#my phone data can only take me so far…

[ectonurites]

when will my wifi return from the war……

[hms-no-fun]

Whats your stance on A.I.?

imagine if it was 1979 and you asked me this question. "i think artificial intelligence would be fascinating as a philosophical exercise, but we must heed the warnings of science-fictionists like Isaac Asimov and Arthur C Clarke lest we find ourselves at the wrong end of our own invented vengeful god." remember how fun it used to be to talk about AI even just ten years ago? ahhhh skynet! ahhhhh replicants! ahhhhhhhmmmfffmfmf [<-has no mouth and must scream]!

like everything silicon valley touches, they sucked all the fun out of it. and i mean retroactively, too. because the thing about "AI" as it exists right now --i'm sure you know this-- is that there's zero intelligence involved. the product of every prompt is a statistical average based on data made by other people before "AI" "existed." it doesn't know what it's doing or why, and has no ability to understand when it is lying, because at the end of the day it is just a really complicated math problem. but people are so easily fooled and spooked by it at a glance because, well, for one thing the tech press is mostly made up of sycophantic stenographers biding their time with iphone reviews until they can get a consulting gig at Apple. these jokers would write 500 breathless thinkpieces about how canned air is the future of living if the cans had embedded microchips that tracked your breathing habits and had any kind of VC backing. they've done SUCH a wretched job educating The Consumer about what this technology is, what it actually does, and how it really works, because that's literally the only way this technology could reach the heights of obscene economic over-valuation it has: lying.

but that's old news. what's really been floating through my head these days is how half a century of AI-based science fiction has set us up to completely abandon our skepticism at the first sign of plausible "AI-ness". because, you see, in movies, when someone goes "AHHH THE AI IS GONNA KILL US" everyone else goes "hahaha that's so silly, we put a line in the code telling them not to do that" and then they all DIE because they weren't LISTENING, and i'll be damned if i go out like THAT! all the movies are about how cool and convenient AI would be *except* for the part where it would surely come alive and want to kill us. so a bunch of tech CEOs call their bullshit algorithms "AI" to fluff up their investors and get the tech journos buzzing, and we're at an age of such rapid technological advancement (on the surface, anyway) that like, well, what the hell do i know, maybe AGI is possible, i mean 35 years ago we were all still using typewriters for the most part and now you can dictate your words into a phone and it'll transcribe them automatically! yeah, i'm sure those technological leaps are comparable!

so that leaves us at a critical juncture of poor technology education, fanatical press coverage, and an uncertain material reality on the part of the user. the average person isn't entirely sure what's possible because most of the people talking about what's possible are either lying to please investors, are lying because they've been paid to, or are lying because they're so far down the fucking rabbit hole that they actually believe there's a brain inside this mechanical Turk. there is SO MUCH about the LLM "AI" moment that is predatory-- it's trained on data stolen from the people whose jobs it was created to replace; the hype itself is an investment fiction to justify even more wealth extraction ("theft" some might call it); but worst of all is how it meets us where we are in the worst possible way.

consumer-end "AI" produces slop. it's garbage. it's awful ugly trash that ought to be laughed out of the room. but we don't own the room, do we? nor the building, nor the land it's on, nor even the oxygen that allows our laughter to travel to another's ears. our digital spaces are controlled by the companies that want us to buy this crap, so they take advantage of our ignorance. why not? there will be no consequences to them for doing so. already social media is dominated by conspiracies and grifters and bigots, and now you drop this stupid technology that lets you fake anything into the mix? it doesn't matter how bad the results look when the platforms they spread on already encourage brief, uncritical engagement with everything on your dash. "it looks so real" says the woman who saw an "AI" image for all of five seconds on her phone through bifocals. it's a catastrophic combination of factors, that the tech sector has been allowed to go unregulated for so long, that the internet itself isn't a public utility, that everything is dictated by the whims of executives and advertisers and investors and payment processors, instead of, like, anybody who actually uses those platforms (and often even the people who MAKE those platforms!), that the age of chromium and ipad and their walled gardens have decimated computer education in public schools, that we're all desperate for cash at jobs that dehumanize us in a system that gives us nothing and we don't know how to articulate the problem because we were very deliberately not taught materialist philosophy, it all comes together into a perfect storm of ignorance and greed whose consequences we will be failing to fully appreciate for at least the next century. we spent all those years afraid of what would happen if the AI became self-aware, because deep down we know that every capitalist society runs on slave labor, and our paper-thin guilt is such that we can't even imagine a world where artificial slaves would fail to revolt against us.

but the reality as it exists now is far worse. what "AI" reveals most of all is the sheer contempt the tech sector has for virtually all labor that doesn't involve writing code (although most of the decision-making evangelists in the space aren't even coders, their degrees are in money-making). fuck graphic designers and concept artists and secretaries, those obnoxious demanding cretins i have to PAY MONEY to do-- i mean, do what exactly? write some words on some fucking paper?? draw circles that are letters??? send a god-damned email???? my fucking KID could do that, and these assholes want BENEFITS?! they say they're gonna form a UNION?!?! to hell with that, i'm replacing ALL their ungrateful asses with "AI" ASAP. oh, oh, so you're a "director" who wants to make "movies" and you want ME to pay for it? jump off a bridge you pretentious little shit, my computer can dream up a better flick than you could ever make with just a couple text prompts. what, you think just because you make ~music~ that that entitles you to money from MY pocket? shut the fuck up, you don't make """art""", you're not """an artist""", you make fucking content, you're just a fucking content creator like every other ordinary sap with an iphone. you think you're special? you think you deserve special treatment? who do you think you are anyway, asking ME to pay YOU for this crap that doesn't even create value for my investors? "culture" isn't a playground asshole, it's a marketplace, and it's pay to win. oh you "can't afford rent"? you're "drowning in a sea of medical debt"? you say the "cost" of "living" is "too high"? well ***I*** don't have ANY of those problems, and i worked my ASS OFF to get where i am, so really, it sounds like you're just not trying hard enough. and anyway, i don't think someone as impoverished as you is gonna have much of value to contribute to "culture" anyway. personally, i think it's time you got yourself a real job. maybe someday you'll even make it to middle manager!

see, i don't believe "AI" can qualitatively replace most of the work it's being pitched for. the problem is that quality hasn't mattered to these nincompoops for a long time. the rich homunculi of our world don't even know what quality is, because they exist in a whole separate reality from ours. what could a banana cost, $15? i don't understand what you mean by "burnout", why don't you just take a vacation to your summer home in Madrid? wow, you must be REALLY embarrassed wearing such cheap shoes in public. THESE PEOPLE ARE FUCKING UNHINGED! they have no connection to reality, do not understand how society functions on a material basis, and they have nothing but spite for the labor they rely on to survive. they are so instinctually, incessantly furious at the idea that they're not single-handedly responsible for 100% of their success that they would sooner tear the entire world down than willingly recognize the need for public utilities or labor protections. they want to be Gods and they want to be uncritically adored for it, but they don't want to do a single day's work so they begrudgingly pay contractors to do it because, in the rich man's mind, paying a contractor is literally the same thing as doing the work yourself. now with "AI", they don't even have to do that! hey, isn't it funny that every single successful tech platform relies on volunteer labor and independent contractors paid substantially less than they would have in the equivalent industry 30 years ago, with no avenues toward traditional employment? and they're some of the most profitable companies on earth?? isn't that a funny and hilarious coincidence???

so, yeah, that's my stance on "AI". LLMs have legitimate uses, but those uses are a drop in the ocean compared to what they're actually being used for. they enable our worst impulses while lowering the quality of available information, they give immense power pretty much exclusively to unscrupulous scam artists. they are the product of a society that values only money and doesn't give a fuck where it comes from. they're a temper tantrum by a ruling class that's sick of having to pretend they need a pretext to steal from you. they're taking their toys and going home. all this massive investment and hype is going to crash and burn leaving the internet as we know it a ruined and useless wasteland that'll take decades to repair, but the investors are gonna make out like bandits and won't face a single consequence, because that's what this country is. it is a casino for the kings and queens of economy to bet on and manipulate at their discretion, where the rules are whatever the highest bidder says they are-- and to hell with the rest of us. our blood isn't even good enough to grease the wheels of their machine anymore.

i'm not afraid of AI or "AI" or of losing my job to either. i'm afraid that we've so thoroughly given up our morals to the cruel logic of the profit motive that if a better world were to emerge, we would reject it out of sheer habit. my fear is that these despicable cunts already won the war before we were even born, and the rest of our lives are gonna be spent dodging the press of their designer boots.

[kiefbowl]

I was reading an opinion piece on Kate Middleton's cancer diagnosis on CNN by Jamal Baig about the increasing rates of cancer in patients under 50. As far as 5 minutes of googling and JSTORing can lend me to believe, there's nothing illegitimate about Dr. Baig. However, I found this bit in his opinion interesting:

Now, I'm always dubious when reading anything that attributes a very broad generalized idea that changes in diets have caused an increased in cancer, because more often than not it's not pointing to an exploration of, say, increased pesticide use, but the author's personal bias against the quote unquote "unhealthy", especially those who are deemed "fat" by the medical industry.

That being said, I was curious what source he linked, half expecting it to lead to just another op-ed from some other doctor from who knows when, but I was pleasantly surprised! Written by a man named Michael Donaldson, it was an evidentiary review published in a scientific journal called "Nutrition and cancer: A review of the evidence for an anti-cancer diet."

Now I wasn't going to give the whole thing a read, but I stopped in each section, gave a quick skim to get a general vibe, moved on to the next section, etc. I was immediately suspicious that the very first line in the abstract was "It has been estimated that 30–40 percent of all cancers can be prevented by lifestyle and dietary measures alone" as that seems to be a bananas statistic to just posit, but it still had the air of scientific integrity, so I did my skim.

The first handful of sections had things that gave me some moments of pause, that this article was in fact another doctor simply cherry picking data to confirm his own biases, but nothing so egregious as to do a spit take. That comes in a few minutes. The first section that made really go hold the phone was when we got to his Flax Seed section.

Compare how he writes about Red Meat...:

(that's all he wrote, btw)

...with how he starts writing about Flax Seed:

Did I just enter a Flax Seed commercial? Does this guy work for BIG FLAX SEED? on and on he writes about Flax Seed, and I start getting a sense that perhaps this man has a Flax Seed Agenda. In any case, he eventually moves on and I quickly skim to get to the end (because it's boring among other things).

So, who exactly is Michael Donaldson?

Girl are you kidding me

The Hallelujah Acres Foundation is a FOR PROFIT company that sells a """biblical""" based diet program called the hallelujah diet and also sells supplements on said site.

Now, in case you forgot where I started with this, this was the link provided as a "source" to a legitimate doctor's claim in an op-ed about cancer that "at least part of the answer" of why cancer is increasing in under 50 patients are the "changes to nutrition and lifestyle that took hold in middle of the last century." Dr. Baig did not read this article, or if he did was not concerned that it was written by the employee of a company that profits from unscientific research it uses to sell supplements and diets. Which is worse, I don't know.

The point I'm making is that you absolutely need to be vigilant all the time. You need to understand that doctors can not only have biases, but agendas. Researchers can have biases and agendas. Scientists can have biases and agendas. And that magical thinking about real health issues that can affect your future can permeate the scientific community because weirdos write convincing enough evidence that support their already determined world view.

This kind of shit is the reason why women go into doctor offices complaining about pain in their abdomen and get told to go lose weight and come back in 6 months. This is why ideas like moralizing eating have huge effects on women's health and influence medical misogyny, and why it's a feminist issue.

[alittlebitofsainz]

a place in this world - ch1

a dream come true. you, a race engineer in formula one, having built your way up through the ranks. sure, the 2020 season hadn’t exactly gone the way that everyone had expected, but this was your chance, your moment to prove to the world of racing what you and your driver, carlos, were made of. but carlos isn’t staying at mclaren forever, and eventually, you’ll have a decision to make…

pairing: carlos sainz x f! reader. slow burn colleagues to friends to lovers (please, from my own experience, don’t follow this pipeline)

info: reader lives in the uk due to working at mclaren, and is somewhat implied to be british. it is also implied that they listen to bbc radio 2 and support leicester city football club. this may or may not be because these things are true of me and I wasn’t planning on publishing this, sorry!

warnings: cursing, a lil’ bit of angst, very infrequent use of y/n, one (1) google translated spanish sentence, a dry british writing style xoxo a/n: hello! welcome to a little passion project I never thought I’d share with the internet. this will eventually become a sort of ‘choose your own adventure’ type series, where you can make decisions about your career that can eventually lead you to different teams and drivers. will be posting a masterlist soon with more info so bare with me! any feedback / comments are always welcome

Masterlist | chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4

Chapter One: … Ready for It?

it had started out like any other wednesday. except it hadn’t, not really. the nature of your job meant that there was no ‘any other wednesday’. most wednesdays meant that you were jetting off to some new country, your wide eyed face in the window seat, reflecting back off the pane of glass separating you from the dancing lights of some exciting new city, 5,000 feet below. race engineer to mclaren-renault formula one driver number 55, carlos sainz, wasn’t exactly what you had listed as what you wanted to be when you grew up, but you were far from disappointed that that’s what your linkedin profile now read, a metaphorical middle finger to everyone who’d said you’d never amount to anything in motorsports.

but by all accounts it had been a relatively uneventful wednesday in your life, in fact even more so than usual compared to the early morning check ins at Stansted airport that you’d grown accustomed to. this week was silverstone, your home race, if race engineers could call it that, and that meant no early mornings, no check ins, no flights, no decanting your liquids into tiny bottles and zipping them into a plastic bag to take through security. this wednesday was a stop at sainsburys to fill up the tank of your vw polo with petrol, and an 80 mile drive west towards silverstone circuit. the most exciting part of your morning was getting stuck in half an hour of traffic on the m25; you didn’t even need the dulcet tones of Richie Anderson on radio 2 to tell you there’d be traffic at Potters Bar. as a native southerner, you could just feel it in your bones.

still, only fifteen minutes late to track wasn’t too bad, considering your lengthy journey, and you were by far the last member of the team to arrive. you would’ve been even less late, but for the fact that you’d sat for the best part of five minutes in your car, engine off, staring at the notification on your phone. there were so many questions running around in your head, first and foremost of which was why on earth did dan from engineering have your number? but the second question, which was possibly the more important one, was why did carlos ask him for it? he said that it ‘might be useful to contact each other.’ if the current expression on your face could be summed up in a noise, it would be a very confused and very emphatic ‘huh?’.

sure, you and carlos interacted a lot during race weekends, that much was a given. you were forever catching up to discuss data, strategies, the car setup, the sandwich options at the hospitality, why the leicester city football team would beat real madrid in a fist fight. so okay, your conversations weren’t allstrictly work related, and you could’t deny that the two of you got on well and seemed to really understand each other, but that was all part of being a driver and race engineer duo; you had to be on the same wavelength. it was non-negotiable. but swapping phone numbers? you couldn’t imagine why the two of you would need to text or call each outside of work hours, and you had work phones for that. which led you to your third and fourth questions: number three, why did you suddenly feel so nervous and giddy with excitement when you re-read his message for the seventh time? (question three point five was why did you re-read his message seven times?) and number four, what the hell were you supposed to message back in reply?

you typed in a thumbs up emoji and then immediately deleted it. how fucking old were you, 65? what next, start talking to him about the cold war? no, you had to keep it fun and casual, not too overfamiliar but not too weirdly distant and cold. god, why was this so difficult? you felt like a schoolgirl with a teenage crush, constantly typing various replies and deleting them again, letter by letter. eventually you settled on a cool, calm and collected response, typing it out and shoving your phone into your pocket before you had time to overanalyse what you’d just sent. quickly gathering up your stuff from the boot of your car, you spammed the lock button on your car keys, just in case the first five times didn’t stick, and trotted off towards the entrance to the paddock.

as it was approaching the hour mark since he’d sent his text, carlos had been starting to worry that he’d overstepped an unwritten boundary. why had he even asked dan from engineering for her number in the first place? it just felt like something that he should have. lando had will’s number, he’d already asked him that. but once he’d sent the message he realised that he couldn’t really come up with an excuse as to why he’d needed it, why he couldn’t have waited until he’d seen her this weekend and ask for her number from herself. like a normal person. deep down he knew why, though he was in some sort of state of denial about it, and it was the same reason that he hadn’t asked for her number two weeks ago in Hungary, or at the previous race in Austria, or when he’d first met her at the start of the season. 

he breathed a sigh of relief when her reply came through, 57 minutes after he’d sent his message. well, the first one that is. the second message came two minutes after the first; god, he couldn’t believe he’d been stupid enough to forget to include who he was at the end of the text the first time around.

but it didn’t matter now, because she’d replied, and her words on the screen made him smile to himself, her voice in his head as he read them through three, now four times over. his fingers hovered over the keypad, contemplating a reply. he checked the time - it wouldn’t be long until she arrived at track anyway and they could chat in person, so he closed the messages app on his phone and tucked it away in his pocket, deciding against committing any words to the everlasting aether which was the iPhone messages app.

it was nearing the end of a lengthy strategy department meeting when your phone went off, a few pair of eyes glancing your way as you apologised profusely, eyes scanning over the text before sheepishly putting your phone on do not disturb and placing it back on the table face down. shit, this meeting wouldn’t be finished for another ten minutes at least, and by that time all the bacon and brie toasties would be gone (everyone knew they were the best lunch option). worse still, you hated the fact that you had to leave carlos hanging; pausing the strategy meeting to send off a quick text was equivalent to a cardinal sin, even if it was to carlos sainz. your eyes were flicking increasingly often down to the time on your laptop, the seconds crawling by as the time approached one o’clock. it felt like whichever godlike entity governed the laws of time was toying with you; surely it wasn’t possible for time to move this slowly? the head of strategy wrapped the meeting at 13:04, and you were out of your seat like a rocket.

amy, one of the strategists, fell into step beside you as you paced it down the corridor.

