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narraboths · 7 months

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“You got anything to tell me about yesterday’s interview, Ponytail?”

Being cornered by one’s editor is rarely a good sign. Being cornered by a harried Snapper Carr one month into her tenure as a rookie reporter would be enough to give others nightmares for a month. Maybe ulcers. Kara, though, she’s been having a great week, and she’s not about to let anyone ruin it.

“Nope.” She pops the p a little. Something about Snapper’s moroseness always pushes her to be spitefully chipper.

“Nothing out of the ordinary?”

“Not at all.”

“Hm.” Snapper nurses the thought with that dour, toothachey look that Kara’s come to learn is directed at her just as much as it is a sign of his general displeasure with the world. He pulls out his phone, jabbing at the screen. “So do you mind explaining to me why my cub reporter is on the front page of every gossip rag from here to Metropolis as the Mystery Blonde Caught in Luthor’s Web?”

That can’t be right is immediately the tip of Kara’s tongue but it freezes there, along with the incredulous laugh threatening to burst out of her, because Snapper is shoving his phone in her face and–

“It’s not what it looks like,” she blurts out, instinctively, then winces at her own choice of words. Great save. “I was just being considerate.”

It’s true, really. She was only holding the door open for Lena as they left L-Corp (Lena was on the move the whole day, they did half of the interview in the back of her Range Rover, flitting between offices), and it only happened that Lena’s hand fell to her forearm, a completely innocent gesture, as innocent as Lena’s smile, as the way she swayed a little closer, saying thank you as she strode by. And sure, Kara may have felt mesmerized for a single, fleeting moment, suddenly so deeply flustered by the gentle weight of Lena’s hand that she almost cracked the door handle in two, but who wouldn’t? Lena Luthor just has a remarkable presence. Why are they letting paparazzi camp out at the L-Corp doorstep, anyways?

“I’ve never seen Luthor that affectionate with anyone.” Snapper eyes Kara suspiciously, his face screaming why you of all people, bumbling rookie who can barely even spell?. “I’ve never seen any of the Luthors affectionate with anyone at all.”

“Guess it’s just my natural charm, sir.” Kara flashes the most annoyingly innocent smile she can, then squares her shoulders. “Did you actually read my article?”

There’s a beat of silence, Snapper staring daggers at her. Then finally, finally, he lets out an annoyed huff.

“Of course I read it. It’s going out first thing tomorrow.” He pockets his phone, then rubs his face with a tired motion. “Make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

“You got it, boss.”

It happens again.

It happens again a bunch, really. (Kara at the L-Corp gala, at Lena’s table, the two of them in lively conversation, shoulders pressed together – she was telling me about L-Corp’s new green energy initiative, sir –, the fond smile and almost-teasing tone when Lena calls “yes, Miss Danvers?” at her press conference – she’s just nice! It’s not a crime! –, the candid of them on the CatCo balcony when Lena’s in house for her cover shoot, Kara gesturing excitedly and Lena leaning against the railing, hanging onto every word, a jacket two sizes too big wrapped around her shoulders – you know it gets cold out there. At least there’s no photos of her wrapping the jacket around Lena, their hands brushing together, the faint blush along the lines of Lena’s throat. That’d probably look pretty suspicious.) Snapper’s face takes on increasingly vivid shades of purplish red.

“Do we need to go over the meaning of journalistic integrity again, Danvers?”

Kara decides to take graduating from “Ponytail” as a win.

“We’re not– it’s not anything untoward,” she shoots back, arms crossed, only slightly blushing. In anger, certainly. “I’m doing my job. I grilled her on L-Corp still holding a contract with the government for anti-alien defense systems that Lex negotiated, just last week. There’s footage.”

“Yeah,” Snapper grinds his teeth so vehemently that Kara’s afraid he might crack a crown. “Footage of her hugging you in the hallway afterwards, too. What the hell were you doing?”

“She just thanked me, sir.” The vein on Snapper’s neck looks ready to burst. Kara makes a mental note to recommend meditation at a less belligerent time. “She said my question made it possible for her to make a public stance and really send a message.”

Snapper looks like he’s nearing an aneurysm.

“Hell, Danvers, that sounds even worse!”

It sounded pretty great, actually, Kara thinks, after the borderline unprofessional row they had in Lena’s office when Kara first broached the subject. It felt pretty great, too, not just Lena’s declaration, her renewed commitment to reject everything Lex and Lillian stand for, but the warmth of Lena’s pressed against her, her lips brushing against Kara’s cheek, the low murmur of “you’re such a wonderful friend” in her ear that gave her such a strange shiver. At least that much thankfully escaped the prying eyes and cameras.

“Either I don’t go near her, or CatCo continues to have the leading stories on one of National City’s most high-profile citizens.” She gives Snapper the steeliest look she can muster without letting her heat vision flare up. “And my covers are currently bringing in our biggest numbers. Sir.”

Snapper grinds his teeth again, but his shoulders sag just a touch, and Kara knows she’s won this round.

“You’re on thin ice, Danvers. Back to your desk.”

Kara complies with a grin and a thumbs up, and decides to take a break half an hour later, when Alex forwards her an article titled Bosom Buddies: Lena Luthor Out And About With CatCo Gal Pal with a subtle mix of skull, knife, and eyeroll emojis. She does save one of the photos, though, the one where Lena’s head’s thrown back in adorable, delightful laughter.

“Can you explain this one, Danvers?”

Snapper doesn’t look angry this time. No, he’s strangely calm, somewhat elated, even, slamming a whole bundle of newspapers down on her desk, jolting Kara out of her reverie. Half of them are National City publications, Kara vaguely notes, but there’s Metropolis and Gotham and Central City in the mix, too, as if it was the story of the century. Must be a slow news day.

“Of course, sir. I think the proper term is ‘first date’?”

To her greatest surprise, Snapper barks out a laugh, loud and gruff.

“You’re now barred from any future reporting on the Luthors or L-Corp,” he tells her, not without a touch of satisfaction. If Kara hadn’t been walking on sunshine for the past thirteen hours, twenty-eight minutes and forty-one seconds, since the first tentative press of Lena’s lips against her own, she might’ve felt a bit miffed. “Cat Grant’s setting aside a little time later in the afternoon to chew you out personally.”

Kara nods happily along. Withering tones and grim disapproval, the usual spiel, as if anything could dull that buzzing, electrifying feeling coursing through her body since last night, the weightless, feverish joy that grips her every time she thinks of Lena’s last text and everything can’t wait to see you again tonight could possibly entail.

“Yessir.”

“Congratulations, Danvers.” Snapper raps his knuckles against her desk. “Let’s spare each other the heartburn from now on.”

(Kara shows up with a hickey on her neck and the headlines of Lena Luthor Packs PDA With New Girlfriend the next day. Snapper refuses to look her in the eyes for the rest of the week.)

#supercorp #supercorp fic #my fic

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ian0key · 3 months

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SAM/SASHA AND ALICE/TIM????

TMAGP ep 1-2 Spoilers!! (And TMA Spoilers!)

Do you realize how similar Alice and Sam are to Tim and Sasha?

Many of you talked about Alice being fun, carefree and the comic relief, like Tim in the first season.

But what happens if we look deeper? I start with Alice and Tim because I think they are the most obvious

-Alice does not have "professional respect" for either Gwen or Lena.

Just like what happened between Tim and Jon. But none of them go so far as to "completely disrespect them."(at least S1 Tim).

-Alice has a younger brother who she apparently cares a lot about, just like Tim was with Danny. Besides, (this is my theory), but the way they introduced Alice's brother, I get the feeling that his fate won't be very different from poor Danny's.

-They know more than they say, Alice clearly knows more than she tells Sam,Alice has been working for the government for at least 4 years, and the only time she acted seriously was to tell Sam that he shouldn't get too involved in the cases, because she saw people go crazy because of it.

Something similar happened with Tim in the first seasons, he knew that the Fears were real, he knew things about the stranger, he was looking for revenge..

And now on to the similarities between Sam and Sasha.

-They were both overqualified for their position, Lena told Sam that the job he applied for was too low for his level, but he didn't care,on the other hand ,Sasha must have been The Archivist, Gerdtrud knew this, that's why her warning notes were made for her, but Elias found out after Killing Gerdtrud and left Sasha as assistant and put Jon as The Archivist..

-Sam is calm, he follows Alice's games but is professional towards his colleagues, Just like the little we saw of Sasha, She treated Jon quite well even though at the time Jon was a bit... very Shitty.

That's why Jon trusted her so much.

-Curiosity , Sam asked a lot of questions throughout the first 2 chapters, and when he didn't get answers he started investigating on his own. When Sasha met Michael, she wanted answer,without caring about the danger.

Also, That could have been a foreshadowing that Sam will be connected to the Eye of this reality???.

- Both of their names start with "SA" but that's not very important /j

And finally, we analyze Alice and Sam as a duo and the parallels they have with Tim and Sasha.The two of them complement each other perfectly, they play each other's games and we feel their connection.

Besides Alice and Sam are exes (although I think it's more of a reference to Georgie and Jon) Sasha and Tim always had an "almost something?????".like we heard in the fifth season..

I don't know, at some point I felt like I was listening to the reincarnations of the chaotic Archives duo , you know what I mean?

(English is not my first language, please let me know if I have any spelling mistakes🙏)

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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 months

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Worker misclassification is a competition issue

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/02/upward-redistribution/#bedoya

The brains behind Trump's stolen Supreme Court have detailed plans: they didn't just scheme to pack the court with judges who weren't qualified for – or entitled to – a SCOTUS life-tenure, they also set up a series of cases for that radical court to hear.

Obviously, Dobbs was the big one, but it's only part of a whole procession of trumped-up cases designed to give the court a chance to overturn decades of settled law and create zones of impunity for America's oligarchs and the monopolies that provide them with wealth and power.

One of these cases is Jarkesy, a case designed to allow SCOTUS to euthanize every agency in the US government, stripping them of their powers to fight corporate crime:

https://www.americanprogress.org/article/sec-v-jarkesy-the-threat-to-congressional-and-agency-authority/

The argument goes, "Congress had the power to spell out every possible problem an agency might deal with and to create a list of everything they were allowed to do about these problems. If they didn't, then the agency isn't allowed to act."

