheart. But this is your office. We don’t want anyone to hear us, do we?”

Sebastian moans in a way that Chris thinks could mean that he in fact does want everyone to hear them, but while that may be true in the moment, Chris is pretty sure Sebastian would regret it hugely after everything was said and done and the whole wing knew of their sexcapades. So he keeps his hand where it is, even if it impedes his freedom of movement a bit.

When he feels Sebastian lick at his palm, Chris’s first thought is he’s just being a brat, but when he does it again, Chris takes the hint. He takes his hand off Sebastian’s mouth and puts his fingers to his lips. Sebastian immediately takes them into his mouth, lips closing around them as he suckles them like he’d sucked on Chris’s dick before, making content little noises.

“Oh, baby,” Chris groans, rolling his hips again as he feeds Sebastian his cock and his fingers at the same time. “You just needed something to suck on, huh? Being fucked not enough for you? You wish you had my cock in your mouth, too?”

Sebastian whines around his fingers, and Chris rewards him with an extra forceful thrust that has Sebastian scrambling for purchase on the edges of his desk.

Just so he can draw this out as long as he can, Chris takes it down a notch, slowing until he’s just leisurely sliding in and out, making his strokes long and deep and getting Sebastian to sigh in pleasure below him. Part of Chris wishes he could just stop time right here, stay suspended in this moment in time forever, buried inside in the most stunning man he’s ever had. Not that he’s had all that many men. He’s definitely bisexual, but he tends to lean towards women a little bit more – at least, he thought he did.

Being here now, with Sebastian, he genuinely can’t imagine wanting anything else ever again. Which is… something to be examined closer when he’s not balls deep, perhaps. To stop his mind from overthinking, Chris changes their positions, pulling his fingers from Sebastian’s mouth and ignoring his protests. He pulls him upright by the shoulders, plastering his clothed chest to Sebastian’s naked back.

“Oh,” Sebastian breathes, lifting his hands to grab at the arm that Chris wraps around his chest.

Chris buries his face in Sebastian’s neck, dragging his lips and beard over the sensitive skin until Sebastian is squirming against him. Chris groans in Sebastian’s ear, tongue darting out to lick around the shell.

“You feel so good around me, sugar,” he praises, free hand dropping down to press Sebastian’s leaking erection against his belly. “You feeling good, too?”

Sebastian shudders against him, clearly torn between whether to press back or push forward into Chris’s hand. “Please, please, can I-”

Chris hums, shaking his head. “Sorry, honey. Not yet.” He slides his hand down from Sebastian’s clavicle to his pectoral, flicking experimentally at his left nipple with his thumb.

“No, no, unnghh,” Sebastian moans, letting his head fall back against Chris’s shoulders.

“Ohh,” Chris chuckles, charmed. “Sensitive, huh? How’s it feel when I touch ‘em? Feel good?” Not waiting for Sebastian’s reply, Chris takes the hard little nub between his thumb and forefinger and tweaks it lightly.

“Oh fuck,” Sebastian curses, jolting like he’s electrocuted, before panting, “Do that again.”

Chris doesn’t have it in him to deny Sebastian anything right now, so he repeats the movement and tries not to come on the spot from the way Sebastian’s ass tightens around him when he does. In his experience, most guys’ nipples aren’t all that sensitive, but from Sebastian’s reactions, is sure seems like he’s a nipple kinda guy. Which works out perfectly, because Chris is too. He’s already dying to suck on them sometime, scrape his beard over them, worry them between his teeth and find out how far he can work Sebastian up just from playing with his pretty nipples.

When Sebastian whimpers and sighs, yes, please, yes, Chris realizes he’s said all that out loud. And even though this might just be sex-drunk ramblings, Chris’s heart leaps at the implication that there might be a next time.

Keeping up a steady pace, Chris continues to fuck into Sebastian from behind while he rubs and pinches at his chest. He relishes the high-pitched noises that fall from Sebastian’s lips seemingly without conscious thought: he’s lost in it, just like Chris is lost in him, and it feels so fucking good.

Finally, when he feels the tell-tale tightening in his balls, Chris almost reluctantly pushes Sebastian away from him, down onto the table. He’s loath to let go of him, would much rather keep him close, but he’s conscious that he’s not hitting the spot in that position, and he wants to make this as good for Sebastian as he possibly can.

With a hand on his lower back, Chris presses Sebastian down as he starts to finally give it to him properly, pulling almost all the way out on every stroke before plunging back in. He chances a look down, mesmerized at the sight of his cock sliding in and out of Sebastian’s hole, which hungrily draws him in over and over again. There’s something almost obscene about the fact that Chris is still fully clothed, just his dick out, while Sebastian is gloriously naked, unabashed and wanton, letting himself be taken.

“Oh Jesus,” Chris pants, crazy with it, his body feeling loose and too-tight at the same time. “You’re so fucking hot, you’ve got no idea. Driving outta my fucking mind, sweetheart, Christ.”

“Harder,” Sebastian pleads, trying to muffle his cries in his own forearm. “Fuck me harder, c’mon.”

A haze comes over Chris’s brain, the only thing he can see and feel being Sebastian and the buzz in  his veins, the pleasure coiling in his gut, so close to release. He grabs Sebastian’s hips and pulls him back against him every time he fucks into him, and suddenly, Sebastian’s moans change. They become higher and breathier, littered with aborted curses, and Chris knows he’s hitting the spot.

“Like that, baby? You like it like that?” Chris doesn’t care that he probably sounds like a bad porno right now, his entire consciousness filled with the scent of arousal in the air and the slick, filthy sounds of their bodies joining mixed with obscene moans.

Sebastian isn’t much better, anyway, keeping up a near constant litany of Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes, in time with his beautiful, naked body being shoved up and down the table with every forceful thrust of Chris’s hips.

“Oh god,” Sebastian gasps suddenly. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come.”

“You’re – like this?” Chris asks incredulously. “You don’t need me to-?“

“I need you to keep going,” Sebastian groans. “Just like this, don’t you dare fucking stop.”

“Yes, sir,” Chris grits out. Truth be told, he doesn’t think he could stop now even if he wanted to. He’s so close.

Sebastian seems to finally have lost the capacity for speech altogether, the little breathless ah, ah, ah, sounds that Chris punches out of him the only thing he can manage.

“I’m guh-” Sebastian tries futilely, but he doesn’t get further than that.

“Now,” Chris orders, aiming another trust right into Sebastian’s prostate and grinding down on it, his hips flush with Sebastian’s ass. “Come for me, do it.”

And Sebastian does. He keens, body seizing up, clenching tightly around Chris’s cock. Chris’s hips stutter, wanting to keep thrusting, but it’s too much. Before Sebastian has even finished, Chris’s orgasm slams into him like a freight train. He comes with a long, drawn out moan, losing all sense of place or time as waves of pleasure wash over him, cock pulsing as he fills up the condom with his release.

Chris isn’t proud of it, but he more or less collapses onto Sebastian’s back when he starts to come down, his heaving, dress shirt-clad chest against Sebastian’s sweat-damp back. Chris presses his lips to Sebastian’s shoulder blade, panting against his skin as he catches his breath for a good few minutes.

Finally, his softening dick slips out, and Chris is forced to get up. “Give me one second,” he murmurs, looking around and spotting a box of tissues that’s fallen to the floor. He quickly removes and ties off the condom, wrapping it in a tissue and tossing it in the trashcan, along with the one he uses to clean himself. Next, he tucks himself back into his pants and zips them up, before he grabs another hand full of tissues. He cleans Sebastian up carefully, mindful not to be too rough with his undoubtedly sensitive, softening cock.

“You okay?” Chris whispers, gently stroking the slight curve of Sebastian’s hip.

Sebastian just hums in reply, not showing any inclination to get up of his own accord. He seems pretty out of it, honestly, so Chris helps him up and then guides them both to sit down in the chair again. He pulls Sebastian into his lap, against his chest, the contrast between their states of dress even starker now than it was before. Somehow, Chris is a little moved by it, by how much Sebastian seems to trust him, even if he barely knows him. It makes him tighten his grip instinctively, murmuring praise and endearments into Sebastian’s hair as Sebastian’s head lolls back against Chris’s shoulder.

After a few minutes, Sebastian starts to stir, blinking open his eyes and shivering a little. Chris pulls him closer still, rubbing his hands over Sebastian’s arms and legs in an attempt to warm him up a little.

“You with me again?” Chris asks quietly, lips brushing Sebastian’s ear.

Sebastian swallows, then gives a short nod. “Yeah.” His voice comes out thick, so he clears his throat. “I’m- I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to let myself go quite so much.”

He sounds embarrassed, and Chris won’t stand for that.

“Are you kiddin’ me?” He grabs Sebastian’s chin, turning his face so he can pull him into a kiss. It’s soft, sweet, without much intent, and Sebastian hums into it. “You were perfect,” Chris praises as he pulls away. “You are perfect.”

Despite the fact that he’s been naked all this time, this is what makes Sebastian blush, and Chris watches the color appear in his cheeks with delight, chasing it with his lips and nuzzling Sebastian’s hot cheeks.

“You’re pretty fucking amazing yourself,” Sebastian breathes. He turns into Chris further, lifting a hand to run it first through Chris’s beard and then his hair, tugging him down for another kiss. This one is slower, deeper, and Chris lets himself melt into it.

“I couldn’t believe my luck when you looked at me like that, earlier,” Sebastian confesses, speaking against Chris's lips. “Never woulda thought you’d have been into guys, let alone that you’d be like this.”

He doesn’t have to specify what he means by that, because Chris understands. He never thought Sebastian would’ve been like that, either.

Chris gives a small shrug. “Yeah, I’m bisexual, but I don’t flaunt it. ‘Cause, you know – Hollywood.”

Sebastian hums. “Yeah, I do know,” he says, before adding, “Capitol Hill,” by way of explanation.

A giggle bubbles up inside of Chris that he can’t quite stop in time.

When Sebastian raises an eyebrow at him in question, Chris blurts out, “We just fucked on Capitol Hill.”

Sebastian laughs, bright and happy, resting his forehead against Chris’s. “We sure did, sweetheart.”

He probably shouldn’t push his luck, but Chris has never been very good at keeping his feelings do himself. Before he can question it too much, he says, “So, I know it’s all backwards, but… I’d love to take you out for dinner. If – if you want.”

A sweet, fond smile spreads over Sebastian’s face. “Well, as it happens, I could really go for a burger and a beer, right about now.”

Chris groans, squeezing Sebastian’s waist. “If only you could be naked for the whole thing, and it would be perfect.”

Sebastian laughs. “Maybe on our second date. If you’re lucky.”

It Chris crosses his fingers behind Sebastian’s back, no one needs to know.

Read (and comment?) on AO3 - Thank you! ❤️

[danahmbisyosangdoktora]

I was a COVID19 Warrior

Dear future self,,,

That’s probably one of the Tumblr mainstream from years ago that I lowkey regret not doing.

Five years from now, I hope you finally achieve what you’re dreaming of.

I remember reading posts from other people with such hopeful words from their then present selves for their future selves.

Do you enjoy what you have now? Imagine, you were just dreaming of it years ago and now you’re here.

I probably might have written something that goes along those lines.

Must have been nice to read a letter from your younger self. I wonder what would I have written if I jumped into the mainstream? With my obnoxious big words to assert my then “lexical prowess”, I’m hundred percent sure I’m having a cringe fest right now.

On the contrary, it feels scary to be hit with the reality of how much your hopes for the future differ from the future. But I also wonder how it must have been to be able to differentiate your past, present and future point-of-views.

I never thought I’d regret something so trivial.

And because of that, I’m here writing for my future self.

DEAR FUTURE SELF,

I’m not sure what year you’ll be reading this but I hope that five years from now, you are different from what you are at present. I hope you’re finally able to find your purpose in life. I hope you’re able to get past all your inhibitions from doing better.

I hope five years is enough for you to find out what you truly wanted in life. And I hope life and time allowed you to do it.

Most importantly, I hope you finally realize that your existence matters. You were born with a purpose. You are not just a speck of dust.

To be honest, I’m not really sure what I meant by writing this letter. Was it because I wanted to validate your existence or I just wanted to rant about all the shit that’s happening around me and make this letter a proof that I was able to get through all of these if I get the chance to read this years from now? Probably the latter.

Nonetheless, everything we do and everything we own will eventually become artifacts in the future. This could also be one of the things the future could retrieve. I'm writing without a specific point. I'm sure this would sound like a diary entry. A Diary of A Young Healthcare Worker, am I getting copyrighted for that title?

///

You see, if I’ve written something like this five years ago when I was still a hopeful undergraduate dreaming of becoming a medical technologist... I would never imagine my current situation. Being in a pandemic as a fresh and young professional; idk, it feels unfair to me.

Did I really burn the midnight oil to become a sacrificial lamb?

Did I have to go through countless breakdown alone just to helplessly beat an invisible bug without any armor?

Did my parents really spent hundreds of thousands for my education just to become a slave of the health sector?

Was being called a modern day hero after dying because of a poor healthcare system worth it?

Was my life being at stake on a daily worth the struggle?

It took me long to finally own up being a “frontliner”. During the early part of the pandemic, I was never truly able to accept the title. It felt like an insult to those who are really in the front line if I call myself that. I used to joke I was just a “loob-liner” because I was just inside the Blood Bank. Not really a part of a Swab Team nor any COVID19 Response Team unlike some of my batchmates. I was scared. I never had the guts to volunteer. I’m not a frontliner.

I always felt the need to ask validation from my friends. I always ask if it’s okay that I don’t feel like fighting for the country. I always ask if they still accept me even if I turn against my oath.

You see, I feel like working in a government hospital in the province isn’t an ideal start for a budding professional. I was exposed to the crooked healthcare system of the country at an early time. My ideals became just ideals. Everything I expected turned into just expectations. Everything I learned in the four corners of the classroom turned into just theories. Maybe my workmates were right, I should’ve went to work in diagnostic clinics first before working in a hospital.

I was exploited as a starting professional. My four years in Medical Technology school didn’t prepare me for this.

Putting my cowardice aside, I feel like my current situation is the reason why I’m so afraid of fighting for the country. My hopeful undergrad self would have rolled her eyes on me if she’d see me right now. But then again, fighting for the country when the country doesn’t care for you is easier said than done.

I’m currently a job order employee. No hazard pay until the pandemic. No night differential even though we are full on 16 to 24 hours duties. My employer doesn’t pay for my PhilHealth nor SSS. We even have to beg for our employer to give us personal protective equipments. Our salary doesn’t have a fixed date of release. We should be thankful should it be released a week after the month of service. It’s normally delayed as long as three months before the pandemic happened.

I was never bothered by the virus because "I only work in the blood bank" no biggie... not until the hospital I work at became the ground zero in my province. No one told us. We only knew someone who should be classified as “probable” first was admitted in our hospital through social media and it was when the patient was already classified as “confirmed”. The local government likes to conceal confirmed cases. I don’t know what good will it bring to everyone though.

I originally never wanted to practice this profession, self. You know because of my internship trauma as well as my infamous phobia with needles. Just as when I was able to overcome it, this pandemic happened. I have never been so scared to go to work. It doesn’t really show on the outside but I’m really scared. Scared that everything that my parents worked so hard for would be put to waste once I contract the virus at work. Not just that, I might bring it with me at home... putting other people at stake.

It scary how there’s no assurance for my future at the moment. I was just starting!!! I was only working for a year! I was only eight months through with my St. Peter plan. I have yet to get life insurance plans for myself and my family.

I am now questioning myself for choosing my convenience over a better employer. Should I have endured being away from my family for a better employment? Had I known a pandemic would be a battle of who's the better employer, I would’ve set aside my internship trauma for a better employer. The thought makes me sick though.

It’s scary how I am almost nonchalant about dying. I have reached this point that I don’t bother thinking about my future anymore. This is actually the first time I thought of the future in weeks. It’s scary how I always agonize about how we would die because we will one way or another. It’s only a matter of time until the system kills us before the virus can.

I’m frustrated because I only go to work for the sake of salary. But I also swear, I do things with integrity. That's the least I can do. Due to the community quarantine, we are quite financially struggling. My mother being a government employee and my father, an overseas filipino worker plus me being a “government worker” as well automatically voided us of any financial help from the government. It’s fine for me because there are people who need it more than us but my blood boils whenever I see news of those being robbed of this help because of local officials’ greed. Do we deserve this?

Pro Deo et Patria.

For God and Country.

I used to use this as my email signature as well as work mantra.

Is it still worth it?

I don’t know who’s the real enemy anymore. The pandemic has exposed how broken our system and government is that we, the minority in government service has been seeing on a daily even before the pandemic made the exposé.

Are we going to get through this?

Am I still going to read this letter few years from now?

I’m tired.

Everyone’s tired.

The world is so crazy right now.

Fighting for life, I was a COVID19 Warrior.

Five years from now,

Was everything worth it, future self? Did I make it?

Did we make it?

[simonsaas-blog]

5 Areas to Focus When Starting a Business, Plus Helpful Digital Resources

how software automates certain tasks, standardizes business processes and improves accuracy. The pop software table links on home page are great place to start.

5 Areas to Focus When Starting a Business, Plus Helpful Digital Resources

Are you tired of your critical boss, not getting credit for your work? Do you want to implement your creative mind in something useful? If the answer to all these questions is yes, then start your own business. Today’s technology and online resources enable you to start a new business very cheaply. Pursue a career that is focussed on your interests. But for that, you need some tips which can help you in starting a successful small business. Read this article till the end to get the solution to your problem. Some people say that you need millions or billions of dollars to start a business. But I guaranteed that it’s sincerely wrong. You can start a business with even 15$, depending on your idea. Like if you’re planning to open a gas station chain or luxury restaurant then obviously it’s not possible to start at 15$.

There are many small businesses like coffee shops, burger joints, and freelancing. Freelancing is one of the most popular avenues taken when working for yourself. We can’t say that it’s a small business. It can be short, or it can be extensive, depending upon your skills. Please note that freelancing is always a skilled career which means you need the ability to start this business and it doesn’t require any investment. Your expertise is your investment in this business. If you’re starting a small business, you should be aware of and follow some of the best strategies that will help you succeed.  A good plan means more sales, and a lousy strategy will always cause failure. Below we’ve created a list of some strategies that will keep you on track.

1. Always Target the Right Person        

If you want to cover up the corners of the market, you should go to the extra miles and always target the right audience for the marketing of your service. For example, if you’re running a car brand and want to increase your car sales, you need to get ahead of the game and target the right audience. It’s like something you place your advertisement on a billboard. Popular software  But here’s the drawback is that you’re playing the wrong game. If someone does not want to purchase a car, then it’s useless to show him the ad of your car, and you’re just downsizing your advertisement. That’s why you should play a smart game and always target the right audience, which will upsize your sales. Digital Ad companies like Google, YouTube, and Facebook will always show your product to a targeted audience. They collect user’s data and understand their interest. This technique is called Micro Advertisements and usually have higher rates then billboard or TV Ads. So you need to think outside the box and must apply this strategy. According to my experience, this Micro advertisement technique will always target a yes man for your product. Also, in my view, this strategy has lifted my business from the ground to the top of the building. But never apply this strategy if you’re a freelancer entrepreneur because of some companies like freelancers, Fiverr, Upwork, and people per hour. Usually, these companies don’t allow to promote your services through paid advertisements. Otherwise, you can face a suspension on your account.