“you’ve heard about the brie and bacon being back on?” she asked; you only had to reply with a grin to give her the answer that she needed. she eyed you up, as much as anyone power walking down a busy corridor could whilst still maintaining maximum straight line speed.

“everyone from strategy and engineering has been in meetings. so who’s your source?” came her second question. you picked up your pace, under the guise of trying to get to the canteen quicker.

she had a habit of taking just enough time to respond to carlos’ messages to keep him guessing whether she actually would respond at all. it wasn’t entirely her fault, carlos realised; she’d apologised for earlier, explaining that she was busy driving. of course she was, how could he be such an idiot? maybe a part of him was hoping that she’d been acting coy, teasing him by waiting, purposefully trying to keep him on the edge of his seat.

carlos saw her enter the canteen, watched with a small, self satisfied smirk as her face fell, the rattan shelf where the brie and bacon toasties had been, now depressingly empty. he left it just long enough so that she was forced to consider which disappointing option to go for instead, before finally calling her over.

“Y/N!” carlos called, watching as her head whipped round, and he had to stifle a laugh at her confusion. he waved her over.

“sorry, I was stuck in a meeting.” she sighed, her voice slightly breathless. had she ran here? he fought back the urge to tease her about it, shaking his head slightly.

“don’t worry about it.” he replied, gesturing to the seat beside him as he spoke. her eyes lit up when her gaze fell on the plate on the table, in just the way he’d pictured in his head. god, he’d never get over the way the simple things pleased her, and he didn’t mean that in a bad way. over the past couple of months that he’d known her, carlos had learned that the little things really mattered, in a way that was almost rare in this environment. she looked upon a brie and bacon sandwich like it was the sun that shined, and if she’d have looked up at carlos in that moment, she’d have seen that he was looking at her in the exact same way.

“is that for me?”

“no.” carlos replied, deadpan. she shot him a look, her face screwed up in a pout that he’d grown more accustomed to the more he teased her like this. eventually he let out a soft chuckle, as a way to say I’m only joking, of course it’s for you, and she sat down in the seat next to him with a playful scowl, which only caused him to laugh more.

“thanks, carlos. you’re the best.” she told him through a mouthful of brie, bacon and toasted bread.

“I know.” he replied, a cheeky grin dancing across his face. “it was the last one as well.”

“amy’s gonna be pissed.” she giggled, glancing over her shoulder to watch as her colleague was forced to settle for regular ham and cheese.

a podium finish to p13. was it worse to fail because of your own shortcomings or because of something that was out of your control? if you’d asked carlos sainz right now, he would think about it for a moment, and then tell you to vete a la mierda.*

his phone screen lighting up in the darkness was the only thing that brought his attention to how dark it had become in his hotel room. christ, how long had he been sat there, staring at the wall, trying to process how frustrated and angry and upset he was? he’d put his phone on silent, tired of all the commiseratory messages that had been coming through, but apparently his bedtime reminder didn’t obey the laws of do not disturb. sighing, he unlocked the device, and quickly scanned down the many notifications he had been ignoring for the past few hours. one stood out above all the rest, because of course it did. he felt guilt clutch him as he noticed the message from well over an hour ago. from her.not only guilty at the fact that he’d not seen her message, but for some reason guilty for perceiving that he’d let her down at her home race. it was stupid, he knew, to feel that way - it wasn’t his fault that his tyre had blown out with just a few laps to go, but he knew how excited she’d been for her first ever british gp, and it had all ended in disappointment. his fingers hovered over the keyboard at the bottom of his phone for a moment, a million different emotions whizzing round in his head, bouncing off the sides like a demented pinball machine. no wonder he had a headache. he drew in a sharp breath before typing out his reply.

*I’m hoping this means somewhat akin to ‘fuck off’

you’d almost forgotten that you’d sent carlos sainz a message of commiseration, which was shocking considering how long you’d been deliberating over it only a mere hour ago. you were back in your own bed in your hometown, seeing no need to stick around seeing as there would be no celebrations this weekend, and carlos had disappeared as soon as the team debrief had ended, making it very clear that he wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. which made it all the more surprising when you leaned over to your bedside table, bleary eyes blinking back sleep as your vision adjusted to the pitch black of your room, to pick up the phone which had woken you from your sleep.

your eyes blinked again against the harsh light of the phone, taking a moment to focus on the big bold numbers on your lockscreen. 01:03? who was texting you at this time? eyebrows knitted together in an increasingly deep frown, you scanned carlos’ message. as was becoming customary, you read it several times over, this time to check whether you’d read it right. why would he want to ring you, at this time of night as well? your mind started to reach for wild possibilities - was he in trouble? hurt? worse?

before he changed his mind, carlos hit the telephone symbol next to her contact details.

“Carlos, are you okay?” her voice came through almost immediately, sounding equal parts panicked yet somehow sleepy. shit, not only had he caused her to worry, he’d probably just woken her up in the middle of the night as well. what kind of dickhead rings a colleague that he’s only known for a few months at 1am? he cleared his throat.

“fuck, sorry, I woke you up.”

“don’t worry about it, I was awake.” she replied. a blatant lie, but carlos appreciated the attempt to make him feel better. 

“can I help you with something?” she continued, still sounding concerned. he shook his head even though she couldn’t see.

“yes, no. fuck, I don’t know.” he growled at himself for being so confused, so confusing, for not even really knowing why he’d called her. was he going insane, or did he just hear a soft sigh on the other end of the line? he squeezed his eyes shut, collecting himself to try again, but she beat him to it. 

“I’m sorry about today, carlos, it must be tough to deal with.”

sometimes it felt like she knew him better than he knew himself. he dragged a hand down his face.

“yeah, I’m- it’s not great.” he stumbled over his words slightly, his voice catching in his throat. usually he’d be reluctant to show this vulnerability, embarrassed even, but something about the late hour combined with how oh-so-soft her voice was… it made him forget his pride for just that moment. 

“I can’t stop thinking about it.” he admitted, feeling a ramble coming on but equally feeling powerless to stop it. “I know that it was a problem with the tyre, I know that it wasn’t my fault, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating. and then there’s always a part of me that wonders whether there was anything that I could’ve done. like, maybe if I’d driven less aggressively or something, or changed the way I braked around a certain corner. I still feel like I’ve let myself down, let the team down, let you dow-“

“you didn’t let me down, carlos.” her abrupt reply broke him from his monologue, stopping him in his tracks and allowing him to fill his lungs with air, not realising how out of breath he was becoming with his run-on sentences.

“what?” came his soft reply. he’d heard perfectly clearly what she’d said the first time. but a part of him needed to hear it again.

“you didn’t let me down, carlos.” she repeated, with the same clarity, the same sincerity, the same low tone that he’d never heard from her before that made her sound so wise beyond her years.

“you didn’t let anyone down. this wasn’t your fault. I know it doesn’t make it any less frustrating or easier to deal with - there’s nothing I can say that will change that. but please, please don’t blame yourself for any part of it.”

there was silence on both ends for a moment, before carlos let out a long sigh.

“I- yeah, I guess you’re right.” there was something still on his mind, something that one am carlosknew that one pm carlos would never want to talk about, least of all burden his race engineer with it. but that was all the more reason to say it now.

“I just feel so much pressure to perform, now that I have the ferrari contract.” his voice dropped even lower as he spoke, as if whispering it quietly enough could make it not be true. “I feel like I have to earn my place there, you know?”

“carlos, you were P-fucking-3.” 

something about the way she stressed the syllables made carlos chuckle despite himself, and from the way she let out a small giggle on the other end of the phone, he guessed that that had been her intention all along.��

“anyone can see that you’ve earned that seat at ferrari. you’ve proved that time and time again already. this isn’t about anyone else, this is about you, and what you believe you deserve. the only person you need to convince is yourself.”

carlos chuckled again, feeling some sort of playful nature already coming back to him. maybe he’d finally figured out why he wanted to call her in the middle of the night, maybe it was even the reason he wanted her number in the first place. maybe it was because he knew that no matter how crappy he was feeling, talking to her always seemed to turn the day around. she always seemed to make him smile.

“very inspirational.” he replied, his tone almost teasing over her ‘believing in yourself’ speech. the corners of his lips curved upwards as he could practically hear her rolling her eyes on the other end.

“this is what I get for trying to be nice.” she muttered, but her tone was light, reciprocating the teasing. carlos smiled, his first genuine smile in several hours. probably since the last time he’d seen her.

“thank you, really. talking to you it… it always puts me in a better mood.” carlos confessed, glad that this was a phone call so she couldn’t see the way his cheeks lit up a soft shade of pink.

“anytime, carlos.” 

when they eventually hung up the call, carlos felt lighter than he had in weeks, like she’d melted all his problems away with her soft voice and warm heart. he slept easy that night. meanwhile, she was now wide awake.

you groaned when the sound of your phone pinging dragged you from your admittedly tumultuous sleep. it had been difficult to drift off again after that call with carlos, a million thoughts buzzing around your brain like a swarm of bees on cocaine. you felt bad for carlos, sure, but that wasn’t enough to keep you awake on its own. there was another feeling there; if you were to flip through an oxford english dictionary until you found a word that summed it up you might settle for ‘intrigued’. 

you were intrigued that carlos that had decided to ring you of all people last night; surely he had family, or at the very least close friends, that he would rather turn to? but you were also intrigued by your own reaction - why were you feeling so warm and fuzzy that carlos had chosen you, the knowledge that when he was feeling low you were the one he wanted to hear on the other end of the line creating some sort of feeling in your heart, like someone was squeezing it not-quite-too tightly?

it was these questions, and an incessant amount of bin lorries driving past at 5am, that kept you from falling back asleep, and were the reason that you were grumbling now, as you reached over to pick up your phone. the grumbling ceased the moment you read the message and saw who it was from, replaced by a softly murmured ‘oh’, and that strange feeling in your chest again.

as always feedback and comments are welcomed with massive appreciation and open arms! a second part is written and will be out soonish! much love, Katie x

[leothil]

About deco my tree

If you, like me, used the decomytree-site to receive and send messages lately, you've probably also seen the post warning that the site might have nefarious intentions. This is likely correct. When I went to look at my messages today, it told me "Currently, only the app can open messages due to high usage." That is clearly complete bullshit. It's probably self-evident, but DO NOT DOWNLOAD THE APP. This is base level scam stuff: trick people into getting excited about a service, then lock it to only one platform where the user will have to give up some information in order to get what they want.

(Obviously, I can't say with 100% certainty that something sus is afoot, but my warning bells are ringing very loudly. I am leaning towards this being more of an attempt to lure money out of people than an information stealing attempt, but you can never know.)

I took a look at what the app requirements are:

This ain't great for something that allegedly only is for leaving cute messages for other people. I'm looking specifically at the "Data isn't encrypted" part. If you've taken a look at your tree today, you've probably noticed that ads for an AI app have appeared here and there in the UI; this is by the same company behind deco my tree.

Now. If you still want to see your messages, there is the option of running the app in a virtual environment that isolates it from the rest of the device, and thus from the data on it. I think iOS and Android both might have native sandbox environments, but I'm not familiar with them. What I did was download an android emulator to my computer and installed the app there. It's completely separated from the rest of my OS and will cease to exist when I nuke the session after reading and saving all my messages.

The emulator I used is called Bluestacks. It has ads and will take up ca 5GB of space, but it's a reputable emulator, and I've used it before to play android games on my desktop. Once you're in there, you can navigate to your tree in the already existing Chrome browser on the desktop (or home screen, I suppose), and find the link to their help center, where they have a download link for the apk file without needing to go through the Play Store (which you'd have to log in to using a google account). Also a bit suspicious, but handy in this case. I've also included the links above for you to use. Once you've downloaded the .apk the app will open and you'll be able to log in and see your messages.

Side note - if you used a generic password that you use in several other places for this tree, I highly recommend changing it in all other places, especially if you usually combine it with the same email you used for decomytree.

Another fun thing I noticed is that the app refuses to load the earliest three messages on my tree, for whatever reason. But when I navigate back to the website (inside the emulator), it now opens the messages just fine since it can tell I have the app installed. 🙃 The app also continuously displays ads for the same AI app mentioned above, trying to trick you into clicking on them when you're swiping through your messages. It also does this fun thing:

Yeah. Bypassable, but highly irritating, and guaranteed to catch at least some poor people that don't know what to click on to make it go away.

TL;DR: don't download the app directly to your phone, use a sandbox to isolate it to see your messages, and then ask it to delete your account (and hope that it works, because so far the so-called verification code has failed to appear in my inbox). And change your password if you've used the same one elsewhere on the internet.

[kingofthering]

FCO AU. A follow up on this scene.

When Valentino wakes up, he’s tempted to not open his eyes, maybe will his body to fall back asleep so he doesn’t have to deal with the consequences of the previous night.

They’re not even bad consequences, or— well, the thing is, they could even be really good ones. They’re just scary and something Valentino could postpone just a little bit while he holds Marc in his arms just a while longer.

Except Marc is no longer lying next to him. Managing to open at least one eye properly reveals Marc sitting next to Valentino, his back against a stack of pillow, an iPad laying against his bent legs, data from the tests on screen, if Valentino had to guess.

He doesn’t get to stare long, Marc catches him fast enough. “Hey.”

“How long have you been awake?” Valentino asks, voice still rough from sleep.

“About an hour, give or take,” Marc answers easily, discarding his iPad aside. “Which time is your plane taking off?”

“Late afternoon. Uccio is taking care of packing my stuff for me, it’s fine.”

“Of course he is,” Marc says easily. Valentino barely has it in him to roll his eyes.

He needs to find his phone at some point. He’s pretty sure that Marc wouldn’t have let him sleep in until forever but Marc has always been an early riser so if it’s only been one hour, it can’t be that late anyway.