This is an Objectively Very Stupid argument, and it takes a heroic act of motivated reasoning to buy it. The whole point of expert agencies is that they're experts and that they might discover new problems in American life, and come up with productive ways of fixing them. If the only way for an agency to address a problem is to wait for Congress to notice it and pass a law about it, then we don't even need agencies – Congress can just be the regulator, as well as the lawmaker.

If there was any doubt that Congress created the agencies as flexible and adaptive hedges against new threats and problems, then the legislative history of the FTC Act should dispel it.

Congress created the FTC through the FTCA because the courts kept misinterpreting its existing antitrust laws, like the Sherman Act. Companies would engage in the most obvious acts of naked, catastrophic fuckery, and judges would say, "Welp, because Congress didn't specifically ban this conduct, I guess it's OK."

So Congress created the FTC with an Act that included a broad authority to investigate and punish "unfair methods of competition." They didn't spell these out – instead, they explicitly said (in Section 5) that it was the FTC's job to determine whether something was unfair, and to act on it:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

The job of the FTC is to investigate unfair conduct before it becomes such a problem that Congress takes action, and to head that conduct off so that it never rises to the level of needing Congressional intervention.

Now, it's true that since the Reagan years, the FTC has grown progressively less interested in using this power, but that's broadly true of all of America's corporate watchdogs. But as the public all over the world has grown ever more furious about corporate abuses and oligarchic wealth, governments everywhere have rediscovered their role as a public protector.

In America, the Biden administration altered the course of history with the appointment of new enforcers in the key anti-monopoly agencies: the FTC and the DOJ's antitrust division. But more importantly, the Biden admin created a detailed, technical plan to use every agency's powers to fight monopoly, in a "whole of government" approach:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/party-its-1979-og-antitrust-back-baby

Now, this can give rise to seeming redundancies. Take labor issues. The NLRB is a (potentially) powerful regulator that had been in a coma for decades, but has awoken and taken up labor rights with a fervor and cunning that is a delight to behold:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/06/goons-ginks-and-company-finks/#if-blood-be-the-price-of-your-cursed-wealth

At the same time, the FTC has also taken up labor rights, using its much broader powers to do things like ban noncompetes nationwide, unshackling workers from bosses who claim the right to veto who else they can work for:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/02/its-the-economy-stupid/#neofeudal

But the NLRB doesn't make the FTC redundant, or vice-versa. The NLRB's role is principally reactive, punishing wrongdoing after it occurs. But the FTC has the power to intervene in incipient harms, labor abuses that have not yet risen to the level of NLRB enforcement or new acts of Congress.

This case is made beautifully in Alvaro Bedoya's speech "'Overawed': Worker Misclassification as a Potential Unfair Method of Competition," delivered to the Law Leaders Global Summit in Miami today:

https://www.ftc.gov/system/files/ftc_gov/pdf/Overawed-Speech-02-02-2024.pdf

Bedoya describes why the FTC has turned its attention to the problem of "worker misclassification," in which employees are falsely claimed to be contractors, and thus deprived of the rights that workers are entitled to. Worker misclassification is rampant, and it transfers billions from workers to employers every year. As Bedoya says, 10-30% of employers engage in worker misclassification, allowing them to dodge payment for overtime, Social Security, workers' comp, unemployment insurance, healthcare, retirement and even a minimum wage. Each misclassified worker is between $6k-18k poorer thanks to this scam – a typical misclassified worker sees a one third decline in their earning power. And, of course, each misclassified worker's boss is $6k-$18k richer because of this scam.

It's not just wages, it's workplace safety. One of the most dangerous jobs in the country is construction worker, and worker misclassification is rampant in the sector. That means that construction workers are three times more likely than other workers to lack health insurance.

What's more, misclassified workers can't form unions, because their bosses' fiction treats them as independent contractors, not employees, which means that misclassified construction workers can't join trade unions and demand health-care, or safer workplaces.

Contrast this with, say, cops, who have powerful "unions" that afford them gold-plated health care and lavish compensation, even for imaginary ailments like "contact overdoses" from touching fentanyl – a medical impossibility that still entitles our nation's armed bureaucrats to handsome public compensation:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/27/extraordinary-popular-delusions/#onshore-havana-syndrome

Cops have far safer jobs than construction workers, but cops don't get misclassified, so they are able to collect benefits that no other worker – public or private – can hope for.

Not every employer wants to cheat and maim their employees, of course. In Bedoya's speech, he references Sandie Domando, an executive VP at a construction company in Palm Beach Gardens. Domando's company keeps its employees on its books, giving them health-care and other benefits. But when she started bidding against rival firms for jobs funded by the covid stimulus, she couldn't compete – two thirds of those jobs went to other firms that were able to put in cheaper bids. Those bids were cheaper because they were defrauding their workers by misclassifying them. Thus, publicly funded projects were overwhelmingly handed over to fraudulent companies. Fraud becomes a fitness-factor for winning jobs. It's a market for lemons – among employers.

Employee misclassification is a pure transfer from workers to bosses. Bedoya recounts the story of Samuel Talavera, Jr, a short-haul trucker who worked for decades in the Port of Los Angeles. For decades, his job paid well: enough to support his family and even take his kids to Disneyland now and again.

But in 2010, his employer reclassified him as a contractor. They ordered him to buy a new truck – which they financed on a lease-purchase basis – and put him to work for 16 hours stretches in shifts lasting as much as 20 hours per day. Talavera couldn't pick his own hours or pick his routes, but he was still treated as an independent contractor for payroll and labor protection purposes.

This lead to an terrible decline in Talavera's working conditions. He gave up going home between shifts, sleeping in his cab instead. His pay dropped through the floor, thanks to junk-fees that relied on the fiction that he was a contractor. For example, his boss started to charge him rent on the space his truck took up while he was standing by for a job at the port. Other truckers at the port saw paycheck deductions for the toilet-paper in the bathrooms!

Talavera's take-home pay dropped so low that he was bringing home a weekly wage of $112 or $33 (one week, his pay amounted to $0.67). His wife had to work three jobs, and they still had to declare bankruptcy to avoid losing their home. When Talavera's truck needed repairs he couldn't afford, his boss fired him and took back the truck, and Talavera was out the $78,000 he'd paid into it on the lease-purchase plan.

This story – and the many, many others like it from the Port of LA – paint a clear picture of the transfer of wealth from workers to their bosses that comes with worker misclassification. The work that Talavera did in the Port of LA didn't get less valuable when he was misclassified – but the share of that value that Talavera received dropped to as little as $0.67/week.

Worker misclassification is rampant across many sectors, but its handmaiden is technology. The fiction of independence is much easier to maintain when the fine-grained employer-employee control is mediated by an app (think of Uber):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

That's why those scare-stories that AI trucks were going to make truckers obsolete and create an employment crisis were such toxic nonsense. Not only are we unlikely to see self-driving trucks, but the same investors that back AI technology are making bank on companies that practice worker misclassification through the "it's not a crime if we do it with an app" gambit:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/11/robots-stole-my-jerb/#computer-says-no

By focusing our attention on a hypothetical employment crisis that will supposedly be caused by future AI developments, tech investors can distract us from the real employment crisis that's created by app-enabled worker misclassification, which is also the source of much of the capital they're plowing into AI.

That's why the FTC's work on misclassification is so urgent. Misclassification is a scam that hurts workers and creates oligarchic power – and it's also a mass-extinction event for good companies that don't cheat their workers, because those honest companies can't compete.

Worker misclassification is having a long-overdue and much needed moment. The revolutionary overthrow of the rotten old leadership at the Teamsters was caused, in part, by a radical wing that promised to focus the Teamsters' firepower on fighting worker misclassification:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/11/19/hoffa-jr-defeated/#teamsters-for-a-democratic-union

This has become a focus of labor organizers all around the world, as worker misclassification-via-smartphone has infected labor markets everywhere:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/22/kropotkin-graeber/#an-injury-to-one

Bedoya's speech is a banger, and it reminds us that labor rights and anti-monopoly have always been part of the same project: to rein in corporate power and protect workers from the insatiable greed of the capital class:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/14/aiming-at-dollars/#not-men

#pluralistic #automation panic #automation #scotus #market for lemons #worker misclassification #ftc #competition #antitrust #trustbusting #ftc act #ftc 5 #unions #labor #jarksey #alvaro bedoya #nlrb #whole of government

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lavenderstobins · 19 days

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Wayne Munson Headcanons

Wayne was born and raised in Tennessee but moved to Hawkins when he was older. He briefly moved away but moved back after Eddie came out to him, wanting a fresh start

He was raised as an Evangelical Christian

He's the oldest of three, having a younger brother and a younger sister. His sister died young and Wayne never got over that grief

He had an abusive father, which contributed to his brother acting out as a teenager

He fought in Vietnam and subsequently hates guns as a result

His first job was in a pastry shop, but his father made him quit and get a job as a mechanic

He was very close to Eddie's mother (his sister-in-law) but kept his distance for his brother's sake

When his brother goes to jail for what seems like good, he tries to help out Eddie and his mom as best as he can

When Eddie's mom dies, Wayne feels like he didn't do enough

Wayne took Eddie in without hesitation. He'd been in a longterm relationship at the time and having Eddie with them broke it down, but Wayne wouldn't sacrifice Eddie for anyone

Wayne is the one who introduces Eddie to Garfield

Wayne had a brief relationship with Benny Hammond. He was in love with him, but felt he couldn't risk letting them be in love. He's heartbroken when he hears Benny committed suicide

When Eddie comes out to him as a boy, he does so by mentioning the D&D spell "modify memory" in his explanation. Wayne stays up for hours squinting at the handbook long after Eddie's fallen asleep, wanting to be supportive

Wayne was the one to buzz Eddie's hair, after he came out

Wayne loves fishing. He used to have a fishing group that consisted of him, Benny, Dale, Henry and Earl. Over the years, it becomes just him

Wayne braves a gay nightclub one night when Eddie's at a friend's. He goes a few more times and ends up having a one night stand with Scott Clarke, much to their mutual surprise when they bump into each other at the school

Wayne thinks he's cursed. He thinks the Munson name is cursed

When the mall 'burns down', he starts suspecting Hawkins is cursed, too

He cries when he sees Eddie in a coma after s4

He's suspicious of Steve initially. That quickly changes when he learns Steve was the one to carry Eddie out of the Upside Down

He finds out Steve and Eddie are dating when he walks in on them making out on his couch

He has designated mugs for different things. He brings a Garfield 'gone fishing' mug out with him when he's fishing. He has a snowy Garfield mug that he pulls out in winter

He ends up dating Claudia Henderson sometime after the Upside Down shit is finally over

He treats Steve, Robin and Nancy like they're his kids, too. And Max. Then by the end of the year he's essentially half-adopted the entire Hawkins gang

He has a soft heart and cares deeply about troubled kids. His friends joke that he has a 'waif in need' alert (thanks @pukner)

He doesn't want to get married, claiming he won't marry 'til his boy can marry

He's a man of few words. He's not good at showing physical affection, but he's prouder of Eddie than he could ever say

Calls Eddie 'his boy'

Heavily distrusts the government. Milks them for all he can when Eddie's recovering in the hospital. Lays it on thick with Nancy's help and then winks at her when the government agent bustles out of the room

Loves watching the game on TV. Eddie complains when Steve and Wayne get together for the game but is secretly thrilled about his favourite people spending time together

His clothes get passed around from Eddie to Steve to Robin to Nancy and back again. When Robin shows up in one of his flannels he doesn't even blink

#stranger things #wayne munson #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #steddie #my headcanons

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fuck-customers · 4 months

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Kind of a fuck customers but also a satisfying story at the same time.