2. Get Skilled in Your Niche                                                      

  You need to master the niche of your business. If you are a GIG worker or a freelancer, you should learn a skill or your services because freelancing or GIG work involves all kinds of crafts. You can learn web development, Photoshop editing, SEO writing, etc. to give your sales the green light. accounting software Clients will be attracted to your service because you’re specialized in their solution if you plan to start a GIG or start freelancing without any skills. Then you are just wasting your time. It’s like playing in the dark. There are a variety of skills that can be used in the freelancing business. Besides, you can learn skills in small businesses like making a hot dog, tea, burger, and more. Learning expertise in your business will allow you to open the door of success, and it will surely attract more clients. You don’t always have to buy premium courses. In fact, YouTube is the hub of all the mentors. Just kick off these paid courses as long as YouTube or the Internet is way superior to these paid offline courses. These offline paid courses just play with your mind and teach you how to fire in the dark. If you still purchase these offline paid courses, then you’re just pushing your head in the clouds playing with the time. Most of the freelancers or GIG workers learn their skills from the Internet or YouTube.

3. Think About the Problem of your Customers

Instead of beginning the concept on what to deliver, think of what it’s going to do. It’s a lot simpler to create energetic existing customers when your company is solving a challenge. website software Your company must fill that void in a market or niche. For example, just think about Uber. They have cornered the market in the taxis field. Before Uber, people raise their hands to stop a taxi, but if you put yourself in my shoes, you’ll get the problem.

Standing on the road and waiting for a taxi is sometimes a waste of time and seems boring. Also, you don’t have time much time in your hands to keep waiting for these taxis. In that scenario, Uber opens his eyes. They understand what customers need. Uber thought, what if we go the extra mile and save our customer’s time by offering them taxis outside their house in just a tap away? Uber played hardball and converted this dream into reality and boom! Now you can see the success of their idea. They just started from scratch, and now they are playing above the clouds. The business is all about applying the right strategies. You need to take advantage of the problems of your customer. You need to get something off the ground to start a business marketing software. As long as you’re solving the problems of your customers, you get success in your industry. Otherwise, you’re just shooting in the dark. Now the question that arises that from where did you catch the troubles of your customers? The Internet is the answer. This strategy is just like you’re playing a smart game. So go ahead and must wear of this strategy.

4. Cut the Cost

Once you start to develop your business idea, add up how much it will cost. You will need to factor in every business expense necessary to launch and operate. Some costs to keep in mind include your location, rent, supplies, marketing, and more. Come up with the most educated number you possibly can. Then, take whatever you think that dollar amount is and quadruple it. Seriously, quadruple it. You’ll experience unexpected costs of running a business around every corner. It’s better to be over-prepared than short on funds when bills start to roll in. When you’re thinking of the cost to start a business, don’t forget about your budget. Look at how much money you need to live, including rent, food, gas, healthcare, and more. Lay these expenses out in order of which ones you must pay (e.g., mortgage) to ones that can slide if the money runs out (e.g., entertainment). Once you have a grasp on all your expenses, start to create a business budget. At first, you might need to get some outside capital to make ends meet, like a small business loan. Go over all of your options before putting your money into the startup.

5. Stay on Your Toes 

Whether you rise above the sky or not, you need to stay on your toes while doing business. Loss and profit is part of running a business. As long as you don’t face the damage, you can’t be successful in your industry. You need to get off something from the ground to achieve something. Be ready to take risks and push your luck. You always get what you pay for. The more you invest, the better you get profit as an output. There is no shortcut to success. What do you think you are? Every man in this world can do something. We just need some self-determination and hope to showcase our talent to the world. You can’t blame a platform for not showcasing your talent. You need to grow up. Social media like Facebook, Instagram, and YouTube are some of the best digital stages that can help market your skills. productivity software You just need to be ahead of the curve from your competitors. Combine your knowledge, experience, and talents and start a small business where your expertise is an asset helpful to people and or businesses. Your ability plays an essential role in raising you from the ground to making a healthy income as an independent business owner.

Conclusion

Creating a business around your interests and skills is a great way to get started, but to make it successful, you’ll need to develop and implement a plan. Identify a target market, provide a service that’s valuable to your customers, including what problems your product will fix. Also, do the research and create a competitive advantage. Be smart where you spend and market your services/products through multiple channels.

[princeleyjeans]

Amanda is a neutrally crucial character: a post

Just because fans enjoy trikey, doesn’t have to mean they dislike Amanda on the grounds she “Ruins the relationship”, or even dislike her at all.  Some of us like her character, she creates a very real idea of how some people do end up on the wrong end of the tracks and in a shitty, co-dependent and plain ass toxic marriage, you don’t have to have your partner come out/be assumed gay to look at your life and think “Holy shit, we’re both huge assholes”  In rockstars case, they made her your typical assumed Run-Away/Not really delinquent but getting there (Maybe petty shoplifting)  at 17, stripper/hooker at 18/19, who finds a man during her time at said skeezy workplace and gets pregnant too fast to even register if she actually wants the dude or not.  Imagine you’re still basically a teenager and some charming, dangerous but cute looking, balls too big for his jeans guy shows up, you’re already feeling somewhat uncertain about how things are going with your life and here he comes with candy, flowers, swatting away other, probably larger guys, risking his own neck to get at you, win your heart, earn your affection, you’d feel pretty damn hawt, pretty on your game, genuinely good because this dude whose appeared outta nowhere, is trying to get you on his arm and is doing it, semi decently, he’s a little different, he’s got dreams, money, goals, plans, everything seems alright, and rightly or wrongly, you fall for that idea.  With Amanda and M, personally, I think it was one of those “He’s good looking, strong, seems certain about his plans for the future, I want a piece” deals, of course, this lasts about...a month? two at most, then the condom breaks, they’re on the verge of breaking up because of constant fighting caused by whatever, Amanda wants an abortion because hello, 19, no real address, shitty bf and scary mother fucker hanging around all the time, no kid needs that!  But M is about family, holding together the sand from a long broken hourglass, he begs her not to get rid of their baby, makes all these promises, big house, money out the whaazoo, picket fence, dog, all that shit, and out of maybe pitty, strung out hope, desperation, lack of access to healthcare, she accepts and so off they go to get a quickie wedding performed because omg baby out of wedlock, the damn shame (Sarcasm) and enters little Tracey 9 months later, and then things get worse because her food and diapers are eating up money they’d use for other shit, Trevor’s getting more erratic, Amanda is forced back into stripping, going further than before with actual prostitution, everything just goes to absolute hell and she’s stuck, literally stuck because God knows she can’t just run and leave her baby with bank robbers! Her family have no idea where Amanda is, nor of Tracey’s birth or even existence, what choice does Amanda really have? Trek across the border region of America and hope for a miracle, or keep where the money’s at and pray they get enough to make it out alive?  All those years stuck under M’s thumb, under the weight of never really being fully able to grow up, experience her 20s as a single, free young woman, realise that being on the wrong side of the law isn’t actually all that a rush as she thought, it fucks up a person, especially if you weren’t a great/fully formed one to begin with!  Maybe this is me, but I see M and Amanda as brother and sister, people who’ve grown up together and experienced hardship to the point where instead of work as a team to get through it, they’ve just turned and blamed each other because why the fuck should the other one have to take the wrap for so and so’s fuck up? Shouldn’t the other one know not to do stupid shit like that?  It’s quite high-school, Semi/not really bad girl meets a real bad guy and he makes her believe they’re made for each other, things get too hot too fast and suddenly there’s another person involved, he’s shitting his pants because he’s gotta pull himself together and be a decent person but the guy doesn’t wanna so he makes excuses to be an even larger asshole and blames the girl cus how dare she seduce him (Sarcasm, you Tumblr freaks).  Neither Party is exempt from blame here, but, that doesn’t mean one is more to blame for what the fuck their lives have become.  Amanda is not the enemy.  Nor is Michael.  But with Amanda, there is a lot of “You can’t hate her because she’s an abuse victim! She’s had to deal with M for all these years!”  And “You can’t erase her because of trikey!”  Or my favourite “FUCKING MISOGYNIST TRIKEY SHIPPERS WHITE TRASH”  Awww yes, tumblr, giving everyone (Even the ones who shouldn’t) a voice.  But that shit creates tension, and so people are afraid to have a different opinion, I used to, and that was shit because I do, and did like her as a character, yes she’s an ass at times, but so is her husband and that assery balances them both out and lets you know it’s not a one-sided shit-heap, she’s terrible too, but being in the light of bitter wife constantly cheating and having bouts of sad rationality has meant we’ve learnt more of her story than most games have with their own female characters.  Again, probably just me, but at her worst, Amanda is giving pieces of her past/feelings through how she reacts/speaks to Michael, I’m not saying its justified, I just mean you know what she’s going through, you feel something, you know there’s more to this affair, to the ass photos online, the pool boys and tennis coaches, blunt af disregard of her own actions when she herself fucks up.  That text she sends Michael after the tennis coach fiasco gets me every single time for obvious reasons, like , bitch, you really not gonna talk about this? You not gonna see your own irony here?  others see it as just a bitter, horrible ass woman, but that's the mirror, the slap in the mouth Rockstar give their protags when they need a reality check.  She’s crucial because she herself is a mirror, a shitty slice of bread to make the shitty ass sandwich that is her, M and their life together, their family, fucking existence as a whole! Plus it’s giving a “Not everything is one-sided” view of M’s plot-line, it’s what makes his character, as well as hers, so hard to truly hate, because you ask questions, wonder about the truth! the closed doors at the end of the day.  Like, imagine if someone said “My husband is such a dick, I wanna leave, I wanna just go and get away”, unless you were close friends, you’d wonder about his side, his feelings, his views, and in some cases, you’d realise it was a mutually fucked up relationship where they can both easily walk away but are so needy and clingy, co-fucking-dependent that they can’t leave and so just bitch about each other because they’re too fucking brats!  THAT IS WHY SHES SO CRUCIAL! BECAUSE YOU GET BOTH SIDES OF THE MIRROR AND NEITHER ARE RIGHT BUT IF THEY DIDN’T HAVE TO BE TOGETHER THEY’D PROBABLY GET ALONG LIKE ALOT OF THESE IDIOTS DO!  Okay, I’mma say this is done, maybe follow up in another post later, and go listen to Post Malone while also pre-writing my come-back comments to probably really fucked and unrelated to the topic messages I am about to receive for even making this post. 

[maswartz]

IN THE PROGRESSIVE COLLEGE TOWN where I live, one sees a lot of “Bernie” bumper stickers on a lot of Subarus. Probably these are remnants of 2016, when the Independent from Vermont masqueraded as a Democrat, dividing the party and hobbling Hillary Clinton’s campaign just enough to fuck up the final tally. Although I held with HRC then as now, I don’t begrudge anyone who supported Bernie Sanders in the primaries four years ago, when we first became acquainted with the ugly font and awful shade of blue on his campaign merch. But to support him today, after Trump, after Mueller, is akin to insisting, on Christmas 2019, that despite ample evidence to the contrary, Michael Jackson is innocent, because you really dig Off the Wall.

“Don’t they know?” I scream when I see these Bernie stickers. “Don’t they realize who he really is?” Apparently not. But then, to them, and to most on what Sean Hannity might call the “radical left,” Bernie is not a person as much as an ideal: A sort of liberal Santa Claus who will come down our collective chimney to deliver free healthcare and free college, and, with the aid of his ineffable North Pole magic, break up the banks, slay the patriarchy, eliminate racism, end income inequality, and tax corporations into insolvency—all while raising the minimum wage for his workshop elves. How he plans to actually accomplish any of this he only hints at—Bernie rarely deigns to answer process questions and usually gets grouchy when pressed for details—but it all sounds so wonderful we want to believe, just as we every year insist that yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

Unfortunately, the flesh-and-blood Bernie Sanders, if elected, would not have the requisite power to fulfill his lofty promises—any more than the tipsy Macy’s Santa will leave the mall on a sleigh driven by flying reindeer. Bernie is a real person, and he is deeply, perhaps fatally, flawed. He would be a horrible candidate in the general election—like, McGovern-in-’72-level bad—and, more urgently, his nomination would ensure that, whoever won, the White House remained in Russian hands.

The Bernie extolled by the bros is a myth, just like the Trump that MAGA adores—just like Neverland, and just like Santa Claus. We need to face some cold, hard truths, before Sanders scolds and finger-wags his way to a second term for Donald Trump. We cannot permit this egomaniacal fraud to spoil yet another election.

Bernie is a socialist—but of the Union of Soviet Socialists variety.

Hey, there’s a reason Santa Claus wears red!

Bernie is a self-styled “socialist” who has bought, hook line and sinker, the Stalinist propaganda about Marxism and the glories of the Soviet Union. This was understandable if you were Dalton Trumbo in 1947. After all, the governing philosophy of communism is “let’s share everything so there is no want,” which is kind of appealing, especially next to the “fuck you, pay me” mantra of unvarnished Trump-variety capitalism. Seven-plus decades later, alas, the naïveté borders on delusional.

From the Young Peoples Socialist League to his membership in the Liberty Union Party, which sought to nationalize (and not just “break up”) the banks, to his time at the Kibbutz Sha’ar Ha’amakim, which extolled Stalin—who slaughtered more people than Hitler—as “Sun of the Nations,” to his hanging a Soviet flag in his Burlington mayoral office, Soviet boosterism is the thruline of Bernie's career.

Bernie took his wife to the Soviet Union for their honeymoon, as one does. For years, he extolled the virtues of the USSR. Rather than grok that it’s all KGB-fed propaganda and lies, he’s been a staunch Bolshevik apologist for his entire adult life.

I mean, the guy has a dacha, ffs.

Look, our healthcare system is flawed. I’d love some sort of universal coverage like they have in every other developed country. But the best person to promote the de facto nationalization of the healthcare system is not a Soviet apologist who once wanted to nationalize the banks, too.

Bernie is unpopular with Black voters.

To be fair, Sanders (likely) really does want equality and all those nice things he talks about. Good for him. The problem is that his vision of “socialist” utopia is absolutist and focuses too much on the (white, male) working class that he, like his beloved Marx, idolizes and idealizes.

Despite some high-profile Black supporters, Bernie remains unpopular with Black voters, particularly Black women. This, and not “the rigged DNC,” is why HRC kicked his ass in the primaries. Could it be that Black voters have made Bernie as a BS artist? Those are his initials, after all.

The failure of the United States to properly examine and make amends for slavery contributes mightily to the country’s enduring racism, on which MAGA feeds. Not to even discuss reparations is madness. Unsurprisingly, Bernie does not understand this:

Marcus H. Johnson@marcushjohnson

Bernie Sanders thinks reparations is "just writing a check" instead of a redress for state sanctioned terrorism, violence, and being shut out of the economic, political, and legal systems for 250+ years. How is reparations "just writing a check," and free college not?

Aaron Rupar@atrupar

Bernie Sanders on reparations on The View: "I think that right now our job is to address the crises facing the American people in our communities, and I think there are better ways to do that than just writing out a check." https://t.co/FXso34iSbs

March 1st 2019

470 Retweets1,065 Likes

To win the resounding victory necessary to defeat Trump and the Russian hackers threatening to sabotage yet another election, overwhelming African-American voter turnout is essential. Black voters are more likely to turn out in big numbers for Joe Biden—especially if he runs with Kamala Harris, as we K-Hivers hope—than yet another elderly New Yorker who makes pie-in-the-sky promises he can’t possibly keep.

Bernie is lazy.

Sanders spent the early part of his career flitting between low-paying odd jobs:

He bounced around for a few years, working stints in New York as an aide at a psychiatric hospital and teaching preschoolers for Head Start, and in Vermont researching property taxation for the Vermont Department of Taxes and registering people for food stamps for a nonprofit called the Bread and Law Task Force.

Then as now, he was more given to talking the talk than walking the walk. In 1970, the 30-year-old Liberty Union Party socialist was kicked out of a Vermont commune for not doing his share of the work. His days there were instead spent in “endless political discussion.”

Sanders’ idle chatter did not endear him with some of the commune’s residents, who did the backbreaking labor of running the place. [Kate] Daloz writes [in her history of the commune] that one resident, Craig, “resented feeling like he had to pull others out of Bernie’s orbit if any work was going to get accomplished that day.” Sanders was eventually asked to leave. 

Eventually, Bernie found a career that would allow him to talk a big game but accomplish precious little: politics. For the decades he’s been in Congress, his record is pretty scant. Seven bills in 28 years, including two that name post offices, is nothing to write home about (unless you’re writing home to one of those post offices)—although Sanders has been a quiet champion of gun rights for most of his Congressional career, as well as a dependable “nay” vote on Russian sanctions, so I guess there’s that.

But hey, I’m sure a guy who has avoided labor as assiduously as possible for 78 years will magically turn into a workaholic as an octogenarian. That heart attack no doubt jump-started his engines. Speaking of which…

Bernie is old, and he just had a heart attack.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t actually a heart attack. Maybe it was just a life-threatening cardiac issue that required emergency surgery. We don’t know, because Sanders has not yet released his medical report. But he has promised to do so, just as he promised to release his taxes and then waited a million years to make good. Will he bring the receipts before next week, as he said he would?

The Speaker's Basilisk⚖️@PelosiLegatus

Why hasn’t @BernieSanders released his medical records yet? He just has a heart attack three months ago, which he lied about. What is he hiding from the American people? Why is the press so afraid to dig into his dishonesty?

December 23rd 2019

173 Retweets444 Likes

Even if his medical report checks out, I mean…there’s ageism, and then there are actuarial tables. A President Sanders would turn eighty in 2021, his first year in office. That would make him the oldest first-term president by a significant margin. He can’t live forever; in that way, he’s not like Santa Claus.

Bernie is a misogynist.

That Bernie Sanders is some sort of radical feminist, a paradigm for how men should be in the post-Third-Wave world, is almost as ridiculous as his stubborn refusal to comb his hair.

Before he launched his political career, he was a deadbeat dad. Remember, Bernie was a graduate of the prestigious University of Chicago, in an era when college degrees were relatively rare. Instead of putting food on the table, he was running quixotic political campaigns as the standard-bearer of a barely functional party. As Spandan Chakrabarti writes:

In 1971, Vermont was debating a tenant’s rights bill. One of the testimonials to Vermont’s State Senate Judiciary Committee came from one Susan Mott of Burlington, who said the legislation did not go far enough in prohibiting discrimination against single mothers and recipients of welfare benefits. Mott had one child and was on welfare. That one child…was Levi Sanders, Bernie Sanders’ son. Which begs the question, why did Bernie Sanders’ (former?) girlfriend and his son have to be on welfare? Where was the University of Chicago graduate’s considerable marketable skills? What was 5-year-old Levi’s father doing that he couldn't afford to support his own child? It turns out he was too busy coming in third with single digit votes.

To be fair, Bernie did bring home a little bit of bacon writing stuff like this:

A man goes home and masturbates [to] his typical fantasy. A woman on her knees, a woman tied up, a woman abused.