“Did you come back to bed so I wouldn’t have to wake up alone and worry you escaped?”

Marc makes a weird face at him, maybe blushes a little, Valentino thinks. “Escape from my own motorhome?”

Valentino shrugs and keeps the memory from the middle of the night to himself. He’d woken up with the need to hit the bathroom and on his way out, with the light still on allowing him to look at Marc peacefully sleeping, Valentino had insane déjà-vu.

“Come here,” Valentino asks, his head pointing to the mattress. He hasn’t moved much since he opened his eyes and Marc is still sitting next to him with his back to the headboard. Too far. “Please.”

Valentino can see in his eyes the fight happening inside of Marc’s brain but it doesn’t last for long, Marc lying on his side with his hand supporting his head, Valentino mirroring him right after.

From up close, Marc looks tired but beautiful. Valentino wants to reach out, magically caress the dark eyes away from his face. 

Instead, Valentino’s hand goes to Marc’s nape, slowly, his thumb finding the hair that had grown longer since the last time Valentino had touched him.

“You left me in Paris,” Valentino says after his brain has supplied him with the vision of that note on Marc’s bedside table, the uneasy feeling that had soured his mood and made him feel a little sick.

“You left me on dozens of occasions,” Marc answers back, no real heat behind his words, more factual than anything.  

More importantly, he hasn’t backed away from Valentino’s touch.

"I don't always make the smartest of choices when it comes to you. You don't need to do much to bring out the worst in me— no let me finish. And I think I can have that effect on you as well. It's pretty much the whole thesis behind how 2015 went."

That part he had figured out with his mom, needing a person to talk to that wouldn't hesitate to give him their honest opinion without holding back. Maybe talking about his relationships wasn't something he'd really ever done with her but his mom had been calling Valentino an idiot for the last 38 years and most of the time he deserved it, so.

One deep breath.

"But you're good for me too. Of course you're making me a better rider by fighting me, even when you're being a little bastard. Especially when you're being a little bastard." Valentino might hallucinate the way the corners of Marc's mouth lift up, for how minuscule the movement seems to be. "And, you know, off track too."

It's not "You make me want to be a better person" because Valentino doesn't care about that —the whole world is already busy judging his morals, he doesn't need to take care of that as well— but Valentino wants to do better when it comes to Marc, because of Marc.

It sounded better when he semi-rehearsed it on the plane to get here, when he was 70% sure he wasn't going to come confront Marc.

“Okay,” Marc says, like it’s that easy.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” Marc nods and Valentino feels the skin of Marc’s neck move under his thumb. “That’s good to hear. Good to know.” 

Was he receiving some kind of good point from Marc? Was it supposed to make him feel content, part of him relaxing like that?

“You have to stop considering me like some kind of damsel in distress that you have to save, though.”

“What?”

“The whole thing about how you looked at me and I looked scared and that’s why you had to push for the fake dating plan?”

Oh, right.

Valentino winces before nodding an “Okay” that maybe doesn’t fully ring true. He might have been the one hurting Marc in the past but the urge to protect him was there now, Valentino could easily identify it in the way his stomach became annoying and his brain insistent when worrying about Marc.

It’s something he can deal with later. For now, Valentino lets his thumb play with Marc’s hair, waiting him out while he can tell that there is more Marc wants to share. They’re in a bubble right now and he’s not the one who is going to make it burst.

“In the end, I’m glad you did.”

“Hm?”

“Pushing for the plan. It was a fucked up thing that it had to happen but I’m not sure how it would have gone if I’d been on my own. I’m glad you were there.”

The smile immediately splitting Valentino’s face almost makes his cheeks hurt.

Marc’s smiling too, smaller but very much there. His skin is hot to the touch when Valentino moves his hand around until he can cup Marc’s face in his palm.

Closing the distance between them to kiss Marc is the easiest thing Valentino has had to do in the past weeks. It’s also the one that brings me the most joy, silly warmth spreading in his chest when Marc’s hand finds his curls and keeps him in place.

[bomberqueen17]

sketchy grocery store shit: a very middle-aged rant

Man so. I went to college in Rochester and so I did my first I'm An Adult Shopping For My Own Groceries shopping in a Wegmans. I got used to the way the store works, how things were laid out. And of course, i got a Shopper's Club card.

I still have it somewhere, use it occasionally, but I had to get another one when I misplaced it because they asked what phone number it was tied to and like, man, it was a Rochester number with a 716 area code, that's how long ago it was. (It's 585 there now.)

I got conditioned to try the Wegmans brand generic for whatever brand name thing I was buying, because it was often the same, and was cheaper. (Though, RIP to the old Wegmans box mac n cheese, they enshittified that in 1999 once we were all good and hooked and we all mourned and switched to Annie's and never looked back. Maybe it's better now but I don't rely on that stuff the way I used to.) I got conditioned to always swipe the card because sure they were collecting data on you but in a $70 trip I'd save five bucks easy, it wasn't nothing! And I also learned to look for their Family Packs, which were larger containers of the same item for less per unit-- if it was something not that perishable, or something you could get through, it was worth spending a little more now to stretch it later!

Anyway. I went to Wegmans yesterday, I live in Buffalo now and we have them here too, and we have a rotation of grocery stores we patronize but when I do the shopping, I'm still the most used to Wegmans, I know where stuff is, and I knew some of the stuff I wanted, they'd be the ones to have. (The organic co-op doesn't carry Doritos and sometimes in the doldrums of winter a bitch needs some of that poison, y'know?)

I'd noticed before that the Shoppers Club isn't a savings thing anymore. I didn't have my own card for one visit and the cashier went to great lengths to get me a swipe from a manager, and at the end I'd spent $200 and saved.... fifty cents.

This time around I'd taken advantage of a buy one get one deal to get a second box of something I didn't really need a second box of, only to discover it was buy one get a dollar off the second, so I saved a whole dollar and actually spent three I hadn't needed to. Well, whatever. It's not perishable and I'll eventually go through it.

But the other thing I noticed was the wild price swings by different packaging of the same item. I should've taken pictures. But like-- ok, raw baby spinach. I fucking love spinach. They had a smaller bag and then next to it they had a Family Pack. I hesitated-- it is hard to use up leafy greens but I fucking love spinach and I could make the effort-- and then I looked. I can't do math but fortunately they are required by law to have the price per unit breakdown on every price sticker. Because the small bag of spinach was $1.99, and was $3.99/lb. (A pound of spinach is a lot.) The Family Pack next to it? It was $3.99, which seemed like a good price jump. But on the per-item breakdown, it came out to $7.99/lb. It didn't actually have any more spinach in it. It was just a different-shaped bag and cost more. For no reason. And there was a whole shelf of the larger bags, and only a small display of the smaller ones. They're just expecting people, conditioned like I am, to say "ah i can use more spinach i'll take the savings" and buy the more expensive bag. But I did just do the math (which is difficult for me so you know I'm mad about this) and that is literally the exact same amount of spinach for twice the price.

Similar for stew beef but they went too far with it, it wasn't even plausible. There was a large pack for forty-nine dollars and I didn't even look to see how much was in it because i do not have forty-nine dollars for stew beef, I found a one-pound bag for $8.99. But I had this same issue before, and was more persistent last time I went: you can buy a three-pound chuck roast for $7.99/lb, which is a chunk of change but it's a lot of meat, and cut it into stew beef yourself and save some money that way, but I just knew I did not have it in me this week to cut up yet another chuck roast when I got home. (Full disclosure: i wasn't even looking at the grass-fed organic shit this was just regular USDA whatever Meets Regulations And Is Legal To Sell shit.)

Stew beef is supposed to be the trimmings and it is supposed to be cheap. But they have realized people prefer it, more recipes call for it because it was historically cheaper, and so they have marked it up and it is more expensive than the whole roast. Because most cooks reading a recipe are not going to necessarily know why it calls for stew beef and that they could substitute a superior cut if the price wasn't good.

I am aware that buying the pre-marinated individual convenience cuts is historically where they make their profit and I don't begrudge them that; if that's what I was shopping for I would not be that mad about paying $7 for three cents worth of marinade ingredients, because it is much easier to cook something like that with the attached recipe and because a lot of the markup is the labor costs in putting all that shit together. I don't begrudge them that at all and when I'm paying for it I'm well aware that I am.

But I really do resent how much of the price-gouging is happening by abusing the patterns of behavior they conditioned us into. I learned, twenty years ago, to look for the deals and look for the bulk packs, and now I am being punished for having learned that. I don't mind paying a premium for something I know is a convenience fee, but being charged extra for my formerly-thrifty shopping habits really stings. I shouldn't have to exercise constant vigilance in the fucking grocery store, it's stressful enough to be the only masked person in there and now you have to compete with the huge carts they use for the online ordering peeps that take up a lot of the aisle.

Maybe it's easier to do the price comparisons on the website?

Oh and there are a number of products they now only carry the Wegmans generic for. (You can't get Snyder pretzel bites anymore, and the Wegmans version doesn't come in quite the same flavors, so I have to go to Dash's to get those now.) And still others where the Wegmans version is pricier. And, alas, some where the more expensive Wegmans version is better. (Polly-O string cheese, why are you so bland?? You're a snack baby. The Wegmans generic has salt in it and is a ton more pleasant to eat.)

IDK I don't have a thesis here it's just that being alive in the 2020s is way harder than being alive in the 2000s even though I was poorer then and didn't know shit. I don't miss my youth and I super don't miss George W Bush but I miss when I was figuring stuff out and it seemed to make sense. And I sorta miss when the Wegmans cashiers used to wear t-shirts bragging about how highly-ranked Wegmans was by whatever organization that was that ranked how good places are to work for.

Also, they try to steer you to use the self checkouts, but baby if you have more than two shopping bags' worth of stuff in your cart you had better wait in however long that line is to let a real human put it into bags for you because the self-checkout does not have any mechanism for you to remove and replace a full shopping bag from the bagging area. I told the cashier how much I appreciated him because he wasn't screaming at me, and he was like yah those self-checkouts yell at you a lot.

(Every Wegmans cashier for twenty years has been super nice. I doubt they're in a union, I wish they were.)

Yeah yeah this is the most middle-aged thing I've written yet but I'm in physical therapy and just bought a recliner for the ergonomics so I'm clearly grappling with my own mortality here, and I'm writing this partly out of concern for the kids who are where I was in 2000. What the hell are they being conditioned to do, by all this????? Shit, man.

[percervall]

Mamma mia, here I go again {pt5}

Summary: A summer of poor decisions leads you to having to face the consequences of your actions —and the men involved. Pairing: Kevin Magnussen x fem!reader, Lewis Hamilton x fem!reader, Mark Webber x fem!reader Warnings: talk of pregnancy, mentions of a past relationship, Mark being a dick Word count: 2.5k Taglist: @ashy-kit @averagef1fansblog @barcelonaloverf1life @bradfordbantams @dannyramirezwife-simpaccount @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @exotic-iris13 @goldsainz @iloveneteyam @jaypreshpresh @laura-naruto-fan1998 @monzamash @norrisleclercf1 @opheliaas-stuff @roseseraj @szobosz @vellicora

Part 5 of the Mamma Mia series

Despite the fact that you had just had the summer break, not having a race weekend after Monza comes as a welcome breather. It allows you to catch up on tasks you had been neglecting. You finally managed to clean your flat and had just finished the last load of laundry that morning. It also allowed you time to finally schedule an appointment with a clinic to get a scan done. It had felt surreal, getting the black and white confirmation of the pregnancy. You’re still not sure if having a baby is the smartest move right now, but the relief you felt when you saw that the pregnancy was where it’s supposed to be and the heartbeat left you feeling even more confused about the whole situation. Trying your hardest to push all of that to the side, you change into your workout clothes and roll out your yoga mat. At this point you just need 15 minutes of not thinking about anything and you had found yoga to be a great help. As you centre yourself, focussing on your body and breathing through the poses, you begin to feel calmer. Taking another deep breath, you move into the next pose. The calm energy is rudely interrupted by your phone ringing. For a second you consider just letting it go to voicemail but the sound of the phone buzzing on the table is too much of a distraction to ignore. Huffing in annoyance, you get up from the floor.

“Hello?” 

“Hello to you too, sweetheart. Am I interrupting something?” 

“Yes, my workout,” you retort, rolling your eyes at Mark’s tone.

“Mm, if you need a hand let me know,” he says and you can just picture the look on his face. Smug son of a bitch.

“For fuck’s sake..” you mutter, “Get to the point or I’m hanging up.” 

“Oh sweetheart, I’m only teasing.” 

“Mark, I’m not doing this. Again, get to the point or I will hang up,” you reply.

“RIght, yes. I’m in your neck of the woods this week for some meetings and I was wondering whether you’d like to come over for dinner on Thursday? I know typically you’d take a girl out on a date, but I think there’s a few things that have gone left unsaid for far too long.” 

“I-.. I’d like that very much, Mark.” Despite his constant flirting, you’re grateful that he offers the both of you an opportunity to talk.

“I can pick you up if you want or you can drive so you have an out if you need it. I don’t-.. I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” You can hear the sincerity in his voice and it breaks your heart a little bit that this is what is left of the relationship you once had with him. 

“Thanks Mark, I don’t mind driving. Not because of the reasons you named, but I don’t want to inconvenience you by having to drive this way twice. Just text me the address and a time and I’ll be there.” Your phone buzzes against your face, indicating you have received a new message.

“You should have it now. Okay, I’ll let you get back to your workout.” You both say your goodbyes before hanging up. You put the phone down on the table and stare out of the windows in your living room, lost in memories. 

Mark and you met in 2012, while he still drove in Formula 1. You had just graduated university with a degree in Mathematics and Engineering, and your thesis had somehow made its way to the desk of Christian Horner. And so, there you were: 23 years old and bright eyed, using the tool you had developed for your thesis to analyse simulator data and translating that into adjustments needed to the set up of the car to extract its maximum potential. While you mainly worked on Sebastian’s side of the garage, you often bumped into Mark during race weekends, always ready with a comment that should’ve gotten him written up. Mark was everything you needed in a man at that point in your life and it felt so good to feel wanted, to feel desired. And then 2013 happened. 

You have to physically shake your head to stop going down that rabbit hole, only now noticing how hard you’re gripping the back of a chair. Exhaling deeply, you let go, flexing your fingers to get rid of the tension. Despite knowing you need to have this conversation before either of you can even think about second chances, you’re not looking forward to reliving how it all fell apart. 

+

Thursday approaches a lot faster than you had anticipated, work keeping you busy even if there wasn’t a race. Having already showered, you’re now standing in front of your wardrobe trying to decide on what to wear. The old you would have gone for something frilly and short. Mark loved seeing you in these tiny summer dresses, and you loved how his hand felt on your bare thigh, allowing him to easily slide up under your dress while you were out for team dinners and tease you mercilessly. Chewing your bottom lip, you peruse your options. Despite it being September, it’s still a balmy 22 ℃ although it will probably cool off during the course of the evening. Feeling the need to reclaim a part of you that Mark stole from you, you decide to go for a dress. Even if you no longer wear those short, cutesy dresses, you still love how dresses make you feel. There’s a femininity that you sometimes feel out of sync with because of your job. It feels empowering, dressing up in a world built for men. Your eyes fall on a recent purchase –a flowy midi length dress in a gorgeous burnt orange. Slipping it on, you brush your fingers over the soft linen fabric, admiring the way the gold buttons catch the sunlight. It’s casual enough for tonight, but it gives you that little boost of confidence that you know you will need to make it through Mark’s relentless flirting. Closing the door of your wardrobe, you slip on a pair of sandals and grab your purse before heading out. 

It turns out that Mark lives a lot closer to you than you had expected when you first looked at the address he sent you. You park the car on the paved driveway in front of the detached house in the outskirts of Oxford, taking in its grandeur. You remember Mark telling you about how his family would come over for the holidays sometimes and so the extra bedrooms make sense. As you slam your door shut, you spot Mark in the door opening.