My role in the call center I work in involves taking specifically corporate calls, which means I spend all day talking to “business professionals” (and I use that term loosely) including CEOs. As you can imagine, over 90% of these CEOs are the scum of the earth and the most entitled assfaces on the planet.

A week or so ago, I took a call and went through my usual routine of greeting the cardholder and then began going over verification questions. Since we’re A.) a bank and B.) a bank that handles corporate and government credit cards, we take security seriously and require a caller to be able to verify 3 pieces of information based on what the person responsible for their credit cards put on the account. If they don’t pass, we refer them to their company to get the right details.

So as I’m doing this, the guy on the phone is getting increasingly irritated as he keeps getting the security questions wrong. I’m calm and professional the entire time but firm. Eventually I run out of things to verify with him and tell him that we won’t be able to assist and that he needs to contact his administrator. This is apparently where I went wrong.

“LADY I AM THE ADMINISTRATOR!!” He screeches. Ok, great. I look him up and that’s true but there’s a second admin listed, so I ask him to check in with him. He then yells “THERE IS NO OTHER ADMIN! I’M THE CEO OF THIS COMPANY FOR CHRIST’S SAKE!!”

I apologize and tell him while that may be true, he still got his security questions wrong and needs to reach out to his account coordinator then. This man then proceeds to scream at me for the next minute or so saying how we’re an awful bank, how he’s had problems with us for years, blah blah and how we have the worst customer service ever. Keep in mind, I’ve been nice and empathetic this entire time but also I’m not gonna lose my fucking job just because a guy in a suit doesn’t know his shit. I give him the email to his account coordinator and stress again that he needs to talk to them. Then this exchange happens:

Him: “So let me get this straight. You are saying you are REFUSING and UNWILLING to help me, right?

Me: “No, actually I’d love to help you, however we have these security procedures in place for yours and your company’s protection and cannot make exceptions for anyone.”

Him: “This is fucking UNBELIEVABLE! I’ve HAD IT with this bank!!”

Me: “Ok, I’m sorry to hear that. Anything else I can do for you before we disconnect?”

Him: “WHAT IS YOUR NAME? I NEED YOUR NAME. NOW.”

Me: *gives my first name and spells it for him even though it’s a very basic 4 letter name because I’m a bitch*

Him: YOUR LAST NAME.

Me: “We don’t give out anything but our first name for the safety of our employees.”

Him: *insert that condescending, pissed off chuckle middle aged men do when they’re mad here* “Well I’ll tell you what (My Name), when I close this account and pull my MILLIONS OF DOLLARS out of (bank name) and they ask me why, I’ll make sure to tell them that it’s (My Name)’s fault. And I will see to it that you won’t be able to get another job outside of the minimum wage fast food job or whatever you had before this. How does that sound?”

Me: “Sounds great. Now seeing as how this conversation is no longer productive or professional and threats are being made, I’ll be terminating the call, have a nice day.”

Him: “DO NOT HANG UP O-“

Me: *click*

And that’s how making rich, powerful men rage-cry became my new favorite hobby. Thankfully, I haven’t gotten any feedback on that call; not that I would, seeing as how I did my job exactly how I was supposed to. Anyways I hope I’m his 13th reason. ❤️

Posted by admin Rodney.

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stickthisbig · 1 year

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I've started conducting job interviews at work now? It's terrifying but it turns out I'm really good at it? So if interviewing is daunting, here is my advice from the other side of the table. It turned out to be very long, so here's a cut.

When you apply:

Oh my god please spell check your resume, I beg of you.

Gimmicks absolutely will not help you. You will get so much farther with a resume that is neatly formatted and a cover letter that is straight to the point.

Make sure you count all your experience!! Internships and fellowships count as experience!! The computer system will reject you and I'll never see it in the first place!!

After you've gotten the interview:

If you're trying to get a job in a field you've never worked in (as most of the people I interview are), break down your former employment or experience into the skills you used and keep that information at hand. You used to work in food service? You have experience in delivering an experience at a high quality with basically no margin for error, and you work well under pressure. You were a telemarketer? You have experience at following a workflow and deescalating conflict.

We and every other job WILL be asking you about a. conflict management and deescalation (have examples for how you resolve conflict with coworkers, clients, and bosses) b. personal time management (how you stay organized and on schedule) c. what you do when you realize you can't handle a problem by yourself d. your strengths and weaknesses (see below) Just go on and have an answer ready. You will be asked. There will be questions you're not prepared for. Be prepared for these.

Do a little googling about the company/organization. What will become extremely clear to you immediately is whether they're going to care about you caring about the mission. Some businesses don't. Every non-profit and every government agency does. If they seem like they care, you should pretend to care.

Ask all your questions of the person who is scheduling the interview. I don't recommend trying to figure out who will be your boss and contacting them. Everybody's very busy all the time, none of us are hiring specialists, and we're using the HR staff to act as our buffer. You will look like a nuisance, not a go-getter.

Do look at a map and figure out where you're going. It's vastly preferable to call an hour ahead and say you're unsure where to go than call ten minutes late and say you're lost.

When you walk into the office:

I personally don't give a fast fuck if you come empty handed, but some interviewers HATE that, so definitely bring a notebook and a pen. It's no longer necessary to bring paper copies of your resume. If you're going to interview a lot, may I recommend dropping five or ten bucks on a sketchbook at Michaels or similar? It looks polished and also you can actually use it for things. If you need to write notes to help you remember anything from above, it's okay to write them down. Anybody who would ding you for that isn't someone you need to work for.

If you don't know what to wear: black or khaki pants, nice shirt. Preferably a blazer, but that's optional at entry level imho. Lately I'm finding that the men's sections in thrift stores have better selections? If you've got big hips, you can slit the sides of a men's dress shirt up to your waistline and tuck it in. If you have to come in jeans, wear a belt. If you only have a t-shirt, make sure it's clean and tuck it in. You don't have to prove to me you have money to get this job; you just have to prove to me that you are taking this opportunity seriously by presenting yourself neatly, because you will be expected to be dressed neatly at work.

My sibling in Christ beloved child of God, be polite to every fucking person you see. Oh my god I cannot stress to you how polite you need to be. I cannot believe that this is a thing I have to say, but I sure do! If it's close between you and another person, that snippy comment you made on the elevator WILL lose you that job. Ditto for if they walk you around to meet people. Just be THE politest motherfucker.

When you walk into the room:

When you sit down, what you are looking at is one person who is running the interview, twoish people who are related to your job, and sometimes also someone from HR, unless HR does all the interviewing. One of these people wants to be your hype man. If it's my office, it's me, I'm hype man. I want to have a dialogue with you to see how prepared you are and how good of a communicator you are. I want this interview to go fast and seamless. I'm in your corner. Don't play to the guy who's actively staring off into space. Focus on the interviewer who's most focused on you.

NEVER downplay your own experience. Getting a job you're underqualified for is a problem for future you. If you only have internships, or you only have retail, or you only have food service, or you only have work study, fuck it. You walk in there and act like you've been the goddamn president. The question of your qualifications and the question of your experience are separate. Never act like your experience doesn't count because it's in a "lesser" field.

EVERY. TIME. you are asked about your weaknesses, explain how you have used them for growth. Do not wait to be asked, just slap it in there. One of my biggest weaknesses is giving up control, so I've made a conscious effort to involve other people earlier in the process. If you're not fuckin working on your weaknesses, just try to imagine what would be a good idea. Or maybe work on them? I'm not your dad.

What I am looking for is your ability to answer my questions in a complete and concise way. If you can't give me a specific example, I want you to be able to reflect on your previous work and say "When it comes to X, my experience doing Y is relevant in this way." I am asking you for a synthesis. Most of what I need you to do in this position, I know you've never done. If there is something where I specifically need you to have done X as a professional qualification, there is nothing else you could say that would be right, so you have nothing to lose.

Keep some question in your back pocket for when they ask "do you have any questions for us." It is a hundred percent okay for this to be a softball question, but it's also okay to ask something more probing. You can ask how they handle training, town and gown relations, what the possibilities for employee development are, whether they've done any diversity initiatives, if there's a good work-life balance, what the previous person in the position is doing now, what their strategic planning is like, whatever, just something to prove you're engaged. Do not ask about leave, and do not ask a gimmicky question you saw on the internet. If you can't think of anything, just fuckin ask them how they like working there. That's perfectly fine.

This isn't the time to bring up ADA accommodations. The person who can approve that for you is almost certainly not in the room, and you put us in a super weird position. I am saying this as a person who receives ADA accommodations from my employer and did not disclose my disability when I was hired, as is my legal right. Don't bring it up until you think it would actively prevent you from fulfilling a job requirement or accessing the office. In the before times I had a dude once who called me asking if the building was accessible, because he just wasn't going to interview if it wasn't, and I was just like "...that's fair, my man, but you can come on down."