A woman enjoys intercourse with her man—as she fantasizes [about] being raped by 3 men simultaneously.

Even if those lines were intended as a provocative rhetorical flourish to be shot down later in the essay, I mean…what feminist ally would write something like that?

And then there’s the more recent sexual harassment issues that seem to be pervasive in his campaign offices. He missed one of the Russian sanction votes because he was busy dealing with it:

The only one to miss the vote was Sen. Bernie Sanders, I-Vt. He was meeting with women who had accused his 2016 presidential campaign of sexual misconduct, his spokesman, Josh Miller-Lewis, told CNBC.

As if to confirm his misogynist bona fides, Sanders this month endorsed the candidacy of Young Turks founder Cenk Uygur, no feminist ally—before the bad optics forced him to reverse course:

“As I said yesterday, Cenk has been a longtime fighter against the corrupt forces in our politics and he’s inspired people all across the country,” the Vermont senator said. “However, our movement is bigger than any one person. I hear my grassroots supporters who were frustrated and understand their concerns. Cenk today said he is rejecting all endorsements for his campaign, and I retract my endorsement.”

That Cenk is running for the California seat vacated by rising star Katie Hill, a victim of criminal revenge porn who was shamed into stepping down, makes the gaffe even worse.

Bernie is not a Democrat.

Of all the idiotic narratives spewed by the “Bernie bros” about 2016, the most asinine was that the process had to be rigged because the DNC clearly preferred Hillary Clinton to Bernie Sanders. Um…why would it not? Just as a New York Yankees fan club would want its leader to be a ride-or-die Yankee fan rather than a waffler who rooted for either the Bronx Bombers or the Red Sox depending on which was doing better that year, so the Democratic National Committee wants an actual Democrat to be its nominee. Duh.

And this was not any nominee. HRC was practically funding the operation herself, to help with the down-ballot races Bernie could give a shit about. Anyone can scold the country about big banks and wage inequality, but to actually, you know, govern requires working well with other people, a skill that seems to have eluded Sanders for the last 30 years.

Alas, the incorrigible Senator has learned nothing from 2016. He’s still playing the hackneyed “rabble-rousing outsider” card:

The Hill@thehill

Sen. @BernieSanders: "We are going to take on the Democratic establishment."

December 22nd 2019

426 Retweets1,930 Likes

The election of 2020 is, or should be, a referendum on Trump. It’s not about taking on the Democrats. That sort of internecine divisiveness is exactly what Putin wants. Which makes perfect sense when we consider that…

Bernie is (at a minimum) a Useful Idiot for Putin.

The bots go on the offensive whenever I tweet that Bernie is a Useful Idiot for Russia. But he is Useful, in that he operates as a divisive force in the Democratic Party, which aids Putin. And he’s certainly an Idiot, in that he doesn't realize the damage he’s done. But does he really not know?

The Mueller Report makes it clear that Russian IC was helping the Sanders campaign. Either Bernie didn’t realize this, and is an idiot, or he did realize it and played along, and is a traitor. Either way, the guy who hired former Paul Manafort chum Tad Devine to run his campaign cannot be trusted with standing up to Putin and the powerful forces of transnational organized crime, no matter how passionate his anti-Wall Street screeds.

(Sidenote: Tad Devine is now peddling his Kremlin-y wares for Andrew Yang, which perhaps explains Yang’s recent remark that he is open to granting Donald Trump a pardon. This, needless to say, is disqualifying).

Put it this way: Are we sure that a Nominee Sanders—an almost-eighty-year-old who just had a heart attack—would not pick the Russophile cult member Tulsi Gabbard as his running mate? The “anti-anti-Trump Left,” as Jonathan Chait calls it, is alive and well, sharing, “in addition to enthusiasm for Bernie Sanders, [a] deep skepticism of the Democratic Party’s mobilization against the president.” So: traitors, basically. Would not Sanders, if given the chance, throw meat to this rabid fan base, if only to generate more adulation? Do we really trust the judgment of the guy who can’t ensure that his own campaign headquarters is not a hostile work environment?

Bernie still, years after the fact, cannot understand that he contributed to HRC’s defeat—just as he can’t see that his ideas about the Soviet Union and communism have been debunked. He doesn’t have it in him to realize, much less admit, he was wrong. And why should he? As long as well-meaning people—especially young people; especially young women; especially pretty young women—keep “feeling the Bern,” he will continue to happily soak up the attention, like the insufferable narcissist he is. Why Millennials support the guy instead of OK-Boomering him to oblivion is a head-scratcher. Maybe it’s because he was born two months before Pearl Harbor and is therefore older than the Boomers?

Bernie Sanders is the Trump of the Left. Repeat: Bernie Sanders is the Trump of the Left. He’s an egomaniac who believes his own hype, like Trump. And like Trump, Bernie is selling snake oil; we just happen to like his brand of snake oil. He’s a bad mall Santa, promising everyone a pony, when all he can deliver is a lump of coal. And make no mistake: far from assuring a worker’s paradise, his nomination would bring about the end of the republic.

It’s not a “revolution.” It’s a con job. And it’s got the full support of the Russians.

[loveinthetimeofcorona]

March 17

I woke up this morning feeling a bit better after sleeping for a full 8 hours and taking meds again. My cough is still persistent but doesn’t hurt as bad anymore, plus, a big bonus that my body doesn’t hurt *everywhere.* However, my nose is running like 45 away from his taxes so that’s been a pleasure to handle.

Bodies are a weird thing. For a long time I had an off-again, on-again relationship with my own around positivity, opinions from lovers, and projection & acceptance of it. I don’t have to tell you the extreme pressure of a woman’s body to be anatomically incorrect and hairless and thin, but in these times of needing to extra listen to your body for health and wellness, I am damn glad my biggest “problem” is my midsection. My arms work for petting cats and my legs function well for standing in the shower. My vision to look at my beautiful yard and my hearing to listen to my partner tell me he loves me is immeasurably valuable.

...which is why I was initially so sad to find a lump underneath my right armpit last night after taking the best hot shower in recent memory. However, before anyone panics, when I was sick in December from my URTI the doctor told me it was normal to have a blocked sweatgland as a side effect. Part of me feels relieved in a weird way to see this old friend again because I know what to do, but another part of me is like:

Toe-may-toe, to-mah-toe. Also, fun fact, while we’re oversharing, I stopped shaving my armpits in December when I got my first blocked sweatgland (you’ll always remember your first) because my doc said it may irritate the area. And I just didn’t pick it back up, 3 months later...

So, where are we in the healthcare game right now so I can tackle getting better? Well...here we go.

Monday:

I attempted to “get seen” by a doctor via virtual waiting room. This means scheduling a video call with a doctor so you can talk to them about what you’re feeling, and they put a visual on your symptoms. I’ve never done this before but considering all the precautions of the coronavirus, it seemed like a good idea (famous last words). Particularly if you think you have COVID-19, you should make arrangements with your health provider to get an initial screen via phone or video call first. If the symptoms persist, the nearest hospital will prep for your arrival. Because I don’t know if I have COVID-19 or a plain ol URTI again, I figured I’d give technology a shot and got my list of symptoms ready to talk with the doc about. But after having the UHC app open for 4+ hours and no bites, I closed it and attempted again this morning.

Tuesday:

Here was my schedule:

10:09am - get an email that “It’s time to join your Virtual Visit” - great! Pick up my phone to open the app and then...

10:10 - get a second email that says “A Teladoc provider was unable to reach you for your visit“ - for real? 60 seconds and then the doc bounced? Even Lyft has better waiting windows than this.

10:11-10:19 - bitch to coworkers about not being able to be seen, our healthcare system is in shambles, and I am running out of Kleenex.

10:20 - after making a cup of tea I re-join the app waiting room and decide to just keep my phone on, with the app open, for the forseeable future since I’m dealing with a REAL LIFE ONE MINUTE MAN (and subsequently go down a Missy Elliott video k-hole, which, always OK).

10:26 - get kicked out of the UHC app with a generic “we’ve experienced an error” in addition to getting completely logged out of the app somehow. At this point I am invested. I’ve been ignoring text messages and avoiding going on Instagram just to have this fucking app open. I log back in.

10:45 -  the app still shows the "We apologize for the wait. You are still in the queue for the next available provider" banner. This banner is the Hoover Dam. 11:30 -  the app is still showing the "We apologize for the wait. You are still in the queue for the next available provider" banner. I also realize the mic and video options on the app have been active this whole time. In a moment of WTF, I mute myself and position the camera to get a good view of the smoke detector on my ceiling. 12pm - I swap to FaceTime to catch up with a friend and lay out I may need to jump if UHC calls me back for the app appointment. It is good to see a face across the country that reminds me my friends are awesome. 12:45 - (in Morgan Freeman voice) "They, in fact, did not join the virtual waiting room." I take more meds in hopes my chest hurts less. I realize I'm out of Cepacol. I contemplate bum rushing Walmart and if my legs in a weakened state could make a run for it. 1:55 - I am going to murder the "We apologize for the wait. You are still in the queue for the next available provider" banner. I'm bummed that in five minutes, I will be attending a webinar called "Managing Isolation and Loneliness" and not "Managing Community Activism to Overthrow the Government and Rage." I still have my phone literally 6 inches away from my laptop, still open to the dumb app waiting for a human on the other end to validate me being sick. My husband asks me to put a blanket on my lap so I don't get cold. I tell him that if I burn the place down I will stay warm that way. I decide if I still don't get a bite by the end of this webinar, I will venture into no mans land - actually calling the patient support line for my health care provider.

6:43 - work takes precedence, and I tie up everything I can to close out my work day so I can talk to my brother. He describes his Mad Max journey heading back from Tahoe to the Bay Area with his girlfriend, which includes going to BFN for toilet paper and going on an epic search for eggs. After making my umpteenth cup of tea, I finally hunker down and call the 800 number on the back of my insurance card. I opt in for a call back and set a timer to see how long *this* process will take.

6:45 - someone calls me back. I silently yelp in surprise. What black magic is this that a phone call is faster than an app? I ask no questions. I describe my troubles to the admin: I’ve waited around in the app, I feel like shit, somehow the doc didn’t see me for my visit in the morning because I was too “slow” to log into the waiting room. While we talk an “Unknown” caller is on other side but I ignore it because I’m talking to a human. Then I get a text that a doc tried me again and I didn’t answer, so my virtual visit has now been canceled.

It took everything I had to not snap my phone in two and use it as a digital shank. I explain that to the admin who just says “Wow. Let’s just cancel this virtual visit and I’ll sign you up for a phone call consultation tomorrow.”

Hours wasted in an app to be seen: 8. Time on the phone to get scheduled: 3 minutes. Way to go, UHC. But hey! I have to keep remembering that there’s ice cream in the freezer and I don’t have a fever. And that I am flipping fortunate to actually have health insurance. Maybe tomorrow I will try my luck on day three of “I’d really like to know if Satan is going to take me away now.”

Five random thoughts for today:

The dye job for my roots I got 6 weeks ago is hanging on for dear life these days, but I urge all of you - DO NOT BOX DYE.

A friend on the East Coast FaceTimed me out of the blue yesterday, simply because I mentioned on my Instagram I wanted more human interaction. That inspired me to do more of that, too.

Last night when I took a hot shower it occurred to me this was the time I could touch my face *incessantly* without much consequence. It made me wonder if everyone’s skincare routine is gonna be next level lit and we’re all going to be just glowing in the summer.

My friends with kids who are having to stay home with them during this time are some of the fuckin MVPs of the century.

Keep track of when the last time you left the house was. For me, it was 4 days ago and I’ve figured out that is my breaking point. Because I’m sick my plan is to do a mini hike tomorrow far far away from anyone so I can at least feel fresh air.

[antoine-roquentin]

The readers who don’t know Bruce either via his writing or his acquaintance have missed out on a truly extraordinary man of letters. In the future, radicals will hopefully look at his bibliography for study and instruction on how journalism and political analysis with a progressive edge is done right. If it comes to pass that he be ignored completely, a common practice for the white supremacist press, or that his corpus be managed in a fashion that presents an untrue representation of his politics, something that has happened to W.E.B. Du Bois and James Baldwin, the entirety of American journalism would be poorer for it.

If Bruce’s legacy were solely defined by his writings, it would be worthy of legendary status. Here was a former member of the Black Panther Party who followed the familiar trajectory into the Democratic Party, rising so high in Chicago politics that he attended the wedding of Barack and Michelle Obama. But unlike so many others, he broke with American liberalism, writing over the past decade-plus a tell-all account of the machine that told no lies and claimed no easy victories. This itself is one of the masterpieces of 21st century whistle blower muckraking, a project that causes much discomfort to so many of his peers in American progressive circles precisely because he was not informed by a dogmatic sectarianism that fuels many a Lefty in American letters. In all my years reading his words, I never once came across a sentence that drew a kooky, quasi-Talmudic analogue from the Russian revolution or a canonized saint of the radical litany. Rather than shout from atop barricades about dead Lefties and their antique theories, he spoke in a distinctly African American cadence about why he saw no hope for the Democratic Party and the efforts of its tame Progressive caucus.

But he was so much more than just a whistleblower that spilled dirty secrets about liberal imperialism. His essays on culture, such as the contrarian movie review of Marvel’s Black Panther film or his polemic about the pitfalls within radical organizing spaces under the headings of “intersectionality” and “Afro-pessimism,” were antidotes to the banality of standard radical journalism even when you disagreed with him. His championship of the Green Party, a cause many others thought to be Quixotic verging on madness, gave bravery and stamina to many in the past five years, including this author. And that was because both of these were buttresses to his activism and organizing. He put shoes on the pavement to make these things more than just pontification. As he was slowly dying in the past several years, he continued to be a street fighter for liberation, taking the road less traveled (and certainly less popular) in order to change the world for the better. While his comrade and collaborator Glen Ford at Black Agenda Report continues the more didactic Leninist-derived style of polemic, Bruce embraced a plainspoken lilt that might be misconstrued by superficial readers as having less political maturity. But when placed properly in the spectrum of African American nonfiction literature reaching back to the slave narratives of the antebellum period, the true proletarian memoirs of this hemisphere, he shines among the pantheon of greats because of his bold bravery, speaking truth to power rather than selling out.

I would merely add that my limited time speaking with him on the phone recently was one that left me with a smile. Speaking about a Green Party project, he quickly divulged that he was dying of cancer. What made that quick aside memorable, however, was that he did so in the form of a very good joke! His entire approach was laced with humor! When you encounter someone that handles their mortality with a whoopie cushion, you know that the world is a little dimmer because they are gone.

When we talk about lithium, we usually think about its applications in healthcare as an antidepressant. But there’s another property of lithium we don’t think about. It’s an element that is so volatile it begins to spark and crackle as it hits the atmosphere. You need to store lithium in an emulsion of oil because contact with the air will cause a chemical reaction. That’s what Bruce Dixon’s writing is like. Reading him makes your brain feel like it has been lit on fire by a righteous element.

This merely skims the surface of a truly astonishing life and fails to acknowledge many more dimensions that are beyond my own capacity to articulate. In the coming days and weeks others will do this far better than I could ever attempt.

Here we syndicate words of his friend and comrade Tony Ndege of the North Carolina Green Party (NCGP).

It is with a very heavy heart that I bring to you the news of Bruce Dixon’s passing this afternoon at approximately 2:30pm. Many of you may not have had the pleasure of knowing Bruce. However those who did, are aware of his indelible influence on so many of us in NCGP. He had been battling a form of blood cancer for several years.

Bruce was a co-editor of Black Agenda Report and long-time GA Green Party cochair. He is most recently well-known for making the prophetic term Democrat “sheepdog” popular- particularly among those of us disaffected with the duopoly.

Bruce had a biting wit, razor sharp sense of humor and tremendous passion for challenging all of our notions. At his best Bruce was a tremendous writer who made fearless critics of various left issues that almost no one else of his prominence was bold enough to make and he always did so with a no-nonsense, plain-speak bravado.

I became interested in Bruce Dixon and Glen Ford’s strong take downs of President Obama’s policies around the time of the 2012 DNC protests in Charlotte NC. I was hungry at the time for hearing a strong radical black critique of Obama. Many of us who felt the same way felt quite isolated in our criticisms, even among the Left – particularly as Obama’s reelection approached. Bruce played a role in changing our perspectives and confidence in our views. He was also a catalyst in getting me involved in the NCGP when he asked me to help with a tour of Jill Stein in Fall of 2015. His talks about party organizing along with Howie Hawkins helped to inspire NCGP make the correct decision to become a dues paying membership-based party.

For this reason and many many more we thank you Bruce!

Rest In Power Friend.

[digitalpillory]

Planet Princeton

Dear Reader,

You’ve probably stumbled across this webpage accidentally during a cursory web search of my first and last name. The following is my attempt to correct the record and take a stand against the deplorable behavior of a particular journalist who has seemingly been nursing a vendetta against me for the last several years. Almost six years ago, Ms. Krystal K. Knapp (KKK henceforth for brevity) published my name and other identifying information about me on her news-oriented Word Press blog. The disparaging item consistently appears very high first page search results of almost all major search engines for my relatively uncommon name as a record of a number of charges brought against me by the town of Princeton while I was a graduate student at the university. The most damning and attention-grabbing item is the charge of DUI in a school zone as a result of a car accident. Succinct in her description, KKK misrepresents and sensationalizes an unfortunate event from many years ago of dismissed charges. However, due to the peculiarity of NJ law in this matter and my own ignorance and chagrin, I missed the window of opportunity to pursue a claim of defamation against KKK. Furthermore, dismissed charges in NJ are ineligible for expungement and therefore remains on a copy of my driving abstract with NJMVC.  

I sincerely regret having to resort to self-publishing my own narrative to provide additional context and information. However, after repeated requests over the last several years, KKK has ignored my requests and most recently alleges that she has removed my name or suppressed the item from search results which can be found here. I can understand KKK’s (personal) resolve to hold me accountable for these allegations. Yet, it appears spiteful, prejudicial, and arbitrary how she has chosen to single me out for her digital pillory, Planet Princeton. I do not know KKK personally and am unaware of any personal connection to her despite the fact that we are both graduates of schools in the town of Princeton, New Jersey. I am not fit to judge whether her academic or professional ethics support her behavior or if her readers are aware of this incredibly hurtful and glaring bias. In brief, KKK does not choose to publish every item or even names consistently in her periodic police blotters. So, I asked her in the public forum where she has delighted in denigrating my character over the last several years!

KKK hastily deleted my comments from public visibility, blocked my IP address so that I could no longer view her blog, and finally chided me privately for being charged in the first place. Maybe I should obey the law next time, she taunted. And for good measure, KKK threatened to sue me for harassment if I did not cease my requests for removal from her blog. Indeed, this dilemma had seemingly no satisfactory resolution.  KKK seems intent on trying to assassinate my character and publicly shame me for something about which she could only legally know very limited details. Was she trying to bait me into some kind of public dispute or enhance her own “credibility” or “celebrity” via a feud? For the first few years, I was shocked and intimidated by how she was trading upon her platform in the town that she is privileged to represent. Having a relatively uncommon name and without and fame or celebrity to contribute, I was at a loss for how to proceed, especially as I journeyed through life: graduating university, applying for jobs, starting new endeavors, and finally submitting applications to medical school.

