#but that's why most of the time they don't work for you

[technically-human]

Ooh askask, hiw do you imagine they spend their birthdays? Like any of the AUs I love them all. OH, does classic Stone even know Eggman's bday? I get the vibe he just chills and doesn't ask questions.

May 19th is St. Ivo's feast day. Patron Saint of lawyers and abandoned children (yeah)

Some people look up saints' feast days to name their kids, and I've decided that's what his parents did.

ko-fi

[rexhya]

Your anul writings are sooo good like i got hooked

Like imagine anuls dad saying he found a wife for him and reader starts distancing herself because the potential wife heard about how obsessed he was with reader and threatened reader that if she listened or obeyed him she would have her father kill them

yandere!prince who is livid at his father, who wants to kill the woman who's supposedly going to be his wife. ( as if )

Anul doesn't even bother trying to pretend to like her, he continues as usual. What he doesn't know is how this wretched woman has been treating you.

You're sewing together fabrics of Anuls clothing, ever since he'd learned you know how to tailor clothes he's been insistent that no one else but you touch them, a button on one of his shirts had broken.

You of course noticed the woman approaching you, her luxurious gown could be seen swaying from miles away.

"You, maid girl." the woman sneered.

You turned upwards to where she was standing, her chest puffed out proudly. "Yes?" you gulped, she was obviously a noble, though one you didn't recognize.

"Stay away from The Prince , and I mean it. I know you think he loves you, but's he just using you. He'll understand you're nothing but a bug on the wall once he meets me." she flipped her hair waiting for answer.

"Okay." you mumbled looking down, this wasn't worth your trouble.

But the woman wasn't done, "Dont get cocky, do you know who my father is?"

You pricked your fingers while sewing, "I'm not—"

"That's right, you're not anything, stay away from him or i'll tell my father what you've done, and trust me you won't like that." she didnt wait for an andwer as she stalked away, leaving you and your bloody pointer alone.

It wasnt long after this interaction that you began avoiding Anul, excuse after excuse eventually led hardly any interaction at all, and it wasn't like you didn't enjoy seeing the prince from time to time, its was simply for your own safety.

The woman had been watching you like a hawk, ready to catch you near him so she could punish you, or even worse, kill you. You didnt take any chances and went to great efforts to stay away from him, seeing as he was constantly looking for you on a daily basis this turned out to be quite dificult however you'd made things work.

Untill they weren't of course.

Anul was deeply upset, you were so slippery these days, everytime he wanted to see you there seemed to be something of great importance interupting his much needed quality time. You hadn't slept in his chambers in over a week! This needed to stop, and it needed to stop now.

A week and 3 days, and 4 hours since you'd been avoiding him Anul decides he's had enough. He knows everything about your routine, he decides to set a trap. A maid girl leaves a letter in your locker to head up to the head of the maids office, your terrible nervous of course, because of Anul you hadnt been exactly the most present untill this past week, you hoped you wernet being fired.

That wasn't the case at all, "[Name], so you really are alive!" you don't have time to answer before Anul swoops you off your feet and into the air, twirling you around in a way that delightfully makes you squeeze onto him.

He sets you down gracefully and you peer up at him, " My prince, what are you doing here?" you try to pull away but he has his arms locked on your waist an deliriously lovesick expression on his face.

"I missed you my love," he sighs burrying his nose into your neck, breathing in your scent.

You warm, it was weird feeling the sheer power of Anuls body after being away for so long.

"But what are you doing here! I thought i was in trouble, Ms. Jalei, she—"

Anul suddenly pulled away, a cold and angry look on his face, "We'll that's because you are, you''ve been avoiding and ignoring me [Name], you should tell me why." despite the coldness in his voice he sounded awfully hurt. Had being away from you really hurt that bad?

"I havent been—" you tried.

"Dont, I'm not in the mood." he stared, and you began to crumble, his gaze felt like starting into a void of pitch black smoke.

"I–" you voice clogged, when you thought about the woman. "Well, it's just that there was this noble. I don't know her name—"

"She threatened you?" he narrowed his eyes.

You nodded, it was an obvious conclusion to come to. Anul knew of his admirers, he simply didn't care for them. Then Anul did something unexpected, he sighed in relief. "Oh thank god, I thought you didn't like me anymore. You would never abandon me, how silly of me."

You didn't say anything to this, letting Anul rub his nose into your neck, he hadnt said it aloud but he'd been misreable without you, running on 4 hours of sleep because he couldn't fall asleep right away, accidentally cutting of this knight boy he'd sparred with, and not to mention the drinking, god, it got so bad his father almost gave in and demanded you back to him. His moaning and wailing kept the entire palace up.

"Well, that solves everything then," he smile was as wide as you'd ever seen if before. "Don't ever do something like that again, okay? Tonight you sleep with me."

You nodded again, you should've expected this, Anul wasn't one to give up to easily. He finally pulled back and away to peer at your face, a hand coming up to stroke your cheek. "You're so quiet, she didn't already touch you did she?"

You shook your head no again. Anul frowned. "Use your words."

"No"

He grins, "Good girl. My precious darling, It's been so long since we've last seen each other, I feel obligated to a kiss."

You blink rapidly, struggling to keep eye contact with the violet haired man, he loved it when you were flustered like this, "Well?" he whispered and softly your your lips open with a thumb, open-mouthed sucking on your tounge, you shivered, trying to ignore the prodding feeling between Anul's legs. He was just as flustered as you when he was done, crimson red coating his face.

"God, I can't believe I went a week without that, you're to never be away from me again you hear me? And don't worry about that woman, she'll be disposed of if it's the last thing I do."

[butchcockiness2]

just a reminder that calling covid cautious people "paranoid" or saying we must have "undiagnosed OCD" or "severe anxiety" for spreading truth about the dangers of covid is not only incredibly condescending and literally (i do not use this word lightly) gaslighting, it corroborates fascist and eugenicist rhetoric. covid IS NOT "just a cold." covid reinfections DO increase your likelihood of long COVID and death, including immune system deficit that is not something that can be felt, here's 85+ studies on how covid deteriorates the body. rapid tests DO often and in fact most times give false negatives (taking 3 spaced out helps bridge this gap, and NAAT tests such as the metrix and pluslife have much higher accuracy, those two over 97% each), and masks DO work, particularly well-fitted respirators (kn95/n95/ffp2/3 depending on country; two-way masking is much safer than one-way masking which is why everyone who can needs to mask to protect their community, but one-way masking is still MUCH safer than no masking). masking resources

don't panic or assume your life is over if you have an infection, get as much rest as you can for 6-8 weeks post infection to aid recovery and lower long covid risk (especially do your best to avoid raising your heart rate; this includes watching your heart rate during masturbation and sex!), and do practice harm reduction rather than demanding perfection from yourselves, absolutely.

but do not use "perfect safety is impossible" as an excuse not to care for your community and yourself by masking, do not encourage antimasking by calling covid cautious people paranoid or OCD or mentally ill for putting forth basic truths on our and your reality. there is a conversation to be had about caring for mental health of activists, but gaslighting us and denying the reality we live in is going to make it worse, not better. you are playing into eugenicist rhetoric whether you intend to or not.

this post is a fantastic guide to staying covid safer in your sex life! w more information on safety measures including NAAT tests and how to start re-incorporating exercise and heart rate raising including masturbation after covid infections

to everyone still masking, sending love ❤️ to anyone who stopped, it's never too late to start again!

[mdhwrites]

So, this person has a point but I want to take this as a chance to essentially talk about WHY so much is done in High School. After all, it's not just tv dramas. A looooooooooooot of different mediums default to high school for their storytelling. Why is that?

A: It's a shared experience.

Not everyone has gone to college. Not everyone has even applied to a college. As such, you may lose some people with how things like sororities, fraternities or even just a basic schedule works. If you haven't been to college and some dude talks about how he only has Physics twice a week, someone might wonder why that is because most will assume college works just like high school because all versions of primary school (elementary to high school) work in a similar way where you're there ALL DAY. I mean, even the changing of nations can cause confusion for traditions between high schools and lose parts of the audience that way and make it less approachable.

B: There's downtime in classes.

So I actually went to college for a year and a half and admittedly did not do things like clubs, look into fraternities, etc. like that. Even in High School, I wasn't that social... But when it was just time to do homework, I saw and heard plenty of bullshit around me. I never had a SINGLE lecture that had time for people just to hang out in the middle of class. In an environment where you are all packed together, bored, waiting for the bell to ring and thus something can happen while the density of people is at its absolute maximum.

This similarly goes for Lunch time, which isn't a thing in college. You want a fight to break out, or someone to have a big public break up? You can do it in the Commons but you are guaranteed an excuse for your main character to see it if it's at lunch because they have to be there but they don't necessarily need to do anything.

C: Everyone has downtime.

This one is more flexible as I had more free time in college than one might immediately expect... But I still had less and it was more awkward to get ahold of because I was a part time worker too. My weekends were eight hours in the toy department of Walmart, Friday-Sunday. My days meanwhile were chopped up piece meal between all my classes which would leave me like two hours between each of my lectures but only two hours so I could go eat, maybe strike up a conversation but go hang out with someone? That was a lot more questionable until potentially five in the afternoon, WAY later than High School gets out and your characters are free to get into shenanigans. I mean, chased by feral hogs? I bet there are teenage dumbasses who had that happen too because they fucked around and found out. Being in college doesn't really dictate that, that's more due to:

D: A weird mix of pressure and not.

You're old enough to have a car! But not old enough to get much of a job but you can have a part time job for a little bit of spending money but then you gotta still do homework but at least all that money is yours instead of having to go to rent, food, transportation, etc. But maybe you want to save some of it for college someday and that's why you're working instead. Teenagers are in a very weird place in society. They are considered old enough to be mostly left to their devices so they can get into a lot of trouble but not old enough to be entirely untethered. They are young enough to be taught instead of simply punished but old enough that there are real consequences to when they go too far. They're told at the same time to remember to be kids and enjoy this time before the real world kicks in but also to be thinking about their future and how their actions now may affect their prospects for jobs, colleges, etc. like that. This is all without getting into hormones, dating, etc. like that. It is a natural time of life where society and biology smash together to tell you to DO SOMETHING MOTHERFUCKER!