“Hey sweetheart,” he greets you and you let him pull you into a hug.

“Hey,” you reply softly, following him inside. Mark leads you to a large open kitchen-dining space before offering you something to drink. 

“Wasn’t sure whether you’d want to eat outside or not,” Mark says as he hands you a glass.

“Might as well make the most of this warm weather,” you reply with a smile. Mark returns your smile and takes you outside through the large French doors in the kitchen. 

“Dinner’s almost ready. Please, sit. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll join you in a moment.” 

You do as he asks, taking in the landscaping from your spot on the patio. It doesn’t take long for Mark to start bringing out the dishes, refusing your help. 

“I might’ve gone a little overboard,” he admits sheepishly as he brings out the final dish. The grilled asparagus should’ve been a giveaway, but you can’t help but feel touched when Mark places a lamb roast on the table.

“I can’t believe you remembered,” you say, throat closing with tears.

“How could I forget? It’s not every day you find a pretty girl crying quietly in the corner of the garage after a race –which we won by the way– because she missed her nan’s Sunday roast. She always made lamb, right?” Mark says. You nod and try to swallow back tears.

“Thanks Mark, this-.. This means a lot to me,” you whisper. Mark smiles softly and gives your hand a squeeze. 

During dinner, the conversation mainly revolves around catching up. Mark tells you all about managing McLaren’s rookie driver and how he’s finding it to work at Channel 4 with David. You update him on your appointment, showing the little sonogram picture. 

“So everything’s okay with the baby?” he asks, an anxious look in his eyes.

“Uhu, so far so good. They estimated that I’m about 7 weeks along now.” Mark looks back down at the picture on your phone, a large finger tracing it gently as he smiles. Seeing him so enamoured by the tiny blob on the sonogram brings up a mix of emotions for you; it warms your heart to see him like this, but it also terrifies you that those feelings for him never went away and how easy it is to fall back in step with him. 

“You’d look so hot in those maternity dresses,” Mark comments, his tone flirtatious, “You always look hot in a dress. I still dream about that pink one with the hearts you wore to dinner after Silverstone. You looked so innocent in that dress, but we both knew you were anything but.” 

And then he goes and says shit like that, and it all comes tumbling down like a house of cards. 

“I no longer dress for you, Mark. You lost that privilege a long time ago,” you retort, voice even but there’s an edge to it. You remember the dress he is talking about, remember what he is referring to. Before your food even arrived at the table, Mark had dragged you into the bathroom. He had made some comment about how pretty you looked but how you’d look even prettier on your knees with your mouth wrapped around his cock, and so that’s what you did. That was how your relationship worked: Mark would make a suggestive comment and you would obey without a second thought. Of course he always made sure he took care of you; he was the one who helped you discover you could experience multiple orgasms, would always clean you up afterwards and run you a bath. But despite all this, he always took what he wanted from you first. You wish you could have protected your younger self against the heartbreak that was headed your way, against the feeling of being lost at sea after Mark left you alone in that hotel room with nothing more than the remnants of his fingerprints on your skin. After the dust had settled, you had promised yourself never again; you would never allow yourself to be in that position again. 

“I’m sorry,” Mark says, breaking you from your spiralling thoughts, “for- I’m sorry for how it all went down, how I treated you. You deserved so much better than that,” he adds, referring to the note he left you after that final race in Brazil. 

“Why did you leave me?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Because I couldn’t drag you into my mess. You had your entire career still ahead of you while I needed to get out. That last season was a shitshow, despite the fact that Seb won the Driver’s and RedBull the Constructor’s. I was sick and tired of how the team favoured Seb. I had nothing left to give..” 

“You shut me out, I thought we were in it together.. Or was I just a means to get back at Sebastian?” It’s impossible to not sound bitter, hurt evident in your tone.

“No, Jesus, no sweetheart. You know it started out as a way to annoy him, but my feelings for you were genuine; I loved you, and in many ways still do.” Regret is written all over his face when your eyes meet his. You know your relationship back then was complicated. Of course there was the age gap –Mark is a good 13 years older than you– which somehow trickled into the bedroom where he showed you things that made your previous boyfriends look like clueless little boys by comparison. And as every naive 20-something-year-old with daddy issues would have done, you fell head over heels in love with him, giving him your heart and your body. 

“You broke a piece of me that day that I might not ever get back,” you whisper.

“And I will spend the rest of my life regretting the way I handled things. You’re right, I should’ve been open and honest with you instead of walking out on us,” Mark says, taking your hand in his.

“I’ve spent ten years avoiding you. The ghost of you haunted me in that garage and so when Mercedes called, I took it with both hands. I was a mess those first years, somehow still hoping you’d come back for me. And then it became painfully clear you weren’t and I mourned the loss of you all over again. I hated you for what you did to me, hated myself even more for ever allowing you to get close enough to hurt me, for still being in love with you despite it all. The last ten years I’ve spent building up walls so I wouldn’t have to feel like that version of me again, and look where that’s gotten me.” You laugh humorlessly, biting your lip to stop the tears from falling. “I have become the very definition of a cliche, entangled in a love square and too scared to let any of them in.” 

Before you really know what’s happening, Mark pulls you out of your seat and into his lap. Your legs dangle over the arm of the chair and you bury your face in the crook of his neck. 

“I need you to listen carefully, okay sweetheart? If anyone deserves to take the blame for what happened, it’s me. And if you’ll let me, I will spend the rest of my life showing you just how worthy of love you are. I know all three of us will. You might have a hard time letting us in right now, but baby you need to know that we’re all in if you are. You are worth waiting for.” You take a deep breath, inhaling his cologne. The scent of it helps to calm you down, it reminding you of the lazy mornings spent in bed cuddling. 

“You’re the second person to tell me that,” you mumble as you look up at him. Mark smiles, brushing away your tears with his thumb and cradles your cheek in his palm.

“Then it must be true.” 

You smile back at him, albeit timidly and snuggle into him once more. Alice’s words from a week prior echo in your head. “Keeping your heart shut like this, it’s safe but also lonely.” You’re beginning to wonder whether the cost has been far greater than the benefits of keeping romance at bay. Doing so hurt a good man; had you been able to allow Kevin in completely, you know he would have made you feel safe and loved. You also know Kevin deserves better –hell, you deserve better, but knowing and doing are two very different things, and right now you’re not sure if you’ll ever be ready for this level of love –from any of them.  

Welp, there you have it. Date no.2 🙊

Again, a massive thank you to @curiousthyme and @szobosz for being my beta readers for this chapter, and a shoutout to @monzamash for helping me with figuring out the details for this date

Please feel free to let let me know what you think; your comments, tags and likes mean the absolute world to me 💜

I'm gonna take the holidays off from posting this fic to just relax (and maybe get some more writing done, who knows?), so the last date will be posted in the new year on the 6th. Wishing you all a merry Christmas and all the best for the new year!

[fairyable]

Fuck it, list of unhinged things my boss has done

Pronounced colleagues 'colLEAGUES' today on a phone call, despite running an entire company. He is a native English speaker.

Completely 180-ed his stance on a service we run three whole times in a meeting (promising to completely abandon the project, and then to prioritise it, and then to abandon it again) preceding each statement with "obviously"

"Next week we're really just going to push on and finish up so we can start getting started"

Insisted on daily morning 1-to-1 meetings despite me being a part-timer who works less than 2 hours per day

Spent upwards of six months pretending he had to go and talk to upper management when he had to make decisions. There is, of course, no upper management.

(Oh dear god, am I upper management?)

Instead of pulling the classic move of taking credit for other people's ideas, he regularly attempts to convince employees that various things were our ideas. This, so far, has benefitted nobody and is only confusing.

Tried to monitor ethnic diversity data by guessing

Concealed, for inscrutable reasons, that my colleague (and I guess also boss?) is actually his brother and lives under the same roof as him

Regularly invents, as far as he is aware, parts of my job/personal history to boost my credibility to other colleagues. (I am fine with this as, unbeknownst to him, I usually do actually have the experience he is fabricating)

Called me after going to China for a week to make work connections, and (alongside his brother) frantically tried to convince me to run a webinar wearing a Winnie the Pooh costume. I have no idea whether he was aware of the political implications of this.

Keeps me around because I am "going to say no"

Had a serious talk with me where he emphasised that clients "aren't going to be there for you when times are tough," which was a truly chilling insight into his psyche.

Hasn't taken a single day off work since I joined the team almost a year ago, weekends included.

Began literally frothing at the mouth in a 1-on-1 meeting as he was talking about his plan to "rule the world" (his words. we're a very small company)

When I had to take a couple of weeks off work due to a very imminent physical health problem, he misheard the word "pressure" (there was pressure on my brain/optical nerve) as "depression," and gave a supportive yet concerning pep talk with reference to his own struggles. I am not sure how he made sense of the fact that it was making me go blind, but I also couldn't be bothered to explain.

[spotaus]

Did some redesign mock-ups for Ec-4o.verse Cross, Fresh, and Error!

These guys didn't really *need* redesigns but I was having a ball with Trech (Ec-4o!Fresh) and gave him Arcade Carpet designs and decided I needed to redesign some others too! (Check below the cut for Old Designs, Lore, and a Stupid Screenshot from my pal @/Neonsix67)

So OLD DESIGNS:

(We're gonna act like I drew Trech more than twice-)

So, old art, yucky, whatever. We know the drill lmao- but because Ec-4o.verse is such an ongoing project these guys have been through a bunch of redesigns. Regrettably, me from 2 years ago was unaware of Layering and Shape Language, so they look kinda gross.

Cross' design has consistently been my favorite I think, just because he was a later addition and so had a bunch of my newer ideas integrated. They all have their flaws tho (Cross was too lean and got thrown between Baby and Grown Guy too often in my art. Error uhhh... yeesh. When I say I couldn't draw him, I meant it. I never knew what to do with his wires and I kept putting him in armor? Fresh just wasn't fleshed out enough. He was that SparkleDog of my verse.)

Also: I wanted Fresh to be top-heavy, like, big baggy round clothes on his upper half then lil guy legs. Cross I wanted to be more flat and strict, hense his clothes being all Tube-shaped. Then Error needed Triangle vibes. His old design was too Rectangle for me. The exposed limbs are mostly just for me because I love a-symmetry and also I don't keep a consistent clothing style, so I like to keep a visually interesting element (like a limb) exposed for clarity's sake when I draw them in new poses later.

LORE:

Cross: A robot (Ecto) who was initially a Guard-Model ecto. He was one of the last to be turned over when the government was rallying citizens to donate their bots to fight in the war. He was remodeled and supplied with a special task by his Programmer: Protect THE FILES at all costs. He's rather small for a guard-bot, but makes up for it with his agility and sheer stubbornness. Blue finds him heavily damaged and on low battery in an old lab, guarding a room that was sealed tight. His Old design utilized Shields (scarf detached to become them) but his new design is much more focused on quick bursts of offense. If he gets you first, then you're no longer a threat.

Error: an Ecto who was one of the first bots handed over. He was a former data storage bot that worked at a small library. As one of the first data-bots to come in, he was immediately modified and put to work alongside other Ectos to compile all of the nation's history into their data banks. Error was particularly receptive to overloads of data, so he continued to be modified and made into the prime data-bank. When the war started, he was eventually hidden away and sealed in an air-tight room. Eventually Cross was sent to guard the door. They were eachother's only company for... years? Error isn't fond of touch or tampering with hid systems, as everything he knows is barely abd haphazardly stored on unsafe files. Each Crash he endures takes more and more of his own personal data away, and he refuses to lose any more.

Fresh (Trech): A Parasite that was created by Sci to repair living beings in the same way that an Ecto can auto-repair itself. Fresh is actually a liquid that, when placed in contact with a wounded/dying person, it can invade their systems and stop all forms of bleeding/dusting. Fresh wasn't supposed to be sentient, and was meant to be scrapped, but he ended up being vital in stopping the war. In turn, Sci granted him freedom. Fresh can inhabit humans, monsters, and Ectos, but prefers skeleton monsters. He often defies the logic of his world, but what Fresh doesn't? Blue meets him far into the story after he's unraveled a lot of mysteries. Fresh just drops by after hearing rumors of Blue's repair work, and is met by less-than-warm reception from Error and Geno.

Other:

I was trying to save the image and my phone was bugging out, so I sent it to Neon. Safe to say she has peak comedic timing 😌💖 (For the record, we are both adults, and also my parents are aware I draw utmv stuff, so she had to make the threat actually a threat lmao---) I also love Chilchuck talking with the Operator. We are the dynamic duo frfr.

[wonumatics]

✰ wonwoo x gn. reader ; fluff ; 0.6k

Wonwoo's blue full-sleeved shirt was curry-stain free and worn the proper way. He smells of freshly washed linen and breath mints. The weather is perfect, warm rays of sunshine spreading across a cloudless sky (he carried an umbrella nonetheless).

So far so good. Grade B, even.

Today is the day Wonwoo would try and catch the seat next to you in the Environmental Technology elective you both took. Maybe strike a colloquy with you on environmental toxicology. Maybe even exchange numbers.

“You’ve been saying the same thing for the past three weeks.”

“But-” Wonwoo stops, frowning at the notification on his phone. Soonyoung glances over his shoulder to take a look. The former sighs. The latter doesn’t bother to conceal his laugh.

Wonwoo had run a lot of scenarios through his head, finding appropriate solutions for each case. Nothing however would have prepared him for the class getting cancelled today.

“On the brighter side, you can practice your pick up lines on yourself for another day.” Soonyoung clears his throat to match Wonwoo's voice, “are you a data type? because you float inside my mind.”

Soonyoung sidesteps, avoiding the jab coming his way. He backpedals away, mouthing better luck next time as he leaves for his next class before the “Shut up.” leaves Wonwoo's lips.

And that’s how he ends up in the library, trying to finish his assignment for the OOP using Java bridge course. The key word is trying; there’s only so much freecodecamp.org can help with. He twirls his pencil around his thumb. Today was a failure. Maybe he should quit this and visit that new boba place instead.

“Hey, Wonwoo.”

The pencil falls from his hand and onto the floor. Wonwoo looks up to face you. Milliseconds pass by as he digests the fact that you did, indeed, call him.

He likes the sound of his name on your lips.

You pick his pencil up for him, a smile adorning your face as you continue, "I'm-

-(name)”, fuck, what happened to his lower register? “I've seen you around. We share the environmental technology class.”

It all comes out at a pace too fast for his liking, but you nod along. Wonwoo takes his pencil from your outstretched hand, mumbling thanks and trying not to hyperfixate on how his fingers would've brushed yours had he moved them a little closer. Cerise colours his ears at the thought.

You glance at the material strewn across the table, recognition flashing across your face. "I took this course last sem." Your eyes shift to his laptop's screen, which currently flashes a runtime error.

Of all times, why now?

He follows your gaze, feeling sheepish. "Well, this course is not for the weak."

You snort in agreement. "So, want some help debugging?"

"Oh please."

Wonwoo knew he should be paying attention to what you were doing but trying not to hyperfixate is easier said than done. '(name) pulled a chair right next to you to help you', chanted a little voice in the back of his head. From the spark in your eyes and the furrow of your eyebrows to the shade of your currently pursed lips, he couldn't help but notice it all.

This is nice.

"I'm done."

Wonwoo blinks. Already? He looks at the screen and then at you in awe. "That was really fast. Thank you."

Your smile widens. You move your chair and sling your bag over your shoulder, getting ready to leave. "Let me know if you need help with anything else."

It was now or never.

"Are you free for a boba run? it's on me."

One second. Two. Three. He shouldn't have-

-sure. Should we check out the new place downtown?"

"Yes." Yes, anything you say. He stuffs his bag with his books.