So, if you found this webpage and you’re curious, allow me to tell you in my own words, lest you feel embarrassed to inquire about the charges. I was involved in a one-car accident one evening after dropping a friend home. I made a right turn onto a narrow, winding road after it had just begun to rain (without speeding), and my car hydroplaned and collided with a guard rail on the outskirts of the “school zone”. No persons or animals were injured or even present at the time of the accident. I voluntarily called the local police for help who later “determined that I had consumed alcoholic beverages according to KKK” I appeared before a local judge several weeks later to answer for the charges which were dismissed. It may also be worthwhile to know that a number of NJ DUI cases have been reopened and are now being re-litigated through post-conviction relief due to a landmark case that found faulty breathalyzer equipment. In the following months after adjudication, I was awarded a Secret-level security clearance by the U.S. government. 

That’s what you thought happened though, right? Maybe this is true for some who are acutely aware of current events or have had their own personal sagas with any kind of “revenge” publications or unflattering search results. However, I suspect there might be a significant and silent majority who are eager to believe calumny like this. Plus, the fact that it’s been present high on the results page for many years must only add to its credibility, right?. I’m not lobbying for a European-style “right to be forgotten” law or making a sociopolitical argument about shame, nor do I expect to win a war of words against this hard-nosed journalist. Rather, I would ask the reader to be cautious about the information you choose to accept and allow to guide your decisions whether implicitly or explicitly. It’s commonplace to google everyone you meet these days, but as KKK may now understand anyone can publish text online. The internet has authorized anyone to conduct their own unofficial background checks and public opinion trials.

Don’t get me wrong: I think that this can be good in many cases. More information is usually better and key to good decision-making like for research or sometimes just for entertainment. Free speech is a hallmark of this great nation.

Although I’m hardly KKK’s only victim here*, it appears that I am the only person who is willing to confront and challenge this behavior through reasoned arguments. It is unfortunate that the people of Princeton continue to condone and celebrate this kind of journalism that is fundamentally racist, misleading, and unfair. I hope that by sharing my personal experience I can raise awareness about different forms that prejudice and cyberbullying can take. Let’s all pledge to be responsible with our platforms and be decent to each other. Remember that someone can always tell the truth on you too and that each person is the protagonist of his or her own epic tale.

*Just look at a few of these articles and try to reason for yourself why some names are broadcast and others are not. Note: it is illegal to publish the names of minors, whistleblowers, and survivors of sexual assault under some conditions in NJ.

-Stephen Chaisson

Stephen is 2015 graduate of the Woodrow Wilson School at Princeton University in International Relations. He earned his undergraduate degree from Brown University and has worked in international development as an RPCV. He currently resides in Baltimore, Maryland where he works in the healthcare field with the ambition of becoming a doctor of medicine. 

Opinions expressed are solely my own and do not express the views or opinions of my employer.

[doodlelolly0910]

Love Don’t Cost a Thing

Summary: Emma thought she was living her happily ever after until she wasn’t. Now Neal is living his with someone else and Emma has a plus one option to the wedding from hell but no one to fill the space. Enter Killian Jones, devastatingly handsome male escort and the answer to Emma’s problems. She hires him for the wedding because he’s the safe choice. The temporary choice. Falling in love wasn’t on the invoice.

You can also find this on AO3 and FFN!

A/N: It's Friday! And part two of date night for Emma and Killian! We learn a lot more about Killian and his background here and it becomes a little spicy meatball at the end. Nothing crazy lol. Thank you so much to @superchocovian for being an AMAZING beta for this story and thank you to @artistic-writer who has made every single awesome piece of art for this story and listened to me whine and fret over it on the daily for nearly a month while looking it over with me and being basically a second beta as well lol. And thanks to you all as well, lovely readers! I love how much you guys are enjoying this story already and I hope it continues to be something y'all like! Here's chapter 5!

Chapter 6

When they wrapped up their meal, Jefferson and Grace both bid them farewell, Jefferson outright refusing the money that Killian tried to leave (taken from his wallet, not the envelope, she’d noticed) and they made their way out into the night. Emma shivered slightly as they reached the car. Killian only unlocked his door, his hand on her back again leading her where he went, dropping the remainder of the bottle of wine in the backseat and unconsciously (or maybe very consciously) giving Emma a great view of his ass. He pulled a jacket free from the backseat and draped it over her shoulders, glancing nervously at her feet.

“What?” she asked, smirking slightly.

“I'm afraid I didn't think this part of our evening through very well. As lovely as those heels are, darling, I don't know if your feet would endure a walk to the docks in them.” He smiled up at her sheepishly. Emma was puzzled. His smile warmed at her confused expression. “I did promise you stargazing, love, and I have some things I want you to know about me as well. In case it should come up, of course.” He winked.

“I'll have you know I've ran in heels quite a few times before. One of the hazards of private investigation,” she retorted in mock indignation, unconsciously snuggling into the leather and spice scent surrounding her. Killian gazed down at her, a soft look overcoming his features as he took in the action. Emma eyed him curiously. “What?” She blinked up at him and he shook his head with a smile.

“Nothing, Swan, I was just lost in thought for a moment,” he said smoothly. Emma didn’t believe him for a second, but he moved on nonetheless. “Well, love, if you feel like your feet are up to it, it’s just a short walk.” He shot her a dazzling smile and placed his hand back on her lower back to guide her.

They walked in comfortable silence towards the pier next to the restaurant, the boats lining the docks all put to bed for the night. It was still relatively early and there were a few other couples like themselves out walking along the waterfront or late boaters finishing up their docking. But it was quiet. Peaceful. Killian’s hands had dropped into his pockets and Emma’s were clasped around her purse, resting against her abdomen. Every now and again, their arms would brush, making Emma feel warm all over. They stopped in front of a boat moored near the end of the docks. Emma looked at Killian in question, but he only smiled and stepped on board, extending a hand to help her up as well.

“So if your car is the Jolly Roger, does this make this the Queen Anne’s Revenge?” Emma teased and Killian pulled a grimace. “Or maybe not.” She laughed outright and his face lit back up at the sound.

“No, definitely not. We would never sully this beautiful lady by associating her with the likes of Blackbeard. This gorgeous ship is the Jewel of the Realm.” He waggled his eyebrows at her and left to dig through a cubby concealed under a nearby bench for something.

Emma looked around. The Jewel of the Realm was a smaller boat compared to those around them, but it was much more well maintained, and its size certainly didn't keep Killian from referring to it as a ship. The rustle of fabric in the night air drew her attention back to Killian. He was finishing smoothing out a worn flannel blanket on the deck, illuminated by nothing except the light of the moon and stars.

“It's awfully dark out here. Are you sure you're not a serial killer?” Her eyes were teasing and she hid a smirk in the jacket still draped around her shoulders.

“If I were, it would be too late for you then, wouldn't it?” He led her to the blanket and sat down, patting the spot beside him. Emma sank down into it, watching him from the side of her eye and folding her legs neatly beneath her.

“Perhaps. Planning to dump my body at sea, are you?” She smiled and looked up at the sky. The stars were bright here away from the city lights, more plentiful than she had ever seen.

“You seem to have it all figured out. Are you sure you're not the serial killer here, love?” He thumbed his bottom lip, hiding a smile of his own. She shrugged.

“For the right price, perhaps I could be,” she replied, paraphrasing his words from their first encounter. He looked shocked for a moment, then gave her a megawatt smile.

“I guess we'll just have to trust one another, won't we?” he said softly and Emma only hummed in response.

Killian watched her looking at the stars for another moment, seemingly enraptured by the moment. His gaze went unnoticed by Emma, her attention only drawn back to him when he stretched dramatically and laid backwards, his head pillowed on his folded arms.

She looked down at him and he glanced pointedly back to the spot beside him, silently urging her to lay with him. She rolled her eyes and shrugged the jacket from her shoulders, folding it and putting it down as a pillow for herself. She shifted to lay flat, her movements greatly exaggerated as if inconvenienced. They both knew she wasn't.

“That there is the North Star. Polaris.” Killian pointed above him, his arm slipping from beneath his head, and Emma turned to follow his line of sight. “It makes up the last star in the constellation of the Little Dipper. And here,” he moved his arm so it extended slightly over his body, Emma's head turning automatically and bumping into his shoulder, “is Orion. You can see the three stars that form his belt.”

“There?” Emma pointed alongside him and Killian reached up to grasp her suspended wrist to adjust her.

“There.” His fingers slipped down over the length of her arm as he released her, causing goosebumps to erupt in their wake. The smug bastard knew exactly what he was doing. Emma scooched over slightly, rolling on her side and propping herself on her elbow, leaving a bit more space between them. Killian didn't lift himself from the deck, but he did turn his face to hers, anticipating whatever it seemed she wanted to say.

“You know a lot about this stuff,” she said.

“Royal Navy, love. You'd be surprised what they still teach there.” He smiled. “Not a lot of money to be made in the service, though. So Liam and I came here after I discharged and… well, after I discharged. Chasing the American Dream and all that.” His gaze took on a far off quality, his expression almost pained.

“Who's Liam? Jefferson asked about him, too, back at the restaurant.”

“He's my brother. My older, more pompous, less handsome, know-it-all brother,” he told her, huffing a small laugh through his nose.

“Sounds like an older brother,” she replied. “Does he know what you do?” she asked after a moment, her words slow and careful. He shook his head no, now rolling onto his side facing her, mirroring her position propped on his elbow.

“No, he doesn't. But I do it entirely for him.” His eyes hardened slightly, his features drawing taut for a moment. Emma was surprised by this and just a little more curious than she should have been.

“You fuck random women for your brother?” she blurted and Killian guffawed a startled laugh.

“God, no, Swan. That part’s for me,” he teased, raking his eyes over her form. Emma sighed heavily and adjusted herself into a sitting position, legs carefully kept closed beneath her skirt, like a proper lady. Mary Margaret would have been so proud. “It's the financial aspect that's for my brother. He had been unwell for a time. Leukemia. He's been in remission two years now, but he was sick for five,” he said, moving to sit beside her.

“I'm so sorry.” She laid a sympathetic hand on Killian's arm as he turned his focus out over the dark water surrounding them. Blindly, he took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles, almost in thanks, before dropping their joined hands into the space between them.

“It was touch and go for a long time. I almost bloody lost him at least twice. It was a miraculous thing that he recovered like he did. I'd already lost my mother that way. It would have killed me to lose him, too. He's the only family I have left since Mum died.” Killian looked lost in thought, his aura bleeding pain and heartbreak as he spoke. Emma shuffled closer to Killian and placed her hand on his shoulder, rubbing small circles over the fabric there. The wind picked up slightly and sea spray misted over the hull of the vessel, making her shiver involuntarily. The corner of Killian's mouth tugged up and he brought his arm around Emma's shoulders, pulling her into his side. Emma tensed at the unexpected action, but she couldn't help but relax as he started to speak again.

“You know, for one of the greatest countries in the world, you Yanks are shit at healthcare costs,” he said, his tone wry but hidden in false jest. “We would have lost everything. But luckily I seem to have found my calling in a profitable field.” The easy smile was back on his face and Emma could see him slipping back into his cocky playboy persona now as simply as if he was changing into a costume. Emma let it go. He didn't push her. She wouldn't push him. She reminded herself that this wasn't personal anyways.

“How do you even get into something like this?” she asked, pulling herself out from under his arm and turning to face him directly to hide the defensive maneuver. His eyes sparked with recognition at the motion anyways, but he said nothing about it, instead answering her question.

“Er, well I happened upon it quite by accident, actually,” he admitted, his hand coming up to scratch behind his left ear, pink blooming over the apples of his cheeks and the pointed tips of his ears.

“You accidentally fell into her vagina? Or she accidentally paid you?” Emma asked on a laugh. Killian gave her a crooked sheepish smile.

“Scenario number two, I'm afraid.” He chuckled. Emma’s head whipped up to meet his, eyes wide in disbelief.

“Oh, this I have to hear. How do you accidentally get paid for sex?” She sat up on her knees, giving him her full attention, and he colored further, now a bright red.

“Well, Liam had just been in chemo for six months at that point. His finances were crumbling and he couldn't work. I moved in to help, but even with my salary working at the cannery and our pensions, we were barely staying afloat. I was out at a bar, sipping the cheapest rum they had, when I saw a woman sitting a few stools down from me,” he said, his fingers coming to lace themselves together in his lap as he folded his legs in front of him. “She was alone. Beautiful. Long dark hair curling around her shoulders. Gorgeous blue grey eyes. She caught me staring and beckoned me over.”

“Geez for an accidental hookup, you sure remember a lot about her.”

“You never forget your first,” he said and Emma swore his eyes blue eyes twinkled with their own mirthful light. “And is that a note of jealousy I hear, Swan?” The edges of those eyes crinkled with his grin.

“You wish.”

“On every star, love. It's alright not to want to share.” He winked.

“Okay, Rico Suave,” she said, her eyes nearly rolling from their sockets. “Continue with how this lady paid you to get out of her bed.”

“Oh, it had nothing to do with my prowess, darling. I'd be willing to give you a demonstration, should you be amenable.” That damn sinful tongue of his swiped over his teeth and toyed with the corner of his mouth. Emma suppressed a shiver at the sight, refusing to let his antics crack her stony facade. She raised an eyebrow at him instead. “No? Well, we'll put a pin in that, then. In any case, this woman. She was older, recently divorced and the recipient of half her wealthy former husband's assets. She requested that I help her get started on spending it. I had twenty dollars to my name and that wasn't nearly enough to drown my sorrows with, so I agreed to keep her company. Plus it didn't hurt that she was easily the most beautiful woman up to that point that I'd ever seen.” He sighed heavily at the memory.

“Bet there's been hundreds more beautiful after her,” Emma said, pushing her now salt frizzed curls over her shoulder.

“None until you,” he replied, catching her gaze and holding it for a moment, only a moment, the intensity of it too much for Emma to bear. She darted her eyes down to where her clutch purse lay next to the blanket they sat on, just to have something to focus on. “Now shush, it's story time.” He grinned at her indignant scowl. “We ended up having a great night together, drinking, flirting, laughing. When we ended back at her flat, I thought we had really hit it off. Until the next morning. By the time I awoke, there was an envelope on the pillow next to me containing quite a bit of cash and a note telling me to see myself out, along with a stern warning that the premises were under surveillance and to refrain from stealing anything.” He chuckled at the memory and Emma even felt a laugh of her own rise up in her throat. But, ridiculous as the story was, Emma's mind was preoccupied with just one tiny detail he'd glossed over.

“How much did she give you?” she asked, curious as to whether or not what she was paying him was sufficient. Killian froze for a moment before frowning exaggeratedly and sweeping his hand through the air dismissively.

“It wasn't much. I make more now,” he admitted, and Emma relaxed slightly. He wouldn't have entertained this charade if it wasn't up to his apparently heightened standards. But his sidestep at an actual amount sent a tingle to the base of her skull, almost an alarm but not quite. “But at the time, it was more money than I'd ever seen for one day's work. It kind of snowballed from there.” He reached up to rub the back of his neck, the redness in his cheeks having dissipated slightly, but not completely receded.

“And your brother doesn't know? He had to have noticed the increase in income. And I'm sure you didn't dress like this at the cannery.” She motioned to his well clad body and he gave a rueful smile in response.

“He thinks I got a promotion to purchasing and sales for the cannery. And that I go on nearly weekly business trips on the weekends,” he murmured, the shame of lying to his brother coloring his words. Emma's heart ached. She knew how it felt, the twisting guilt at lying to family. At least he had a good reason.

Emma's phone beeped loudly from her purse, stealing her attention. She gave Killian an apologetic half smile and retrieved the device from her clutch. It was a picture message from Ruby.

Henry lay on the couch next to her, wrapped up in his superhero jammies and a thin fuzzy blanket, head in Ruby's lap.

Down for the count! Hope you're having a good night! Do NOT interrupt your date to reply to this. Henry is fine.

Another ding.

And your apartment is empty so…

Emma's face wrinkled in confusion at the multitude of emojis that followed the text that appeared to be… an eggplant?

“Are you reading a text or trying to solve a Rubik’s cube?” Killian asked, amusement in his voice once again.

“It's Ruby. I think her phone did something weird because she sent me this,” Emma showed him the text. Killian's brows shot up nearly to his hairline and he laughed, a deep, rich belly laugh. Emma was more confused than ever.

“Uhh…” Killian seemed lost for words and he reached up to scratch at his ear again. “I believe she's implying that we should have relations, love. That's intended to indicate…” he trailed off and then made a circling motion with his hand in the general direction of his, well, eggplant. Emma's eyes widened and she felt a rush of blood flow into her face (and she would have been lying if she said it only went to her face).

“Oh,” was all she could manage in her embarrassed haze. Killian chuckled again, the laughter stifled by his thumb and that only served to turn Emma's embarrassment into irritation. “Well I'm sorry I'm not the sexpert here,” she snapped. Killian looked absolutely thrilled with the title she'd bestowed upon him.

“Sexpert? I think I rather prefer that. Maybe I should have new business cards made,” he teased and Emma groaned, hoisting herself back onto her knees. Killian moved swiftly to stand and offered her a hand to help her up. “Maybe we should get you home. Back to your empty apartment.” His smile was absolutely filthy and Emma tried to take a step back as she stood and stumbled, causing Killian to reach out on reflex and catch her around the waist, their torsos now pressed against one another. “Well it's about bloody time,” he purred dipping his head. Emma put her hand on Killian's chest and pushed off of him, gently disentangling herself from his grip.

“I tripped,” she pointed out, smoothing out the skirt of her dress and retrieving her clutch. “But we agree on one thing. I do need to get home. It's getting late.” Killian nodded his agreement and began to clean up.

Once the blanket was stowed away and the leather jacket was safely back on her shoulders (his doing, of course), Killian helped her from the boat and led her back to his car. Emma's feet were finally starting to feel the strain of the evening, even with the temporary respite aboard the boat. He opened the passenger door, mimicking his bow from the start of this outing and Emma slipped behind it with a smile. She found she was much more comfortable with the gentleman, even if the scoundrel made her come alive inside. She stiffened and reinforced the walls around her heart against that notion.

The drive to her apartment building was mostly silent. When they parked, she opened her own door before he could make it around the car, and he gave her an adorable pout, but offered his arm all the same. She wasn't expecting him to walk her up, but she appreciated the gesture. As they approached her door on the fourth floor, awkward uncertainty began to set in. He had kissed her once before. Was he going to again? Emma wasn't entirely sure that would be a bad thing.

No, she thought to herself. Business.

“I had a wonderful evening with you, Swan,” he said, and Emma turned to face him, back to her door. A small smile tugged at her lips, his sincere gaze prompting her honest response.

“I actually had a good time as well. For a business dinner.” One of her shoulders lifted in a lighthearted shrug. Killian stepped closer to her, and Emma swallowed involuntarily as his cologne filtered back into her senses.

“Well I had to make sure you got your money’s worth somehow, didn’t I, love? What with the aubergine being off the menu,” he quipped and Emma slapped his shoulder.