After the interview:

I fully don't care about a thank you note; I'm unlikely to see it anyway. Some people do. You may send one (1) and ONLY ONE thank you note; generally it should just go to the person who scheduled your interview. Do not, and this is so important, do not email again. I know it is the fucking worst how employers get away with ghosting people but my friend you and I cannot change that. (We do send notices to people who get interviews but don't get the job; people who don't get interviews are informed by the computer system.)

It's gonna be okay. I'm not trying to trick you; I want this to go smoothly, and I want you to demonstrate that you understand how you would use what you've already done to do what I need you to do. I don't want this to be awkward any more than you do. Actually, I want this not to be awkward more than you do, because I have to do this several more times.

#work advice #interviewing #I'm interviewing my new intern in like a week and a half aaaaaaa

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ailithnight · 3 months

Note

Care to elaborate on 'Caught and Content'?

So, as I said in the post, Caught and Content is not really an active WIP. So I don't have any snippets to share from it. It's really just a vibes and 'as the mood hits' kinda thing.

That said, there are some things I've settled on for it I'm happy to share. So here's what I've got for you: Danny is not going to understand that the League genuinely just wants to help him for a long, long time. He's going to keep thinking around the truth, trying to rationalize and reconcile these heroes behavior with how he understands things are supposed to go now. That is, when he bothers to question anything it all.

They take him back to the first room with the big window? Well, Superman did just break the table in the other room. Maybe this table is built to withstand super strength in case Superman loses control again.

They switch the dampeners for ones he can use his hands with? What do that want him to use his hands for?

They put food on the table? Huh, must be lunch time.

Oh, it's for him? Is it... poisoned? Is there blood blossoms in it? This is... a test. Should he eat it because they told him to? Or should he not because ghosts don't eat? It was always hard to tell with the GIW.

They take him to a new room, with a bed and a window and even a bathroom? Damn, these guys have cushy holding cells. Although, they probably usually expect to be holding real people. Sentient people. People with rights.

Days pass and Danny doesn't understand why he's still here. Or why they're still feeding him. Or why people keep coming by and talking at him. But he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He is content to wait here, drinking in starlight until the end.

Oh, the Ward has been disbanded? Huh. Guess the government decided the Justice League did the better job at it anyway. After all, they're the ones that have Phantom caught and contained. Bout time they stopped wasting money on those mostly incompetent idiots in white.

Over and over and over again; Danny is either to busy dissociating to ask questions, or he invents answers that fit his preconceived notions. He does not allow himself to Hope that this won't end how he assumes it will. Not until someone gets fed up and spells it out for him. Someone enough like him that he listens to them. Someone enough like him that he inherently trusts them.

And once a little birdie gives him Hope again, that's when Danny finally lets himself fall apart.

#: )#dpxdc #dp x dc #Caught and Content #my writing

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delimeful · 5 months

Text

WIBAR Intermission: Visiting Home (1/3)

G/T July Day 17: Home

this intermission has 3 parts, taking place during different points in the WIBAR timeline. this chapter takes place before LMMR/Act 2 of WIBAR! baby time :)

shoutout to nyn for inspiring the last scene with Roman at the end!

warnings: negative assumptions, mentions of blood/hunting/injury, mild fear/nervousness, other than that it's all fluff (literally)

Despite the tension buzzing at the back of his skull, Virgil found that being planetside again was surprisingly… nice.

He would have preferred that it was an uninhabited area— or at least, that it wasn’t one of the only places in the universe that had aliens he really, really couldn’t afford to terrify— but he couldn’t deny that feeling the ground under his feet and the sunlight on his skin was soothing, a balm he hadn’t known he’d needed.

It wasn’t the same as Earth, not really, but Patton’s home planet was close enough to familiar that he found tension seeping from his overwrought muscles despite himself.

He shook some of the dazed contentment off, flicking a glance over his shoulder and reminding himself that if any of the locals saw him, it could spell Capital-D Disaster.

His little excursion into one of the less populated natural areas near the little port town was entirely unplanned, and all the riskier for it, but they simply hadn’t had any better options.

Patton had been putting off visiting his family for longer than anyone would have liked— first with the excuse of healing from his injuries, and then with the financial strain that had come from his crewmates dedicating the bulk of their time to searching for him, rather than doing their usual delivery and transport jobs.

(The strain of providing for an entire new off-the-books crewmate, too, Virgil knew. He tried to avoid taking up too much, resource-wise, but there was only so little he could eat before his symptoms went from barely-tolerable to unmanageable.

The adrenaline crash and resulting sprains after he’d intervened in the raiders’ attack had been a painful reminder that most days, his body felt like it was barely holding together at the seams.)

Finally, they’d managed to weave together a cover story believable enough that the trip was set in motion, with the caveat that Patton would go planetside to visit, and Virgil would stay on the ship, up in orbit, firmly out of range of discovery.

Patton hated the idea of lying to his loved ones, wanted more than anything to introduce Virgil and prove he wasn’t the monster the galaxy thought he was, but even his stubborn optimism hadn’t held up under the combined forces of the other 3/4ths of the crew.

It was too dangerous for word to get out about Virgil, especially after the close call they’d already had, narrowly averted thanks to Remyy. Between Logan’s points on the historical government response to rumors of rogue humans, Roman’s assertions that bounty hunters of all kinds would begin targeting them, and Virgil’s own intense discomfort with the idea of his existence being revealed to others when he’d only just gotten free, Patton had conceded, if a bit morosely.

So, things had proceeded according to plan… right up until Patton’s clutchmates commed in, requesting that they bring the Mindscape down so that they could fill Patton’s quarters and kitchen with a variety of gifts and supplies to remind him of home after he left.

Patton hadn’t been informed. A surprise, they’d said, meant to show their love and care for their sibling in a way that would linger as long as possible.

It was a cultural custom, apparently, and Patton’s hard headed tendencies must have run in the family, because they’d refused to take no for an answer without a good reason.

Unfortunately for the reason in question, informing them that there was another crew member onboard who couldn’t be seen by anyone else would only defeat the purpose of staying off planet in the first place.

And so, after very intense sweep of the ship to hide away any trace of Virgil’s presence, he’d swept his old cloak around his shoulders, followed Logan offboard, and let himself be guided to what seemed to be an unoccupied area of the coastal jungle that surrounded the local populace.

Logan had requested he stay in the general area until he returned from corralling the busybody relatives, and then rushed back to the ship where Roman waited, looking more harried than Virgil had ever seen him.

It was an awkward, stressful situation, sure. But he still couldn’t help but marvel a little at the thick, dark fronds of the trees and the almost powdery texture of the grey-white sand beneath his feet.

He hadn’t gotten very many chances to actually appreciate the wonder of being in space, on alien planets, with how much of his stay so far had either been locked in cages aboard ships or on the run, too busy trying to survive to take in the scenery.

Running his fingers over the corkscrew-patterned bark of one of the nearby tree trunks, Virgil didn’t notice the slight rustling of a nearby brush.

—

Marren had thought the alien an intruder at first, had skidded to a halt and narrowly avoided toppling out of the underbrush right in front of them.

Behind her, Robbyn and Denel tumbled against her back with the beginnings of peeped complaints at the interruption of their game.

“Ssst!” Marren made a whistle that was more air than sound, her baby feathers ruffling up in pre-emptive upset. “Quiet, there’s a stranger!”

Unlike any other game, her playmates immediately went silent, eyes growing round and nervous. They all knew better than to catch the attention of a maybe-dangerous unfamiliar alien.

Especially now. One of the older kids had told horror stories about smugglers when the grown-ups weren’t listening, insisting that straying fledglings would get all their feathers shredded off and fed to the horrible monsters at the bottom of the Spacesea, where starlight and ships alike couldn’t reach.

They’d gotten in big trouble for the tall tales, but the story had already been taken up by the waves and couldn’t be squashed, especially with the fearful but dedicated belief of younger fledglings.

“Is it a monster?” Denel asked, already looking more fluff than form.

Marren… couldn’t really tell.

They were huge, even bigger than the Draellex spacefarer who had come to do a presentation for her class last season, but most of their features were also obscured by the long, deep grey cloak that they were swathed in.

“They’ve got hands,” she reported instead, because the stranger was touching various plants and rocks with nubby, strangely smooth fingers. “No claws, though.”

“Maybe a trader ship came early?” Robbyn offered thoughtfully. Their downy soft pink feathers were the least fluffed up between the three of them, their gaze focused on the alien with an intense curiosity.

“We woulda seen it, right?” Marren replied dubiously, before going quiet for a moment as the hooded head of the stranger turned and paused as though listening.

She didn’t continue until they turned back to their slow inspection of the wildlife, letting out a tiny peep-peep-peep of relief. “The only ship that came down is Uptel Patton’s, and he’s only got two playmates.”

She’d only met one of her Uptel’s friends in person, and only when she was a baby baby, way before her first molt, so she barely remembered it, but there were plenty of pictures in her Elder Uptel Farrun’s home. Patton’s parents were always happy to talk about their spacefarer son, and Marren always got a fun trinket from her Uptel when he visited.

Well. Almost always.

He’d seemed very distracted when she’d seen him this morning, enough that he’d barely noticed her amongst the many relatives that had swarmed to greet him after his longer than usual absence.

Something bad had happened to him, Marren had been told, which had made his parents’ home feel all sad-grief-loss whenever she visited, but he was all better now.

She wasn’t so sure. Everyone around him had felt like relief-joy-kinship at the sight of him, sure, but her Uptel had never flinched away from preening before.

“Maybe he got a new one?” Denel asked, still half-hidden behind Robbyn but not quite as frightened.

Marren made a considering chirp, and then began shuffling under the wiry branches as quietly as possible, seeking out a closer bush.

“Where are you going?” both of her playmates asked in very different tones.

“Gonna look closer,” she replied, and then froze as the answer carried farther than she meant it to.

The stranger turned sharper this time, and searched the clearing with tiny back-and-forth movements of their head.

“Patton?” they called after a moment, and Marren almost startled back in shock: the alien had spoken Uptel Patton’s actual name, not the Common version, and sounded uncannily close to an actual Ampen.