Not to say that in reality young adults don't deal with a LOT of this stuff anyways but it is not the social norm or what is expected, though that is changing with how severely fucked most young adults are because the world sucks. -_-

Speaking of these weird places where the line blurs... How could you get some of these advantages back? The answer is theoretically simple to point out but I'm not going to call it easy:

The Dorms.

I was not a dorm kid myself and admittedly, I've never used the social spaces in any of the apartments I lived in. However, you do have these cramped spaces that force a LOT of people together, often in situations that are not ideal between roommates and the like and if you want a place to study, you might just have to leave your room in order to find it. This leaves the character in a high density place where, if they took out loans or had enough in scholarships, they don't have to worry as much about transportation, food, rent, etc. During their downtime, there are always people coming and going from the dorms, there's always bubbling trouble within the rooms, etc. like that. It essentially trades the high school advantages for the advantages of sharing an apartment but with WAY MORE PEOPLE, at least to some extent. You trade the rigid structures of High School for a more fluid epicenter for your drama and action. Otherwise, stuff like clubs are just also a part of college so you can keep those too for such things.

It's not a perfect solution but the goal shouldn't be to make it 1:1 to high school because otherwise, why did you bother swapping the setting to a college? I think there is a lot of potential for works genuinely focused on college too so I am in support of what the OP is talking about. I just wanted to share my thoughts on why we don't see that transition really. See you all next tale.

can we have tv dramas set in college please. fucking nothing happens in hs man. now im in college and my friend got chased by feral hogs a week ago in the woods and its like the 5th craziest thing to happen this week

[neuary]

Caleb Caleb mmmmm i love Caleb. I love him so much nghhhhh mmmmmghhh aaaaaaahhhhhh drabble or something, idk just be aware that he's a FREAK here, he's a FREAKKKKK. and so am i.

He cums in everything you own he's like a dog marking his territory. I AM FILTHY YOUR HONOR, LOCK ME UP!!

MINORS DNI

★★★

Caleb decides to move in with you since his apartment in skyhaven is barely being used and he has most of his necessities in his office. You two become roommates and all is well, but Caleb just couldn't help himself sometimes. He thought he's left all this back in his younger hornier days, but he just can't hold back the freak of nature bubbling up inside him. He admits, he used to invade your privacy secretly by inhaling your undergarments like he was on oxygen life support but he swears he can keep himself in check right now. Or at least... That's what he tells himself.

Caleb is so into you that he's willing to be on laundry duty for the rest of his life, no amount of work load can stop this man from working his load onto your panties.

Caleb is so into you that he fists himself while looking at a chewed up ballpen cap you've been nibbling on out of habit whenever you're writing something in the kitchen. You sometimes wonder why you keep finding your favorite pen in random places and why it's sticky every time you find it.

Caleb who is so into you, he internally screams at himself to keep it together whenever you offer to share food and drinks with him. The indirect kiss is driving him mad he might as well fly to the sun itself.

Caleb is so into you, his inner demons started getting bold. Not only was he pocketing your panties he's starting to do it with your bra too, relishing the scent of your sweat in them with so much shame. And of course this bastard chooses to bring your sports bra into his room.

Caleb who is SO INTO YOU. He knows which your favorite panties are and which are the ones you don't wear much. And those are the ones he keeps for a while when you toss them in the laundry. He knows you won't be looking for them for long.

Caleb who is. SO. FUCKING. INTO YOU. The thought of shooting his load onto your bare body makes his tip all dripping. And being the freak he is, he cums onto the bar of soap that was on your soap holder. Cleaning the evidence off a little but leaves just enough to know that the next time you take a shower you'd be rubbing all that all over you.

Im a freak yall. I'm willing to take this as far as I can. HELL I'LL EVEN MAKE A FREAK MC FIC. THEY'RE BOTH DEGENERATES. I'M A DEGENERATE. AAAAAAA.

[sophrosyncc]

— can't stop thinking of you !

warnings/tags : SFW, yearning, gender-neutral reader, 3.2 exploration spoilers (memory fragment)

author's note : was feeling very romantic so I quickly whipped up something for our amphoreus professor. huge thanks to my pillow who helped me imagine the scenes better

art credits : official commission from honkai: star rail by the artist luminos!

word count : 652

when you called anaxa dear for the first time, you didn't even notice how naturally it slipped out of your tongue.

it was another night of lounging in his private laboratory, relaxing on the couch he recently moved there to host guests, a weak excuse to hide that it was only for you. the two of you were far too used to this routine, staying in each other's personal spaces like it was second nature, drawn to his presence like he was with you.

magnets. a word hyacine often used to describe the two of you.

you think it fits well.

"so, who was chasing you this time?" you question, threading your fingers through his hair. it brought a feeling of contentment to see anaxa relax on your lap. a rare moment of peace in his hectic and fast-paced life, a direct contrast to yours. "fools? guards from the council of elders?"

the sage and founder of the nousporists wasn't someone the majority would consider normal. a heretic, fool, blasphemous scholar— these were all variations of multiple titles the public call him. even his most dedicated students couldn't keep up with every bad mouthed nickname bestowed upon their professor.

ten? fifty? one hundred?

none of you knew the answer to that, including the man himself. someone who didn't even care about such trivial matters in the first place.

anaxa sighs. "fools," he dryly replies, tilting his head to further lean into your touch. you resist the urge to coo or compare him to a cat silently asking for more affection. "they wanted to publicly execute me this time. I had to bring my lecture to dawncloud instead."

"dawncloud?" your eyebrows raise in surprise.

that was very far from the grove of epiphany. too far. it would take a day to get there on foot.

the place was all the way in okhema where aglaea and castorice were stationed, constantly monitored by the golden threads he disliked so much. not to mention, a good amount of people there openly shared their distaste about him. how much of a disturbance were they that even his 'teaching tool' couldn't scare them off?

without knowing it, you stop rubbing his scalp, lost in thought.

anaxa opens his eye. he peers up at you questioningly, wondering why you suddenly stopped. until he sees that familiar dip between your eyebrows, lips pursed into a thin line, a tinge of barely hidden concern written all over your face.

he nudges your hand with his head.

you don't budge.

he tries it again.

nothing happens.

a quiet grumble leaves his lips.

"why did you stop?" he finally asks, snapping you out of your own bubble of thought. "there's no need to worry about me. the chances of ica reaching apotheosis are far more greater than the success of their threats."

you blink.

hyacine's pegasus turning into a titan?

with a soft laugh, you continue combing his hair. "...that's ridiculous."

"it worked, didn't it?" anaxa smoothly responds. he inclines his head back, sighing as your fingers make their way down to his nape, lightly scratching his skin. even with his eyepatch covering half of his face, you could see the slightest of smiles from the corner of his lip.

for all the nonchalance he seemed to carry with him in front of other people, he didn't hesitate to lower his guard around you.

the same feeling of warmth settled in your chest again, content to stay like this forever.

you lean down. pressing your forehead against his, breathing in the familiar smell that belonged to him, you whisper. "thank you, dear."

he pauses, followed by a sharp exhale. "...it's nothing."

pulling away, you take the time in the peaceful moment to admire him. when you brush the strands of hair away from his forehead to get a clearer view, your heart skips a beat at the sight.

his ears were red.

[dreammfyre]

too sweet ⊹ ࣪ ˖ frank langdon

SUMMARY. You knew Langdon from the time you started your internship at The Pittsburgh. You knew that a working relationship with him was not going to be easy, he was self-centered and had a fixation with pointing out your mistakes until you understood that this was his way of teaching you. Frank wanted you to be the best and let everyone know that he was responsible for making you the star. You didn't know what you were thinking when you thought it was a love relationship, it had been years before the connection went beyond work. But it wasn't easy to deal with his unpredictable character, until you got to see his vulnerable side.

WARNINGS. fluff and soft!langdon.

There were days and days in ER. None like the previous one, that was the reason why you chose that specialty, how unpredictable it was, to wake up and have no idea what the fuck could happen. A constant adrenaline rush that wouldn't let you rest for a single minute and made you feel alive, in no other specialty were you going to experience living minute by minute not knowing what was about to walk through that door. You loved this place, more than once it ended you and your peace of mind, but for some reason you ended up coming back every day because you knew your place was there, and you couldn't visualize yourself anywhere else.

ER was something beautiful, unpredictable and destructive.

If you could relate one person to that site, without a doubt the only name that would come to mind is Frank Langdon. Every word you use to describe your work fits him. Unpredictable, amazing, even exhausting.

Your relationship had ups and downs, you both knew it was going to be that way because your personalities clashed even before the first kiss. They both wanted to be right, that was a big problem, however, sex is amazing, it made you feel unique among all the people around you. You could say a lot of good things about your boyfriend, he was attentive, intelligent, come on, a fucking genius, he loved you and every day he reminded you of that. He has the best memory, he remembered every detail about you even when you yourself forgot the things you said without thinking.

"You look beautiful in that scrub. Hey, guys have you seen how hot it is?"

"Frank, what the hell we're working." You replied as you pulled on your gloves. An unconscious patient with weak vitals had arrived, but he always had the pep to blurt out comments like that.

"Just telling the truth." He raised his arms, adjusting his gown.

"Right now?" You put on your glasses.

"Oh, please, don't fight now." Cassie McKay thought aloud praying to heaven not to deal with the two of you.

"We're not fighting, Doctor McKay." You said injecting an antibiotic.

"I'm not going to apologize." Langdon excused himself.