“You’re damn right it is,” she retorted, beginning to turn around to unlock her door. Killian’s hand on her waist stopped her halfway and turned her back to him. Before she could say anything, or respond in any way, he was bending down and pressing a firm kiss to her cheek, just glancing the corner of her mouth. Surprise warred with offense in her brain before she settled on something akin to disappointment. “Uh, right. Good night then,” she said, turning and unlocking her door more smoothly than she thought she was capable of and shutting it behind her. She pressed her back against the wood, and took a deep breath. It was good to be home.

One of the good things about her son not being home was she didn’t have to worry about leading by example. That’s how her shoes ended up scattered across the floor and her clutch ended up on the floor next to the table. She made her way into the kitchen barefoot, pulling bobby pins from her hair and leaving them in a heap on the counter and fluffing her wavy blonde locks free as they came out of their confines. The rose from earlier sat in tall glass of water on the surface, making Emma's stomach twist. She was about to get herself a glass of water when an insistent knock sounded at the door. Emma groaned. Elsa must have seen her come home and wanted to talk about her evening. She wasn’t even sure how she felt about the sham date; she definitely didn’t want to talk about it with anyone else.

She swung the door open and the words she had planned to unleash died in her throat as her eyes landed on someone who was very obviously not Elsa.

“Killian? Did you need something else?" she asked, mind flitting through her memories of the evening in case she'd forgotten something.

“Just one thing,” he said, a steely determination in his gaze. And then he surged at her, burying one hand in her hair and wrapping his other arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him as he sealed his mouth over hers. She could only cling to his collar for dear life as he opened her mouth with a nudge of his scruff covered chin and plunged his tongue inside to taste and massage every inch of it like it was the last kiss he would ever have. Emma felt like she had burst into flame and before she knew it, her arms had come up to wind around his neck and she was kissing him back just as fervently.

Something close to a growl worked its way out of his throat and he pivoted her so she was pressed tightly between the wall of her entryway and the hard lines of his body. He continued to kiss her, intoxicating her senses so much she could barely keep up. She had never been kissed like this in all of her twenty seven years on the planet. They clung tightly to one another, her fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck and his fingertips digging into her ribcage from behind her.

He slowed his kisses, until he was just feathering his lips over hers, his hand slid from her hair to cup her cheek and his other loosely palming the curve of her waist now. She slid her knee down the length of his leg until her foot rested on the floor again, though she wasn’t sure when she’d hooked it around his thigh. They were both breathing in each other's air, panting like they'd run a marathon.

“Good night, Swan,” he breathed, only slightly more than a murmur against her lips. He planted one more soft but lingering kiss on her mouth and finally pulled away, leaving Emma completely dumbfounded in his wake. He smiled one last pleased (and slightly wrecked) smile at her before seeing himself back out the still open door, shutting it behind him.

Emma stayed where she was for minutes after he left in stunned silence, her back firmly pressed against the wall as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. It probably was. After a few moments, her knees had stopped shaking enough that she could push off the surface and walked in a trance to her room.

She walked around the space as if on autopilot, stripping her dress off and leaving it where it lay. She changed into an old ratty t-shirt and some pajama pants and climbed into bed, simply staring at the ceiling. The scene played over and over in her head and her fingers drifted up to skim over her lips on their own volition. Then it finally sunk in what had just happened.

Killian Jones had returned to her apartment specifically to kiss the holy hell out of her. She wasn't sure if she was angry or smitten. As soon as the notion popped in her head, she settled on angry. That emotion was one she could handle. The other, not so much.

He was about to get an earful.

She looked at her bedside table and realized that for the second time, after her second night in his company, she'd forgotten her phone in her purse. There was no way she was getting out of bed to get it now.

He would get an earful tomorrow.

[readyplayerhobi]

A Constellation Of Fires | 01

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Angst, fluff, future smut

; Word Count: 12k

; Warnings: Mentions of scarring

; Synopsis: Vulcan Industries, a titan in the world of technological inventions that have helped humanity progress. Despite its influence though, their CEO remains a mystery to the world, content to simply invent in the shadows. That is, until a journalist uncovers the mystery that connects a simple car mechanic to the technology giant.

; Greek Gods Series

Hades; Poseidon; Zeus; Hephaestus; Artemis; Athena; Ares;

01 | 02

-

“Excitement today as Vulcan Industries revealed its newest product, a revolutionary mobile phone that incorporates ful 3D holograms. The surprising reveal far exceeds what industry experts had been predicting and represents a huge leap in technological advancements, with Vulcan Industries highlighting that a subsection unit has been developed directly for the health industry, allowing for completely sterile interactions with patient files and more.

 “Industry analysts are reporting that Vulcan Industries stocks have risen by 5% at the news that has sent shockwaves through the technology industry.” Sitting back in your uncomfortable office chair, the back long since broken on it meaning it was at an odd angle which often caused back ache, you eyed your laptop as the perfectly coiffed woman read out the hottest news story in a while.

 Accompanied with the news anchors voice was footage of the reveal, taken at a news conference at the Vulcan Industries headquarters in Northern California. It was justifiably awe inspiring, watching the assistant bring out a mobile phone and with a few button presses, everything on the screen leapt up into the air and was projected perfectly, from documents to a few basic games Vulcan had created.

 After this, those attending were invited to play around with the holograms, moving things around and flipping through screens by simply flicking their fingers in the air. It boggled your mind how they’d done it, and you had no doubt that it was boggling every other industry as well. This was truly science fiction technology that was only ever seen in film or on shows, but what did anyone expect from Vulcan Industries?

 They’d always been decades ahead of everyone else, all thanks to their mysterious CEO who was credited with the biggest inventions they created. While they had plenty of inventors who had produced hundreds of smaller technological advancements, such as the latest in television screens and so forth, it was the reclusive CEO who created the biggest news worthy inventions.

 Every piece of technology created had an original purpose for a certain industry, such as this 3D hologram technology being created to allow medical staff in hospitals and laboratories across the world to use screens without having to touch anything, allowing for 100% sterile technology.

 The medical holograms were also being used in conjunction with current Vulcan technology found in hospitals that allowed for completely 3D scans of bodies, allowing doctors and surgeons to view breaks or tumours and so forth. With the addition of holograms, surgeons could now overlay the scan above a person during a surgery and provide real time imaging of what was happening.

 Modifying the technology for mobile phones was simply a way to bring it to the general population, allowing this to fund the larger scale productions. The sheer genius and skills of the Vulcan CEO made him, or her, a very wanted person and yet they shunned the limelight, allowing others in the company to take over.

 Even in depth searches into the history of the company, or rooting through legal documents about the companies ownership, simply resulted in pseudonyms such as Hope Justice or Heff Jackson, making the hermit-like CEO one of the biggest mysteries in the world.

 It’s only when you register your boss calling your name that your attention is diverted, leading you to poking your head up over the top of the section divider and looking into his glass fronted office. He gestures towards you, signalling that he wants to talk with you.

 Grabbing your notebook and a pen, you lock your screen before shuffling into his office. Hopefully this isn’t getting your ass reamed out for failing to land the big scoop about Vulcan Industries, he’d put you on the job months ago when the rumblings that they had something big incoming began.

 But really, this wasn’t your fault. Literally no one saw this coming, not even the other tech companies. Vulcan hadn’t even been rumoured to be experimenting with holograms, the last you’d heard was some rumours about satellites that would generate solar power and somehow feed it back to Earth. It made your brain hurt and from the sounds of it, made the experts brains hurt too.

 Nodding your head to Donghae, you quickly sit yourself in the chair opposite him and open your notebook ready to jot down any notes that are important. He’s quiet for a moment, his eyes focused on the large flat screen situated on some drawers to your right. It’s on the same news channel you’d been watching, the sound silenced while subtitles pop up a few seconds after the anchor speaks.

 It’s still showing the new Vulcan announcement and your stomach sinks slightly. Your ass is going to be chapped by the time you leave here; you just know it. Donghae hates being late on the news.

 “Donghae, I’m really sorry that I didn’t catch this. I’ll try harder next time I swear, I think I have an in with the company now-“ Your pre-emptive apology gets stopped though when he lifts up a hand, a contemplative look on his face.

 “It doesn’t matter, it’s already done now. And quite clearly Vulcan had this shit on lockdown; I doubt anyone got wind of this happening,” he rubs his chin slowly before leaning back, the cushy executive chair cushioning his back as it squeaks slightly from his weight. “But I think we need to change gears. Instead of focusing on the company, maybe we should try and focus on the person behind the scenes.”

 Your eyes widen as you look back up at him, shock clearly evident on every inch of your face. “Are you kidding? Go after the CEO? Literally no one has ever gotten close, what makes you think I could get anywhere near?” He was deluded if he thought you could get this answer.

 “You’re my best investigative journalist, you already said that you have an inside mole in the company right? Work it, find out who it is. I have faith in you.” You’re not entirely sure why he has faith in you. If you couldn’t find out that Vulcan was developing hologram technology, how on earth where you going to find out whom the elusive CEO was?

 “If you do it, this will be the expose of the century. Everyone across the world would want this scoop. Even better, I’ll give you a 7k pay rise and a 10k bonus if you get this. Your job would be more than secure forever.” He leans forward and rests his chin on his entwined fingers, mouth turning up in a smile that you’re positive he thinks is persuasive, but instead is coming off slightly sinister.

 You freeze for a moment before answering, hesitant and unsure suddenly. Unveiling the CEO of Vulcan Industries was as juicy a news story as any journalist could ever hope for and it would propel your career skyward, but at the same time your morals were arguing with each other fervently.

 The devil on your right shoulder was pointing out that you were a journalist, it was your job to uncover news and the stories that people wanted to keep hidden. The CEO’s identity was news that the world was desperate to know.

 But the angel on your left was vehemently pointing out that people had a right to privacy, and the CEO had quite clearly asked for that by making it so hard to find out who they were. It’s with more than a little shame that the journalist in you won out, deciding silently to yourself that it was unfair for this crazy rich and talented individual to stay unheralded when there were likely thousands, if not millions, of people worldwide who would love to thank the mystery inventor for improving or saving their lives.

 Besides, it’s not like they’ve done a crime or anything right?

 “Okay, I’ll work on it. No time frame though; this might take a long time. And I might never find out so don’t get annoyed if I produce nothing.” Donghae nods and a sly grin spreads on his face, letting you know that he’s already thinking of the fame and dollars that will come his way if you succeed.

 On the other hand, you leave his office feeling slightly sick from a guilt you can’t push away. Taking one last glance at the television screen playing the news, you swallow thickly as you pray that you’ve made the right choice.

  It was a good job that you’d made it clear to Donghae that it might take a while, as seven months later you’ve still found almost nothing. Your mole in the company is proving to be distinctly unhelpful, telling you that the CEO doesn’t even visit the headquarters and instead has video conferences with the Board of Directors and any communication is sent through his assistant, who serves as his proxy in the building.

 You have found out however, that it would seem like the abstract boss is apparently completely uninterested in how the company is run except that it’s run in the interest of the people. The employees have ridiculous benefits, even by Californian company standards. Even the cleaners are given top-of-the-line premium healthcare and dental and each person is given at least 10 stocks of the company that can be sold once they leave.

 Employees with children are given a college fund with $20,000 in it for each child and if an employee dies, their family is paid their salary plus 50% for ten years. Honestly, it makes you think that you’re in the wrong job.

 Not only that, but the company was obligated to give 10% of all profits to charity, with 10 charities chosen each year by their employees across the world. It had been a leader in adopting full scale recycling and trying to turn completely green, all at the behest of the CEO.

 If you weren’t trying to uncover their identity, you’d be in awe of them in all honesty. But it’s after these long months that you finally make a break through when your mole informs you that all company owned vehicles have to be serviced at a specific car shop.

 The shop is in some little throwaway town about two hours away from the headquarters near the mountains, which confused you initially. Surely the company had a whole host of mechanics that could work on them? But apparently not, which immediately made you wonder what made this little shop so special, particularly as it didn’t even have a website or anything.

 After informing Donghae of your discovery, he allows you to leave to do some further investigation into the car shop, which is how you find yourself standing outside an old looking, but incredibly clean and well-maintained garage. It’s quiet outside, with no cars passing by and from your position in the car park, standing next to your piece of crap car; you can see that there’s a respectable looking house hidden down a road behind the garage.

 The mechanic must live there as well, indicating that this place must be his, or her, pride and joy. Fingers tightening on the strap of your bag, you move towards the door that enters into a little waiting area, blue plastic chairs looking well used but more than serviceable.

 Plain white walls surround you, decorated with diagrams of cars and a couple of posters of some supercars. There’s a few magazines piled haphazardly on a low table in the centre, the contents ranging from cars to beauty to nature, ensuring that they cater for a wide audience.

 There’s a counter to your left with a bookcase piled high with files behind it. A dark green door next to this no doubt leads through to the garage, through which you can hear a radio playing music loudly, the beats loud and pounding to the extent that you can feel the vibrations from here.

 On the counter is an old school bell, which causes your eyebrow to rise in disbelief as you look from it to the door. How the hell is anyone supposed to hear that tiny ass thing when it sounds like Glastonbury is playing next door?

 Still, you walk over and bring your hand down on the little bell with amusement, the little chime sounding loud to you but unless the mechanic has the ears of a bat then it’s useless.

 You’re immediately proven a fool though when the music cuts out in the garage behind the door and a female voice that sounds ever so slightly robotic calls out clearly over the speakers.

 “Customer waiting.”

 Looking down at the bell with surprise, you look it over for any wires that may be connecting it to some system. For a moment you think this is all just a little big high tech for a tiny mechanics shop in the middle of nowhere, but then you remember that this is the chosen place to repair all the cars of Vulcan Industries.

 And from what you’ve learnt, their cars are the crème de la crème of the car world, just like every other industry they enter. They’d succeeded with the first self-driving, eco-friendly cars to be approved for sale. Given the amount of tech that goes into their cars, it should only make sense that they likely pay this mechanic by the bucket loads.

 He or she’s probably got more than a few things that are probably at the cutting edge of technology back in there, all courtesy of Vulcan Industries.

 The door opens finally, giving you a glimpse of what looks to be a standard car garage, with a black Vulcan Fuego sedan currently up in the air on a stand to allow a mechanic underneath without worry of injury. Industrial sized brackets are held up against the wall, with tubs of car parts stashed in each one and even from here you can see that they are all carefully labelled.

 What little you can see soon vanishes though as a man walks through the door, head down as he focuses on cleaning his hands with a grease soaked rag. Clad in a t-shirt that you’re sure was white once but is instead now a grimy grey that is streaked with lubricant and black jeans that you’re sure are used to hide the stains he gains constantly.

 His feet are firmly placed into a pair of grubby and scuffed brown work boots, no doubt with a steel toe in each to try and prevent, or at least offset, any injuries that could potentially happen. Throwing the towel over his shoulder back into the garage, the mystery mechanic finally looks up and you find yourself feeling rather like the towel, thrown for a loop.

 Black hair that is subtly highlighted with red shines in the artificial lighting that has been designed to simulate sunlight, messy and wild as if he’s been running his fingers through it constantly in frustration. Some of the strands are stuck together, partially from the car oil and grease that patterns his arms like a mechanics camouflage and partially from the sweat that is currently running down his face and neck.

 This region of California is currently experiencing a heat wave, and a physically intensive job like a car mechanic is bound to be even worse in these kinds of conditions, no matter how fancy your garage is.

 It’s as he wipes away the wet strands, simultaneously streaking grime across his forehead with the back of his hand as he does so, that you get a good look at his face. A strong and sharp jawline led up to prominent cheekbones that make you think of some of the most famous statues in history, only they pale when compared to this ethereal beauty found in a car garage of all places.

 As he turns his head to close the door behind him, you get a glimpse of an arresting side profile that is dominated by a sloping nose, turned up slightly towards the tip. It’s as he turns back around that you see it sits firmly in the centre of two warm eyes, their shade so unusual that you find yourself staring without meaning to.

 Around the outer iris is a rich brown, reminding you of mahogany almost with the reddish tint, which then bleeds into a vibrant hazel in the centre that makes you think of a wolf.

 You’ve never been able to see someone’s eye colour so clearly before, particularly with dark coloured eyes but here he is with eyes that demand attention. He has gentle eyes, you decide, gentle and soft but more than a little wary despite the bright smile that takes over his face at the sight of a potential customer.

 Reaching out towards you, he offers his hand in greeting. “Hello, sorry about that, music makes it easier to work.  I’m Jung Hoseok, I own this place and I’m also the head mechanic. Do you need some work doing on your car?”

 Taking his hand, your gaze is brought down to his arms and you can see immediately why he’s so wary despite his welcoming grin and effervescent personality.

 His arms are currently bare, the skin almost glimmering with a thin sheen of sweat and veins prominent amongst muscles that speak of hard work and effort. But along his right arm is a prominent scar, pale against the darkened gold of his tanned skin, the shape of which indicates to you it was caused by fire or at the very least something very hot.

 His hands and various points of his left arm also feature various scarring, and along the left side of his face from his cheekbone down to his throat is rough tissue that has long since healed. While he gives no indication of acknowledgement about the scars except for the hand he’s not holding out fisting slightly, it’s the hesitance in his kind eyes that gives away that he’s likely been treated badly because of this before.

 Pulling your eyes quickly from his arms, you flush lightly with embarrassment and can’t help but wince in shame at being caught staring by him as you turn your attention to the counter between the two of you. You haven’t even said hello to the guy and you’re being unbelievably rude and insensitive.

 “Oh er, yeah I think…maybe yeah. It’s been making this…rattling noise lately and I was just passing by and saw the sign and thought…maybe I should get it checked.” He’s let go of your hand now, crossing his arms over his chest in what you feel is protection but accidentally drags your eyes to the bulge of his biceps.

 Christ, you’re here on the hunt for a story not to eye-fuck the, admittedly insanely attractive, mechanic.

 Biting his lip between his teeth as his eyes run over the ceiling in concentration, he releases it slowly with a sigh that leaves you staring at the now wet, soft skin. You’re pulled away from the sheer distraction that was the pure visuals of this guy when he pulls out a phone from his pocket and lays it on the desk just below the counter.

 Any sight to his phone is lost as he does so and you don’t give it much more thought, figuring he’s probably checking out some information. That is until you hear a soft chime and suddenly the air in between the two of you is displaying what looks to be a calendar for the day with various time slots filled in.

 For him, the image is perfect but you’re seeing a mirrored version, meaning all the text is backwards. With a casual confidence that lets you know he’s more than well versed in this, totally brand new not even out on the market yet as Vulcan was still hyping it up, technology, he uses two fingers to move around some of the times as he re-organises his schedule.

 “Okay, I can take a look now for you if you’d like? I don’t know if I’ll find anything but it can’t hurt to look.” With his entire hand flat, he swipes downwards in a fluid motion and the holograms disappear with another gentle chime.

 He’s looking at you expectantly, his mesmeric face of perfect proportions open and honest, while you’re stuck staring at where his phone is. Leaning forward, you catch a glimpse of the sleek, black device and to you, it looks exactly like the newest phone Vulcan has released, the VU8.