If it weren’t for how impossibly big the stranger was, she might have thought it was a simple prank, a couple of older kids stacked on top of each other under a form-disguising cloak.

Her gaze trailed down and finally focused on the familiar glow coming from the shadowed neckline of the cloak. She would know that glow anywhere!

“They’ve gotta special charm!” she crowed, and pushed past the branches to dart out into the open, intent on inspecting her Uptel’s newest friend.

Patton’s friend stumbled back hard with a sharp inhale, and Marren abruptly remembered that it wasn’t polite to startle people, especially strangers, and slowed to a stop. She angled her head up to try and peer into the shadows of the hood, squinting her eyes almost closed in as innocent and friendly a look as possible.

“I’m Marren,” she introduced herself, using the little bit of Common that her Uptel had taught her. “The stars greet you and so do I!”

That kind of greeting was more for actually being up in space with all the stars, but she figured it was the thought that counted.

Patton’s friend muttered something in an unfamiliar language, their tone soft, and then lowered themself to a seated position, much slower than they’d moved before. “My name is Virgil. It’s… nice to sea you?”

Marren let out a peal of chirping laughter, nearly knocking herself off balance with the force of her amusement.

That was definitely one of Uptel Patton’s friends, alright. He was the only bondrelative she had who put silly word jokes in his greetings like that.

“Can I sea you?” she shot back brightly, and when that didn’t seem to make it through, she pretended to move an invisible hood down from her own head.

Friend Virgil went all stiff for a moment, before speaking again. “I don’t think… uh, that’s not a good idea. I’m… I’m shy.”

Marren was distracted for a moment by puzzling through the words; it was an odd combination of Common and Ampen words, some of them a little smushed together until they almost seemed like a new word entirely.

Once the meaning behind the answer registered, though, she made a long, protesting whistle. “I’m not gonna be mean to you! Denel’s shy, too, you guys can get along!”

“Denel?” Friend Virgil echoed, again pronouncing the name eerily accurately, and Marren heard a little peep of alarm from behind her.

Antennae twitching with frustration, she turned and gave the bushes her best irritated stare, fluffing up indignantly. “They’re Patton’s friend! They’ve gotta be nice to me, I’m his favorite telit! Stop acting so new-hatched!”

“You’re his only little cousin,” Robbyn was speaking to her as they hopped into view, but their wide eyes were locked on Friend Virgil like they’d just found a shiny new stone. “Can they talk?”

“Kinda,” Marren chirped back, since it seemed like Friend Virgil knew more of the spacefarer tongue than their native one. “I know enough space words to translate! Probably.”

“You’re going to hurt your throat,” Robbyn cautioned in their best know-it-all voice. Marren was saved from having to answer by the thud of Denel tripping his own way out of the bush.

With his underlayer all fluffed out like that, it was no wonder that he accidentally rolled a few feather-lengths along the ground, squawking in high-pitched, babyish alarm as he tumbled.

Friend Virgil leaned forward so quickly that even Marren peeped in surprise, but all they did was set a humongous cupped hand next to Denel to keep him from toppling any further. Denel pulled all his limbs in with a panicked squeak as he bumped into the helping hand, and turned his head to peer up at Friend Virgil nervously.

“Safe and sound,” Friend Virgil crooned, in the sort of lullaby sing-song tone that was usually used to soothe hatchlings. “Okay, good, okay?”

It took Denel a stunned moment to respond, but when he chirped affirmative, the waver in his whistle had faded to almost nothing. He slowly uncurled, and even reached out for balance as he got back upright, looking absolutely awestruck.

He was way more aether-sensitive than most fledglings, Marren recalled, which meant that Friend Virgil must have been radiating some deeply trustworthy energy. As always, she had been totally right! Of course Patton’s friend was nice!

Marren wasted no time in spinning back around and darting up to Friend Virgil’s legs, giving them her best pleading expression.

“See? We can all be friends, you’re big-nice and nobody will be mean to you! Please please please?”

—

Virgil was not good with kids.

Specifically, he wasn’t good at saying no to kids.

Back home, they’d always picked up on it the moment they saw him, like sharks catching the scent of blood in the water, except the sharks were twelve year olds and the blood was Virgil’s inability to tell them not to draw on him in sharpie.

He’d finally found something that humans and aliens had in common, it seemed, because Marren– the apparent leader of the little group– had immediately figured out exactly how to use the Ampen version of puppy dog eyes against him. It was like nature had designed them as adorable feathery pom-pom creatures as a tactic designed to target him, specifically.

He hadn’t stood a chance.

As such, he found himself seated in the middle of the small clearing, his hood lowered and face exposed for anyone to see, being used as an actual, literal human jungle gym by a bunch of chirping alien fuzzballs.

The playtime racket must have been attracting more, because it felt like every time he looked up, three or four entirely new bundles of fluff had appeared, racing around his feet or climbing up the side of his cloak, chattering between themselves in strings of tweets and whistles.

The namecall they used for him wasn’t quite accurate, sounding more like ‘frrr-kul’ with a rolling trill followed by a chirp that only occasionally resembled the latter half of his name. They seemed to have a much harder time than Patton making the non-bird sort of syllables, which made sense, seeing as they were itty bitty babies.

“Frrrr-kul!” one of them called gleefully, summoning him over to the other side of the clearing for the newest round of whatever it was they were playing.

Virgil wasn’t ashamed to admit that something in his chest squeezed a bit as another fledgling turned dizzying little loop-de-loops in front of him, presumably leading him over to the new spot. For once, the heart palpitations he was experiencing around strange aliens were almost entirely cuteness-induced.

Almost, because there was still a solid chunk of his brain panicking viciously about how tiny and soft and fragile they all were, hence him moving at the pace of a seasick slug.

Marren had put forward a half-hearted complaint about how slow he was moving, to no avail. As it turned out, the only thing more compelling to him than a kid’s heartfelt request was the fear of accidentally hurting one of them.

It had taken him at least fifteen minutes just to stop flinching every time one of them fell or flung themself off of his knee or shoulder or— for one very stealthy candidate— his head, only to tumble lightly back to the ground unharmed, the impact entirely cushioned by their fluff.

He’d caught the first five or six on sheer instinct, which had only prompted even more to partake in the fun new ‘game’, until he gave up and accepted his fate as a living launch pad. Thankfully for his stress levels and long-term heart health, they had moved onto another game quickly enough.

He was slightly less thankful that every game so far had included him being scampered over, without exception, but he should have figured as much just from being friends with Patton, honestly.

His latest role seemed to be a very ill patient, as one of Marren’s friends walked around—and on— him carefully, calling out chirped instructions and sending the rest of the participants scrambling into the nearby brush. Within a few moments, they’d return with leaves, twigs, and other forest detritus, which would then be painstakingly applied to the top of his hand, or his chin, or wherever else the ‘doctor’ gestured to. Half the time, the makeshift bandages would flutter off the moment Virgil shifted even a little, prompting chitters of delight as the kids hurried to re-apply them.

Still better than any healthcare he’d gotten on Earth, honestly.

Seeing as his current job was to lay in place morosely like that guy from the Operation board game, he eventually closed his eyes and let himself relax a little, trying to hide an irrepressible closed-lip smile.

A few rounds later, he heard a chorus of what sounded like Patton’s favorite greeting chirp, but in a range of much higher pitches. He cracked his eyes open, expecting another gaggle of fledglings had showed up, and instead found that Logan was standing at the edge of the clearing, arms all dropped limply to his sides in shock.

Virgil went tense, only managing to repress his flinch because a good portion of his brain was still dedicated to monitoring where all the babies were around him, and currently at least ten were clinging onto his person. “Okay, listen. This was not my idea.”

Logan carefully tucked his hands behind his back in what Virgil first mistook for a polite gesture, only to emerge with what was unmistakably the portable camera he used whenever he was collecting video data for later.

“...Really?”

Whirr-click. Logan didn’t even bother looking apologetic as he began recording Virgil’s pint-sized tormentors. “If Patton didn’t get a memento of this, he would never forgive me, facetiously speaking.”

Rolling his eyes, Virgil slowly shifted up to his elbows, a startling amount of leaves fluttering down from his hair. A tentative hand feeling around in his hair revealed a fluffy stowaway, who peeped in displeasure as Virgil carefully disentangled them.

Talk about having a bird’s nest for hair. That was probably a sign that he needed a trim, but for now he could only laugh to himself, using two fingers to try and soothe the ruffled feathers of the fledgling that had apparently seen his head as prime real estate.

“You’re… very good with them,” Logan commented, shuffling closer with uncharacteristic tentativeness. “Is it normal to take on a parental role for children that aren’t under your care on Earth?”

Virgil snorted, and then leaned forward a little to help keep one of the more tenacious fledglings clinging to him from losing their grip. “It depends on the person, but honestly? A lot of humans are total suckers for anything cute making baby sounds, human or not. Sometimes to the point that the keener wildlife will take advantage of it and lead us to babies that are injured or out of reach because they know that odds are, a human will help.”

“Truly? Non-domesticated species, as well?” Logan replied, visibly distracted from his slow approach by the implications. “Cooperative dynamics between sapient species and local fauna are present on many planets, but for almost all studied Deathworlds, such a thing is unheard of. The risk is higher in harsher environments, where a much more competitive nature is required for survival.”

“Yeah, for real. I used to work as an assistant… uh. An assistant animal-healer, and people were always bringing in abandoned babies they’d found. Sometimes they were actually in need of help, but sometimes they definitely weren’t,” Virgil huffed a little at the memories, holding still as a fledgling took a running leap to jump from one of his knees to the other. “It was well-intentioned, though. Lots of people hate to see a baby left alone and jump to conclusions, since you’d never do that with a human infant.”

Logan’s hands twitched, and Virgil carefully shrugged one shoulder, giving him permission to record the information.

“Just make sure you don’t write stuff about babies or kids down where anyone could get to it,” he cautioned, chewing on the edge of his lip. “I trust you, but I don’t trust, y’know… the rest of space. Better safe than sorry, right?”

“Correct,” Logan confirmed, having heard that exact catchphrase from Virgil probably about twelve times a week. “Am I alright to approach?”

“What?” Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, of course, just be careful. I mean, you’re definitely safer for them to be around than me.”