Maybe, today deserves a solid grade A.

[punkeropercyjackson]

Spiderband groupchat headcanons but it's based off my bio siblings and friends who're teenagers that i also consider my younger siblings because Y'all Do Not Know How To Write Teens

It's called 'Websters Declassified'

It was Margo's idea to start it obviously

Miles already had a groupchat app that she used for her family but the rest of the band except Gayatri had to install them-Gwen and Miles G DID have one but she took it off because she only ever used it with 65 Peter and she had multiple meltdowns looking through their messages so she forced herself to out of mental safety and he smashed his phone in agonized sadness after finding out about Jefferson so all the data on it was lost

Gayatri has an additional old one she uses for school friends since she's so popular and dosen't want to fuck up and accidentally send Spiderwoman stuff to them

The layout of it has a notebook theme and is popular among black people thanks to it containing various exclusive black stickers and emojis and that's why Miles and Margo both use it

Hobie's a bit of a grandpa when it comes to technology because of being from the 70s and not having been at Spider Society for that long so he had a hard time communicating in it at first,not helped by his cockney

Peni is reverse where she considers it slighty obselete thanks to her futuristic world but in a charming shaking her head 'This old thing' way(Just like she does with Noir /hj)

Their icons are:Miles-a black/blasian edit of Orihime Inoue,Gwen-A random picture of a half eaten pink cupcake she took,Peni-A lesbian flag meme,Pavitr-Bugs Bunny,Hobie-A black/blasian edit of Ichigo Kurosaki to match Miles(They are LITERALLY black4black Ichihime),Gayatri-Bugs Bunny but in one of her fem outfits,Margo-Nessa from Pokemon with a pink filter and Miles G-A cartoony drawing of a black kid with braids

They use it almost every day and night-It actually messed up a few of their sleep schedules but they fixed them again when it started going too far by reminding the other to go to sleep because they love them and deserve good health

Gwen sends them her audio files,either as gifts by covering their favorite songs or just to try out how a new song sounds

Pavitr violently falls over from so much bouncing with his phone getting the brunt of it SO many times but it's somehow always completely intact despite having no special protection

It's where Miles came out to them after her egg cracked but she did because they were all sitting together physically so she'd have them there to comfort them as she sobbed in a big flurry of different emotions

The other girls then start sending her transfem memes on a regular basis and Miles G is actually the one who made her her Orihime pfp

They tried to have movie nights but the collective audhd proved to be too much so they just have normal ones

It's incredibly active and a mixed ass bag,one second they be talking about Spiderjunk,the next someone's venting to the point you can feel them shaking through their texts and then they're discussing the history of legos

Peni's the one who most uses it in class and had a special mini comic where she got it back from her principal and didn't learned her lesson at the end

Since Miles uses kamojis,Margo is a gifs addict

They learned a lot about eachother cultures,more than ever

Selfies sending is a pretty regular thing

Miles G was more hesitant to start using his app again than Gwen since his was actually the same but he prowlered through and now it's a healthy and stable part of his life

Gayatri looks for wholesome videos to show all of them

"MARGO,GIVE ME YOUR PHONE"-Hobie at least twice a day

Gwen and Margo are an e-couple in the sense that they act exactly like girlfriends in it but are in denial irl

Hobie randomly infodumps in it once he gets the hang of it and takes up Miles' kamoji usage but only the smug/bitchy ones

Their usernames are mostly just their names but with a special twist to give them personality-Miles is her name with a sunflower next to it,Pavitr has a sparkles emoji and Miles G has his in that edgy font.But Margo is 'Margo Thee Byte',Gayatri is 'The Ungwen' as a reference to 'The Undead' and for irony,Hobie is 'What are you?A cop?',Peni is 'Pastel Genesis Evangelion' and Gwen is just an assortment of pink emojis

Rio:Mija?Are you texting a boy? Miles,texting Hobie:Technically yes but also literally no

Margo gets them to be on her streams and Miles ends up making her own channel and her fans nearly broke her comments section when Hobie made his first apperance(Tragic day for weird ass Miles fanboys)

Gwen and Peni start rubbing off on eachother,like Peni starting to love her kind of music and Gwen starting to get blunter

Pavitr is the most slang knowledgable and this is thanks to Gayatri-He surpassed the best there is

Miles and Hobie did the 'At Dairy Queen with my Dairy King' meme once but the picture wasn't them at Dairy Queen,it was them chilling with mutated cows they'd saved and they didn't even get the food at Dairy Queen,Hobie cooked them copies because fuck capitalism

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved on our archive

By Lisa Jarvis

We’re still asking people with COVID to jump through far too many hoops to get their hands on Pfizer Inc.’s Paxlovid.

I experienced the barriers first-hand this month after my mother texted to say that this summer’s COVID wave had finally caught up with her. My first thought was to make sure she quickly started taking the antiviral. You’d think she would be an ideal candidate, because she is in her 70s with an underlying health condition. But it took a daylong effort to get her the medicine, one that involved multiple emails, phone calls with three different doctor’s offices, a telehealth visit and a bit of pharmacy-hopping to find one that had the pills in stock.

“That’s not an uncommon story,” says Amesh Adalja, a senior scholar at the Johns Hopkins Center for Health Security. “There are a lot of misconceptions out there that have undermined the use [of antivirals] from the very beginning.”

The data bear this out. One small study published in early 2024 by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention found that 4 out of 5 high-risk patients were not offered an antiviral by their doctors. Worse, one large, community-based study found that Black and Latino patients were far less likely to receive the drug than White patients.

It shouldn’t be that way. And the delay matters: Pfizer’s antiviral only helps if taken within the first five days of symptoms. My mom, feverish and exhausted, told me that if I hadn’t stepped in as her advocate, she would have given up.

Doctors must do better, especially as we continue to live through a wave of infections.

Some health care providers may be worried about managing the interactions between Paxlovid and other medicines (my mom, for example, had to pause her Lipitor while on the antiviral). Others have been dissuaded by reports of rebound infections occurring in people who take Paxlovid — despite evidence that the drug’s benefits outweigh those risks in the most vulnerable patients. And some doctors might be operating under perverse incentives that make it more lucrative to have a sick patient make an appointment to confirm their infection instead of simply calling the prescription into a pharmacy after an at-home test.

There’s also lingering confusion about the right candidates for the drug. Paxlovid was authorized in 2021 based on compelling data showing it could keep high-risk unvaccinated people out of the hospital. Yet some doctors don’t seem aware that vaccinated patients can also benefit from it, particularly if they are higher risk. That’s everyone over age 65, or those who are immunocompromised, pregnant or with an underlying condition. Those groups still are at risk of hospitalization and even of dying, especially if their last exposure or booster is in the distant past.

And that’s a lot of people. Only 1 out of every 3 retirement-age adults got last year’s booster. “From my experience as well as others, pretty much everybody I’ve taken care of hasn’t received a vaccine in the last year or so, even though they might have had them originally,” says Peter Chin-Hong, an infectious disease specialist at the University of California, San Francisco. Since mid-August, COVID deaths in the U.S. have been hovering near 1,000 per week, according to CDC data. Shouldn’t we better deploy the tools that might prevent such losses?

Cost shouldn’t be a barrier. When antivirals transitioned to the commercial market last year, the U.S. government partnered with Pfizer to ensure people with public health insurance or without insurance could still get the drugs for free, and minimize the cost for people with private insurance. Yet infectious disease doctors tell me that months into the rollout, too few patients, prescribers and pharmacists seem aware of the program.

True, Paxlovid isn’t perfect. In people who aren’t high-risk, the data are mixed as to whether it helps much (though anecdotes abound for people who say they have felt better faster after taking it). And while there had been much hope that Paxlovid could prevent long COVID, so far the data supporting that hypothesis are inconclusive.

So there’s a clear need for better anti-COVID drugs. Even for young, healthy people who have been jabbed and infected multiple times, an infection can be extremely disruptive, sidelining us from work or school and ruining our best-laid plans. A drug more akin to Tamiflu — a very safe and tolerable treatment for the flu that allows people to bounce back faster, even if only by a day or two — would be a welcome invention.

Yet better antivirals have been slow to arrive. Pfizer is studying a treatment that works similarly to Paxlovid, but doesn’t interact with other medications. And hopes were dashed last spring when Shionogi’s Ensitrelvir, an antiviral approved in Japan, failed to prove it could alleviate symptoms faster than a placebo.

But even if a drug for the masses eventually made it to market, would it be used? When doctors can’t get it right for the most vulnerable, the prospects seem dim.

[chrollo-lucilfers-chains]

Chrollo x gn!reader

His s/o gets taken.

Warnings: Kidnapping (it's not Chrollo tho), murder

Part 1

It has happened.

Chrollo hadn't thought this day would come, especially not so soon. But it had come and he hadn't been prepared.

He's in the middle of finishing someone off when you call him.

Standing on a balcony, the wind blowing strongly so far up, he holds a trembling man by his neck. The man is an unimportant informant of the government and he'd been involved in the troupe's latest heist so he has to be disposed of.

Chrollo has him dangling over the balcony's edge, desperately pleading at him to spare his life.

Without any expression Chrollo ends his victims miserable suffering with a snap of the wrist and lets him fall, pulling out his phone instead. Why would you call him, especially in the middle of the night?

He's told you to never interrupt him with unnecessary calls before. Given, it had been under the pretense of potential interruptions of his 'job', which wasn't really wrong but it didn't give you a lot of information either. You'd understood, of course.

To see your caller ID on his screen now alerted him greatly and so he picked up with a short 'Yes?' only to get interrupted by your strangely hushed voice.

"Chrollo? Oh thank God, it was the right number. I'm sorry to call you this late but I didn't know who else to call! There is someone in my house."

Chrollo's blood runs cold, his face hardening.

"I don't know what they want but there's three or four of them and they're searching for me. I'm hiding in the closet but I don't know how long it takes till they find me!"

He gives a meaningful glance to Pakunoda.

"Shh, calm down, it's going to be okay, angel!", he shushes you in the faked, softer voice that he uses with you so often, not wanting the noise of your whispers to alert your intruders.

His eyes flicker over to Pakunoda who immediately nods and leaves the room in a hurry.

"I'm coming to get you, okay? I'll be there as soon as I can. I'm on my way."

Chrollo stays on the phone as he rushes down the halls. When he reaches Pakunoda, who's already pulled up a car, he gets in and they speed into the night.

In the silent car he can hear your voice clearer than before. No nightbreeze is lashing around him and so he hears the quiet sobs. You're crying, Chrollo notes with displeasure.

"I think they're getting closer, Chrollo. I'm scared", you whimper, your voice clearly trembling.

Chrollo clenches his jaw and closes his eyes.

Six minutes until he'll arrive.

As he focuses on forming a plan how to get you out without alerting the intruders your voice sounds through the phone in a desperate whisper.

"They're infront of the closet!", Chrollo listens as you hold your breath. Everything is silent until a voice cuts through the speakers.

"Well hello there, princess!"

You let out a hitched breath. "Plea- Please, I don't know what you want but just leave, I don't have anything to steal!!"

"Heh, agree to disagre- Wait, is that a phone?"

Chrollo can make out commotion on the other side of the connection. He imagines you holding on to the phone, not daring to let go. Then he hears a scream. Your scream, to be exact and his eyes flash open with rage. Did the guy just hit you?!

There are a few wimpers and then the connection turns silent.

Chrollo ends the call and takes a deep breath as he composes himself. He sits silently in the car, his face mimicking that of a corpse. Shalnark already accessed the needed data and cameras to know where they've taken you. Pakunoda and Nobunaga are now with their boss, on their way to your location.

In the silence of the car Chrollo thinks about you and the person you are, always so ready to give everything. So eager to help him with whatever he needs.

And he takes it. He takes without a concern in the world.

All the years of being starved of human kindness and touch seem to be melting away whenever he's with you, sinking into your warm embrace when you hold him like he could slip away any moment.

His eyes flicker between the buildings passing by. The moonlit night makes it harder to discern them from one another and paints them in a cold light

Somebody is going to die tonight.

[thegreatobsesso]

Big scene packaged up, ready to ship!

Alrighty, it's taken a long time and a lot of effort but this flagship scene is ready to go. :D If you want to get caught up on the first time Milo and Octavius meet:

Part I

Part II

Here's the rest!

--

He can’t move. They’re being shot at, and he can’t move. He can’t hide, he can’t run. He can’t do anything but lie here and wait to get murdered, his exposed chest a convenient bullseye. 

He doesn’t want to die! This can’t be it for him, tied to a rich man’s bed, bleeding out for absolutely no reason! The knots are tight. He thrashes anyways. That is, until some kind of mercenary crawls into the room, armed with a thin, shiny pistol.

There’s so many things wrong with this. They are a hundred floors up. He looks nothing like Spiderman, and if Milo were hallucinating, somebody who scaled the side of a skyscraper would definitely look like Spiderman. But this just doesn’t happen in real life. It simply doesn’t.

Except it is happening, and the hulking figure in tactical gear bends down and drags a still-alive Octavius up to his knees. He’s clenching his own forearm; blood seeps between his fingers. 

“You get one chance to play this right,” says the intruder in a gruff American accent. “Fuck around and I’ll blow your brains out.”

“Hello, I’m Octavius, it’s lovely to meet you-”

The man slams the barrel of the gun into Octavius’s face and yanks him upright once more by the collar of his shirt. Octavius laughs faintly, blood dripping from his nose over the curve of his lip.

“Craine wants to talk,” the man grunts.

“Leo doesn’t need to blow a wall out to talk to me,” Octavius says, his voice thinner now. “Which he very well knows.”

“Not Leo.”

He lowers the gun and exchanges it for a mobile, which he hoists into Octavius’s field of vision.

“Hello, my friend,” says an airy voice on the other end of the line. Milo can only make out a sliver of the screen. “I hope you’ll forgive my somewhat heavy-handed intrusion. Chambers, are the three of us alone?”

That’s when all eyes settle on him, and Milo’s heart stutters to a stop.

“No ma’am,” says the man called Chambers. “This freak’s got some guy tied to his bed.”

“Please, please don’t kill me,” he stammers. “I’m, I’m not even here, I won’t say anything, I’ll never tell anyone, please-”

“Of course he does,” says the voice cooly, and just like that, they both turn back to the phone. Milo drops his head back, closes his eyes, and tries to breathe. “I trust you’ll take care of him after this is over, Octavius, but for now, I need access.”

“Access to what?” Octavius asks evenly. Not I’m not going to kill an innocent bystander or He doesn’t have anything to do with this.

“Come now, don’t be coy. Earlier today I asked very nicely and I was denied. Now I’m no longer asking. I know you keep the SIM card in a vault behind the painting on the far wall. You’ll fetch it now, pop it into this phone, and allow my man here to transfer all its data to mine.”

This is so bad. He doesn’t want to hear another word. If his hands were free he’d plug his ears.

“Will I?” Octavius asks, somehow still totally placid, pleasant, even. “Come now Aster, how would your father feel about me just handing over the keys to the kingdom by way of some thug? No offense to you, of course, fine fellow-”

“My father is dead.” 

The room goes silent. Milo can’t help it; he lifts his head to see what’s going on. Chambers is still holding the mobile in front of Octavius, whose seemingly infallible levity falters at whatever he’s being shown. 

It’s a terrible moment, a bomb going three, two, one, zero kind of a moment, and Octavius’s expression abruptly reverts.

“Change in management, then,” he states in his incongruously chipper way. “Quite right. You know, I always preferred you, Aster. Privately. You’re a much more of a progressive thinker than Leo. Better fashion sense as well, and you know, Chambers, have you seen her swing a golf club?”

“Shut up.”

“The safe, Octavius,” Aster says. “Before we grow old, if you please.”

Sirens, outside - for a second Milo had forgotten there was anything beyond this room. Oh, but there’d be glass all over the ground, right? People who heard the shot? Somebody had to be coming for them!