 “Oh my god, isn’t that the new hologram tech from Vulcan? How have you…how did you? Holy shit that was so fucking cool!” You blurt out, internally cringing immediately at how you just sound like a fangirl of 12 instead of a journalist of 29.

 Hoseok flushes lightly, his tanned skin being brushed with soft pink before he ducks his head and pockets the phone quickly. “Ah, yeah. It is. I fix a lot of the cars for their stock fleet and they asked me to test one out ages ago. It’s pretty useful.”

 His voice trails off and it’s patently clear that he’s uncomfortable about the conversation. You tamper down your excitement when you figure that it’s because he’s currently holding tech that no one else in the world has commercially yet.

 As you hand him your car keys and watch him leave, totally not admiring the flex of his thighs as he crouches next to your car, that was old 20 years ago, to give it a quick look over and most definitely not letting out a little groan when he bends over the engine which allows his jeans to mould perfectly to his ass, you wonder what makes this mechanics garage so important.

 Not only do they have the exclusive contract to fixing all of the cars that Vulcan own on the West Coast, but also the owner is deemed important enough that he gets access to one of the most impressive feats of technology realised in the last few years? No, there’s something going on here and you’re going to figure it out. The eye candy outside is just a bonus.

 Tugging your eyes from his physique, you run them along the waiting room one more time. It looks perfectly normal, perhaps a little too clean for a car garage but there’s nothing that screams why he’s so important.

 In fact, after wandering around a little and giving everything a much more closer perusal, including the files that you can see from your position, you realise that there is zero reference to anything from Vulcan Industries here.

 The glass door opening causes you to jump away from the counter, hands flying behind your back in what you’re 100% positive is not a suspicious manoeuvre, as Hoseok makes his way inside. Thankfully he wasn’t paying attention as he was more focused on wiping away some sweat off his brow; the sun was brutal today.

 Pointing behind him, his face twists in apology. “I’m really sorry, I could only do a quick visual scan and see what the engine sounds like. I couldn’t hear anything but I don’t have time to take a closer look at the moment as I have a car up in the garage that’s going to be collected in an hour.”

 Your hands are immediately gesturing out towards him in a placating manner while your own expression mirrors his apologetic one.

 “No, no it’s totally fine. It might just be something in the back rattling around, it hasn’t killed me yet right?” Giving a nervous giggle, you wonder desperately how you’re supposed to find out more information about this place if you don’t have an excuse to hang around more.

 “No way, I can’t let you drive that if you’re hearing noises from it. If something happened to you now because of it then I’d feel like it was my fault for being lazy. If it’s okay with you, you can leave it here overnight and I’ll give it a closer look at the end of the day? Should be ready tomorrow morning for you?” Well, it looks like Hoseok has given you the excuse you needed. Maybe there’s a god of journalism looking out for you or something.

 “Really? You’d do that? I mean I can pay extra if you want if it’s out of your normal work time.” Reaching into your bag, you rummage around for your wayward purse, ready to pull out the credit card. Immediately Hoseok is rushing over, a gentle hand pushing the purse back into your bag and you’re swallowing thickly at how close he is.

 If he was beautiful from afar, then he’s a vision sent from the heavens up close. He stands a whole head taller than you, which leaves you staring at his broad, toned chest until you’re shyly lifting your head to look into his unique eyes. If he wanted to, he could rest his chin neatly on your head.

 There’s a moment of silence between the two of you, the distance so minimal that you can feel his breathe on your skin with every exhale and smell the mint of the gum he’d been chewing, until he suddenly seems to realise your positions when he catches your eyes flickering over his face.

 He moves a few steps back quickly, turning his face from you. You think he was embarrassed because of how close you were, but it’s only as he brings up a hand to cover his cheek that you realise he’s mistaken your appreciation for his exquisite face for ogling of his scars.

 It makes you want to reach out in turn and gently pull his hand down, but you make no move. He’s obviously not comfortable with it and you don’t want to bring attention to something when his body is literally radiating tension right now.

 “It’s fine, you don’t have to pay anything extra. Just knowing you’re not going to potentially die is more than enough.” His words, slightly mumbled through his hand, bring a warmth to your stomach that takes a moment to fight with the guilt of knowing you’re going to investigate and potentially use this sweet and helpful guy.

 “Okay, if you’re sure about this? I saw a motel a little up the road so I’ll go check if they have vacancies. Do you need my number to contact me?” While you’re fully aware that he would need your number for work purposes, there’s an embarrassingly large part of you that is hoping he might use it for other purposes too.

 Scolding yourself internally, you try to shake yourself out of it. You can’t be hoping that this incredibly attractive yet sweet guy might get bored and want a booty call or something. Particularly not while you’re also intending to look closer into him. Ethics, remember the ethics.

 It’s much easier to remember ethics when they don’t look like a god come to life.

 Still, it’s hard to follow that line of thought when a look of such worry crosses over his face. “A motel? You’re not from round here? Oh I feel terrible, send me the bill and I’ll pay it. It’s my fault that I’m making you stay a night.”

 He’s scurrying behind the counter and you hear the sounds of stuff being moved around, before he’s suddenly lifting up a business card with a grin that tells you he’s currently yelling ‘A-HA!’ in his head. Turning to you, he holds it out and once you’ve got hold of it, he’s tapping the surface.

 Looking down at the card, you see that it’s pure white with the black and red logo of a volcano taking centre stage. Below that is the name of the garage, Vesuvius Mechanics, in elegant script. Underneath all this is his name, Jung Hoseok, along with a mobile number.

 “Tell Manny at the desk at the motel to bill it to me, show him this and he’ll understand. Oh err, can you write your number down for me? I’ll contact you tomorrow once it’s done. I swear I’ll try and do it fast.” Placing his card slowly into the card section in your purse, you can’t help but give him a smile.

 You’re half expecting him to offer his spare room with how much he’s going out of his way, and it makes the mystery of why one of the richest and most influential companies in the world goes to this affable mechanic who you feel would give the shirt of his back if you asked.

 Or at least find you a clean shirt that wasn’t covered in sweat and stains.

 “It’s okay Hoseok, honestly. I’m going to be in town for a few weeks anyway for my job. I’m a writer and I’m looking for some inspiration to break my block so, I’d be paying for the motel anyway.” He pauses at that, hand reaching behind his neck to rub it awkwardly.

 “Oh, well maybe you should try renting somewhere instead? The motel is great for one night but it gets pretty expensive you know. I can give you a list of people who would be willing to rent if you want. It’s a small community here but everyone’s happy to help if they can.” If they’re all like Jung Hoseok then you fully believe him.

 “Okay, I’ll look tonight. Thanks for your help, and I’m sorry if it turns out there is nothing wrong it and I’ve wasted your time.” You start heading back to the door, strangely unwilling to leave the magnetic pull of him but fully aware you need to otherwise it’s going to start getting weird.

 Leaning a hip against the counter, Hoseok gives another heart stopping grin to you as he lifts a hand in goodbye. “It’s fine, honest. I’m a mechanic; it’s kind of my job right?”

 Laughing, you nod your head in agreement and wave goodbye to him as well. Outside of the air-conditioned glory of the waiting room, the sun immediately begins to make you sweat from the oppressive heat that beats down and you let out a deep breath slowly, rolling your neck and shaking your shoulders.

 It’s only when you’re dragging your suitcase down the road to the motel, mentally cursing the fact that today had decided to feel like the inside of a volcano, when you suddenly realise you’re still smiling. Glancing back at the unobtrusive garage, the white walls gleaming in the sunlight, you tell yourself that it’s because you’re managed to finally get a break in your investigation and that the feeling in your stomach is because you’re onto something.

 It has nothing to do with the incredibly sweet man with the body physique of an Adonis, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he’d spent the entire conversation with oil streaked over his cheek like a kid. No, it didn’t.

  The motel had been adequate, quite possibly everything one might expect a motel to be. Unsurprisingly, it had been mostly empty and you’d even been able to pick your room. Given the choice of car park or car park, you weren’t sure why they bothered.

 It had taken exactly ten minutes for you to realise you would be taking Hoseok up on his offer of helping you to rent a room somewhere.

 You’d been half convinced that sleeping on the floor would have been more forgiving on your back than the rock that was masquerading as a bed. Not to mention the Wi-Fi that had been so poor it had taken 5 minutes to load up one page. No, this simply wouldn’t work, and for a small motel in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere California, the price of a room was extortionate.

 Which was why you found yourself walking back over to the garage in the morning, after taking a quick detour at the little family run café, which had the best bacon and perfectly seasoned eggs you’d ever eaten in your life. The early morning sun was still warm, but there was a cool breeze that was flowing down from the far off mountain range.

 Lifting your head up to the gentle rays of sun, you paused for a moment before inhaling deeply. As someone who had lived in a city your entire life, the crisp and clean smell of the countryside felt both refreshing and revitalising. You loved the city, but the hustle and bustle could be too much sometimes and you fully understood why people would give that up to come somewhere like this.

 This was the kind of place that you could imagine people raising families in on those homey television shows, sending their kids to sports games and just living the suburban dream or something. Part of that made you shrink in horror at the sameness of everything but then another part of you wondered whether it would be nice to grow up here.

 The relative normalness of this tiny town, with its two main streets and family run stores made it even stranger as to why one of the biggest and most influential companies in the world chose to send their cars here. In towns like this, you could almost forget that cities exist at all.

 Opening your eyes, you let a little smile at the bright blue sky before taking in the garage in front of you. The big door that led into the actual garage itself was up and open as you walked closer, allowing you to see inside the workshop.

 It was incredibly clean; with the stone floors swept and only old oil stains that are likely impossible to remove marring it. White walls could be seen on all three sides with metal shelving everywhere, each shelf neatly segmented into boxes that contained certain parts and labelled clearly.

 There was no car up on the mechanism today, instead there was a Vulcan car parked in the centre of the garage with its hood up, revealing the complex engine interior that kept the car going. What surprised you though, was the group of teenagers standing in front of the car, peering inside as Hoseok points at something.

 “This is where you check the oil okay? Why is it important to check the oil in a car?” He asked, his voice kind but stern. It was only then that you noticed that there was an older woman sat off to the side, her face buried in a magazine and you realised that this must be a class from the local school.

 A gangly teenager with dark skin lifted his hand up and Hoseok nodded towards him encouragingly. “If you’re out of oil then it can damage the engine right?” The mechanic grinned and nodded, lifting up the oil stick for them to look at.

 “Yes that’s right. Consider the oil in your car like the blood in your veins. If you don’t have enough of it, your body can’t work properly. It’s exactly the same with the oil in a car. So, when you’re checking the oil you want to make sure that your car is turned off and the engine is cold, that’s purely for safety as you could burn yourself otherwise.” He went on to show them the entire inner workings of the engine and how to check for themselves before getting them to check.

 You simply watched from just outside the door, feeling slightly creepy and stalker-ish but maintaining to yourself that you were just waiting for him to finish so you could talk to him. He was nice to watch anyway, with a very calming aura that was patient with the teenager’s questions, even when they started making dumb jokes like kids their age do. He just took them with a gentle smile.

 Once they were finished, he said goodbye to each one by name before shaking the hand of the older woman who’d finally deigned to involve herself in the situation. “Thank you Mr Jung, we appreciate these visits and it gets the kids out of the classroom which they love you know?” He nodded his head in acknowledgement before coming over to the door to watch them off.

 You’d slid to the side as he’d started to come over, part of you hoping that he hadn’t seen you. That hope vanished pretty soon as he stood there, arms crossed and gaze on the group as they made their way to where you assume the high school was. A quick sideways glance told you that the corner of his mouth with lifted in an amused smile. He let the moment carry on a little longer before finally inhaling.

 “Did you enjoy the lesson then?” He asked, tone light and innocent with just a hint of mischief involved. Shoulders slumping, you turn to him and shrug slightly, the movement causing the strap of your top to fall over. Pulling it back up, you eye him for a moment.

 Hoseok looks almost exactly like yesterday, only not nearly as warm as he’d been. He seems to exude waves of contentment in the early morning sun before he finally turns his intense gaze to you, unique eyes causing a subtle shudder to run through your body.

 “I came over to see if my car was done and you were busy, so I just waited. Happened to catch the lesson too.” Watching you for a few moments, he licks his lips before shrugging himself, turning back into the garage and heading over to where your car is parked up.

 “Okay, I hope you learnt something then. In case you’re wondering, every year I give the kids who are learning to drive a lesson on the engine of a car to make sure they’re educated and going to be aware of how to take care of a car. A lot of people don’t know anything about their cars except to press the gas and the brake, but cars require far more care than that.” He runs a hand along the hood of your own black car, fingers trailing gentle over the dent that’s been there since you’ve owned it.

 “That’s nice of you. You were good with them, for a bunch of teenagers there was surprisingly little push back.” A grin spreads along his face slowly, white teeth becoming visible as his face begins to light up. His tongue pushes into the side of his cheek for a moment before he’s biting his lip.

 “They’re good kids and I try to make it interesting. Plus they’re pretty happy at not being in a classroom right?” Silence falls between the two of you, surprisingly not awkward before he’s clearing his throat.

 “So, I put your car up last night and checked it over. Do you find when you’re braking that it feels like it’s vibrating more? Or the brakes squeal?” He asks almost casually and for a moment you’re trying to remember what excuse you’d given him yesterday.

 “Err yeah they squeal occasionally but, don’t all brakes do that? Mine’s always done that.” You’re not entirely sure why he’s asking this, but you’d be the first person to admit that you know nothing about cars.  You just get in yours and start driving, and given that you live in a city you don’t drive very often.

 Hoseok is quiet for a moment before looking at you incredulously, his eyebrow raised high. “No, brakes most definitely do not squeal all the time. Your brake pads are almost worn through, that’s very dangerous. They could wear through completely and then you’re at risk of not braking, which can lead to accidents obviously. Your car is too old to have warning sensors so it’s no surprise you didn’t know though.”

 For a moment you’re standing there in confusion. You’d made up the issue on your car but it turns out that there actually is one? This is like that time that you pretended to have an illness in high school only it turns out when your mom took you to the doctors, you actually had a chest infection.

 “Wait there’s something actually wrong with it? Like genuinely wrong?” Your shocked tone causes him to raise his other eyebrow before squinting at you suspiciously.

 “Yeah there is, and it needs to get fixed. Unfortunately, I don’t have any free slots until two days from now. I’m getting a bunch of cars in that have priority. I’m really sorry.” He holds his hands up in apology, expression open and remorseful.

 “Oh, okay well, that’s fine. I mean I need to be in town anyway right so I guess I don’t need my car? I was coming over to ask about those rooms you know are for rent as well. The motel is okay for a few nights but I don’t think I want to stay longer you know?” You’re smiling at him shyly suddenly, pushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear before realising you’re acting like the teenagers he was teaching.

 He doesn’t seem to notice though as he immediately springs into action, heading over to a worktable pushed up against the side of the garage that is piled high with papers, binders and more. If the waiting room is clean and tidy, then his desk is just a concentrated pile of mess.

 Hoseok grabs his phone from under a stack of papers and walks back over, his stride long and loping with the confidence of a man who is comfortable in his own skin. At odds with how he reacts sometimes. Fingers flying across the screen, your own phone soon starts to ping in your bag causing you to pull it out.

 A message from an unknown number pop up on your screen and it doesn’t take a genius to work out its Hoseok. Opening the message up, you see a bunch of names and numbers pop up.

 It’s only a few seconds later that you register surprise at the fact he’s apparently saved your number, but maybe he saves all his clients numbers for quick communication in the future. Or maybe it’s some fancy Vulcan tech.

 “Give these a call and tell them that I’ve recommended you. Someone should have a room available, maybe even an apartment, as the rent is pretty cheap here. If you need a ride then let me know as some of them are on the other side of town and I can take you after I close the garage tonight if you’d like?” He gives an encouraging smile and you find yourself smiling back, saving his number in your phone just under his name.

 You’ve never seen someone so selfless and giving to someone he doesn’t even know, making you wonder if maybe Vulcan Industries is perhaps taking this guy for a ride. Maybe they’re going with him because he’s too kind to up the price for a big organisation like them. It kind of makes you annoyed to think that.

 “I’ll work on your car as soon as I can, I feel really bad that I don’t have one to give you to use in the meantime.” He looks a little distressed at the thought of you having to walk everywhere or something and it’s unbelievably endearing.

 “It’s fine Hoseok, honestly. I’m used to walking places, I’m from the city remember?” You tease him, hand reaching out to push at his arm without even realising. It’s only one you’ve done it that you register what you’ve done and immediately pull your arm back, hoping he didn’t take it the wrong way.

 He hasn’t noticed the oddly intimate gesture from you though as he’s too busy chewing his lip and frowning in thought. Glancing back up, his hazel-brown eyes focus on you intently, causing your stomach to flutter.

 “Yeah, okay. Just be safe okay? Let me know if you find something quick and need to move your stuff, I’ll help you as it’s my fault.” Biting your own lip to prevent the grin and the argument that you’re going to be here anyway, you nod in acquiescence before moving backwards out of the garage. You have a feeling he’d just argue with you anyway.

 “I will do, I swear. Thank you for working on my car, let me know when it’s done and I’ll be back to pay okay?” He watches you quietly before nodding. Any communication between you two is suddenly stopped the loud screeching of a truck coming to a stop outside and you look out to see a car carrier, loaded up with Vulcan cars in various states of disrepair.

 “Looks like your next two days of work is here so, I’ll leave you to it. Thank you for your help Hoseok, I appreciate it.” Waving at him, he gives a wave in response before his attention turns to the cars, eyes already scanning over them to assess what’s wrong. You can’t help but smile at him, though when your own eyes track over to the Vulcan carrier your forehead falls into a frown.

 What was it about this endearing mechanic that had roped him into the world of Vulcan?

  The first three numbers on Hoseok’s list had been a bust with all of them reporting that their rooms were either not available for short term leasing or had already been rented out. It was on the fourth number that you finally hit gold, leading to you walking around the tiny apartment that was situated in a squat building smack in the middle of town.

 It was small and plain, but clean, with white washed walls throughout. Honestly, it was probably slightly larger than your own place back in the city, and the rent was a third of your city apartment.

 A little kitchenette, there wasn’t enough of it to warrant a real kitchen, took up the area to the left with a section of counters reaching out from the wall to provide a little separation.

 Facing away from this was a small, cosy grey couch with a large flat screen television in front of this, on top of a glass table. To the back of the room was a window that looked out onto the main street, not the most exciting views but you could see snow topped mountains rising in the far distance which made it better.

 The bedroom was in the room directly to your left as you entered, the door open to reveal just enough space to fit a double bed. To your right was the small bathroom, complete with shower but no bath. It was perfect for your needs at the moment and June, the older woman Hoseok had recommended, seemed sweet enough.

 “This is really nice June, I’d like to rent it but are you okay with me not being sure how long I’d be here?” You’d been upfront about this beforehand, which had immediately got you rejections. And those were only for rooms, not an entire apartment.

 “Oh yes that’s fine, this has been sat here for a few months now anyway. This town is nice and all, but it’s not prime location for youngsters. Too far away from the city to be close for most of them, so a lot leave to go to the big colleges around the state or across the country and see the bright lights. Most of them don’t really come back.” She gives a small smile and you get the impression that she has personal experience with this.