"I don't need your apology." You said as you checked the patient's mouth finding dry mucous and cyanosis around his lips. With your flashlight you illuminated his throat, it was closed and that explained the low saturation. "I'm going to intubate."

"I'll assist you."

You nodded immediately, you trusted no one but Frank. He passed you the instruments following your orders, correcting if necessary even though you had mastered the technique. He was a third year resident about to finish his specialty while this was your second year of residency. However, he looked at you with admiration and attention, your movements seemed fluid although in your head everything was calculated not to make a mistake, Langdon loved that about you, you were the most studious person he knew because you were willing to give everything to save a stranger.

"Perfect." He complimented you.

"Thank you." You smiled contentedly. Your locks stuck to your face from sweat and your skin glistened under the white lights. "See how efficient you are when you shut up for a while?" you took off your gloves and threw them in the trash can.

The door to the room opened, it was Doctor Robby who poked his body out without entering so as not to contaminate the space.

"Road accident in three minutes. I need one of you." He said analyzing their faces, until he pointed his finger at you. "You, come on."

You couldn't refuse or question the boss's order so you took off your implements to get out of there. The patient was stable so there wasn't much else to do but administer medications, test results and wait for a progress. McKay and Langdon were left in charge.

"She's a genius, isn't she?" He smiled as proudly boyfriend.

"I'd tell you that you're too much in love and not thinking with your head, but you're right." Cassie replied sighing as she stitched up the wound on her arm.

"Oh, come on. You know I always have." That mocking, self-centered tone everyone was used to hearing from her. It came so naturally to him that no one knew if he meant it or if it was sarcasm.

"I still don't understand why he noticed you in the first place."

The shift flew by. Hours and hours attending patients, administering medications, receiving results, routine consultations, rounds, evolutions, more medications. The occasional accident. But that had been your perspective, it was a quiet shift that you knew how to handle. There were only a couple of hours left to go home to rest, eat a hamburger that you wanted to buy so badly, you wanted to ask Langdon if he wanted to go to your apartment to spend the night with you or if he preferred to stay at home, but for some reason you couldn't find him anywhere.

You watched the screen above the nurse's station in search of your next case. You put your hands in your pockets and perused the inpatients without finding anything but vomiting and stomach pains. Kind of boring really.

"Come on, Dana. Tell me you have something exciting to me." You leaned against the counter pouting.

The charge nurse looked at you with a smile, she loved seeing you with such enthusiasm, she had never told you but she was glad to work with you.

"Don't you think that's enough variety we have to offer?" she joked with you, you snorted. "Headache, stomach ache and vomiting. Specialty of the house."

"I have energy for something else." You jumped a couple of times in place making her laugh.

Dana leaned on the table imitating your posture, you approached her excitedly, she seemed to be about to tell you a secret by the way she looked around before talking to you so that only you could hear. She lowered her voice to tell you.

"He's not a patient, but I'm sure you can help him."

Frank Langdon's day had been a complete crapshoot. There was no other way to put it, and the worst part was that it wasn't over yet.

He was leaning against one of the ambulances playing with a bracelet you had given him a few days ago, one of your recent hobbies was making bracelets by hand, that was the second attempt which in your own words was complete crap, but Frank insisted it was good work. You told him that if he thought it was pretty he could use it, you never imagined he would.

"Do you still have it?" your voice was a big bucket of cold water. I didn't want you to see him that way, so dull from what you were used to seeing from him.

He lifted his shoulders trying to smile.

"It’s pretty."

"Of course not." You stood in front of him looking at your creation with disgust and disdain. "I can do you one better."

Langdon denied.

"I prefer this one." He pocketed it. "What are you doing here?"

"I haven't seen you for hours, they told me they saw you leave."

"You should go back inside. It's cold and I don't want you to get sick, you become unbearable."

A weak laugh came out of you, the worst part was that it was true, only Frank had enough patience for you to attend to you. Though deep down you felt Frank wasn't being himself, he wouldn't hold your gaze and his voice was serious, straining to hold a conversation with you. He would sigh in moments of silence and play with his hands as he said vague things to you.

"Dana told me what happened." You confessed gaining Frank’s attention completely. His yes widened in surprise not knowing what to tell you about it, his head still processing it. "It's not your fault. You know that."

Langdon looked at the sky that was gradually darkening, ending the day shift, the noise of cars passing by on the street could be heard in the background. He hated this kind of situation, when you came to comfort him by repeating cliché phrases that he also told you when you had a hard day. You knew you meant well, he was just… tired.

"Don't worry."

"Of course I'm going to worry about you." You took his hands between yours. "You can talk to me, I want to listen to you. Frank, things get to you and you don't ignore them, it's not good."

You were right, shit, of course you were. It was his way, keeping everything to himself because it wasn't impossible for him to open up that part of him. It wasn't the first time he had to take a breath before the shift was over, he hated doing that because it meant he couldn't take the pressure anymore. There are just times when he wished he knew the key to never see any person die again, surely all the doctors wished the same thing, a spell that would save every life, cure every disease, something that would take the pain away from the families.

He sighed deeply.

"It sucks sometimes." It was the only thing he could bring himself to say.

"I know."

"He was a kid." He confessed finally getting a weight off his chest, it felt strange to externalize it, but your soft gaze gave him the confidence he needed to converse. "I did everything I could, I know, but I wonder if I should have tried a little harder. I don't know." He ran a hand through his messy wet hair. "Insist."

You swallowed saliva but it felt like a ball of fire burning your throat as it passed. Yes, you loved your job, you wouldn't trade it for the tranquility of dermatology or the constant uncertainty of cardiology, you respected all the specialties, but you were in love with the ER. One thing Robby had told you on the first day of your internship at Pittsburgh was that sooner or later this job would end up breaking your heart, and that you were going to see suffering even in those you loved. He was right, what he didn't warn you about was how bad it felt to see frustration in the eyes of the one you love.

"Do you think you didn't try everything?" your question was direct, almost an interrogation. "Did you do everything you could?"

Langdon looked at you for a few seconds, nodded yes. You stretched the silence as the wind chilled your face. Unexpectedly Frank took a step towards you without saying anything, he rested his cheek on your shoulder wrapping his arms around your waist, you felt him pulling your body closer and you didn't put up any resistance. You took one of your hands to his back and the other to his messy hair, leaving small caresses while he closed his eyes, he was really taking refuge in you, you had become his safe place and where he wanted to return every day, you had not left him alone when everyone turned their back on him and from there he knew he was in love with you. You transmitted to him the peace he was constantly looking for, but you also gave him joy, headaches, a bit of anger when they argued. You were all the intensity he was looking for in perfect balance with the silence, you were that look he was looking for on the other side of the room, you became that person he seeks to make uncomfortable with his jokes because he liked it when you got mad at him. He loved knowing you were going to be there at the end of the day and into the night.

"I love you, you know that, don't you?" He babbled like a little boy. Squeezing you a little tighter against his chest hoping you would never part from him. You just didn't think about what he was saying and let it out.

You smiled, for real this time. Hearing those words from him knowing how hard it was for him to express himself was a gesture you appreciated, more than that, it made your heart beat fast.

"I love you." You repeated with sincerity in your voice, a phrase you had been holding back from long ago that you dared not say for fear of not being reciprocated. Damn, you were in love with him ever since he stole your first kiss and passed it off as an accident, but you couldn't deny that a relationship with him was the closest thing to walking on a tightrope where the risk of falling was imminent.

You couldn't see it, but you were sure Frank was grinning like a fool too.

"I have to go back inside." You said taking his face in your hands, standing on the tip of your toes to reach his lips and leave a short kiss with little taste for both of you. Your rosy cheeks was a detail he didn't overlook, he loved making you blush because it wasn't a simple thing to do. "It's time to make rounds."

With all the regret in the world he had to let you go, feeling your absence from the moment you parted and the cold hit his body. He didn't know what you had done to him but you had him walking behind you much more animated.

"Hey, doctor, are you single?" He asked with his hands in his pockets following in your footsteps. You rolled your eyes and bit your inner cheek to keep from laughing.

"Sorry, I have a boyfriend." You turned around with raised eyebrows walking backwards. "And he's the hottest doctor in the hospital."

He accepted the compliment pretending to be surprised, you turned your back to him and Frank immediately hurried to walk beside you, he put his arm around your shoulders keeping you close.

"I thought we didn't accept compliments at work." He frowned.

You escaped his grip with a cynical smile on your lips.

"We don't." You moved closer to his face being careful not to graze even a millimeter of his face. "Because you don't want to know everything I think when I see you."

You went straight to the nursing desk to look for a case to attend. It was the ER, it was never going to be empty, you walked around trying to hide the love-struck smile on your face.

"I hope it's nothing bad!" Langdon exclaimed letting you go.

"You'd love to know." You replied before disappearing from his field of vision.

Dr. Robby walked past you with a tablet in his hands reading a file on the screen. He was concentrating walking until he passed you.

"You two. No romance at work."

[itstheghostofmypast]

Sick Leave

Mafia AU Choi San x (f) Wife Reader

Summary: Listening to your boss is important. Listening to your colleague is important, and most of all, listening to your WIFE is VITAL.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort- tinge of fluff

Warnings: Violence, Blood, Gore, Torture, strong language.

Word Count: 2.3k

Read Time: 11 min

Rating: PG- 17

Networks: @k-labels

A/N: I was supposed to post something else first, but then I had the URGE to write something like this. I hope ya'll like it! It has the much needed girlboss vibes.

"Did you find it?" The old man, Mr.Byun as he had introduced himself, huffed out a puff of smoke, smirking when the woman tied to the chair infront of him coughed, clenching her eyes shut to decrease the burning.

"The longer you take to give us his location, the longer you'll have to wait here," the lewd man leaned closer, trying to get a better look at the pretty potential toy tied up in front of him, "Trust me, being secretary of the year won't be worth it- I can't control my boys for so long, ya know."