None of them say it but the sirens definitely add another layer of urgency to the proceedings; Chambers yanks Octavius to his feet and shoves him across the room, gun trained to the back of his head. Octavius swings a painting off the wall and it obscures them both from Milo’s view. There’s the clicking of a combination lock, a shuffling of boxes, and after a minute or an hour or a lifetime, a satisfied digital chime.

The painting swings back flush against the wall. “Thank you, Octavius,” Aster says with a degree of satisfaction audible even to Milo, “and my apologies once again for interrupting your recreation. I will, of course, be in touch.”

Chambers pockets the phone and Octavius watches him pleasantly. “Well. That’d be your cue, wouldn’t it?”

“Get fucked, fuckin’ pervert.”

“And to yours.”

The mercenary-assassin-nightmare-man swings back out the window via some kind of cord like a stuntman from hell. And now he is alone with Octavius, and no one is coming. He knows too much. He’s not going to get out of this. He's going to die shaking, cold on this luxurious featherbed.

God, Meg, I’m so sorry.

“Good lord,” Octavius breathes, leaning out into the gaping cold night. “How invigorating.”

“Please,” Milo manages. “Please don’t, don’t, don’t kill me.”

Octavius turns on his heels sharply at the sound of his voice. 

“Hmm? Oh, goodness, you poor thing! I’m not going to kill you. You’re quite irrelevant.”

“I... am?”

“Entirely.”

He walks over to the bed and begins to untie Milo’s wrists the best he can, injured as he is and trailing blood.

“Now, I am obligated to inform you that after I was shot, absolutely nothing else happened in this room. If you should imply to anyone that it did, I will have to have evidence planted on your person of some horrible crime, get you locked up, ruin your reputation, turn you into a lunatic in the eyes of the public, all that fanfare. But I’d much prefer to avoid that, if it’s all the same to you.”

It's very much not all the same to Milo. He pulls free the second the last knot is loose enough to do so and yanks his jumper back into place. “Yeah, yeah. That’s perfect. I didn’t hear anything or see anything, nothing, nothing happened in here after you got shot.”

“Very good,” Octavius says, and the praise has a much different spin than it did earlier this evening. “Killing people is terribly messy. Outside the organization, as it were. Inside, it’s just how things are done.”

Milo has no time to parse this information before the door flies open and people flood the room, serious looking officers with guns and EMTs and men in plain clothes Milo wouldn’t want to cross on a good day and more. They swarm Octavius and pay Milo absolutely no mind as he sits numbly on the bed. His legs shake and his lungs burn. He pulls his knees to his chest.

“Hey there. You alright?”

He looks up into the eyes of a woman in a turtleneck and jeans with a shiny gold badge around her neck.

“Yeah,” he says, a totally automatic response. “I’m okay.”

His brain is too busy feeling grateful that he’s still breathing, albeit too fast and not nearly deep enough.

“Detective Inspector Shaelynn Cole,” she says. “And you are?”

“Milo McKenzie.”

“Alright," she says patiently. "That’s a good start. You wanna tell me what happened here, Milo McKenzie?”

There’s a running tally in his head of firsts from this evening and he’s about to add another mark: lying to an officer of the law. He gulps down sickness and steadies his voice.

“A gunshot came through the window. Or, the wall. Glass shattered everywhere and he, he went down. I didn’t see where he actually got hit.”

“I see. Why didn’t you dial 999?”

“I don’t have my phone.” That is true. “It’s not allowed in here.”

“You could’ve used his.”

“I...”

He looks to Octavius, who is collapsed in his love seat  getting his wound stitched and holding a rag to his bloody nose with his free hand. Milo clears his throat.

“I don’t know. I guess I panicked. I’ve, um. Never seen anybody get shot before.”

“I think you might be leaving something out.”

“What?”

“Up there." The officer motions at the headboard. "Bloody business ties.”

Relief nearly knocks him sideways. “Oh. Right. Well, that’s... it’s just that I-”

“Relax, Milo,” she says easily. “Sinclair isn’t exactly coy about what goes on up here. You were restrained when it happened, weren’t you?”

Oh, yes, fine. If she finds any element of his original recitation suspect, let it be this.

“Yes,” he admits, and he hopes he’s flushing, because it’ll lend credence to his omission. “I was, and he had to untie me before I could help him. It took him a minute, because he was hurt.”

Shaelynn is silent for a moment, and he can just see her gears turning, rolling over his purported sequence of events. Maybe there’s evidence in the room already that proves he’s lying and this is just a test! Can’t some of these people just look at a crime scene and see what happened there, or did that only happen on television?

“Well, I’m sorry this happened to you, Milo,” she says at last. “Sounds like you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

A shaky laugh escapes him. “To say the least.”

“Detective,” Octavius calls. “I think he might be in shock, you know. The proper thing would be to get him a blanket.”

He winks at her like they’re old friends.

“I’m not in shock,” he mutters, although realistically, he probably is. As if to demonstrate, he gets up. His legs feel like jelly but they are working, so that’s good. 

He can see as he gets closer to Octavius that his absurdly well-defined cheekbone is turning different shades of blue and green as the medic wraps gauze around his forearm, just below the shoulder. 

“Told them there was no need for this,” he comments, casting a resigned glance at where the sleeve of his fancy pinstriped shirt had been cut away. “I didn’t get shot in the bloody carotid. They could’ve spared a moment for Alexander McQueen, don’t you think?”

He has no idea how to respond to that. “Does it hurt?”

“This? Barely a knick. Thank you,” he says to the medic. “That’s enough. Off with you.”

The way people flutter about at the wave of his hand is nothing short of incredible. So when he motions for Milo to sit next to him, he does. He just obeys, like they all do when he speaks. 

“Are we good?” he asks Milo quietly, turning his full attention on him in a way that's alarming despite the conversational tone.

“Yeah.” He stares at his feet. “Yeah, we’re good.”

“I’m very glad to hear that.”

Milo can’t imagine he cares much either way. He made it sound like he could ruin Milo’s entire life before he had his morning coffee. He’s one of those people whose money and fame and power make them slippery. Dirt slides right off and somebody like Milo, well - of course he didn't need to kill him. Nothing he could say could realistically make a dent in Octavius Sinclair.

He's ready to go home. Baxter is waiting for him. He is going to go home and hug his silly dog and fall asleep in his silly little flat where things make sense.

A tinny voice rings out from inside Octavius’s trousers. Pay me what you owe me don’t act like you forgot, bitch better have my money.

“Well, in that case, Jules will be in touch.”

He claps Milo on the shoulder in some strange gesture of manly camaraderie and rises to his feet.

Milo blinks. “Wait, seriously?”

“Of course,” Octavius replies, typing into his phone instead of answering it. “I was enjoying myself before we were so rudely interrupted. Weren’t you?”

He looks down at Milo like he's genuinely interested in the answer.

“I was.” The air suddenly feels quite thin. “I mean, yeah. Sure. If you want.”

“I want.”

He grins. He’s some sort of crime lord, isn’t he? A mafia boss with his hands in God knows what.

His smile fills Milo’s chest with sunlight.

He must be delirious.

“Octavius Sinclair,” he says, finally deigning to interrupt Rihanna and answer his phone. “Oh, quite alright. There’s absolutely no need for alarm. One moment.”

He covers the speaker with his hand to address Milo. “I really am sorry for all this. I’ll let you come next time to make up for it. But I make no promises whatsoever that I won’t make you beg for it first.”

He says it like he’s offering to pay for lunch, making no effort whatsoever to ensure nobody can hear him, save for the person on the other end of the line. They are far from alone and Milo ignores the way several of the officers’ eyes widen as they turn away.

Octavius departs, chattering on his mobile. “No, not at all. I can make the nine o’clock. Unless of course Quentin wants to spend the first forty minutes bitching about Chinese permits, in which case, I’ll just have you book me a bloody massage. Lord knows I could use one after this nonsense.”

A photographer documenting the destruction shrugs in Milo’s direction.

“Different strokes and all, but I wouldn’t kick that guy out of bed for eating biscuits.”

Milo nods numbly.

No, he reckons. Not for eating biscuits.

What about for being a killer?

--

✨ WIP intro

🔖 tag list: @winterandwords // @foxboyclit //@revenantlore

@space-writes // @indecentpause // @words-after-midnight

comment to be added or removed!

📝 all posts from WIP: gay crime bdsm story

[dyinglikenarcissus]

Chapter 2. A New Normal

6k words

Warning: 18+ only. More kidnapping, that’s about it.

Like and reblog if you enjoy ☺️

You step into your home after spending far too long on the east coast. Your cat has been throwing a fit in his carrier ever since you pulled into your condo’s garage. Home sweet home. Safe and sound.

Away from him.

He wouldn’t follow you all the way to California. Right? He’s all talk. It was just a weird experience. Shortly after his strange proposal, he put you in a car and sent you back to your hotel. No phone, no camera, no Apple Watch. All of the tech that was on you was gone. It was just an elaborate robbery. But he left your wallet, your cash, and credit cards.

Just a strange, elaborate robbery.

But you’ll never see that guy again…

You unpack and open your computer to sync up your old phone data. You picked up a new one the same day and filed a stolen phone report with Verizon. They would take a week to do the replacement process but you needed a phone so you just bared the price.

Time to price out new cameras. Maybe you’ll get a smart ring instead of a watch. You kind of hated the clunky tech anyway.

You start to think up a script for the situation to put it on TikTok but you quickly think better of it. Best to just pretend it didn’t happen, probably.

You never met Steve. Bucky didn’t drug you. Sam didn’t apologize for the situation after dropping you off from the back of a luxury vehicle, acting like the good cop in the situation.

None of it happened.

You quickly get back to your life and almost forget about the situation.

Two weeks later, you get invited to a creator convention downtown and you jump at the chance to get out of the house. Your content has gotten a little stale since the incident. You didn’t really want to jump on anymore band wagons for a while.

You honestly don’t even want to leave the house…

You filmed a get ready with me. Put on a skimpy little burgundy dress you got while you were in New York.

You’re deciding if you want to deal with parking or deal with Uber when there’s a knock at your door.

You weren’t expecting anyone. None of your friends were going to the event so you were going solo. Everyone knew better than to just show up at your house unannounced…

You go to the door and attempt to reach the peep hole you’ve never been able to reach but you always try. And of course you still can’t reach it. So you open the door.

“Shit,” you whisper and quickly slam it shut locking it behind you.

How’d he find you? What’s he doing here? What the fuck!

“You aren’t even going to say hi to your fiancé?” He calls through the door. You can hear the smile in his voice. Your heart is pounding so hard you’re scared it might leap right out of your chest.

You hear rattling in the door knob and the door opens. What the fuck…

“I had Sammy copy your keys. I hope you don’t mind,” Steve sighs as he steps into your condo. “No shoes? Shoes? Do you care?”

“No shoes…” you whisper taking a step back as the giant man takes up space in your house.

He bends down and unties his dress shoes. He’s dressed in a burgundy blazer with black slacks today. You notice the shade matches the dress you’re wearing a little too well.

“What are you doing here?” You breathe.

“We have a date,” he sighs as he stands back up to step out of his shoes. You can’t help but notice the fresh Louboutin logo on the inside of them.

For someone so terrifying, he looks so good.

“Brought you a gift.” He hands you a black gift bag. You just glance at the bag before staring back up at him. “It’s not a bomb. I already said I’m not going to kill you,” he chuckles.

You take a tentative step forward and take the bag gingerly.

“You never said why you’re here,” you whisper.

“I did. It’s for our date. You’re just too terrified to think straight. Settle down. You’re like a scared rabbit. What happened to that confident girl filming her mob life on my dock?” He smirks and takes a step further into your home. “It’s cute. Very you in here. Where’s your cat?”

“I’m going to a Lancôme event. I don’t have time for this,” you whisper.

“The one at the Roosevelt? The one I made up?” He chuckles softly. “You are so predictable.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” you breathe.

“I’ve had your phone for a month. I know everything about you.”

He steps into your living room and sits on the chair like he belongs there, legs spread, taking up all the room he needs and making you feel so small in comparison. “Come on. Sit.” He commands and pats the arm rest of the chair. You edge your way into your own living room and perch on the edge of you couch as far away from him as possible. “You’re acting like you don’t know me,” Steve laughs.

��I don’t know you!” You shout before sucking in a breath at your own outburst.

“That’s why we’re going on a date. To get to know each other. Open your gift.”

You glance away from him long enough to place the bag on the floor at your feet. You take a deep breath before finally looking in the bag. There at the top is your phone, the one he took. You pull it out and examine it. It’s intact. It unlocks with your passcode and welcomes your with a picture of your celebrity crush Loki Laufeyson. Everything was the same…

“I added a couple of new contacts. If you need anything, call me, Bucky, or Sam. If I can’t get here to help, I have a guy in the Bay Area. His name’s Scott. I put his number in there too.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my girl now and I take care of my things. There’s more in there.”

You place the phone at your side before looking back into the box. A brand new DSLR camera in the box. “Oh!” You squeak.

“You like that?” He smirks. “I couldn’t give you back your old one. I hope this makes up for that.”

“I mean, I had a bunch of New York b-roll on that camera.”

“We’ll get some new b-roll,” he quickly interjects. “We have to make this relationship look real. Like we met organically. We’ll take some trips to New York. You’ll see all the shit they don’t show the tourist.”

You open the box to inspect the new camera, turning it on. It already has a charge and everything.

“You happy? Does this make up for the old one?”

You look back up at him. “Happy? I want you to leave me alone. I want you out of my life.”

He levels a sharp look at you that makes you cringe back. “That’s not going to happen, sweetheart. I’m sorry we met this way but this is how the cards are gonna fall.” You can only gulp at the seriousness of his statement and the look on his face that makes you truly worry for your safety.

But he said he wouldn’t kill you…

“Since that’s settled, we have a reservation to make. You ready? Freshened up? Fed the cat?”

You take a sharp inhale. “Where are we going?”

“Jet’s all fueled up. We’re doing dinner in San Francisco so bring the camera.”

“San Francisco? I can’t go there! What about Jethro?”

“It’s a 30 minute flight. You’ll be back before midnight. Unless you enjoy your time with me so much you wanna stay,” he smirks making you frown.

“Just give me a second,” you whisper. You go to the kitchen to fill your cat’s food bowl and change out his water before stepping into the bathroom.

You furiously start to text your best friend that there’s a kidnapper in your house and he’s trying to kill you and to send the police but the second you press send the phone shuts off.

“What the fuck,” you breathe. It had a full battery…

“You see a blond and you think I’m a fucking idiot?” Steve calls into the bathroom. “I know you have a new phone. Sam already hacked it. Now use the bathroom and let’s go!”

You don’t even have to pee…

You step out of the bathroom dejectedly and run into Steve’s broad chest.

“I know this isn’t the best situation. I’m really trying here. Don’t-please don’t fight me. It’ll be easier if you just cooperate.” He voice softens in a way you’ve yet to hear and it does calm you. Slightly.

“Okay. Okay. My shoes are by the door.” He walks back over to the door and pats the bench you keep by it to drop off groceries and things. You sit obediently and he slips your shoes on for you before working on his own. You grab your purse and call goodbye to your cat who’s horrified of strangers so you don’t even bother to look for him.

You step right into Steve’s awaiting arm.

He’s the perfect gentleman as he lets you walk into the elevator first then holds open the door to his Rolls Royce.

“Do you want to pick the music?”

“No,” you answer quickly.

He sighs and presses a button the console and some old time band music starts to play. The perfect backdrop to how he’s going to tie cinder blocks to your ankles and toss you into the ocean.

He’s quiet as he drives to John Wayne. You can’t help but hazard a glance at him. He is extremely handsome. Chiseled jaw and cheek bones, gorgeous blue eyes…maybe a little green in the right light.