 “Well, I’m more than happy to take this off your hands for however long I need it. I can transfer you the first rent right now if you’d like as a key deposit?” June gives you a gentle smile, reaching forward to lay a hand on your arm and causing your words to still.

 “It’s fine, I don’t need a key deposit. We keep things low key around here. You’ve got the recommendation from Jung Hoseok and that’s good enough for me.” At those words, you’re left flushing slightly before shaking your head.

 “Well, he doesn’t know me you know? We’ve met exactly twice for a total of like, twenty minutes. So please, it would make me feel better.” She gives a broad grin, eyeing you from top to bottom.

 “You’re very similar to him you know? Very giving and not happy to take charity.” Chewing on your lip thoughtfully, you consider arguing with her but decide it’s better not to annoy your landlady so soon. Plus, she seems to like Hoseok and maybe she might know something about him.

 “I noticed that too, he’s very nice and helpful. I appreciate it. Has he lived here long?” If he’d been here a while then perhaps he just had a good reputation that had led to his contract with Vulcan.

 “Oh he is, he’d give you the shirt off his back if he thought you needed it. And yes, he’s been here for…oh 15 years now? Yes I think it’s been 15. He turned up when he was 21 and set up shop right there and he’s been there ever since. I don’t know how the town would cope without him.” She has a fond smile on her as she reminisces.

 For a moment you’re quiet, contemplating this. He’s been here for a while then, but when you think on it, it makes even less sense. From June’s words, he’s a beloved member of the town which likely means he could get plenty of business just from this. So why take up the contract from a company like Vulcan?

 “21 is a young age to set up a garage right? I mean, it looks like a nice place in town and the house behind it is so big, so it can’t have been cheap?” The questions are innocent but they leave an uneasy feeling in your stomach. Hoseok is such a nice guy and you feel guilty intruding into his life like this.

 “He was young yes, but he didn’t go to college either as far as I’m aware. He has no family and I believe that he’s independently wealthy I think? You’re better off asking some folk in town for more details on him if you’re interested, I think he invented something as he’s got plenty. Lends out money to people who are in need and never seems to need any himself.” You pause at that, fingers pulling at a thread that’s loose on your shirt.

 You want to query further but figure it would start to seem suspicious if you keep asking her about him, though she seems more than happy to spill the beans on the striking, big-hearted mechanic.

 After that, you sign the contract with June and head back to the motel, ready to pull your suitcase into town to your new apartment. It’s a good job that you’d had a lot of savings, as you doubted Donghae would be happy paying for an apartment for you. Despite it being the story he wanted.

 The time you spend going back and forth allows you to consider the enigma of Jung Hoseok some more. He’s independently wealthy, very wealthy if he’s going around giving loans out to people if they need it and owning both the garage and that huge house. So then why take on the lucrative contract for exclusive rights to Vulcan Industries? He obviously doesn’t need it.

 And the fact that he had the money to buy his garage, get it all fully kitted out and start up at only 21? Even in a small town like this that would have to take some serious capital.

 June’s comment about him inventing something stuck in your mind, making you wonder if perhaps he had worked at Vulcan beforehand or interned there. Maybe he made something that Vulcan paid him for, allowing him to live happily in this little town.

 There’s something connected here and you feel frustrated that you can’t see it, leading to what must be an attractive scowl on your forehead. In fact, you’re so deep in thought that you fail to notice that you’re passing his garage or the deep voice calling out your name until suddenly you see two scuffed, black boots in your vision.

 Looking up, you’re surprised to see Hoseok standing there with raised eyebrows and his tanned face a picture of pleasure. One corner of his lips is lifted in a tiny smirk before he straightens it out.

 “Oh Hoseok, I’m so sorry I didn’t see you.” You apologise profusely, hand coming up to your throat in an unconscious manner. Hoseok’s pearly teeth peek through as he laughs lightly, bringing up a hand streaked in black from working in engines to run through his dark hair, shining red in the sun. What doesn’t stick together falls back forward; framing his elegant face slightly while the oil gives it some unintended volume.

 “Yeah, I figured after you didn’t respond to my fourth call. Did you find somewhere?” He asks, pointing down towards your suitcase. Glancing down, you look at the black fabric blankly for a moment before nodding.

 “Yeah I did, with June Settler. It’s a nice little apartment in the middle of town. I think it’ll work out.” Hoseok grins broadly, happiness practically radiating out of him and the bright midday sun gives his golden skin a glow, as if a fire you can’t see lights him from within.

 “That’s great! I can take you if you want? Save you walking in the hot sun?” Hands playing with the towel that was on his shoulder before he gives a nervous smile and it emboldens you a little.

 “I’d really appreciate that. Would you like to grab lunch too? I’m assuming you’re ready for something to eat right?” He pauses for a second, mouth opening slowly as his eyes widen. His movements are slow, the rigid column of his throat working as he swallows before his eyes are flickering back at you before skittering away.

 “Really? You want to go to lunch?” His voice, normally bright and enthusiastic is suddenly shy and quiet, causing you to frown. Surely the guy is aware of how attractive he is, even if you’re not actually asking him on a date? It’s only when he brushes a hand against his scarred cheek that you realise once again.

 “Yes I would like to. I know exactly two people in this town and one of them is a middle-aged woman who’s my landlady. She’s sweet but I don’t feel we run in the same circles if you get me?” Hoseok eyes you for a moment, brow creasing in confusion before gesturing for you to follow him.

 His attire for today is similar to yesterday’s, with denim jeans that are splashed with spots of oil hugging his legs only today he’s got an old black band t-shirt with a Metallica print on it. It suits him, with the cut making his shoulder seems larger and his waist narrower.

 “I’m not too sure we run in the same circles either if I’m being honest? I mean, I’m a 36-year-old mechanic and you’re a writer who’s what? 23?” He queries, eyebrow raised as he opens the door to a Vulcan Hammer, a huge black pick-up truck that’s as pristine on the outside as it is on the inside. You’d expect nothing less from him though, given what his garage looks like.

  “Writer? Yes. 23? I wish. I’m 29 and feeling older every day I swear.” For a moment you forget yourself, groaning loudly as your head falls back against the seat, suitcase in the back. Hoseok looks over at you, face lit up with a pretty smile and you can feel his eyes drag over you.

 “Wow, you do not look 29. And I get what you mean about feeling older, I swear more of my joints crack every day.” As if to prove his point, he reaches out and shifts the car into gear, his elbow cracking as he does so. You giggle softly at it as he shakes his arm, the muscles in his bicep flexing enticingly each time.

 The short drive to your new apartment is filled with small talk, both of you feeling out the other conversation wise and trying to establish what is okay and isn’t okay to talk about. While he’s always willing to give a hand and help, you discover that he also knows when to step back and let you do things on your own as he waits in the car for you to finish moving your stuff.

 Once done, he drives to the other side of town to a small Italian restaurant that he swears has the best food outside of Italy. You’re not entirely sure whether to believe him, given that this is the only Italian restaurant in town so there’s not much choice.

 Still, it’s a charming little place with soft lighting and irresistible aromas. It’s not even 1pm but the place is already half full, though it doesn’t surprise you given how tiny the restaurant is. Even Hoseok has to bashfully admit that there aren’t many restaurants here, so they tend to fill quickly.

 An older woman with dark hair pulled tight into a ponytail comes across and gives you both plastic covered menus, but you’re too amused with the obvious flirting she’s doing with the handsome man opposite you to take a look at the food. He engages with it graciously, taking her flirtatious comments with an ease he’s lacked with you before turning his gaze back to your own and smiling amiably once she goes.

 “That’s Mariella, she’s the daughter of the owner of this place,” He leans forward suddenly, picture perfect face suddenly inches from your own and his unbelievably beautiful eyes so close you can swear you can see individual strands of colour. “I think she has a thing for me.”

 You laugh loudly, hand moving to cover your mouth as you nod your head slowly. “Hoseok, my newest friend, she most definitely has a thing for you. But I don’t think she’s interested in actually pursuing.”

 Lifting up his menu, he grins broadly before sending over a wink. “Oh I know, she’s been doing it for 13 years now. We’re just not fated to be unfortunately.”

 He buries his head into his menu after that, soft noises of contemplation coming from him unbidden and for a moment you watch him as he concentrates. Tiny lines bisect between his eyebrows and his mouth moves silently as he reads, causing a little smile to spread over your face. He’s cute.

 The waitress comes back with a jug of iced lemon water, filling both your glasses and taking your menus once she’s taken your order. Hoseok picks the spaghetti carbonara while you opt for the tagliatelle with bacon and mushrooms with a side dish of garlic bread for the both of you.

 There’s an awkward silence that falls between the two of you once the waitress leaves again and you’re no longer preoccupied with menus. Within even realising it, you both take a sip of water to try and hide the awkwardness at the same time. Eyes darting around the restaurant, they eventually come to rest on Hoseok, who is sat staring determinedly at his hands, which are twisting nervously.

 This close, you can see the grime that has absorbed into his skin so deeply he’ll likely never get rid of it unless he stops working on cars for years. The outline of his nails is surrounded in black with the palm of his hand looking tough and as you watch, he rubs them together self-consciously.

 “It’s hard to keep them clean in my job, if my hands are clean then I’m doing something wrong.” He gives a little apologetic laugh, causing you to smile at his shy demeanour. You barely know the man, yet you’ve never met anyone as confusing as him. One moment he’s timid and apologising for himself over the smallest thing and withdrawing from contact whereas the next he’s bold and flirting with a middle aged waitress.

 You get the feeling that he has moments of confidence that soon whither away around people, as even with Mariella or the teenagers he’d looked to be holding part of himself away. As if he was afraid to fully let someone see the true side of him. But you didn’t know him nearly enough to know if this was true and you didn’t particularly want to psychoanalyse him when you’d barely talked to him.

 “So…why’d you come here? It’s not exactly the most happening place in California, as beautiful as it is.” Hoseok asks, eyes flickering up to meet yours before skittering away at the direct contact. The amused, confident man of this morning has vanished and you find it kind of charming.

 “I’m…researching something for what I’m writing and my queries led me to here. It seems nice though so far; the people are unbelievably friendly. All two I’ve met.” Hoseok grins at that. “But it seems pretty relaxing and the air is so much fresher here. Maybe I’ll get to finish what I write and feel better when I go back?” You muse, almost to yourself as you look out the window.

 You’ve told him the truth, with just a little extra truth omitted from him. This place really was beautiful and soothing, and maybe you would complete your article and go back to the city and your job feeling better than ever. Hoseok humming to himself quietly brings your attention back to him, watching as his black hair falls forward into his face again.

 “It is nice. Peaceful.” Looking at you, his lips break out into an innocent smile that lights his whole face up. In the dimness that makes up the inside of the restaurant, his bold, unique eyes seem to look even brighter than usual which you know is unusual. You feel slightly ridiculous, as you never normally obsess over people’s eyes like you are his.

 But you’ve never seen anyone with eyes as captivating or as exceptional as his either.

 “What about you? Err, June told me that you moved here when you were 21 right? Seems pretty young.” Tongue running over his teeth; he lets out a breathy laugh before shaking his head.

 “Ah June, she does like to talk. Why are you implying I’m too old now?” The grin on his face lets you know that he’s teasing you. “Yeah I moved here young. Yosemite is close by and I just love volcanoes you know?” At that you’re staring at him with a frown before he’s suddenly laughing loudly, hands clapping at the sight of your face.

 “I’m kidding! I just like my solitude and this place seemed calm, when I first visited it was like it pacified my soul as ridiculous and silly as that sounds. I like it here, everyone knows everyone but at the same time they’re all respectful of my privacy and my personal life. No one asks questions here.” His tone turns slightly bitter at the end and his words cause your stomach to roil with guilt.

 The poor guy moved all the way out here to get away from questions and people, yet here you were, intending to pick his life apart to find out that connection to Vulcan and hopefully find the trail of the elusive CEO.

 “You say that, but June was pretty eager to tell me things about you.” Another sip of your water reveals that the glass is already half empty, with the ice melting rapidly due to the warmth that is strong even inside. Hoseok snorts lightly.

 “June just wants to set me up with someone. She’s never seen me dating and I think she feels sorry for me and like I can’t get my own dates. Though in fairness it’s normally her sending pretty boys and girls to me, not the other way around.” Your cheeks flush rose at being called pretty by this handsome man and you start tearing your napkin apart to distract yourself.

 “So no girlfriend then?” Your question is innocent but immediately you can’t help but cringe, causing him to laugh at the brazen line. Of course you’d say something stupid like that and make this even more awkward, but Hoseok is a gentlemen and doesn’t make it worse.

 “No, no girlfriend. Or boyfriend. Or wife. Or husband. Not even a dog. I am married to my job. I don’t know if you can’t tell but, I don’t really get along with people all that well.” Now it’s his turn to start tearing at his napkin, causing you to frown.

 “You’re kidding right? You were amazing with those kids and June obviously loves you. Along with that, you have a whole contacts list of people willing to help you out, the motel guy gushed about how nice you are which makes me think he has a crush, and you’ve been nothing but helpful and sweet to me.” His cheeks are burning bright red at this point, a shy smile causing his lips to twitch as he cocks his head slightly.

 “No, no. I mean, well. No. Helping people is easy, like I don’t have to think about it. But like, friend wise? Or romance wise? I don’t really know what to do; I’ve always been a loner so I don’t have very good people skills. Or maybe that should be intimacy skills? Either way, I don’t get how people work up close.” He sounds embarrassed, causing you to instantly feel sympathy for him.

 “Hey, don’t feel bad. There’s lots of people out there that can’t do intimacy, you just have to try I guess? If it’s really not for you, then you find someone who is okay with that. If that doesn’t interest you, then you stay alone if you feel happier.” You’re not entirely sure if Hoseok expected to have a lesson in inter-personal relationships when he agreed to lunch but here he is, getting one anyway.

 As if he read your mind, he gives a soft laugh before looking up at you with an adorable smile. “This is not what I expected our first proper conversation to consist of you know? I feel like I’m on Dr Phil or something.” Nodding, you give an apologetic smile of your own.

“Yeah, sorry. I didn’t mean for it to go all weird and philosophical there. I’m sorry. Let’s talk about something way more normal yeah?” There’s a moment of silence from Hoseok before he nods his head, biting his lip as he watches you.

 The conversation changes pace to something much more neutral, which turns out to be a lot about your life and going to college. He tells you that he never went and had no interest in going, instead preferring to work with his hands from the get go.

 It’s only while eating your lunch, which you have to agree with Hoseok is truly delicious, that you find out that he not only fixes cars for a living, but apparently also enjoys metalworking. He only says this when you ask what he does in his free time, to which he chuckles and notes he doesn’t like free time as he doesn’t like being idle.

 “I think I’ve re-done my house about 3 times in 5 years because I just hate having nothing to do. But I also do metalworking which is fun, let’s me unleash my creativity and it’s something I’ve always done.” At your little confused frown, he smiles before pushing a forkful of pasta into his mouth and chewing quickly.

 “It covers a lot of things, like you could build a ship or instead you could make jewellery. I like to make anything from things that could be used as household decorations to large sculptures. It helps keep my skills fresh and occupies my mind when I’m making something beautiful come to life.” He gets a wistful look on his face for a moment, overtaking the passion that had filled those striking eyes with a gleam.

 Taking a moment to eat some more of your lunch before eventually placing your cutlery down, the food was delicious but far too much, you watch him for a moment as he goes on to eagerly explain some of the metalworking he does.

 “It sounds interesting, I mean I don’t really understand half of what you’re saying but you seem to enjoy it. I’d like to see your stuff at some point if I could, I don’t think I’ve ever paid attention to metal sculptures.” At that, Hoseok flushes and his head drops shyly, fingers scratching at his nose.

 “Ah, well, yeah…I guess. Maybe.” His self-consciousness causes you to bite your lip in an attempt to stop the smile, lifting a hand to bring the waitresses attention and save him from discomfiture. For a moment you both fight over the bill, Hoseok wanting to pay for the both of you to be a gentleman before you point out that you’re the one who invited him to lunch.

 He relents pretty quickly though, evidently not wanting to kick up too much of a fuss. The short drive to your new apartment ends just as quickly, with classic rock playing through the Bluetooth connection from his super high-tech phone.

 After convincing him that you’re fine walking to your place without him, you start to head towards what is possibly the smallest apartment block you’ve ever seen in your life. A loud call of your name causes you to turn around though.

 The sight of Hoseok with his window down, strong and lean arm resting on the edge while a set of black Ray-Ban style glasses perch on his nose and his hair parted on his forehead causes you to feel like you’ve been punched in the stomach.

 He gives a quick grin, lips lifting up to brighten what little of his face you can see and causing your abused stomach to turn over on itself. Did he really not realise how beautiful he was?

 “Feel free to call if you want, or text or something. I know you don’t really know anyone here but I can introduce you to some people. Or we could hang out, I guess. If you want. Work on those people skills I guess? Which I really need as I just ‘I guess’ twice.” His boldness dissipates quickly, resulting in him almost mumbling the words out by the end and causing you to smile at him.

 “I’d like that Hoseok, I’ll let you know okay?” He’s dumbfounded for a moment, as if he’d expected you to reject his awkward proposition before an excited smile of his own spreads over his face, looking more like it belongs on the face of a teenager asking out his first crush.

 “That’s great! Yeah, totally, I mean…message whenever. Well, I’m not free till 8pm but I’ll answer if I have time you know? You can text whenever but if you wanted to call then after 8 works best okay? That works best for me. Wait I just said that. But…I guess…if that’s not good for you then call anyway and I might be able to answer?” A giggle from you causes him to stop and rub his forehead with a grimace.

 “Sorry. Bad people skills remember? Just…do what you want. And please, call me Hobi.” He gives another heart stopping smile, tinged with embarrassment before giving a little wave and moving off before you can respond.

 You watch his huge car drive off before leaning back against the wall and shaking your head. He was truly a mystery that you desperately wanted to dig into and unwrap; only you weren’t entirely sure anymore if it was for the investigation or for yourself.

A/N: Okay this was supposed to be a one shot but it’s 12k and it’s not even halfway done. I didn’t want it to end up like 30k or something and people not be able to read so...there will be a second part! Hopefully this wasn’t boring ;-;

Hephaestus Hobi is a genuine sweetheart and I love him so I hope you all love him too! I’d love to hear your thoughts on what’s going to happen!

[stellisae]

Parasite pt. 2 (Orion x MC)

Book: Starship Promise

Pairing: Orion x MC (Juliette)

Word Count: 1591

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4

Eventually I come to again and I try to sit up but my hand flies up to hold my head when it immediately starts throbbing in pain. “Oww…” I whine quietly and then I notice Dr. Hensen look over at me from across the room.

“Take it easy Ms. Adams, you fell pretty hard,” she instructs as she comes over with pain medicine and a glass of water in hand.

I graciously accept the water and the medicine and then sit there for a few minutes longer, waiting for the thrubbing to subside. Once it does I feel it get replaced by the gentle hum of the ship flying through space. “How long have I been out? Did we leave that colony? Are you coming with us? Where are we going?” a hundred questions suddenly fight to be spoken and the doctor quiets me with a soft chuckle and raises her hand in a stop motion.