There was a relieved angle to Logan’s ears as he stepped forward, nimbly avoiding a few of the fledglings chasing each other back and forth like feathered tumbleweeds. “I disagree. They seem quite safe in your hands,” he said. “I have no doubt that Patton would be ecstatic to know that you’ve managed to make some friends amongst his kin despite our need for secrecy.”

Right. His cover had been blown five minutes in by the Ampen equivalent of a bunch of grade-schoolers. Crap.

“Let your mind remain at ease,” Logan added, either correctly reading the panic on his face or just guessing from the not-inconsiderable experience he had with Virgil. “With Ampens this young, I’m certain that your positive impression as a playmate will be the bulk of what they mention to their families. I’ve already heard a few of them refer to you as ‘Patton’s shy friend,’ so I imagine most will come up with the rest of the answer on their own assumptions.”

"'Patton's shy friend'?" Virgil felt his ears redden as his face heated up, and there was a chorus of delighted whistle-squeals from the nearest fledglings.

“You change colors just like Uptel Patton!” Marren shouted excitedly, and, well.

There were at least four different species of alien he knew of that shifted colors in all sorts of ways, from a gradual chameleon shift to the rapid flush of an octopus. This was one trait that wasn’t likely to make anyone think ‘Human’.

“Do another color!” A small harmony of encouraging peeps and eager gazes.

“Uh…,” Virgil cast a helpless look of his own Logan’s way. “I mean, I can probably do purple if I hold my breath for long enough?”

“Alright,” Logan cut in urgently,“I think it’s time that Virgil get back to the ship, actually, you’ll have to play with him again the next time we come to visit. Yes, yes, everyone off now…”

–

Miraculously, they’d managed to get through the entire impromptu visit without either of Patton’s flockmates seeing any errant belongings, broken cabinets, or any other indications of the highly illegal and infamous Deathworlder they definitely had onboard.

Roman let out an exhausted snort, trying not to shift impatiently as he stood by the boarding platform and waited for Logan to return with Virgil. If Patton was there, he would have given him a disappointed look for being so blatantly untrusting, but he wasn’t, and it had been a long day, so Roman could be on edge if he wanted to, okay?!

Thankfully, Logan chose that moment to step out from the shade of the forested area, exchanging an assessing look with Roman before deeming the path clear and beckoning Virgil to follow him on board.

The Human padded after Logan, footsteps eerily quiet as always, and… huh. He looked a lot less stressed than he’d seemed when they’d all but shoved him off the ship a few hours ago. Roman tried not to feel immensely suspicious about it, but he glanced down to check his hands for blood anyhow.

He was mostly sure that the Human didn’t actually have any murderous designs, especially not on anyone from Patton’s hometown, but they’d set him loose in a random forest with little to no guidance. Roman couldn’t rule out the idea that Virgil had entertained himself by hunting down some of the local fauna or something.

There was nothing, though, and so he forced his eyes away and checked in briefly with Logan instead. See? He could be cordial when he wanted to! He was a beacon of toleration, okay?

The claim fell a little flat even in his own mind, but he was promptly distracted by the tiniest hint of a whistle. He straightened up, alarm shooting through him as he swiveled his head this way and that, searching for any surprise witnesses.

His gaze fell on the Human as Virgil passed him to board the ship, and Roman stiffened at the sight of three fluffy bundles perched in the swoop of the Human’s hood. “Stop right there!”

Virgil went still, shoulders hunching upward like a bristle and eyes bizarrely wide, and Roman let his tail scrape from side to side for a moment as he glowered, only growing more certain of his guilt.

“I knew it, those are fledglings! Let them go this instant,” he started, planning to end with a suitable threat to ensure the safety of the smallest and most vulnerable of Patton’s kin, only for the Human to somehow go even more stiff and frozen.

“Oh my god, where?” He hunched over slightly, eyes flickering down to scan over his front and arms. “Are they okay?”

Roman pulled up short, admittedly disoriented at the show of clear and abrupt concern. One of the fledglings cheeped in dismay, and Virgil’s head tilted, following the sound.

“Guys, that’s not safe,” he groaned, and then repeated it in Ampen tongue. “Not safe. Not good, not safe, okay?”

His hand twitched up like he was going to reach for them, but then he hesitated for a moment, before slowly turning around so that his hood faced Roman. “Can you help them out? I know they’ve got all the feathers and stuff to keep them safe, but I still don’t want… I don’t want to jostle the hood and knock them out or something.”

“I… yes,” Roman said, feeling like he’d just been hit by a paralyzer shot. He reached out and scooped the fledglings out of their makeshift nest, watching as Virgil’s shoulders grew more and more taut. The Human didn’t trust him, but he held still anyways. “You’ve got, ah. Leaves and twigs. In your head pocket.”

“I bet I do,” he muttered, before taking a few slightly too-fast steps away once he’d checked that his fuzzy passengers had been evacuated. With soft, cautious movements, he patted down the rest of himself, including his other pockets and even the folds of his overcloak. “I think I’m good.”

“That was very dangerous,” Roman scolded, looking down at the trio with disapproval.

Virgil shuffled slightly, looking at him more directly than he usually did. After a moment, he spoke. “They’re fine, right? It’s not their fault, they just think it’s a game.They’re… they’re only babies.”

This was what worry looked like on a Human, Roman realized with a jolt, and managed to choke down his initial offense at the very idea that he would hurt them. He’d assumed the same at first glance, hadn’t he? Virgil had never seen him with kits before, and didn't know very much about him. Roman hadn’t exactly been sharing information or encouraging any bonding, and it wasn’t like the Mindscape had provided very many opportunities for interacting with younglings thus far.

Stars, he hoped there hadn’t been any kids on the smuggler ship. The very idea made him sick.

“Of course they’re fine,” he replied a bit shortly, cradling them a little closer. “Kits will be kits. They didn’t mean any harm, like you said.”

“Oh. Okay, that’s good,” Virgil said, some of that odd tension falling away. He looked back down at the kids. “Uh. Bye, little guys. Stay safe.”

He mimicked a farewell trill with uncanny accuracy, and the fledglings all echoed it with varying levels of mournfulness. Virgil waved as he edged his way up the ship’s ramp backwards, like he thought the kids would ambush him the moment he took his eyes off of them.

Seeing as these three had somehow snuck past a Human’s senses, Roman almost couldn’t blame him.

“When I next see Patton, I’m going to tell him to have a serious talk with you all about being too adventurous, you hear me? Crewmates are not for climbing,” Roman lectured as he carried them back to the main path. He paused to think about how hypocritical that lesson would be coming from Patton, who took any excuse to perch on Virgil. “Oh, for stars’ sake.”

Well, whatever. This was just a one-off. What were the odds they would ever be bringing the Human back here, anyhow?

#wibar #ts virgil #ts roman #ts logan #sanders sides fic #space au #humans are deathworlders #wibar intermission #WIBAR INT 5 #my writing #writing #baby time

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teawinx · 8 months

Text

Back with more Descendants redesigns Namely two news ones

Augustus and Briar

Augustus, canon name Anthony, is the son of Anastasia and the Baker. He currently works as Beau's squire/tutor/government assigned best friend. As the son of a redeemed villain, he is considered an outcast among his peers, and it appears everyone is expecting him to turn out ultimately evil. He takes his job very seriously and wants to prove both himself and his mother as good people. He befriends Evie during the "movie" and helps her get ready for an upcoming ball. He is well aware that it is going to be a test for her, and that everyone is expecting her to fail and label irredeemably evil, so does his utmost to train her to be ladylike.

Briar, canon name Audrey, is the daughter of Aurora and Phillip. She is the princess of her parent's kingdom and the fiancée of Prince Beau, with the goal of their marriage being the union of their two kingdoms. She is rather vain and self-centered, unaware of problems around her. While not completely malicious, she is in need of some humbling. She feels pressured to be an ideal fairy-tale princess, fit for her prince, but she finds this more and more difficult each day. She is in love with Beau, and is beyond hurt when he suddenly publicly breaks up their engagement and professes his love for Mal. After the love spell is broken, Beau doesn't go to see Briar, and it appears he never cared for her at all. And she's angry.

Tried doing a design for Jane too but maaaan was it UGLY. Like really not good, needs a lot of work lol.

#descendants #descendants carlos #descendants evie #descendants mal #disney descendants #disney descendants redesign #descendants jay #descendants ben #descendants audrey #descendants antony

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odinsblog · 8 days

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Elie Mystal covered the ridiculous, “Presidential Immunity” (aka, “Why Can’t Trump Be Treated Like A Dictator?”) case before SCOTUS

Dreeben: "BECAUSE THERE WEREN'T CRIMES!" (he didn't yell, I did, but he said "because there weren't crimes." )

Oh God, now Roberts wondering if they should send it back to the DC circuit because he's worried about presidents getting prosecuted in bad faith.

Roberts: "The court of appeals did not get into a focused consideration of what facts we're talking about or what documents we're talking about... they did not look at what courts usually look at when... taking away immunity."

Is this motherfucker serious? His argument is "Every president coups, why is mine getting charged?"

Thomas: Are you saying there's no immunity even for official acts?

And... that could be the ballgame

Roberts, Gorsuch, and Kavanaugh are more worried about a prosecutor going after a president for *political* reasons than A PRESIDENT TRYING TO OVERTHROW THE GOVERNMENT.

This is just about over.

And by "this" I mean the rule of law and by "over" I mean delayed indefinitely to help Trump.

Gorsuch suggesting that under the government's standard a president could be prosecuted for leading a "civil rights protest" in front of Congress and sought to "influence an official proceeding."

Yes, because Jan 6 and a fucking sit in are the same thing, Neil.

This is goddamn disgusting.

I'm going to keep listening because it is my literal job, but this is pretty much in the bag for Trump at this point. Remand to DC Circuit for decision on "official acts" and whether organizing a coup is one.

After November, if Trump loses, SCOTUS will return to the issue.

Alito: Are you really saying the president is subject to criminal laws like everybody else?

YES YOU DICK. THE PRESIDENT SHOULD BE SUBJECT TO THE LAWS LIKE EVERYBODY ELSE!

Alito: "I'm not talking about the particular facts of this case."

WHY? WHY THE HELL ARE NOT TALKING ABOUT THIS FUCKING CASE RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU?