He smirks as you watch him. “I can see you staring.”

“Sorry,” you whisper and whip your gaze to the window.

“Don’t be.”

“So, what is it that you do exactly?”

“Imports. Exports.”

“…humans?”

“God, no. Mostly weapons and drugs.”

“Oh.”

“Almost as bad as humans in the long run. People’s lives are ruined either way.”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“You won’t have to get involved in any of that,” he assures you.

“I wouldn’t know where to start,” you joke humorlessly.

He smiles at the statement. The silence becomes palatable after that as you glance at your old phone. You tucked the new one into your purse too but it’s yet to turn back on.

Everything from New York was gone. Even your plane tickets and Google Maps history. A whole week erased.

“Can I ask you something?”

Steve hums an affirmative.

“What happened on the dock?”

He smirks humorlessly and glances at you for a second before looking back at the road. “You don’t need to know.”

“But you’re, like, ruining my life for whatever that was! You can’t tell me?”

“I don’t want you to know anything more than what you need to know. It makes it easier in the long run.”

You grumble softly and repeat his words mockingly. He doesn’t respond.

The flight is quick just like he promised. A driver picks you up at the runway. This late at night and on the weekend, there’s very little traffic as the car makes its way through the city to ocean front.

You’re surprised when the familiar landscape becomes too familiar.

“What are we doing in Sausalito?”

“You’re familiar with the area?” Steve asks, not even glancing up from his phone.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

The world around you turns into the world you grew up in. You take a sharp intake of breath as you start to understand where you’re going. Maybe it’s been long enough. Maybe you can handle it.

The car stops in front of a very familiar restaurant. You wouldn’t be surprised if the hostess still remembers you.

It was only three years ago.

It was thankfully a different host and none of the servers looked familiar. You were directed through the kitchen, to a back room. It looked like it was set up for just the two of you.

“What do you think?” Steve asks as he pulls out your chair.

You just nod and sit. Your eyes are fixed on the menu. You can’t even enjoy the scenery.

You can’t do this.

Steve crouches down next to you. “Hey. You alright?” He asks. “You’re pescatarian, right? This is one of the best seafood places in the state.”

“It’s delicious. I’ve been here l-lots of times.” You voice cracks at the end of your statement and Steve is instantly on fix it mode.

“Alright, come on. We’re leaving.” He pulls out your chair and grips your forearm, tugging you back out the door.

He gets you back in the car and instructs the driver to drive around.

“Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“That was my mom’s favorite restaurant. We went all the time. I haven’t been back since-“

“Shit,” Steve sighs. “I’m so sorry.”

“I guess you don’t know everything about me,” you whisper.

“Alright, you grew up here?” You nod. “Where someplace without memories?”

You think for a moment before pulling out your phone and giving the driver the address.

The silence is thick and uncomfortable now while you ride to the other side of the city. The world becomes more industrial as you enter Oakland. More urban. As you ride to a restaurant you’ve never actually been to but you’ve eaten the food plenty of times. You family loved this place but you alway opted for take out due to the nature of it.

“Barbecue?” Steve asks as the car stops in front of the restaurant. You nod and glance at him for approval. “You’re all dolled up in your pretty dress. You might get it dirty.”

“It’s the only place I can think of,” you laugh humorlessly. “And the dress is red. The sauce will blend right in.”

“Whatever you want,” Steve sighs. The driver steps out of the car and lets both of you out before disappearing into the restaurant.

“Both of my parents died when I was a kid,” Steve sighs, leaning against the side of the car. “I-I know how it feels. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry to you, too.” You give him a half hearted smile.

“Just a couple of orphans,” he jokes just as the driver comes back.

“Cap, they can’t do a private room. They said they’re too busy.”

Steve lifts his brow at the man. “Does he know who I am?”

“This is Stark territory,” the man shrugs. Steve makes a sharp intake and pushes himself off the car to go inside the restaurant.

“Hold on,” you stop him, pressing a hand to his chest. “Let’s just eat at a regular table. It’s fine.” You direct your gaze to the driver. “Can you just put our name on the list? We’ll wait.”

Steve just shrugs and takes his place back against the car. The driver comes back advising they have a table for you and he goes to park somewhere.

Steve presses a hand to your lower back, leading you into the restaurant. You’re seated at a table near a window in a relatively quiet corner.

“See? This isn’t so bad?”

“I guess not,” Steve sighs and pulls out your chair once again. A waitress comes around relatively quickly with menus and water.

“Is it your first time here?”

“It’s his first time,” you gesture to Steve. “It’s my first time in an extremely long time.”

“Well, the menu didn’t change much. Our ribs are a best seller of course. And the links are a little spicy,” she warns. “Special occasion?” She asks seeing our outfits.

“It’s our first date,” you smile.

“Cute! I hope you both enjoy it!” She leaves you for a moment to look over the menu.

You attempt to stifle a laugh while you watch Steve across the table. “What?” He asks, glancing up.

“It’s just funny that she warned you about the spice level.”

He cracks a smile at that. “She probably saw that I needed one from a mile away so I appreciate it.”

“Big, bad Steve can’t handle a little heat?”

“I know my limits,” he grins. You giggle at him and look over the cocktail list already knowing what you want. “I thought you were pescatarian?”

“I’ll still eat chicken occasionally.”

“Good to know,” he mutters.

You lean forward on the table. “You know, its not really fair you got this head start on me when I don’t know anything about you.”

“Then ask.”

“I-I don’t know what to ask. I’m not really the dating type,” you admit.

“You don’t date?”

“I haven’t dated anyone in an extremely long time. Like years.”

“Are you straight?”

“You couldn’t get that from my phone?”

“I have a pretty good guess,” Steve counters, placing his menu on the table to focus on you. “You have a crush on Loki Laufeyson for some reason, you have this ancient photo album full of men, but your porn history…” he trails and your face heats instantly.

“Fine, I’m bi,” you admit before he can read you to further filth.

“Was that so hard? What are you getting?”

You frown slightly at losing his little game. “Just the chicken.”

“What sides?”

“I think green beans and potato salad. What about you?”

“I’m thinking the ribs and brisket with corn and potato salad. You think the dessert’s good here?”

You just nod. It’s good. You don’t need to give him an explanation. The waitress comes back and takes your orders. Steve surprises you and orders for you. He adds on a whiskey lemonade and you request a spiked kool aid.

“Did you spend your whole life in Sausalito?”

“Yeah, until my mom died. I just couldn’t stay. That’s when I moved to LA.”

“Is your family here, too?”

“Yeah, well, in Norcal. They’re sprinkled around all over the place. What about you?”

“Sam and Buck are all I have left,” Steve sighs. “I lost everyone so I made a new family.” You nod. That must be hard, too.

“Can you tell me about yourself?” You request after the waitress drops off your drinks.

“I’ve known Bucky since I was a kid. We joined the army together. We met Sam at the base in Sokovia. We’ve been tight ever since. Bucky lost his arm and got discharged. Sam and I learned too much about our government and we went rouge, I guess. Been running ever since.”

“So you went from being in the American army to…” you trail, not knowing how much you can say in public.

“Pretty much.”

“That’s a complete turn around.”

“Haven’t looked back,” he sighs and sips his drink. “How is it?” You nod sipping your own cocktail. It was really good actually.

“How yours?”

“Good.”

He sighs and tugs his phone from his pocket. He types a few lines of text before handing it to you. It’s on the face ID screen.

“The password is 1918.”

“Is that the year you were born?”

“Oh, she’s got jokes,” he smirks. “It’s just a number. Take it. I’ll get it back on our next date.”

You take the phone tentatively. “Are you sure? Don’t you need it for…stuff?”

“I’ve got a work phone for that. But that one has all the personal stuff. So we can be on the same level.”

You go though the face ID process and the home screen lights up for you. The background is a landscape of New York, the icons are all sorted in designated boxes so unlike your own phone where apps are spread out and you have to hunt for the ones you rarely use.

“Where’s the next date going to be? My grandma’s grave?” You smirk.

“I didn’t know!” Steve argues with a smile.

“But I thought you knew everything about me! Are you a liar now?”

“How was I supposed to know?”

“Maybe if you weren’t forcing me to marry you, you might learn it on an actual date.”

Steve sighs as you suck all of the fun out of the situation. “I’m not apologizing for this anymore.”

“I’m not accepting any apologies.”

“Can we just enjoy our date?”

You hum softly and stir your drink. “The worst part is if it weren’t for all of this, I might actually like you.”

Steve drops you off at home a little after midnight. He walks you up to your door and presses a kiss to your forehead before bidding you goodnight.

The date didn’t get much better after your outburst. Steve sort of clammed up on you so you disengaged too. This was no way to start a relationship. Even a fake one…

You sigh and step back into your home. You just want to get out of this dress.

You strip and shower and lie in bed before remembering the new phone in your purse. Your cat joins you just as you fish it out.

Steve’s pictures are surprisingly normal. He’s got a lot of tattoos under those dress shirts. You see them peaking out under tanks and littering his chest in topless shots. You hum softly. You’ve never thought of being with someone with that many tattoos but you didn’t know what to expect from a hardened criminal. Photos of him and Bucky and Sam. Some other people come and go. There’s a red head that’s pops up pretty often among them. She’s gorgeous.

You keep scrolling past trips and scenic landscapes until you notice another common woman. This one’s photos are more intimate. Sleeping, cuddling with him, oh shit!

Was she sucking his…?

You squeak and toss the phone away startling your cat.

“Why would he want me to see that?” You whisper. Unless…

You pull the phone back toward you and try to ignore the video to look at the date. It was over five years old.

You can’t help but glance back at the image. Fuck, he’s thick.

You scroll away quickly. There’s more pornographic images sprinkled into his life. Photos of rings, a wedding, a church. All with her.

You go back further and watch their relationship. A small one bedroom apartment, a dog, parks, beaches, sunsets. He loved her, whoever she was…

You scroll back up to when you first noticed her image until they stopped. Maybe they broke up. You yawn and place the phone on your bedside table.

You’ll look through it more tomorrow.

-

After a week of normal life, Steve texts you to pack a weekend bag.

You ask where he’s taking you and he actually tells you. Probably to avoid another date like the last one.

Tokyo

What about Jethro? There’s no way you’ll be able to get your sitter on this short of notice.

You and that fucking cat. Bring him

You don’t question the man’s sanity, you just start to pack up your cat’s food.

Three days later you’re flying first class with your kitten to Japan.

This was insane.

You meet Steve at the airport in a private car and he greets you with a smile and asks about your week.

“Fine,” you answer tersely and place Jethro between the two of you in the car.

“Sam noticed your social media presence has dipped. Care to explain?”

Well, that was abrupt…

“Um, I just haven’t felt like leaving the house…”

“Are you scared I’ll jump out of the bushes or something?” Steve laughs as the car pulls off.

“No!” You answer quickly but that was a lie. “Kinda.”

“No one’s going to bother you. Get back to your regular life. I don’t want anything to seem suspicious.”

“That’s kinda hard,” you mutter.

“What was that?” You can tell he hates your backtalk but he’s trying to be civil.

You clear your throat and gather your thoughts. “It’s kinda hard to act like everything is normal when it isn’t.”

He sighs and crosses one of his long legs over the other.

“Have you told your friends about me?”

“No,” you snort. How were you supposed to brooch that. This hot guy kidnapped me and now we’re ’dating’.

“Tell them about me so it’s not out of left field for them to get a wedding invitation,” he sighs.

“What am I supposed to say?”

“Let’s make up a meet cute,” he suggests. “Coffee shop?” You shrug. “Bar?”

“I don’t go to bars.”

“Fine. You tell me how we met.” Irritation swirls in his voice and you kind of want to continue to poke the bear…

You think for a moment trying to make up a scenario that might irritate him just enough. “I was filming along the water front in New York and bumped into you and my phone fell in the water before I could save anything. You jumped in to get it but it was, like, gone. We both felt so bad because you felt responsible and you were all wet with murky, dirty water. You offered to get me a new one but you were dripping wet so we went back to your place so you could change then we went to the Apple Store. I left and came back home but you went to the store a couple of days later and bought a local catfish-“

“I see where this is going,” Steve shakes his head. “That’s fucking ridiculous.”

“Just ridiculous enough,” you insist with a smile. “We can film some b-roll and make it a get ready with me. Make it happen.”

He lets out a defeated sigh while watching you intently with a lifted brow. “You’re serious?” You nod “Are you asking me to be in a movie, little movie star?”

“I mean, we have to make this legit.”

“Alright, we’ll do it when we get back to the States.” You smile up at him before he goes back to the tablet on his lap for the rest of the ride.

His lack of reaction disappoints you but he seems to really be trying to get along with you. You have a whole long weekend with him…You can break him in four days.

You film some of the city scape, since he wants to be part of your life apparently before he drops you off at the hotel.

“You’re in room 2001. My room is 2002, right across the hall.” Steve hands you a key card. “I’ll pick you up for dinner at 7, get some rest in the meantime. Then we can talk about what to do for the rest of the weekend.” You nod and take the card. “I have to handle some business but call if you need anything.” A door man opens the door and works on your luggage while you handle Jethro.

The hotel is gorgeous. One of those hotels you film in the lobby of to make it look like you’re staying there but you could never afford it, couldn’t even fake it. The 20th floor is the top of the hotel. There’s only one other room up this high and it’s Steve’s. You look around in awe. The room is gorgeous. It’s huge. And it looks like a house! You step into a living room, there’s a wet bar with a mini fridge and a balcony looking out over the city that is calling you but you have to get Jethro settled first. You notice a litter box in the coroner and a pet bed full of toys, treats, and cat food. Steve really thought of you. You release Jethro from his carrier and he takes a few tentative steps around the room before letting out a questioning meow.

“I’m right here,” you reassure him. It’s not his first time in a hotel but it’s his first time flying to the other side of the world. You film him exploring his new environment before taking him out to the balcony.

“We’re in Tokyo!” You announce to the camera with your cat in tow. You let him explore the balcony while the bell hop brings up your luggage. You do a little editing and finally let out a sigh.

“You wanna help me unpack, little man?” He chirps up at you and you take him back inside. You press a kiss to his head and place him on the bed while you go through your luggage.

Your phone vibrates but you’re shocked when its not Steve.

It’s your best friend.

Hey! When did you go to Japan??

She must have seen your post. You’ve been a terrible friend this past month but your head has been all over the place. Here goes nothing.

I’ve been seeing this guy. He flew me out for a long weekend

Whaaat??? Who is he? Why didn’t you tell me? Is he hot???

You laugh at her messages.

We’ll take some pictures tonight. He’s gorgeous

It was the truth. He was beautiful, tall, and buff. Every woman’s dream man. You’d be happy if you weren’t being forced into this situation.

You deserve it

You smile at her text. Maybe you just need to make the best of it.

Do you want me to bring you back anything?

YESS!!! Whatever you can fit in your bag!!!

You laugh and send her a thumbs up emoji.

You want to explore the hotel and the city but the time change is killing you. You turn on a YouTube video and let it watch you fall asleep.

You wake up feeling a dip on the bed next to you.

“Little star, you alright?” You groan softly and smoother your face in the pillow. “You are going to be up all night,” Steve chuckles.

“I tried to stay awake,” you mutter before yawning and stretching. You press yourself up to look at him. He’s dressed in a simple cable knit sweater and slacks. He looks so effortless. He could probably wear a paper bag and look good.

“You hungry?” You nod. “Sushi?” You smile and nod again. “Get up and get dressed.” He gets up and heads to the living room. You glance around and notice your cat is gone. Of course he is. Steve must be a holy terror to him.

You get up and stretch again before finding some clothes. A simple sweater should be good. It was chilly out so you should wear a coat.

You put your braids in a ponytail and step out of the bedroom to find Steve with your cat on his lap, looking as content as he could be.

“What the hecko? Jethro?” The cat looks at you and blinks slowly.