“You’ve only been asleep for a few hours. After you fainted I told the rest of your crew what I suspected, minus the captain of course,” she begins explaining. “Mr. Molniya was more than skeptical, but Ms. Nova agreed and I think that was enough to at least convince him to try. Mr. Silva thought the whole idea was ‘pretty cool’.”

Her features screwed up in an expression of exactly what she thought  of Jaxon’s estimation of the situation.

“Regardless they all agreed I should remain on board until the situation is resolved, even if just to keep an eye on Mr. Akatsuki and make sure the creature doesn’t begin to harm his body,” she answered, and then ran through a quick set of questions and tests to see if I was okay after my fall too.

“So..did you just leave your patients behind?” I ask after she’s finished, hoping it doesn’t sound rude. I didn’t know much about health care but taking off on a starship while you had patients waiting on a colony seemed like a bad idea.

She chuckled again and shook her head at me. “I’m a contracted, private healthcare provider. Meaning being hired by starship captains to care for their crew is my usual job. This just happens to be a rather....unusual crew in an unusual situation.”

I nod quietly, mulling over the new information until another questions surfaces. “How did we get Orion to agree to this?”

“Well obviously he knows that he’s lost some memories, since each member of the crew has supported your story and, well, the calendar usually doesn’t lie,” she answers with a grin. “The rest of your crew convinced him that Antares had more information on this creature and that to get his memories back we’ll need their research. So, either Orion is really just experiencing amnesia and agrees or…”

“Or?” I ask curiously.

The doctor then sits down in a chair across from me, and her expression takes a very somber turn. “I believe it is more likely that the creature simply wants to be able to destroy these weapons you used against it, and whatever information they may have. If that’s the case we will need to be very careful once we are on his brother’s ship.”

I nod slowly, the pieces of what she’s suggesting coming together in my head. Orion will have to be under watch constantly while we’re on Antares’s ship to make sure that he...that it didn’t get its hands on anything risky.

“Now, I know you just woke up but I suggest you get something to eat and try to get some sleep, we’ll be entering the night cycle soon and you and I will have a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

I nod again and stand, about to leave the room, when suddenly I turn back and throw my arms around the doctor. “Thank you, I don’t know if any other doctor would have just jumped in with us on this. I’m so glad you’re here,” I tell her, and then release her from the hug, my face slightly flushed knowing that I just hugged an almost complete stranger. Something about her presence was just comforting enough to make her feel like I’ve known her all my life.

Dr. Hensen’s soft expression when I step back seems to say that she didn’t mind at least, “of course dear. You might not remember me but I worked on your colony many years ago. Your parents and I become good friends, I’m more than happy to help their daughter.”

Or well, maybe I just actually had known her for a long time.

“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you Dr. Hensen!” I say, suddenly feeling very guilty.

“It’s alright, you were quite a bit younger. I’m happy to see you grew up to be such a remarkable young woman,” she answers softly, a true smile on her face. “Now shoo, I’m too far gone for beauty sleep but you still need it.” “Yes ma’am!” I answer with a grin and a mock salute.

I leave the room and my happy mood quickly falls as I realize I automatically headed for mine and Orion’s room. I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by trying to share the same bed, but I wouldn’t kick him out either. Instead, I redirected towards the lounge and found one of our well-worn couches to curl up on for the night.

After a long couple of hours of staring at the ceiling, tormented by my own thoughts, I finally managed to fall asleep.

I wake up sometime later with a blanket draped over me and a pillow under my head, and I briefly wonder how they got there. The darkness of the room tells me we’re still in the ship’s night cycle and as my eyes adjust to the low lighting I see a burly shape sitting in the chair across from me, their head resting on their hand but not quite looking asleep.

“Atlas?” I call out quietly, and the shape lifts their head enough for me to confirm that it is him.

“Hey...you looked cold and uncomfortable so…” he says and nods his head towards the blanket laying over me. Ah, so that’s where it came from.

I nod my thanks and close my eyes to try and fall back asleep again. No one speaks for a few long minutes, but I don’t think either of us actually sleep, until I break the silence again. “Do think it’s true?”

“The Doc’s theory?” Atlas asks as he lifts his head to look at me again. He stares at me for a long while before he sighs and his feature melt into an expression of the exhaustion I’m sure we’re both feeling. “I don’t know kid. The idea that the Cap’s...infected by this thing is probably the weirdest shit I’ve ever heard.”

Atlas is quiet again so long after that I think he’s going to leave it there until he adds, “but ever since you brought your happy little rear onto this ship it’s been one strange son-of-a-gun after another. Plus the Doc’s got the degree to back it up. So we’re sure as hell gonna try whatever idea she cooks up.”

Comforted by Atlas’s words I let my eyes close and finally drift back to sleep.

“Hey kid, we’re here.”

I’m woken to Atlas’s voice calling over the intercom in the lounge and it takes me a minute to realize what “here” means. The massive Empire ship taking up the full view of the window in the room cleared that up right quick for me.

I give myself a quick sniff and decide on a change of clothes before meeting with Antares. This outfit was on day 3 and I wasn’t in the market to give anyone any more ammunition against me.

Although I personally believed that your fiance forgetting who you are was a pretty good excuse for not keeping up appearances.

Without thinking I make my way to our-- to Orion’s room and walk in without knocking first. The door slides open to reveal Orion still in his underwear and I don’t think much of it until he hastily moves to cover himself and then I slap both hands over my eyes.

“I’m sorry! I- I wasn’t even thinking! Oh god!” I ramble, my face burning hot with shame. For all intents and purposes Orion just had a total stranger walk in on him half naked. That thought just made me even sadder in addition to the embarrassment. “I just came to get a clean change of clothes.”

“Ahem...it’s- it’s alright. By all means,” Orion clears his throat loudly before answering. When I slowly bring my hands down from my face I see he’s already quickly dressed himself, and I feel another pang of guilt at the uncomfortable expression he wears. “I’ll give you some privacy,” he adds and carefully steps past me out of the room.

I wanted so badly to be supportive through all this, even if it was only temporary, but if I keep accidentally forcing myself on him...

If this is real and Orion has to get to know me all over again...would he come to like me now? Or am I always going to be the awkward, forgotten memory?

That thought makes me truly breakdown. I find the whale Orion gave me for our first Valentine’s day and sink to the floor with it in my arms, letting the soft plush absorb my tears while I shake with sobs.

[girlonfilmmovies]

Welcome to Friend Island: "Love Island US Season 3" and the Gaping Sores of America

So I foolishly thought that in the new year of 2021, the world would be in a better place than it was the previous year. After all, we were coming out of the "worst" of the most horrifying pandemic of the past century, a middling presidency that at that point served only a wealth of TV soundbites and less actual damage to the political system, and we were looking forward to a brighter future and a return to what some hoped would be "normal". The past was the past, and this was going to be a new moment.

Oh how naïve we all were.

As of this writing Covid-19 cases are hitting staggering new highs in the southern US, with Florida (of course) somehow hitting a record amount despite vaccines being easily available in the country for months. The death rates are at almost the same as last year. The middling disaster of the 45th president had one more trick up its sleeve, a firebomb brewing for dozens of years that went off in one of the most embarrassing fiascos of American political history. Misinformation has already implanted itself so thoroughly among half the country that people would rather die than admit they were wrong; the spread of such chaos being happily spat out through the algorithms of corporations only intent on raking in dollar signs. All the potential benefits that could have come from this once-in-a-lifetime moment are being briskly swept away: offices demanding their employees come back, no respect given to science and healthcare workers, the country's clearly weak infrastructure forced right back into action as if we didn't just see its gaping holes. The earth is dying and the people who actually have the resources do something about it instead have kickstarted a capitalist space race.

2021 has gone to show that old, toxic habits die hard.

Sigh.

Yeah, I watched Love Island again.

Despite my... let's say mixed feelings regarding last year's shitshow, I couldn't help but admit that it was the closest thing that I've had to appointment viewing TV that I've had in a long time. In an era of streaming and DVR boxes, it's a bit of an actual feat to get someone who works a fulltime job (especially one with erratic scheduling) to go out of their way to watch something the second it premieres. Love Island brings the family together, so they can engage in our favorite pastime: pointing and laughing at young, dumb, fame hungry cis-hets.

Plus, the second season had offered a fascinating glance at how to contend with a pandemic while also trying to stage a typical dumb reality show. The tropical island villa was swapped for a luxurious hotel rooftop in Las Vegas -- a literal ivory tower of ignorant hedonism looking down upon a plagued nation. You could feel the sexual tension of the hot, hyper-sexual adults forced without physical contact for months finally allowed to relieve themselves the only way they know how: toxic relationships. It was trying so hard to be an oasis in a desert yearning for frivolous content, but the façade was clearly visible to the point of satire. It was a wonderful thing to experience firsthand as what I originally thought as merely me dipping my toes into the genre.

Season 2 was the show that we deserved at the time, a funhouse mirror reflecting all the callous stupidity that had led us to this moment in world history. It attempted to offer a happy ending, a look towards the future: a black couple finally winning a reality show, a first for such a mainstream program (both of them actually kind of turned out to suck, but shhhh...).

It also allowed America to completely break the hearts of people while watching them fall apart live on TV. It was cruel, it was stupid, but most of all, it was fun as hell.

Season 3 is not about torturing the competitors. It's about torturing us.

In all fairness, there were a couple of lovely positive developments for the series this season. While still struggling with racial diversity a little bit, as evidenced by them casting only one very specific kind of black man like five times, strides are being taken elsewhere in the lane of body diversity. Alana makes her debut as literally the first woman on this show who isn't a size 0-2, looking absolutely gorgeous in every single shot.

The almost aggressively heteronormative nature of the show is slowly being shaken by a more openly queer cast than previously expected -- multiple bisexual/pansexual contestants participated, even though there wasn't any overtly queer romance shown (also almost all of them were women, with them describing their sexualities being confined to streaming exclusive episodes, which isn't... great). It's certainly a step in the right direction for a show that unceremoniously shuffled off the only queer member of the Season 2 cast overnight once the internet found his gay porn shoot. Ironically, they also ended up booting off the most openly queer member of this cast too, the purple haired proudly pansexual TikTok-er Leslie, but for the more legal reason of smuggling weed into the villa.

It's not terribly surprising that both Alana and Leslie garnered a lot of positive attention both inside and outside of the villa -- they stand out so much against the otherwise predictable casting that we've come to expect from this show and white American media in general. Alana is a woman with actual curves who looks stunningly gorgeous in comparison to the monotonous supermodel figures of everyone else. Leslie almost falls into a stereotype from the way she appears: dyed purple hair, tattooed all over, obviously queer, vaping weed constantly, exuding the kind of chaotic yet weirdly fun energy that only a former stripper can. Yet she obviously grabbed the attention of the contestants because while people like her abound in real life, in the fantasy land of reality TV she's an absolute rarity, a far cry from the sanitized beauty pageant-esque standards that they seem to pluck girls from. The men are still dumb, bland, boneheaded idiots in this show, but by offering some actual variety, they get to actually pursue people they aren't "traditionally" supposed to, while an outsider audience member like me gets to see women like herself be offered up for titillation in the same way "conventionally attractive" women are.

It's kind of cool, even if it is just playing into the icky sexualization of everyone, but hey...progress?

In an odd "two steps forward, one step back" kind of situation, the show has somewhat dialed down the outrageously toxic relationships of last year into a more relatively subdued level of toxicity. Gaslighting/cheating is at least kept to a relative low in this season compared to the nightmare that was last year, although this year's ratio depends on how much of that corresponds with sexy Columbian boy Will's obviously flimsy grasp of the intricacies of the English language. He continued to be plagued by the cliquey-ness of the cast until the very end but his genuinely sweet couple with Kyra still did enough to sneak into the final two.

The actual main problem this year was an almost unbearably long love triangle between Cash, Trina, and Cinco that refused to solve itself for nearly a month. Cash and Cinco perennially kept flip-flopping in their feelings for each other, bouncing between failed partnerships despite so obviously being into each other. Trina ended up roped in as Cinco's partner for a while, a constant victim of his own lack of courage to make up his damn mind. Cash, freshly single and in horny jail (aka Casa Amor), coupled up with the handsome and mysterious Charlie.

Now we need to discuss how bizarre Charlie as a cast member. Not only is he the only member who is, looks, and acts like an actual adult, but he also seems to show no adherence to the rules of reality TV: he's very relaxed and unassuming, seems genuinely uninterested in the "game" aspects of the show, and only perks up during rare moments of actual romantic potential. He's a fascinating spanner to throw into the machine of Love Island, and once Cinco was eliminated in the competition, Charlie had to sit there while Cash only continued to openly and aggressively pine for a man who isn't even her current partner. Proving once again to be an anomaly in the cast, he actually decided to do something about this: he unceremoniously dumped fan favorite Cash like a sack of bricks, sending her home while hooking up with the previously mentioned Alana. This smart decision was met derisively by viewers, despite him being the only person there who actually acted like a fucking adult for once. Ironically, this got him and Alana into the finals, where they finished in last place with the same trademark lack of enthusiasm that we've come to expect from him.

I suppose now we need to uncork the problem of the season and by extension the franchise as a whole. You might have read that previous situation and thought, "gee, a fan favorite got tossed aside while a guy that everyone hated ended up making it into the final four? That seems weird."

But by that point it really wasn't at all.

See, the problem with the voting is that you don't usually get to pick who goes; the audience only gets to pick who to prevent getting kicked. At that point, the audience control is out of our hands and now into the contestants', and if there's one thing we all learned in high school it's that cliques are very much a thing. The contestants seemed dead set on booting anybody who was new the second they had the chance, so many potentially exciting people were so quickly thrown out. Instead of the exciting potential we could have seen, we got a love triangle sucking anyone nearby into doom, with everyone else being a relatively stable couple or part of the Jeremy/Korey wishy-washy railway. Casa Amor was an absolute bust, with people making half-assed couplings despite still being in love with somebody else (it speaks a lot to the weakness of the Casa Amor men that Olivia literally preferred to come back single than with any of those planks of wood).

Part of the problem did rely on factors that nobody could control at all though. "Romance novel come to life" Slade seemed like a threat with his rugged handsomeness, twangy accent, and classic southern charm, but had to quickly leave due to ambiguous family troubles. Similarly, the nearly perfect Josh and Shannon, who seemed like an obvious shoo-in winner by virtue of being probably the only actual relationship on the show, had to depart in the middle of the night due to the tragic death of Josh's sister. Aforementioned chaotic pansexual Leslie was unceremoniously removed in the middle of the night once they had realized that her classic vape pen was actually full of weed, an especially tragic circumstance considering she basically had Cinco wrapped around her finger and was about to bring that love triangle crashing down (also tragic because she has gone on record saying that she was fully crushing on Genny while they were both in there, robbing us of any potential of a queer couple).

But part of the pain as always has to do with how the producers control everything no matter what: what we see, what we hear, who gets the villain edit and who gets the hero edit. It's why they seem to play Jeremy as dumb hot surfer bro instead of the actual funny and charming guy he is. It's why Trina was treated as a bitch and Cash as a woeful victim despite the roles more often than not lining up the other way around. And most embarrassingly, it's how the biggest joke couple of the show ended up winning it all.

Now, look at this picture right here: the poses, the awkward hand holding, the very strange smiles between those two. No, this is not a picture of two teenagers going to prom together who just met only five minutes ago and are taking pictures on their parents' front lawn; these two are the winners of season 3, the supposedly "strongest" couple on the show. This is Olivia and Korey.

Korey is a charming boyish sweetheart by way of an absolute fucking dumbass. He's sort of like last year's beloved and wonderfully stupid Carrington: a very sweet and nice teenager who seems to have "13 Going on 30"-ed his way into an adult body. He's childish in a way that's very cute and friendly but also woefully unattractive to anyone who's an adult. Just like Carrington, he notched up a staggering amount of dates with pretty much every single beautiful woman that came into the villa, all seemingly very interested in him. Carrington, for as dumb and childish as he is, could bag anyone because he was outrageously confident too. Korey on the other hand seems incapable of making any decision, following any girl who pays him the time of day like a little puppy, constantly looking up to her with his big puppy dog eyes. It's very telling that for all the dates he had, almost none of them actually went anywhere because it's just not that appealing to anyone. If you're looking to win, he's not someone who can scheme and play the game. If you're looking for love, he's not going to cut it because he can't seem to even understand the concept of romance. If you're looking for a friend, he's probably the best damn one you'll get in that villa -- but as constantly established by everyone, this show isn't called Friend Island.

Olivia is a bit of a thornier subject. She habitually couples up with people that you can kind of tell she's not at all into. She started the first half relatively unassuming and not particularly interested in the men that she was supposedly attracted to. But you could basically see her panties drop when Slade walked in, ready for him to pull her up into the saddle and ride away into the sunset. But his sudden departure only left her more empty, desperately grasping onto whatever random attraction she could. She went off to Casa Amor single and had the gall to come back without coupling up with any of them (although once again, they really dropped the ball with the men compared to the stunning Casa Amor women). And somehow in the midst of all this wishy washy mess, she finally settled on the one single man who she hadn't coupled up with and supposedly suddenly had feelings for: lonely, little Korey.

As a watcher of two seasons of this shit, I've seen a lot of fake relationships, but this one is just ridiculous. The chemistry is really nonexistent; she seems more annoyed or at best partially amused whenever he tries to say anything genuinely sweet to her. She reacts like how you would when a little kid tries to tell you they have a crush on you, an adult: you just kind of go, "aw, cute, thank you!" and walk away chuckling. It's genuinely comedic in how tragic it is, a boy who thinks he's finally found someone when all she's found is a trip to the bank.

And what did the editors do? They tried their very best to sell this as genuine, as actual romance. We know what romance is -- we basically saw it with Shannon and Josh, and to a lesser extent Will and Kyra. And yet they whipped out that expert level edit to say, "wow, look at these two lovebirds, huh?" It's ridiculous, especially since only in the final episode did they suddenly remember that Jeremy and the stunning Bailey (aka the combination of Gal Godot and Ashley Judd circa-2001) were an actual couple and even they looked more real than the winning couple.

Love Island is, if nothing else, a reflection of America.

It's an outdated tradition desperately grasping to what's left of the typical western idea of romance. No matter how many beauty pageant contestants they pick, men like women who aren't size 2s, or with natural hair/skin, or with family-friendly occupations. Women are probably tired of the big muscle bound hunks they usually put on here, the nearly identical men that they seem to cast every single season who have all the looks but zero of the confidence or personality.

It's an example of how our choices are an illusion, how our influence can be easily overwritten by those in charge. Votes that don't matter when they change the rules on the fly, ripping out the actual choice of the people in favor of letting them decide what stays and what goes.

It's a testament that even in the face of a viral pandemic that's quickly turning into part two, as the lives of millions are being further destroyed across the world, there will always be some asshole who has more than you and looks better than you, vacationing on a tropical island stolen from its people, ignorant of everything else that's happening around them.

Love Island hates everyone. It hates it's contestants. It hates the viewers. It hates change. It hates me.

But I do still kind of love it.