With a soft sigh you opened your eyes and leaned back a bit, eyes flickering from the fat ugly manwhore to the space behind him, trying to gather intel for future plans. Honestly it pissed you off how you had decided to work over time and then had the tough luck of being kidnapped, honestly, could this night get any worse- oh yes, you wore a skirt today. Of all the days to be sick, that bastard had to take a sick leave today, did he ever listen to you? No.

Did he listen to you when you were explaining the coloured filing system? No, that's exactly why you were working late, trying to fix the atomic mess of his files. Did he listen to you when you had urged he wore warmer clothes? No, because his 'big built' was enough to keep him warm. Did he take you seriously when you had seriously advised him about the security risks? No, he had not, because 'My boys will handle it'. At this point, you were sure that once you were out of this mess, you'd rough up not only that bastard but his 'boys' too.

"How long have I been here for?"

Your tone was firm, yet composed enough to tick off the man before you, as you continued to look past him- honestly, ugly things were not your suit, you had always leaned towards prettier, more useful things, lifestyle, people- a more elegant aesthetic as you had tried to explain to him and his boys once all of you had begun to work together- a partnership you had offered when a certain mountain had caught your interest, the night you had barged into your brother's private clinic, demanding the reason behind his absence for a family dinner-, 'One must look elegant during the toughest of times'.

"Aw, doll, if you tell us where to find that bastard I'd be happy to let you go-"

"Your lack of intellectual back up and poor set up seems to be wasting my time, I charge per minute," You cut him off, crossing a leg over the other, "It's disappointing how you assumed to be on the same level as, well, me." You nodded towards the right of the space you were currently in, "You're all sloppy, that door isn't even locked-"

A loud slap echoed across the warehouse, followed by the thump of his chair. He was furious, the stubby man, standing above you stared you down with a kind of hatred you were all too used to, as your eyes flickered to meet his- he looked like a constipated bull. God, you should stop spending time with Wooyoung.

"Listen up bitch," his fingers gripped your hair, your once neatly combed back bun being brutally ruined, oh God, you'd have to take a long bubble bath after this. The thought of him running his greasy fingers through your soft locks irked you, but your lips betrayed you, curling into a smirk, the tip of your tongue running over the cut on your freshly bruised lower lip, watching him continue his monologue.

"I don't know how much that bastard pays you or what he has on you but," his grip in your hair tightened, tugging you closer, your nose scrunching at the unpleasant odour- perhaps that was the last nail in the coffin.

A loud slash was heard, followed by the howl of the man who stumbled back, only for you to grip his collar and turn him around, kicking him behind the knee to have him topple over. A Cheshire like grin plastered on your face as you gripped the fowl thing by his hair, ensuring your nails dig into his skin, looking at all of his goons aiming at you.

"Sorry boys, but I don't like playing rough, especially with dirt," You shrugged, twirling the blade between your fingers, eyes flickering to the sound of a gun clock, the tip of your blade pinched the skin of the man who gasped, "You boys really should do your research."

Before anyone could react the doors burst open, and several gunshots echoed in the warehouse, you watched as one of the men ran towards you, only to be pulled back by his coat, you watched as he gasped up in horror at the sight of the man with blood dripping off his face, his extravagantly large fur coat hanging off his shoulders- no, no, this man did not come here in his pyjamas.

The supposed boss man watched in horror as the man they had been doing all of this for was busy abusing the assailant, stomping on his chest with no mercy, his knuckles digging into the fallen man's face before he picked him up by the collar, to get a better aim- he was going to do it. His signature, that's how you know this man had struck, each man in his team had a specific, blood curdling signature, a mark they'd leave behind. That's how you knew that Ateez was here, a general corporation, with the general capitalistic approach during the day, but a darker role during the night.

Kim Hongjoong would slice the corners of the lips, creating a joker like smile. Park Seonghwa was known to shoot right between the eyes. Out of all of them, he was the most merciful. Jeong Yunho, the sniper would shoot into one ear and out the other to kill, but his signature was his bursting bullet, one that he would intentionally shoot into a muscle and the bullet would burst releasing a painful toxin. Kang Yeosang's signature was equally gruesome, the beautiful Prince of a man would disfigure the face of his rivals, unlike the brute Song Mingi, who assumed his signature was unique, but as Jung Wooyoung claimed, 'busting knee caps ain't new, bro'. Which was an iconic statement to pass considering how he too would follow the similar route, but target the knuckles and the youngest, well, he just learnt from his big sister, one clean slice, though his splatter was nothing compared to the shower her slice was famous for, an ability that had their mountain of a man on his knees for her.

The loud crunch had the man recoil, only to wince when she poked his neck with the blade again, her grip on his hair tightening. He was waiting for his chance to overpower this sleazy secretary-

"DIDN'T I TELL YOU TO STAY IN BED!?"

Appalled at the tone, he glanced up at the woman who was glaring at the man before them, broad shoulders covered by the fur coat evidently slumping as he let go of the man with the punched in face-who was this woman?

"B-but I'm wearing something warm! I promise I took my medicine too before coming, and this coat is-"

"AND ARE YOU WEARING YOUR ANNIVERSARY GIFT?"

Anniversary? Wait, she was his wife?

"I am!" He smiled proudly, flailing it around, the dirt around him turning into a dust cloud, "My wife's so thoughtful! So smart and caring, this is the comfiest thing ever-"

"Too bad we'll have to burn it."

"Eh?"

Laughter broke out in the warehouse, a particular witch like cackle the loudest as Byun took this as an opportunity to escape. Pushing you backwards and turning to you, "YOU BITCH-"

San's eyes widened at the futile attempt of the pathetic man whom he pounced at, grabbing him by the back of his collar, holding him still, as his wife's arm flung in pure reflex, a slice so loud that all of them could feel her boiling anger, so much so that Mr.Choi who was holding the bleeding man forgot to let him go, holding him right infront of his wife- oh they were so going to get an earful afterwards.

What signed the deal was how you had managed to slice his neck, though he was facing you, and let's just say showering in a lowlife's blood is not how you wanted to end your Friday night. All of them stood there in horror, watching as you stood there, blood dripping off your face and onto your stained clothes, oh no- Choi San was a dead man and all of them knew that when they sprung into action once their boy dropped the body, stepping over it to run to his wife, "I am so sorry-"

Your raised hand stopped him in his tracks, only for him to crouch to his knees, beside you, and rubbed your back soothingly when you began to hurl out your dinner. Everyone around you runs around to clean up and prepare to evacuate.

"Here," Jongho, who was now standing beside his sister who was still vomiting, handed his brother in law a packet of wet wipes, knowing very well how she'd now have to go for a fullscreen checkup too, isn't she lucky her brother's a doctor?

"Thanks man," San mumbled, not taking his eyes off you for a second, he had been feeling guilty all night, and now he just felt worse than before, not only did his sick leave have you kidnapped, he had noticed the cut on your lip and the bruise on your soft cheek the moment he had arrived, but his brute ways had put you in more danger- his pretty, precious doll who loved cleanliness a bit too much, ironic how this was your choice of work.

His eyes softened when you stopped, gasping for air as you tilted your head up, flinching when you felt the cold, damp cotton of the wipe on your cheek, this better have been a disinfectant too. He gave you a gentle smile when you met his tender gaze, though his fingers were busy cleaning up your face and neck, "I'm sorry..." he whispered before slamming you into his chest, causing you to gasp at the force.

"S-stop it! You idiot! You'll get blood all over the coat!" You struggled against him, feeling his arms around you tightened, his hair tickling your face when he shook his head, burying his face in your neck, causing you to sigh. "You're sick... your immunity is already low. You didn't need to come with them tonight... I would've been fine, Sannie."

The man silently stood up, not before pulling you up in the process, only to toss you over his shoulder, ignoring your screech, and how you were hitting his back with your fists,"Let's go home." He declared ensuring to step on the face of the man who had led a poor husband who was on sick leave to come save his wife, who was technically his world- and world bank, the financer of Ateez, the person who, all of them could blindly rely on, especially Hongjoong, considering his management system was not the best before she had arrived.

The crunch caused her to slap his back, barking at him to let her go, only for him to playfully slap her bottom, giggling when he felt his wive scream, "I'LL BLOODY KILL YOU!"

Would you really, though? No, you'd just have him take you to the tub, let you enjoy a good soak, and knowing him, he'd dive into the tub like it was personal pool, either way you knew the rest would handle everything else, you trusted them with your life, you trusted him with your life. Especially when he gently let you down and sat you in the back seat, smiling at you like the goof he was behind closed doors, "I'd kiss you but I don't want you to get sick."

"I think we're way past that precaution, Mr.Choi."

He giggled at your response, pushing you further onto the seat as he closed the door behind him, the driver who was already on the other side of the partition began to drive as soon as he heard the door close, knowing not to disturb them.

.

Bonus:

Yeosang looked at the bodies and shook his head, "Eleven men to kidnap a single woman?" He mumbled before kicking a body, then glancing at Wooyoung, who was on his phone, "What are you doing?"

Wooyoung glanced up at him and snorted, "Maybe if you checked the group chat, you would've known."

Jongho snatched his phone and shoved it in his pocket, "Stop placing stupid bets, she's your boss, no?"

A static voice rang in their ear piece, "Oh please, you're not the one driving a hazardous couple," Yunho narrated, "I'm just saying, she's gonna be on sick leave for a day or two at this rate."

Mingi, who was staring at Byun's disfigured face, mumbled to himself, "Knowing how riled up San was, I wouldn't be surprised if she takes a maternity leave."

"Good God, shut up all of you!" An exasperated voice rang in their ears, "I am in no mood of this shit, hurry up, clean up so we can head back to the base, it's bad enough San's sick, we don't need her getting sick aswell!" Hongjoong who tossed an empty gun aside yelled as he walked out of the warehouse, followed by a collected Seonghwa who just shrugged, "Don't worry guys, he's just afraid our World Bank and perfectionist filer will be on sick leave for a while."