The question I'd have for the SCOTUS now is: If you do this, why would a Republican president every peacefully transfer power again?

Democratic presidents will because Democrats follow rules that don't apply to the other side. But why would Republicans just leave *ever again*?

Alito: Couldn't FDR's decision to inter Japanese Americans during WWII be charged [as a crime]?

He says that LIKE THAT'S A BAD THING?

And Dreeben is trying to say that he couldn't.

This country, and specifically this court, is a fucking joke.

Now onto self-pardons. Alito is just playing all the Fox News hits now.

I'm going to smoke. Biden should send Seal Team 6 to Mar-a-Lago because according to Alito there's no downside.

Alito just suggested that the last election was "questionably decided"

I have left my body and am texting things I can't say aloud to my friends.

Kagan is like the first person to be asking about the actual criminal acts Trump is charged with.

I assume Alito is not listening because Kagan is a woman while Gorsuch is probably sitting there emailing the New York Times because they got something wrong on the Spelling Bee.

I see the internet is unimpressed with Dreeben but that's being a little unfair. The Republican justices want to do this, there's nothing that Dreeben could say to stop them.

What he *could* be doing was making their hypocrisy more clear for the non-legal media following along.

But... SCOTUS advocates have to preserve their ability to argue another day, and blowing up the justices in one case

A: Doesn't help them actually win the case.

B: Actively hurts them in the next one.

Kavanaugh: "Like Justice Gorsuch, I'm not concerned with the here and now of this case, I'm concerned about the future."

I don't know why this is acceptable. I do know that the justices are sure they are right about ignoring the facts of THIS ACTUAL CASE.

Kavanaugh... who WORKED FOR KEN STARR... is basically saying that Jack Smith is politically motivated and his appoint in unconstitutional.

It's... maddening. And most of the media reports will not even point out this hypocrisy.

The "independent counsel" law was rewritten into our current "special counsel" law BECAUSE of the shit Kavanaugh helped Starr do! Everybody was like "that crap can't happen again."

Somebody get @neal_katyal and @MonicaLewinsky on the phone to blow up this asshole.

@neal_katyal @MonicaLewinsky Every time I try to no have a stroke listening to this bullshit, they say something even more risible and stupid.

@neal_katyal @MonicaLewinsky Kavanaugh: "President Ford's pardon. Hugely unpopular when he did it... now probably looked on as one of his better decisions."

What? WHAT? WHO THE FUCK THINKS FORD'S PARDON OF NIXON WAS A GOOD IDEA? WHEN DID I DIE AND GO TO HELL????

@neal_katyal @MonicaLewinsky This could be a men v. women 5-4 ruling.

Men: Let's kick this back to DC to further delay Trump's trial.

Soto, Kagan, Jackson: Why? That's fucking dumb.

Barrett: Ladies, I agree with you, but we shouldn't call the men fucking dumb. We should politely disagree.

@neal_katyal @MonicaLewinsky We're past the two and half hour mark for an argument where the Republican justices made their decision when they were appointed, some of them decades ago.

@neal_katyal @MonicaLewinsky KBJ is closing by trying to answer all of Gorsuch's questions, which would be effective if Gorsuch operated in good faith. But... he doesn't. So...

@neal_katyal @MonicaLewinsky I had hoped that *one* of the liberal justices would have made the point from the Common Cause brief, highlighting that the whole point of what Republican justices are doing is to give Trump delay.

Not a persuasive argument for the justices, but good for the media to hear.

@neal_katyal @MonicaLewinsky The case is submitted. Court doesn't come back till May 9th which will be a decision day.

But I think they won't decide *this* case until July 3rd for max delay. And that decision will be 5-4 to remand the case back to DC, for additional delay.

@neal_katyal @MonicaLewinsky I wish I had better news for you. Thanks anyway for following along with our national descent into madness.

#politics #republicans #donald trump #scotus #elie mystal #presidential immunity

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theconstitutionisgayculture · 11 months

Note

Firefly? Joss and JK? What do you mean? I mean I know the series well, I just would like to learn and be aware. Love your blog btw.

So, Firefly is basically a love letter to American libertarianism. The bad guys are an overbearing, powerful, corrupt central government and its agents. The good guys are former rebels who fought the government and now make their living scraping by doing odd jobs, but they answer to no one but themselves. Everyone is armed. The search for freedom and the creeping advance of government and forced "civilization" are central themes. This is the story Joss Whedon told.

But it goes against everything he believes. He's a left wing authoritarian. He loves when the powerful federal government crushes his enemies and hates when people he doesn't like have any freedom to be themselves. So he accidentally created a narrative that pushes ideals he is against in real life.

JK did the same thing with many aspects of Harry Potter. She is not pro-gun, and yet in The Order of the Phoenix she lays out a perfect argument for an armed population that is educated about using its weapons (spells) for self-defense. All the kids are armed. All the kids know how and when they're able to use weapons. She basically created, at least partly, the school that every libertarian, ancap, and pro-2A conservative would kill to send their kids to (minus all the terrorist attacks and such, lol). Even the bad guy in OotP is a lifelong government bureaucrat who tries to make the children helpless in the face of terrorism because it enhances the government propaganda that everything is okay. Again, pro-freedom, pro-gun- anti-government. Again, a left-wing authoritarian writing something that goes against her ideals in real life.

That's the comparison I was making between Joss and JK. It's not perfect, but it is there.

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marvelwitchergilmore · 1 year

Text

Secure

Summary; Javier Peña x Fe!Reader -> You meet Peña at a coffee shop but after time passes, he finds out your secret.

Disclaimer: fluff, angst, mentions of guns, mentions of death, illusions to smut, swearing (I think, I haven't proof read this - probably spelling mistakes), spanish is in italics.

You had met Javi one late night in the coffee shop. You were getting the place cleaned up for the morning. Isabella, a regular customer, was sat in the corner with her nose burried deep in her research. The old man who’d you come to know as Pops - a name he told everyone to call him by - was finishing his book closer to the counter. It had been a promise he made to his wife. To read a little, at least, while she was gone. That way they’d have something else to talk about when they met again. Jośe, the young boy who’d run through the door every couple of hours in need of a coffee for his mama and a small cookie for himself, had just left, rushing out of the door going ten miles an hour.

“Good book, pops?” You asked and he looked up and smiled.

“Excellent.”

“Good.” You smiled.

Just as you placed the empty cups from different tables by the counter, the bell above the door rang out. “You open?”

You looked over your shoulder. “Yeah. For a couple minutes.”

“Great.”

He rushed over, you moving the dirty cups from the counter.

“What can I get for you?” You asked in English.

“Coffee. Decaf.”

“Coming up.”

Then it hit him. “How’d you know I was American?”

“What?” You looked to him as you changed the filter. “Oh, uh, just a guess.”

He nodded and looked around, suddenly being met with Pops.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Sweet.”

You smiled and waved to Pops. “Have a good night.”

“Night.”

“Nice Spanish.”

You smiled. “Thanks. I’ve lived here long enough, I should know.”

“I’m Javier, by the way.”

You smiled back and gave him your name which he repeated. It sounded nice.

“So, how long have you lived in Columbia?”

“A couple years. Yourself?”

“Same.”

The conversation ended soon enough when his coffee was paid for - he had something important to get back to.

But the next night, you were closing up again and he came in. In fact, for the following weeks, he came in around the same time every night; just before closing.

He started conversations with Pops who would tell Javier the meaning behind all his books. He actually started taking a couple of night classes at the local college. His wife always told him he needed to socialise more.

She was a people person.

And Javier would sit there and listen. Pops, clearly, was a man who demanded respect with a single look. Something, over the weeks, you realised Peña had, too.

During the week, you had heard rumours about Javier. About his job.

But it was never something you asked him about. You knew more than to ask an American in Columbia if he was working for the government.

But still, he’d come in every day and order a cup of coffee and smoke his cigarette. You’d both talk and eventually, it got to the point where he’d walk you home.

It wasn’t far; maybe a couple of blocks.

You’d tell him why you came to Columbia - your sister. She travelled after college and invited you to join her. But something made you stay.

He ask where you learnt Spanish. You’d tell him school, mostly, but the practice came in while you worked in the coffee shop.

Some days, he’d come in during the day and just talk to you. He’d order a coffee here and there but it mostly remained untouched which wasn’t like him.

Steve had asked questions at work about who Javi was going seeing every day - at first he expected it was to see one of his ‘informants’ but after he began to smell less perfume and more coffee around Peña, it raises his suspicions.

Peña would give a vague answer but when Steve told Connie, she knew instantly.

It wasn’t that a woman’s intuition was lost of Peña, it was just something about Connie that scared him. She seemed to know what he was thinking about whenever she looked at him.

Little did he know, she’d seen him a couple times walk into the same coffee shop and leave with a smile on his face. One Connie nor Steve ever saw on the man’s face.

But surpringly, it took him a while to ask you on a date.

Javier wasn’t one for dating. After all, his job didn’t exactly allow it - especially in Columbia - but Connie (and Pops) thought he would have at least done it sooner. After all, the man came in every day for weeks just to simply spend time with you. He’d walk you home and always made sure you were safe. And god help any man that approached the counter and started flirting with you.

It was like Javier had a radar for those who were flirting with you because each time, not two seconds later, Javier would stroll into the shop and make his way to the counter. Most times, it was like you had a radar for him, too. His coffee would be ready for him to pick up and if the guy wasn’t scared away by the look Peña gave them, he’d order a couple more cups for Steve and Connie (she’d usually come by in the afternoons to check in on him when she had the day off). He’d stay until the guy left and most people who looked away from their books noticed.

And maybe, in truth, you had noticed a little, too. Most guys tended to scarper when Javi walked in. A few of them would even apologise to him and you for thinking differently.

Eventually, when he asked you on a date, you said yes.

He was so nervous. Imagine; Javier Peña, nervous around a woman. Even the heavens wouldn’t believe it.

But he was.

He’d asked after he dropped you off at your apartment. His palms were sweating, his mind was racing, and you were right in front of him.

But the moment you smiled, his nerves eased.

You smiled at him, nodded and said; “I’d love to.”

He smiled back, a little more confident, and before you opened your door, you kissed his cheek.