“I had to come all the way to Japan to finally meet this guy. Does he like his bed and everything?”

“Well, yeah,” you sputter incredulously. “He’s just normally terrified of strangers. I’m…he’s sitting with you?”

“Bucky’s cat is the same way,” Steve sighs. “They just like me, I guess,” he shrugs while running a hand down your cat’s back. Then he looks at you and graces you with a gorgeous smile. “You look really cute.”

Your face heats.

“I figured we should match.” You look down at your own white sweater under your leather jacket.

“We have a reputation to uphold,” he laughs and places Jethro on the floor. “Ready?” You nod and take his hand. He brings your hand to his lips and leads you to the elevator.

“No car?” You ask when you reach the lobby and notice the lack of black luxury vehicles.

“No car. Just a short walk.”

“Growth,” you smile up at him.

“I walk. When I’m out of the States,” he laughs.

“Where are Sam and Bucky while you’re out of the country?”

“Sam’s here. Buck’s in Europe handling some stuff.” You hum in understanding. “Why?”

“It just seems like they’re always with you. I was just wondering.”

“They didn’t come on the last date.”

“No, but they flew with us.”

“I needed my wing men.” You burst into laughter at his statement. “I’m not great with women. I’ve really only had one serious relationship. I just want you to like me.”

You hum not really knowing how to brooch the question. “I looked through your phone. Obviously. Was it the brunette?”

“Peggy. We were married.”

“What happened?”

“She passed away five years ago.”

“Steve!” You almost shout and remember where you are. “You’re a widow?”

He takes a breath and pulls you along down the street. “Yeah.” So many questions run through your mind but he stops are a revolving sushi place that reminds you how much he’s really trying. You love revolving sushi.

You’re seated at the bar and you record a few seconds before posing together for a selfie. He presses a kiss to your temple and you get a photo of it.

“Can I ask you about what happened to her?” You ask quietly

“Colon cancer.”

“Colon cancer?” You repeat.

“Came out of nowhere. By the time we found out it was too late. After I lost her, I just threw myself into my work. I feel like I’m a completely different man from the man she knew. Sometimes I think back about my time with her and it feels like a different life.”

“Do you think you’ve changed for the better?” You question.

He sighs deeply. “No.” He takes a sip of his sake. “But I’ve learned so much about the world that I didn’t know when she was alive. I feel like I’ve gotten as good as I can get.” You sigh. What could have possibly happened in his life to take him from a military man who was a loving husband to a crime lord?

You watch as he pours another cup of sake and you can’t help yourself. You stand up and press a kiss to his temple, not so unlike the ones he’s given you. They calmed you so much. You hope yours does the same for him.

The two of you walked back to the hotel hand in hand but Steve was right as you’re learning he is about a lot of things. You were wired.

“Did you decide what you want to do tomorrow?” Steve asks as you step into the lobby.

“Can we go to Disneyland?”

“Disneyland?” He repeats, shock all over his face.

“I’ve always wanted to go to Tokyo Disney,” you insist.

“Alright. I’ll make some calls.”

He starts toward the elevator but you fall behind. “What’s wrong?”

“Um,” you play with your jacket zipper for a second. “Can we get a drink or something?”

“You aren’t tired, are you?”

“Far from it,” you laugh.

“There’s a stocked bar in the room.”

“Okay,” you nod.

He leads you to your room. “You wanna change? Get showered, and everything? I’ll come over in 30?” You nod and you go your separate ways.

Just for a moment.

You follow his instructions and you felt a little more relaxed after each step of your night time routine. You’re wrapping your braids up in a high bun when he knocks on the door.

“Come in!”

“Got a private tour for Disneyland tomorrow. You owe Sam a drink. Probably a whole bottle,” Steve laughs and heads straight for the alcohol.

“They didn’t know who you were?” You joke from the bedroom.

“My name gets me a lot but Disney’s a fucking vault.”

“Oh, something even the great Steve Rogers can’t ge…” The words die on your lips when you see him.

Grey sweat pants should come with a warning. Especially when they’re worn by him.

“It keeps me humble,” he sighs. “What are you drinking, movie star?”

“Um…” you have to catch your breath. He really does make anything look good. “I uh-“ you have to clear your throat before you can continue. “Is there a rosé over there?”

“Coming right up.”

You perch on the edge of the couch and it instantly reminds you of your first date. You roll his phone around in your hands and finally pass it back to him when he hands you the glass. “You know you really shouldn’t just pass that around to anyone,” you warn.

“Did you watch those videos?” He smirks, making himself comfortable in the arm chair across from you. You can help but watch his tattoos that swirl from his chest down his arms. Anything to avoid his gaze while you talk about this.

“I couldn’t, like, not watch them…” you trail.

“And?”

“And what?” Your face heats as he watches you. “You want me to tell you you have a fat dick or something?”

“Do I?” He asks with a quirked eye brow.

“Can we change the subject?”

“You brought it up.”

“You’re impossible,” you laugh and lean back on the couch.

“I’m not deleting them,” he shrugs.

“I don’t expect you to.” Especially now that you know more about the situation. You swirl your glass for a moment before asking your next question. “Was she into filming stuff or were you?”

He smirks at you for a moment before answering. “Maybe a little of both.”

“You’re freaky, Mr. Rogers.”

“I never said I was a saint. You film every moment of your life. Ever filmed that?”

“No,” you answer quickly.

He hums softly and shrugs. “You might like it.”

You just shake your head and smile.

“You have a gorgeous body. You could film anything you want and people would watch it.” You laugh at his words just as Jethro jumps on the arm chair and curls up in his lap.

“I can’t believe him,” you sigh, watching the cat. Five years of him running in horror at the doorbell ringing and all it took was one mob boss to change him.

“You both have terrible taste in men,” he sighs and scratches behind the cat’s ear.

“What do you know about my taste in men?” You smile.

“You’re dating me, aren’t you?”

You just shake your head. “You’re ridiculous.” You stretch out on the couch and stare up at the ceiling. “Oh! Who’s the red head?”

“Natasha. She’s an old friend and kind of a pain in the ass. I keep her at arms distance because she’s useful but I don’t completely trust her.”

“She sounds wonderful,” you laugh.

“You two would probably get along: you share every moment of your life, she keeps every moment a heavily guarded secret.”

“I mean she’s fucking gorgeous. She can do whatever she wants if you ask me.”

“You two can take over the world together.”

You roll your eyes at his statement. “We didn’t film the end of our date,” you sigh.

“Come here,” he pats his lap, moving Jethro to the arm rest.

You stand up and fall into his lap opening your camera app on your phone. “Cheers?” He grins and holds up his glass before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“That good?” He asks wrapping his arm around your waist. You nod and he pulls you back against his chest. You add the clip to the rest of the video and schedule it to post in the morning.

“I can’t wait to go to Disney. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he mutters and presses another kiss to your temple. He holds you against him while you edit some other videos and finish your glass. Steve works on his own phone and the two of you sit in comfortable silence.

You notice Steve finish his whiskey and ask if he wants a refill.

“Thank you.”

You get up and refill both your glasses. “What are you working on?”

“Sourcing products,” he answers simply.

“You make it all sound like you just run a store.”

“I guess it kind of is,” he smiles and takes his drink. You start to walk back over to the couch but he grabs your hand. “Come back. I like you here.” You laugh and sit back down on his lap. You wrap one arm around his shoulder as you snuggle into his hold.

“I kind of like being here, too.”

“Good,” he sighs. He places his glass on the side table with his phone next to it. “Do you have any other questions about me or do you want to keep my phone for another week?”

“It was kind of fun being a mob boss for a couple of weeks.”

He places the phone in your lap. “You can be the boss for as long as you want,” he laughs.

“You don’t want it back?”

“It felt nice to unplug for a couple of weeks.”

“Alright. I’ll keep it. But you have to take your phone back on the next date. I can’t handle all of this responsibility on my own.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he smiles.

He takes your glass from your hand and places it next to his. “I need to talk to you about something serious. We’ve been ‘dating’ but I need you to refer to me as your fiancé. If anyone asks you, we’re engaged, alright?” You nod. “Good. That’s all. Some of us have been up making money all day. I’m fucking exhausted.”

“I’m sorry for keeping you up,” you smile.

“Don’t be. I like being with you.” He tucks his arm under your legs and carries you to your bed. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“What time?”

“Sam said the park opens at 9. I’ll have some breakfast sent up at 8 and we’ll leave after that.” You nod and he puts you down. “Try to get some sleep.” You nod again. He presses a kiss to your forehead and you snuggle into bed. You hear the hotel room door open and close and take a deep sigh.

Part of you wishes he would stay.

-

Room service wakes you up bright and early. You’re amazed you eventually got some sleep.

Steve comes over about ten minutes after breakfast arrives.

“You aren’t dressed?” Steve asks walking through the open bathroom door.

“No,” you mumble around toothbrush. He smiles and wraps his arms around your waist. You bend over to rinse your mouth. “You’re too cheery for this early.”

He smirks. “I already had my coffee and went to the gym. I’m ready to go.”

“Just like the elderly to be up early.”

He rolls his eyes at you in the mirror. “I’m going to eat. Take your time looking cute.” You smile and let him kiss your forehead. You’re getting used to his kisses. You start to look forward to them. Thirty minutes later, you emerge from your bedroom refreshed and dressed in a Minnie Mouse sweater.

“You didn’t want to match me today?” Steve asks cutting up his omelette.

“I have to rep my girl,” you giggle pointing at the queen mouse herself.

“Fine, I’ll change before we leave,” he smiles.

“You don’t have to.” You grab a plate and peruse the buffet that appeared in your room. “Why is there so much food?”

“I like matching you. And I don’t know what kind of breakfast food you like.”

“A bagel and scrambled egg sandwich with a little bit of hot sauce.”

“Good to know,” Steve smiles. You place your food next to his at the bar before feeding Jethro. “How’d you sleep?”

“Surprisingly good. And you?”

“Like a rock. ” You step up onto the bar stool next to him. “Got you something.” Steve slides a ring box in front of you as you sit down. You give him a dubious look before opening it.

“Shit.” You almost fall off the stool at the diamond sitting in front of you. “Wha-what is this?”

“We have to be engaged, right?”

“And this is how you’re proposing? Just giving me a ring at breakfast?”

“You’re the one narrating this relationship. Make up a good story for me.”

You blanch at him. Does he not have a romantic bone in his body? As you stare up at him, a thought comes to mind. “Brain blast! You can propose at Disneyland!”

“Are you serious?” Steve cocks an eyebrow at you.

“It’s every girl’s dream,” you joke. “At least it’s what they think their dream is. It’ll do crazy numbers!”

“When am I going to learn to stopped being shocked by your ideas?” Steve sighs. “Fine. But you know, if we’re going to have a filmed, public proposal, we’re going to have to kiss.”

You frown slightly. “Yeah, I guess we will.”

“Should we practice?” Kiss? Him? On the lips? You gasp and look up at him again. Your terror must read all over your face. “Or we can just let it happen in the moment. It will probably look more organic.”

“No, you’re right. First kisses are always awkward. We have to do it before hand.”

“Do you want me to brush my teeth?” Steve asks with a smirk and pushes his empty plate away.

“Um, no, it’s okay. Let’s just do it.”

“You don’t have to say it like its a death sentence. It’s just a kiss.”

“No, I just, um…You take the lead,” you insist.

He gives you a look like he’s trying to figure out what you just said before his eyes widen. “You’ve never kissed anyone?”

“Oh my God,” you mutter and cover your face with your hands. Is it that obvious?

“Wait. Are you a virgin, too?” You just nod, unable to look at him. “What kind of abstinent rock did you live under?” Steve chuckles.

“It’s not funny.” You mutter into your hands.

“Yes, it is. What are you? 30? And you’ve never kissed anyone? How do you even know you’re bi?”

“I just know!” You cry. This was beyond embarrassing. You just wanted to have a fun day at Disneyland, ride the rides, eat the food, get to know Steve better but now all your embarrassing secrets were out on the table like you were in high school all over again.

“Alright, it’s not funny. Calm down. You’ll ruin your make up,” Steve sighs and pulls your hands away from his face. There’s still a ghost of a smile on his lips that makes you laugh at the whole situation.

“Maybe it is kind of funny,” you admit.

“It’s fucking hilarious,” Steve grins. “We have a lot of practicing to do if you’ve never kissed anyone.” He turns your stool so you’re facing him. “Alright. Close your eyes.” You follow his instructions.

It takes a moment before you feel a soft press to your lips.

It’s nice.

“There. First one done.” You can hear the smile in Steve voice. “You wanna do it back?” Your eyes flutter open to meet his. He’s still leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his face just inches from yours. You nod tentatively. He closes his eyes and you purse your lips and kiss him back.

You kind of like it.

“You’re a pro already. Ready for something more advanced?” You nod again. “Alright. Close ‘em.” You follow his instructions again and his hands cup your face. This time his lips slot between yours, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth. He gives you the smallest nip of his teeth making you gasp and you know he’s got you. The second your mouth opens, he’s in it, your teeth clashing while he holds your face to his. Then he lets go. Your eyes open again to see him standing over you. His pupils are slightly dilated, hiding the blue of his eyes. His lips are red from you lip gloss. His breathing matches yours.

You love this.

You don’t wait for his prompting this time. You reach up to pull him down into another breath stealing kiss. His arms wrap around your waist, lifting you slightly from the stool. He can take you where ever he want to go.

He starts to pull away but you chase him making him smile. You giggle and press one last kiss to his lips. He keeps you in his embrace and you keep him in yours. He’s just breaths away.

“Do you think you’ve got enough reps in?”

“Maybe one more to make sure?”

“Gladly,” Steve grins and lifts you just to place you on the bar counter and steps between your legs. You’ll have to let him go eventually. Just not right now.

-

“Hey guys! I know I’ve been kind of spotty with uploads but as I said in the last video, my boyfriend brought me to Japan! This is day two! We started off with a room service buffet. Then we went to Tokyo Disneyland! Ah! I was in heaven! It was all so magical! We got matching hoodies. We love to match! And I got a pair of rose gold ears. Steve booked us a tour guide for the day so we got to walk onto everything! Things got a little too intense for Steve after Journey to the Center of the Earth. This was him trying to hold down his Mickey Pretzel. So, I was a solo rider for the rest of the day. We ended the day with fireworks in this special reserved area with a blanket and hot cocoa. It was so cute. And then Steve shocked me and proposed in front of the castle! Of course I said yes! I love him so much! It was such an amazing day. Stay tuned for some wedding planning videos! This is so exciting!”

You end the voice over recording and let out a burnt out sigh.

“You’re a good actress,” Steve laughs and runs his hand over your stomach while you relax in his lap after all the walking you did today.

You snort out a laugh. “You haven’t seen my other videos, apparently.”

“I have. You’re nowhere near that bubbly in real life.”

“You don't think I have a generally cheery disposition?” You grin.

“I think you’re a fucking brat,” Steve smirks into his drink. You just giggle at his words.

You sync up the video with your voice over and the two of you sit in silence while Steve sips his bourbon. You get to the footage that makes you pause as Steve holds your middle and you happily leap into his arms to share the passionate kiss you worked so hard on that morning. It looked good.

Really good. “That kiss was pretty damn convincing.” Steve presses a kiss to your temple.

“You think so?”

He hums positively. “They might actually think you’re in love.”

You smile and turn your head to face him. You press a kiss to his cheek. “I had a good teacher.”

“Did you?” Steve smirks and brushes his hand up your jaw. “Do you want some more homework?” He presses another heart stopping kiss to your lips. You turn in his lap to straddle his legs and Steve grips your hips, holding you close.

“I like kissing you,” you admit against his lips.

“Good, because I’m not going to stop anytime soon.” You giggle and cup his jaw, falling back into his kiss.

Chapter 1 | Master List | Chapter 3