The gang collective laughed at their leader, who just groaned in response about to retort when they heard,

"San's asleep, and I heard all of you, expect to see a massive cut in this month's salary. Mrs.Choi out."

Oh, they really should have known better, Mrs.Choi wasn't the nicest when it came to the health of her precious Mr.Choi.

[sheeezu]

Don't fear doubts; doubt the fear.

There's a friction between your brain and consciousness. Despite what we assume, both of them work in harmony. One's the coordinator the other's the effector.

If we weren't so powerful to begin with, why would we need to doubt ourselves? When we doubt we allow the simulation of life to go on. Once you're redeeming the supreme right of creation once again, you struggle to get into the mindset that the entirely of it is not an homework assignment; by applying the notion of "I'm going to try this-" "maybe this will work out" to different shifting methods, subliminals and affirmations.

It's not a struggle, although. That's what we assume, we take shifting how we're trained to take everything in life, with gratitude, with both hands, with logic, with selflessness, with social dependence.

There's a simple solution. You decide. Like a little technological set up. "Shifting takes x amount of time. Shifting requires x amount of affirmations. Shifting requires x amount of efforts."

Most of us are actually scared to take the wheel. Control and unfamiliarity scares us. That's why subconsciously we step back.

Moths fly towards the light, planets revolve the sun, electrons orbit the nucleus. Once you exhibit power everything falls into place. They follow you now; every molecule and particle, certainty and confidence has always attracted.

As an ending note; dedicate shifting to yourself. Design shifting yourself, like a kid with crayons draw the map back to your home.

Shifting dump, part 1.

[captain-huggy-bear]

Congrats on 1000 queen!! 🥳 can I request “The kid(s) are out...” with jack 🩷

I hope this is okay? Went silly and sweet with it, but not feeling super confident with it! 1000 Followers Celly Finished Requests are currently closed while I work through current ones <3 Writing Masterlist

You know he's up to only the most delightful mischief when you spot Jack leaning against the doorframe to the living room, cheeky grin tugging at his lips, hair a mess, big t-shirt that the kids' got him last Father's Day hanging off him. The t-shirt Ellen had insisted you get 2 sizes too big because it would be comfy and daddy was always achy after a game. It didn't matter that she was getting older now, she was still a massive daddy's girl and Jack spoiled her rotten.

"The kids are out at Luke's..." Maybe it says a lot about your marriage after two kids and plenty of long roadies that you don't jump to sex, that your first thought isn't that you have the house to yourself to absolutely ravish and maul your husband...instead...

"Sundae station?" The way you perk up on the sofa, wide eyed and eager as you look over at him has Jack laughing before closing the distance, hands reaching to tug you up to standing. Maybe it says a lot that Jack's first thought isn't sex either, but exactly the same as yours.

"Sundae station." You practically squeal and suddenly Jack's looking at the girl he went on that first date with, silly and youthful and sweet. The girl that had spent the last few years acting so mature, so proper because she was a mother now and mum's couldn't have sundae stations without little grubby hands stealing all the ice-cream and then keeping you up all night because sugar. The girl that had turned into his wife, into a woman he loved, but God, sometimes he missed seeing you shed that weight, the mantle of motherhood for a second.

He's already got it laid out for you in the kitchen; bowls of different toppings, a million sauce options to choose from, squirty cream, cherries, even bananas in case you want a banana split.

There's something fulfilling for Jack in the way that he gets to serve you, pretending he's working in an ice-cream shop at each part of the station until you have a massive, perfectly crafted sundae with all the trimmings. It helps that you laugh at the silly valley accent he puts on and that he feels like he can shed the 'dad' skin for a minute. That he can just be the husband, your husband.

You both love being parents, but God, is it nice to just be Jack and Y/N. To be a couple. A duo again for a moment.

He doesn't even ask before the Notebook is put on, you don't need to gesture or ask for him to make room for you on the sofa, curling under his arm as you both eat ice-cream and watch the first movie you'd ever watched together. It feels intimate in that quiet sort of way that being known feels, when someone makes you feel special and important, seen.

"God, it's so nice to eat what we want and not have to share, right? When was the last time we didn't have to share our sundaes?" You don't even wipe at the cream around your mouth or the sauce on your cheek, Jack's fingers reaching out to wipe it clean like he often has to do for Carter.

"Mmm, maybe back in 2029 when you were pregnant for the first time? They're ice-cream thieves, babe...we've raised ice-cream thieves." He spoons the last scoop of his ice-cream into his mouth, leaning forward to put both your empty bowls on the coffee table. You move with him, refusing to not be tucked into his side, comfy and cosy.

"Not even just ice-cream, Carter stole my apple slices yesterday..." You complain, face planting into Jack's neck when he finally settles back down. You'd been really craving those apple slices too, crispy, fresh...perfectly cut...and then Carter had come in from hockey practice and immediately eaten them with a 'thank, mum!'.

"Why didn't you say? That's at least 2 minutes in the penalty box for theft of apple slices!" Jack's gasp is offended on your behalf, even as he jokes about it, fingers sliding into your hair and scratching at your scalp in a way that has you almost purring like a cat.

"I just love them so much, y'know? And he pulls that face of his, the one he got from you, all pouty and big eyed..." Carter might be 13 now, he might be a teenager with those ridiculous mood swings, but he was also your baby and the spit of Jack sometimes.

"You mean this one?" You pull back to see Jack pulling the exact face. Bottom lip pouty and full, big blue eyes wide and sweet, the sort of face you'd never been able to resist when he pulled it, made 10 times worse when your son decided to pull it too. Both boys had you wrapped around their fingers.

"Yeah, I hate it." You huff, hiding your smile into his neck again and Jack just laughs because he knows that's not true...just as much as he knows both of you would willingly share your ice-cream sundaes for the next 50 years so long as you had your two babies.

"You hate it because you love it so much, baby."

[musesinbasement]

this is also the inevitable result of standardized tests, which came way before AI

standardized tests pushed the idea that education is "getting the correct answer"

and if that's the case, then why work to get there when I just find it with a click?

it's difficult to express to children, even teenagers, the merits of building skills

It's even harder to do that when those skills are mental and not something that they can clearly see or understand (like perseverance and grit, or critical thinking)

we are seeing real time atrophy in the education system (which wasn't perfect before by any means)

But this is what happens when you not only allow but encourage capitalistic takeover of a social service

The damage to education follows a similar pattern to the destruction of other social services: break it to create fake problems, and then sell you solutions to those problems

Make schools give standardized tests, then sell test prep supplies and curriculum that can improve failing test scores

AI programs like ChatGPT will absolutely follow a similar vein.

Most are free, for now, but just like with AirBnB, delivery services, and uber - they're gonna start charging

Which is why I am hyper critical of ANYONE who pushes the idea that "its like a calculator" and "we need to teach kids to use it"

Calculators don't require a subscription, but AI soon will

Something I don't think we talk enough about in discussions surrounding AI is the loss of perseverance.

I have a friend who works in education and he told me about how he was working with a small group of HS students to develop a new school sports chant. This was a very daunting task for the group, in large part because many had learning disabilities related to reading and writing, so coming up with a catchy, hard-hitting, probably rhyming, poetry-esque piece of collaborative writing felt like something outside of their skill range. But it wasn't! I knew that, he knew that, and he worked damn hard to convince the kids of that too. Even if the end result was terrible (by someone else's standards), we knew they had it in them to complete the piece and feel super proud of their creation.

Fast-forward a few days and he reports back that yes they have a chant now... but it's 99% AI. It was made by Chat-GPT. Once the kids realized they could just ask the bot to do the hard thing for them - and do it "better" than they (supposedly) ever could - that's the only route they were willing to take. It was either use Chat-GPT or don't do it at all. And I was just so devastated to hear this because Jesus Christ, struggling is important. Of course most 14-18 year olds aren't going to see the merit of that, let alone understand why that process (attempting something new and challenging) is more valuable than the end result (a "good" chant), but as adults we all have a responsibility to coach them through that messy process. Except that's become damn near impossible with an Instantly Do The Thing app in everyone's pocket. Yes, AI is fucking awful because of plagiarism and misinformation and the environmental impact, but it's also keeping people - particularly young people - from developing perseverance. It's not just important that you learn to write your own stuff because of intellectual agency, but because writing is hard and it's crucial that you learn how to persevere through doing hard things.

Write a shitty poem. Write an essay where half the textual 'evidence' doesn't track. Write an awkward as fuck email with an equally embarrassing typo. Every time you do you're not just developing that particular skill, you're also learning that you did something badly and the world didn't end. You can get through things! You can get through challenging things! Not everything in life has to be perfect but you know what? You'll only improve at the challenging stuff if you do a whole lot of it badly first. The ability to say, "I didn't think I could do that but I did it anyway. It's not great, but I did it," is SO IMPORTANT for developing confidence across the board, not just in these specific tasks.

Idk I'm just really worried about kids having to grow up in a world where (for a variety of reasons beyond just AI) they're not given the chance to struggle through new and challenging things like we used to.

[spaceycat]

bob.

BAWB. he's my boyfriend, he is the most boyfriend to ever boyfriend (i havent seen the movie yet)

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༄.° ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ...  ╰┈➤ 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚊 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 🧸ྀི

♫ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: i'm inlove with you by the 1975 (4:22)

✰ pairing: bob reynolds x fem!reader

✰ cw: pathetic asf!bob, but also brat!bob?? oral (f!recieving), bob is also a munch, p in v sex, riding, a little bit of angst, but we make up for it guys

✰ word count: 1.3k+

✰ summary: you've been busy with work, practically neglecting bob. he has enough of it after you returned home from work late and finally gets what he wants, he practically takes it from you.