“Goodnight, Javi.”

“Night, hermosa.”

As you closed your door, leaning against it, you smiled but you knew.

You were in deep trouble.

It didn’t take too long before you were both…intimate with one another. Four dates, in fact. It was longer than either of you had presumed but it kinda made sense. Mostly, the dates went as follows:

You’d both ask questions which the other would answer, just simply wanting to know more. Then, you’d take turns picking the restaurant or bar. Next, you’d both head back to the coffee shop - the temp waitress had a family to get back to in the late nights - where you’d wrap your apron around your waist and serve the last couple cups of coffee to the night owls. Finally, Javi would either walk or drive you home (usually walk since he could hold your hand or wrap an arm around your waist) and finally would kiss you goodnight.

It felt different.

You’d gone on dates before but…they didn’t feel like this. Like…it was the first time but it was also the millionth.

It felt…natural.

Homely.

A couple more weeks passed and you’d see Javier at least once a day. He always pop into the cafe to either kiss you good morning (when you hadn’t spent the night together - which was a rareity) or to kiss you goodnight which, you weren’t ashamed to admit would always turn into something more.

One morning, as Javi lay back in bed, the cover draped over his lower half, he watched as you got dressed by the end of the bed.

But that was when he noticed them.

How he hadn’t before shocked him. It was like he studied every inch of you - and not only in the night but that morning too - and yet, how did they slip by him.

“Hermosa?”

You smiled at the nickname before turning to look at him over you shoulder. You just wished you both had the day off.

“The marks…”

It took you a moment to realise what he was talking about. But then it hit you.

A memory you wished to forget.

“They’re just from…” you contemplated telling him.

He’d understand, right? He never confirmed it fully but you knew he worked as DEA. He’d understand carry a couple extra physical scars from a job, right?

“They’re nothing, Javi.”

You heard him shuffle around before you finally felt his hand on your back, tracing them before placing a soft kiss onto a couple, brushing your hair from your shoulders.

You felt yourself melt into him, his other hand now reaching around your stomach to capture the other side of your waist.

Slowly, you both lay back but then you remembered.

You had a job.

Unfortunately.

Javi groaned. He had one, too.

You pressed a few kisses to his lips before he moved from on top of you and headed for the bathroom, him leaving you resting on your forearms with a huge blush across your cheeks.

God, you were falling.

Hard.

It would be a while longer until Javier would find out the truth behind those scars; Find out the story that came with them and you.

And it wasn’t in any way either of you thought it would happen.

4 months later…

The sun was still burning hot over Columbia. Thankfully, however, the humidity was becoming less close and claustrophobic.

Yourself and Javi had been going pretty strong. You had met Steve and Connie - albeit a little surprisingly.

One of your waitresses had cut their hand whilst cutting up some of the breads for lunch later that day. Connie had been passing on the street with Olivia when one of the customers ran out asking for a nurse or doctor.

Connie came rushing inside.

After asking for your first aid kit and a space away from the customers, she handed you Olivia who you stood with in the kitchen as Connie cleaned out the wound and did what was necessary.

“You’re lucky. It doesn’t need stitches. Just keep it wrapped and clean.”

Your waitress, Elena, looked to you confused. You translated in Spanish and she nodded before thanking Connie.

You gave Elena the rest of the day and offered Connie a cup of coffee and some food on the house. She thanked you before sitting down at one of the tables and placing Olivia on her lap.

Yet, by the time you finished up, Javi had come strolling in and was a little shocked to find Connie sat inside.

And, as suspected, Connie was shocked to find Javi there, too. But then it began to make sense.

The smell off the coffee shop - it was Javi.

It was you.

Later that night, after Connie had insisted, you sat down and had a double date with Connie and Steve at a local place.

Steve was glad Peña had finally found someone. As much as he himself had enjoyed the single life, there was just something about being married. About having someone to go to when things got too tough.

And, this was something, if Steve ever said it out loud, Jacier would have to agree with.

Sometimes it was like you were the only thing keeping him breathing. Keeping his mind awake when all it wanted to do was drown in the crime and the cases he delt with on a daily basis.

The last six months, from the moment of meeting, it had felt like bliss.

But sometimes it felt like Javi was waiting for the other shoe to drop. And, although you never voiced it, you did, too.

And finally, late one night in the coffee shop, it did.

Javi had worked later than he’d wished to have done. His paperwork had kept him back, making seven typing errors in one sentence.

Most of the time, he wouldn’t bother. But with Messina…everything had to be up to code.

And legible.

But as he walked up the street, he found flashing lights outside your coffee shop, a waitress sat by the ambulance getting patched up and no sign of you.

His heart dropped.

“Peña?”

One of the cops recognised him. “I wasn’t aware we’d called the DEA.”

“You…what happened?”

“Oh, uh, robbery. Or, attempted. Two shooters. One deceased.”

“And the other?”

“Hospital.”

“How?”

“The owner faught. One of them came from the back and sneaked up on her. She said she was fine and needs to go home. We’re gonna bring her in for questioning tomorrow.”

Peña nodded, trying his best to keep a clear mind. So you was okay? Why hadn’t you called him?

As quickly as he could, he ran to his car and sped down the roads towards your apartment. But the closer he seemed to get, the more he began to panic.

You had faught?

It wasn’t that he was surprised but…no, he was surprised. Most people when met with two armed gun men didn’t exactly fight against them. Especially when the only other person in the shop had been knocked clean out and now had a severe concussion.

But you had faught. You had, what? Killed one gun man and injured the other?

This seemed more than just a robbery, to Peña. He didn’t exactly know why. Maybe it was the fact that the toll hadn’t even been touched. Maybe it was the fact that they’d knocked out one of the waitresses. Maybe it was the gun they had been using - Peña saw them as they got taken in for evidence.

This couldn’t have just been a robbery.

Peña didn’t bother knocking. He knew where you kept the spear key and he knew the code.

He shouted your name as he entered, shutting the door behind him. “Honey?!”

Javier had to double back as he passed the enterence to you living room. There you were, sat on the sofa, blood splattered across your body, hair, arms and clothes. You had a first aid kit open in front of you. Javier could see the bloody gauzes in a pile in the table.

“I’m fine-“

He rushed in, pulling you up and hugging you. God, he thought you might have been dead. That the cop had got it wrong and he’d decided to just hear what he wanted to.

But he didn’t.

You were here.

You were alive.

Are.

“Cariño,” Javi’s voice was soft as he took you in. Any anger he had right now could be saved for later. All that mattered was that you was alive.

You pulled back from him to sit back down. You needed to clean the wound.

One of the gun men had got you. Thankfully it wasn’t too bad and since it was night, you got away with telling the cop the stain on your uniform was from the kitchens.

Peña pushed the first aid beside him as he sat on your coffee table, you knees interlocked with his.

“It doesn’t hurt?” He asked you after a couple of minutes. He was shocked. Most men he’d met would be at least grunting in pain by now.

You shook your head.

Something changed in Javi. His back became straighter, his gaze more focused.

“Those scars. How did you get them?”

“Javi.”

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“They’re nothing-“

“Bullshit.”

You stared him down. He wouldn’t budge.

“How did you fight? Those men. One is dead and the other will probably do so in hospital. What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Y/N.”

You bursted. You tried your best to look away as Javi questioned you but when he said your name…

“I was a cop, alright!” You hadn’t meant for it to sound so loud.

Javi just looked at you. You hadn’t told him? Was this how you got the scars?

You sighed as you looked down. Well, it was out in the open now.

“I was a cop, back in the states. FBI.” You explained, your voice a little quieter now. “I had a partner, a couple years back. We had been working on a case for months. Turns out, all the information, all the insider stuff he’d found - it had come from him. He wanted into their circle. The people I had seen die, everyone’s families and children and friends had all died because he was the mole. He would tell the group where to find the families, he’d tell us he knew where the groups would be that night. Then he’d go back and inform them that we were on our way. It as fucked up.”

Javi waited for you to continue.

“Look, I felt something was wrong so I tailed him one night. I put a call in and somehow…he found me one night. He caught be by the shipyard. When my agents finally turned up, I was almost dead. When I woke up in hospital, a guy came in. CIA. I had a bag packed, my life covered up and a plane ticket to wherever I wanted to go.”

“So you came to Columbia?”

“My sister stopped over for three days and I stayed. I don’t know what made me but I did. An agent found me a job at a local place since I wasn’t ready to go into the field or anywhere near it. The job stuck and then I decided to buy the place.”

“And the guys?”

“Local gang, I guess. They look into everyone’s background and they must have thought something was up with mine.”

“Did they say anything?”

“Just that I was American and that I had a dirty secret.”

“They know you were a fed?”

You shook your head. “Probably thought I was an informant or some shit.”

Javier nodded. You could see the worry in his eyes.

“I’m fine, Javi.”

“You could have told me, you know.”

You looked at him. Maybe. Maybe you could have told him earlier. Maybe you should have told him earlier. But what would that have done? Make him worry more? Make him panic when you were left alone?

You’d been in Columbia a good few years before you met Javi. You were one of the best agents the FBI had in the field and - if you ever wanted it - there was a job waiting for you at the FBI in the states, the CIA or, probably now, the DEA.

You were protected. By your career, by your knowledge, by your skills and by the fact that you entire past had been burried so deep, not even the Pentagon had access to it.

Your gaze was both soft and serious.

“I’m telling you now.”

Over the next hour, Javi went to your bathroom and grabbed a fresh face cloth before getting a bowl of warm water. Sitting back in his place on the table, he held your chin softly, Turing your face so he could wipe away the splats of dried blood.

Once he finished, he placed the cloth down and turned back when he felt your hand grip his.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Javi just nodded, interlocking his knees with yours once more. “I get it. I do. I just wish…”

“I know.”

You both shared a look with one another. It didn’t need to be said out loud.

Peña leaned in, and pressed a secure kiss to your lips.

You would be okay.

You are alive.

And, over time, more stories would be revealed. What happened on certain jobs, what scars came from where, what they signified…

But in this moment; it didn’t matter.

All of that could wait until tomorrow.

For tonight, he wanted to show you what you meant to him. He’d say the words soon enough, but right now, he just needed to show you.

And you were okay with that.

After all, you felt the exact same way.

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