✰ a/n: credits to juni for the request and the plot line for this fic, id be dead without her

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༺colour chart༻ reader ❀ bob ꩜

You've been busy lately, both you and Bob knew that. You didn't have much time for sex, but even then; you didnt even have much time for dates or simply just cuddling on the couch. It was a routine:

Wake up

Ignore Bob's advances to keep you in bed for longer

Go to work

Do said work

Go home

Eat

More work

Get ready for bed

Sleep

A simple routine at that. You felt guilty having to say no to Bob's advances every day, but you had work to do and Bob knew that. But it didnt stop the feelings that were created.

It's been atleast a week since this routine has been set in place, you're doing work on your computer in the living room. Nursing a cup of coffee as you sat on the couch.

"Sweetheart?.." Bob's soft voice broke you out of your trance. You looked up at him, his eyebrows furrowed. "What's up?" You set down your coffee, noticing his expression. "Listen I know that you're-- busy with work and stuff.." He paused for a moment, moving to sit down beside you. "But I miss you, y'know?" That sat with you for a moment, you were at a loss for a words. "Bob--" "I don't care what it is, I dont care if you just hold me-- hold my hand, I dont care."

Nothing really came of that night, nothing to note. The next morning the routine continued.

Bob found you in the kitchen the next day, leaning against the counter as you cooked dinner for the two of you. "Why are you cooking so early?" "I've got some meeting at 7, have to have dinner earlier." His smile faltered, "What time are you going to be back?" "Late." "Late." He'd repeat. "You'll be in bed by the time I get back." He bit the inside of his mouth, watching as you plated the food.

He was getting frustrated, he wanted to keep you at home - all to himself, you barely gave him the time of day anymore.

The next few days were similar. Until one day, you came home from work particularly late. Bob was standing near the entry way of your apartment.

"Hey Bob." You looked confused by his positioning as you placed down your bag. Without another word, Bob walked up to you - placing a gentle hand to the side of your face, kissing you deeply. You were confused at first, pulling back for a moment. Watching as he chased your lips. "Good evening to you too." "I just-- I need you so bad, okay? I want to feel you, I need to feel you, please?" He whined, his hands hesitating for a moment as he placed his hands to your hips. You frowned a bit, jesus - you really were neglecting him. You ran a hand through his hair, "Yeah-- yeah, of course, baby."

Bob pulled you towards the couch, sitting you down on it, kneeling down infront of you. Leaning into your touch as you placed a hand to the side of his face. "Thank you.." He mumbled, placing kisses into your palm. Slowly kissing up your arm, to your shoulder, to your neck, finally - placing a kiss to your mouth.

He made his way back down, resting on his calves as he looks at you. Hesitant hands working on your suit pants, pulling them down your thighs until they were tossed beside him.

He placed a kiss to your thigh, muttering another thank you as he kissed your inner thigh with another mumble accompanying it. He looked up to you, fingers feeling the edge of your panties.

You nodded, he pulled aside your panties - diving in like it was his first meal in weeks, tongue circling your clit as his hands settled on your hips. A groan coming from him as you placed a hand into his messy hair.

His tongue licked a stripe up your entire pussy, looking at your reaction the entire time - eyebrows furrowed as he watched you intently. He'd pull your leg over his shoulder, pulling back.

His chin and lips slick with your arousal, absolutely pussy drunk off you. "Thank you." He'd mumble once more, place a kiss to your thigh, moving back in. His tongue lapped at your clit, sucking it into his mouth as he coached you through your orgasm. He was intent on staying down there forevermore, his nose bumping into your clit as he overstimulated you. You were whimpering, pushing away his head. Bob eventually let up, leaning back on his calves. Watching as you wiped some of the slick away from his mouth. "I love you.." He mumbled. "I love you too, Bob."

You then pulled him up onto the couch, he just simply watched you. "I'm sorry for being so distant lately, sweetheart." "I dont care-- I don't give a single shit, okay? I just need you now." As you moved into his lap, you felt the evident bulge in his sweatpants. "Must be really pent up.." "Don't start." His hands gripped onto your hips rather tight after grinded down into his lap, his god-like powers shining through. His lips crashed into yours, tasting yourself on his lips - but you didnt give a slightest shit. You'd place a hand into his messed up hair, pulling him in closer to you. "God-- please, I need to feel you, need you on me." Bob leaned back, making work of his jeans. When your hands stilled him, "Slow down a bit, and let me do this."

You pushed his jeans down to his knees, noticing how hard he was - straining against his boxers. "Oh baby.." You'd tut, dragging a finger up his length. Earning a small groan from him and a buck of his hips.

His hands moved up your slick soaked thighs, "Please- sweetheart... haven't touched me for weeks, missed you.." You'd watch as his cock twitched when your fingers ghosted over the red, leaking tip.

"God-- if you actually would touch me once in a while, I wouldnt have to jerk off in the shower every morning." He muttered, more to himself - almost like he was thinking it but too overwhelmed to keep it out of his lips.

"Say that again?" A smirk landed on your face, when you saw him get flustered, his face a twinge of red. "I said if you--" You interrupted him as you sunk down onto his cock. Your thighs on either side of him, his hands moving to your hips.

"Finish your sentence, Bob." Raising your hips, his cock nearly slipping out of you before planting yourself back on his cock. Feeling him twitch inside of you as his head dropped back into the couch pillows. "I-- just.. stay- fuck... stay still for a moment, let me think--" You kept rolling your hips ontop of him. "I'm giving you what you want, no?""Baby-- I.. oh god--" Groans and whimpers were filing out of his mouth as his hands had an iron grip on your waist. He then wrapped his arms around your waist, practically pulling himself up. He'd place his head into the crook of your neck, his moans silenced by your skin as you ran your hands through his hair once more.

You felt him meet your pace, his hips snapping up into you. "God-- please.. I missed the way you felt, so soft." He'd mutter once more, as his hips stuttered you knew he was so goddamn close. "Cum for me baby.." With that he came deep inside you, hot sticky ropes covering your walls. hips soon falling still. His cock twitching and softening within you.

"Did you cum?.." He'd mutter, voice a bit hoarse. Safe to say that Bob didnt let you leave that couch until you came atleast 5 times. A couple times from his mouth and with his fingers.

[howlingmod]

I never asked anyone like you for a request (beacuse I just never asked for it) but can you do a father figure 007n7 x reader? If you don't mind, I might refrence your work into mine if i ever wanted to because i think it looks nice

[hugs from zyran]

summary - 007n7 + child reader (platonic), also c00lkid is here

misc - So. I may have gotten carried away. this doesn't fit the prompt the best. (MY BAD. genuinely very sorry i was struggling). but i would be more than happy to do follow up or something im really a fan of this reader. lot of fun ideas to be had

-You were a weird kid. You couldn't remember much of where you came from and how you got where you were, couldn't think of anyone you could call your family, couldn't think of anywhere you could call home. With nothing to tie you down, you had to learn how to adapt to your surroundings.

-You learned how to lay low, hiding in plain sight and vanishing into crowds. If people did take notice of you, you knew exactly how to lose them in aisles and busy cities, making sure you got lost in all the action before they could get anywhere near you. You didn't want (or need, thank you very much) anyones help. You heard enough stories to let you know you'd just get tossed in with the rest of the unfortunate to be forgotten until you turned 18, and you'd much rather spend your days seeing the world.

-With all that you picked up from your surroundings, you eventually gained an interest in exploiting. You'd only seenn it yourself a few times, watching some other teens clip through walls to steal a few drinks from a gas station or something equally mundane, but you'd heard enough stories to have you hooked. You'd heard enough tales that people whispered to eachother about, seen the strictly-titled books detailing some of the most infamous that lined the scarcely visited corners of libraries, and you knew what you had to do next.

-It wasn't easy, not by any means, but you made it work. It's not exactly easy to get tutorials on something so looked down upon, especially the more advanced hacks, but you had all the time in the world to explore. Over time, you honed your craft, moving from slamming your hands into walls when it didn't work to effortlessly slipping through them. You just had to keep practicing and time would tell.

-Since it wasn't exactly easy to consistently secure food without any money or alerting others to your orphaned state, you started to implement your newfound skills to your daily routine. Only problem was it just forced you to realize some of the errors in your practice. It came to a head one night when you decided to try your luck with a local pizza place.

By that point, you were starving. It'd been a while since you'd eaten anything and you were exhausted from researching all day. Looking back on it now, that was probably big part of why things didn't go too well that night. You'd come up late, wanting to limit the number of possible witnesses.

There was one employee you'd spotted while cloaked heading out for a smoke break, so you'd have to carry out your attack before they got back. After sneaking around them, you'd looked in through one of the very corners of the windows, spotting one cashier and two customers. Not great conditions but you could make it work, at this rate you had to with how your stomsch was killing you.

Readying your nerves, you'd walked back to what you presumed to be the exterior walls of the kitchen. With another breath, you stepped forward, slipping through them with ease and starting your mental timer before the other employee returned. You had to be quick, analyzing your surroundings the moment you came to, completely unaware your sudden entry wasn't at all hidden from the customers thanks to a large doorway you weren't able to see from the window.

There were a few pizzas that seemed ready to go, though they weren't yet boxed up. You looked around for a stack of cardboard, hastily snatching one up the moment you spotted them and slipping one of the pizzas into it. You'd underestimated the weight of it, watching it slip off the lip of the box and onto the floor with a muted splat. You hissed, biting your lip in embarassment before brushing it off. You only had so much time, you couldn't cry over spilled pizza.

The next one went in fine, much to your hushed delight, and you made your way back out. The moment you passed the walls threshold you stopped. One pizza could last you a day or two but two pizzas could last you even longer. Without a second thought, you set the first box down, turned around, and made your way for another. This time, you didn't pick up on the exchange that started with your arrival.

"Papa! Look!" C00lkid cheered, pointing into the kitchen excitedly.

"Huh?" 007n7 looked where his son was pointing, being met with nothing. It was curious but he couldn't pay attention to it right now, busy with ordering.

You found another two pizzas, carefully inching them over into boxes and stacked them up. While you were at it, you decided to pick up a few sodas, you could use the sugar, you were getting pretty tired out lately. Once you'd carefully arranged your haul, you sized it up. It would be a lot to carry and you weren't too confident in balancing it all as you walked. There had to be some bags around here...

Just as you began to scour around, C00lkid separated from his father, quietly padding over to get a better look into the kitchen. He stood and watched as you dug around, looking in boxes and scrambling through the contents of drawers. Finally, you'd managed to find a stack of plastic bags in one box, temporarily struggling to peel one away from the others before you began to quietly open it up, wincing as it crinkled.

At the same moment you got back to your pile of food and began to put it away, everything came crashing down. The back door began to swing open, the other employee walking in with tired eyes before they caught sight of you, shooting wide open.

"Papa, look! There's a-"

"THIEF!"

You jolted upright, staring back like a deer in headlights before scrambling to get everything into the bag. One can clattered onto the floor, narrowly missing the plastic. They stood in shock while the cashier rounded the corner to see you as well, immediately darting over to try and catch you. Just as their arms tried to cage you in, you clipped through them, just barely keeping your bag with you.

"HACKER?!" The other employee shouted, still in shock.

The commotion had pulled n7 from his daze, drawing him over to his son, if only to make sure he didn't get caught in the crossfire. He wasn't sure what he expected to see when he looked into the kitchen, but he certainly wasn't expecting you. He'd seen you just a few seconds before you managed to get back through the wall, hardly disturbing a thing in your way. He recognized the exact exploit you were using as one of the first ones he'd ever learned. You were a novice for sure but, this young? You were well ahead of where he was at your age.

"Oh, for the love of God," Elliot groaned, staring at the spot you'd been moments prior before hiding his face in his hands.

"Should we like .. call someone?" The other asked, giving him a lost look.

"I don't even care, man."

-For the next few days, n7 couldn't stop thinking about the whole ordeal. Sure, he'd seen plenty of hackers before, of all different times and from all different scenes but .. you stuck with him. You looked so scrawny, so small. Maybe being a parent had made him soft- No, it definitely had, but he couldn't stop thinking about you. He did the same thing but he just did it for fun, you clearly had some need for it. Kids don't just look like that, learn this and steal food for no reason, that wouldn't make sense. You were long gone by the time they got outside, not like he'd expected you to stay around the scene long. C00lkid had helped him look around for a little bit to no avail, you made yourself vanish within seconds.

-It'd rained a few days later and he couldn't help but feel sick. He didn't know your situation but the guilt of just watching you run off was eating him alive. He found himself staring out the window, looking for something that never showed up. That night, he laid awake, staring up at the ceiling and listening to every drop hit the roof. The hours crawled by and sleep never found him. He couldn't live like this.

-The next day he'd dropped C00lkid off at school he'd asked Noli to pick him up and watch him till he got back, as he'd be busy with something. Noli had tried to ask him about it but only got a 'I'll tell you later,' in reply. He was too caught up in your case to explain himself right now. He'd tried to look for any reports on similar, recent cases but came up with next to nothing. You'd been keeping your exploiting on the down low for a while now if he had to guess, going off how .. iffy, your pizza heist had gone, that had clearly been your capstone project, an over extension of your abilities.

-You'd been keeping yourself out of trouble then, which was good. However, it gave him one location to go off of, which wasn't as good. Considering you hadn't teleported away, he figured you either A) hadn't learned how to yet, or B) lived in the area. With little else to go off of, he had to hope it was B, as he began his search. He looked into every alley he passed by, reluctantly going down each of them and scouring every corner of them. In a few especially embarrassing examples he'd been caught looking into dumpsters and turning over cardboard boxes, offering up a half-assed excuse about losing something that made most people narrow their eyes and slowly turn away, if only to make distance between him and them.

-He'd continued looking until the sun was just a few hours from the horizon with not a single clue or lead under his belt. Dreadfully, the idea that you were whole cities away began to creep into the forefront of his mind. It was only when he'd stopped into a convenience store for water that he'd gotten a lead.

"Long day?" The cashier asked, eyeing him up suspiciously. He wasn't in the best shape out of breath and distressed by hours of digging through dirty streets and other people's garbage.

"Ah, something like that," he laughed breathlessly, rubbing at his neck. He looked around the store idly, spotting the typical monitor of security cameras hanging up near the ceiling. He'd gazed into it, finding himself in one of the sightlines. Without a second thought, he asked, "Have you had anything get stolen recently?"

"Oh, are you kidding me? Every day some punk comes in here trying their luck, thinking they're a tough guy," they huffed, irritation hardening their voice, "Why? Is that a threat?"

"Oh! No, no, nothing like that! I just ... I know this is going to sound crazy, but I'm looking for someone and uh, the only thing I know about them is that they ..."

"Rob innocent people?"

"Borrow things," n7 winced, "Listen, I know that sounds bad but they're just a kid, I'm worried about them. I've got a son of my own and I just can't imagine what I'd do if I saw him in that kind of state doing things like this."

They cooled a little at that, shoulders lowering.

"I know you've probably got every reason not to tell me but I have to try, they deserve a chance, don't they?"

n7 stared at them, watching as they tapped their fingers on the counter and looked everywhere but at him. After a few long moments, they cracked, hunching over with a sigh, "I think I might know who you're talking about. I caught them here a few nights ago, from what I've heard they live somewhere near the park, under the bridge or in that storage shed, I'm not sure. Not my circus, not my monkeys."

n7 lit up at that, perking up instantly, "Oh- Thank you, you don't know how long i've been looking. Really, I can't thank you enough."

"Just get that kid far away from my store, I already deal with enough sticky fingers as is," They grunted in response.

-The moment n7 had paid for his stuff, he was out the door heading towards the park. Honestly, that should've been one of the first places he checked. He didn't have enough time to criticize his past decision, busy searching for a familiar figure.

-The bridge had been completely abandoned, only a few wrappers and empty cans left behind to insicate anyone had ever been there. Anything from your robbery was absent, leaving him to check the storage shed instead. He didn't pay any mind to the hefty padlock on the door, it was more for show than anything, if this really was where you were staying.

-Sure enough, the boxes and soda cans were one of the first things he found inside. There were a few raggedy sheets and a makeshift mattress out of a few others. You'd built up quite the stash of miscellanious belongings. Clearly, you'd been on your own for a bit, but just how long...? The pit in n7's stomach reappeared, deeper with even more guilt.

"Are you stalking me?" The sudden voice had caused him to nearly jump out of his skin, whipping around to see the owner of it. You were standing a few feet behind him, eyeing him up cautiously with a laptop tucked in one arm, the other clenched at your side.

"Wh- No, no I'm not stalking you. I just want to help you is all, it's not safe for you to be alone," He tried, making his voice as small and nonthreatening as possible. With the path you were on and your situation, he hardly expected you to be accomodating. He had to be careful of what he said here, one wrong word and the whole thing would fall apart.

"So you're stalking me."

"No, I'm- That's not," n7 stammered, struggling for the right thing to say. He wasn't exactly an expert in handling delicate situations, he barely even knew what he was doing with C00lkidd half the time.

"Weren't you an exploiter?" You asked, curioisity bleeding into your voice. There it was, that was an opening he could use, right? Find common ground then go from there ...

"Yes, I was. I see you've been learning. You're pretty impressive for a kid," you almost smiled at that, a twitch of the lips that was snatched away in an instant, corrected as soon as you noticed the slip-up.

"You aren't anymore. Why'd you stop?"

"Well, exploiting can hurt a lot of people. I ... I just wasn't proud of who I was, that's why I'm so w-"

You cut him off before he could even try segwaying into your situation, "That's stupid. You learned all that just to throw it away?"

n7 stiffened at that, this was clearly veering down the wrong path, derailing right before his eyes, "It's not throwing it away, it's just that you can't take advantage of people like that."

"Why shouldn't I? Not like they've done anything for me " you hissed, pulling your laptop up over your chest.

Fuck. This was going bad, really bad. You'd already taken a half-step back, you were so close to just running off and starting this whole process again. He got down on a knee, lowering to your height, "Listen, I know people haven't been kind to you and I'm so, so sorry for that. I can help you figure this out, I've got plenty of space and food- I've got a son just like you, actually."

You'd relaxed a little, setting your foot back down on the ground.

He smiled, "Or, if you don't trust me, I'd be happy to help you find someone else. I know there are plenty of people who'd be happy to take you in."

That set you off again. Instantly, any of the consideration you had was replaced with something more active, more aggressive. You clutched your arms around your laptop, hunching over it and grit your teeth, leering up at him, "Like I need your help! I'm not falling for this stupid trap, I'm not just gonna throw this all away! Just leave me alone!"

With that, you spun on your heel and ran through the wall, leaving him to spring up and stumble after you.

"I didn't mean it like that- I'm not gonna turn you in or anything. Just wait!"

He'd only caught you for a few seconds before he blinked, opening his eyes to see nothing. Where you'd been darting off moments ago, you were gone. Did you teleport? He hadn't seen any menu... He stared for a few seconds longer, scanning the horizon. Nothing, absolutely nothing, was around. You'd completely vanished.

He looked up at the sky, being met with sunset. The later half of one, too. When had it gotten so late? It'd been noon not too long ago. The sky was tinted with red, absent of any answers. Reluctantly, he turned away, heading back home. He'd have to try something else, maybe he should just call someone, he didn't have time to run around like this with C00lkidd. Speaking of which, how was he doing? He hoped he hadn't been too much trouble for Noli.

-***-

Your bones hurt, or maybe it was your muscles. Something was hurting, that's all you knew. You weren't too worried about it. From the way that shadow had made it out, you had all the time in the world to get better, stronger. The menu in front of you was stacked with new exploits, you'd been scrolling through it with glazed over eyes, each name drawing your interest with all the possibilities.

As you limbs laid heavy on the ground, your hand kept scrolling. You stopped briefly on one, '/fling.' You looked past the menu, finding a nearby log and typing in your best approximation of its ID. The second you hit execute, you watched it go flying, soaring through the sky until it inevitably hit the ground with a distant 'splash.' You smiled, a weak little laugh prying its way out of your scratchy throat. You spared your legs a glance, they looked so strange. Did you always look like this? Had you always had such sharp nails? Is that why everyone looked at you like that?

"Hey! That looks just like my dads!" A voice cried next to you, echoey and distorted. The owner plopped down by your side, leaning into your field of vision with a grin.

"He uses it to teleport us to school!" He beamed, rocking back and forth, "Can you teleport?"

You stared at the small boy out of the corner of your eye, meeting his excited, expectant eyes. Numbly, you shifted your eyes back towards the menu, finding the '/tp' and digging through your mind for a random ID number. Your fingers found the keys before they even registered in your mind, the screen an extension of your arm more than anything. As you hit 'execute,' a soda can fell and tipped over next to your knee.

The boy gasped, snatching the can up giddily, "Awesome! What else can you do?"

You found yourself looking for another command before you could even process his words, scrolling for the next object of interest. 'He looks so strange,' you thought, not too far off from how you looked, though. As he settled in to watch you work, you found you didn't mind either of your appearances.

[traincat]

a genuine question why do people keep saying johnny is gay instead of bi? like i get it and i agree BUT why not bi?

Honestly I think this is one of those things that is totally up to personal interpretation, considering the weird Queer Grey Area Johnny lives in. I think he's gay, though I've gone back and forth over the years, but if other people want to think he's bi/pan, I don't think that's a wrong interpretation, either. (I do not control how other people label the Human Torch's sexuality, etc.)

I think, for me, what's swung my personal read on the character to gay over the years is just like, the extreme lack of actual demonstrated attraction to women. Johnny says he's attracted to women. Loudly! Frequently! Through the bullhorn! Is there a camera turned his way! Oh God please someone believe him. But when confronted with an attractive woman who wants to be intimate with him, he may go along with it, but sooner or later he's going to start ghosting.

(FF v3 #55) "'Scuze me -- I had this funny idea a guy was supposed to spend time with his girlfriend."

Look at his marriage, for example. Not the Skrull retcon stuff, although I do think that ultimately comes into play -- I'm talking about two things. There's, first off, the extreme sexlessness of the honeymoon.

(FF #301 and #302) I'm not saying like, nobody goes hiking on their honeymoon. I'm sure there's avid hikers enjoying romantic hikes out there. I'm saying that this is Johnny Storm and he's out there backpacking and visiting artist communes. Peter and Mary Jane, by comparison, were making the beast with two backs on a beach in France. (I actually really like #302 as an issue, it has a fun concept, but it does kind of highlight how Unsexy Johnny and Alicia are as a couple. The chemistry of styrofoam.)

Then there's the Crystal Emotional Affair.

(FF #305) "So things did work out in the long run!" Oh yeah you guys are gonna be real normal about each other.

(FF #317)

This never goes anywhere, mostly because of Johnny. I don't doubt Crystal would have upheld the most holiest of marital duties: cheating. (I love Crys, I just think her love 'em and leave 'em tendency is funny.) There's a lot of melodramatic bemoaning here -- she's the most beautiful girl he's ever seen! She regrets her decision to leave him! They're angsting about it in the shower. Separate. Separate showers. Because this never goes anywhere even remotely physical, because Johnny Would Never Cheat On His Wife, as he says. Repeatedly.

It's important to look at the issue numbers here: Johnny and Alicia only got together in #275. They got married in #300. By #305, Johnny is basically emotionally clawing at the walls to get out of his marriage, falling back on old romances, which is something of a tendency. When Crys dumped him, after all, he tried to get back with Dorrie Evans. Nothing happened there, either.

And then much later on, when Crystal does come onto him, he's not into it.

(Marvel Knights 4 #30)

Again, there's a pattern here. After Frankie Raye left him (for Galactus), he pursued her roommate Julie Angel hard -- albeit chastely. But when Julie does kiss him, he's suddenly "over her." Johnny talks the talks but he rarely walks the walk.

(FF #236) Out of curiosity, I wanted to see what Peter was doing romantically around this exact time. Peter's a useful yardstick here because whatever else you want to headcanon about him, he's definitely romantically and sexually interested in women, and consistently portrayed that way. At this point in time (roughly late 1981), Peter was embroiling himself in a love triangle with his fellow grad students, Marcy Kane and Deb Whitman, and then also getting back together with Black Cat. He should be classified a menace against women. But while Peter is referencing cunnilingus techniques in scenes with his wife, Johnny's most overt sexual reference from his own marriage is that he's going to "darn Alicia's socks." And that's not even Johnny! That's in an imagined world that never happened! We know they were sleeping together, because Johnny certainly believes it's possible that Lyja could have been pregnant, but there's no passion between Johnny and Alicia during the marriage. And if it was just the marriage, I could write that off as him not being attracted to Alicia specifically. But it's not just the marriage.

Johnny is constantly portrayed as someone who wants to be in love, but once he's in that relationship, there's always a barrier or an obstacle. He's probably his happiest in his initial relationship with Crystal which is, uh, unfortunate, because that started when he was roughly 19 and ended at latest in his very early 20s. (Again, we're dating him by dating Peter, here -- Johnny got married very shortly before Peter did, and Peter got married, by his own statement, five years after he started college, so he was roughly 23. Johnny would also have been 23 or 24 when he got married. This means MJ was 22 when she got married oh my God put her back in that club.) And Johnny and Crystal are very cute!

(FF #64 and #67) They're adorable. But they're kids. Just because Johnny had a Pinterest board for his Plaza wedding at age 19 doesn't mean it was going to work.

Then there's Frankie -- obviously, Frankie and Johnny were not doing anything, because whenever Frankie takes off her clothes she's got a whole gold bodysuit under there. Once the reveal with her powers happens, Johnny is disturbed by Frankie's more violent tendencies. Then she leaves him for Galactus. His next "big" relationship is Alicia/Lyja, and that's. You know, that's a whole thing. After that, things never REALLY get off the ground again. There's relationships! But they don't go anywhere. This is also when the Playboy Johnny persona emerges, as shallow as it is, and while I do think there's enough evidence to headcanon that as Johnny's trauma response to the Skrull marriage, honestly it's probably just because Marvel's cadre of largely male writers in the late '90s and early '00s couldn't imagine a single blond pretty boy wouldn't be a raging skirt chaser. I'm going to address this in more detail in a reply to a different ask, but I personally believe in something called the Johnny Effect where I give every new Fantastic Four writer post-Claremont something like the first few issues to adjust to writing Johnny. There's usually a slide into a more honest look at the character after that point. Which I get -- there's characters where, after you write them for a while, you start thinking about them more in depth, and I think that's what happens with Johnny.

The third thing for me is like -- I've talked about this before but there's the history of violation linked to Johnny and intimacy. In some way, in a lot of his relationships (although not all), Johnny is lied to, has his boundaries violated, or is flat out assaulted. This isn't solely with women, granted. Daken Akihiro, Wolverine's son, engineers their (word of author canon) relationship by shooting him through the thigh with an arrow and pinning it on Bullseye. But I would not call that an isolated incident on the other party's side. It's just that it does happen a lot with women, including women he's had relationships with.

(FF #46 and #49) That's an alternate Frankie Raye, but still. You have the kiss with Psionics at the end of that arc, only for Psionics' next appearance to involve her killing one of Johnny's good friends in front of him while threatening the lives of his niece and nephew. There's a certain level of melodrama expected in romantic relationships with comics, but Johnny's drama often crosses a line in a way Peter's "bad girl" drama with, say, Felicia, doesn't. I think you could trace a lot of this back to the unaddressed aspects of the Lyja plotline, but not all of it.

Other characters just also euphemistically call him gay.

(Hulk vs Thing: Hard Knocks #3) Why does the Hulk think he's gay.

I swung around to thinking he's just not attracted to women at all through a lot of rereads and writing various meta posts and just generally thinking about him, but again, that's not like, I can't make any rules here, I can just make my own case. If other people want to view him as bi, I think you could make a case, too. From my perspective, there's a lack of demonstrated attraction to women (even the weird Sexy Cosplayers scene in Miller's run is a set up so a film crew can walk in on him and he abandons them at the first opportunity) and a lack of emotional intimacy to a lot of his relationships when compared to his Very Heterosexual Male Friendships. For me, I think what's going on with Johnny is that he was put in this role as a teenager of the Celebrity Teen Heartthrob, and he was at least somewhat aware at that point in time that the Fantastic Four's security depended heavily on both him and Sue being desirable to fans. But boyband-types grow up, and Johnny has struggled to match his image to what's "desirable" to his current market group -- but he knows it involves him in a high profile relationship with a woman, and that's where a lot of his post-Alilyja relationships have come from. (Darla, Kourtney, Nita, etc.) I think Dark Wolverine demonstrated that if Johnny's in the closet, it's not to his family. They know what's going. It's the rest of the world Johnny keeps himself closeted over, because he links his high flying heartthrob image to safety.

(Daken: Dark Wolverine #4) "Is peace hard to come by for you?"

But again, sexuality headcanons -- and again, Johnny is not canon-by-corporate queer -- are personal. These are just my thoughts on the subject.

(FF v6 #5) "Be brave, Johnny Storm."

[storiumemporium]

Terminal

Chapter 1 - Spring Cleaning

It Happened™️did I think it would happen? No. But it happened and here we are and it's terminally bad 😭

Bob Reynolds x Fem!Reader | Word Count: 7.3k | Mature | I don't think it has any tags quite yet? | Future tags - Experimentation, Child Abuse, Agoraphobia, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, General Cute Shit |

“What can you do?” “Well…” you start after a pause that goes on too long. “I am- I am one of the foremost black hats in the country, cracking code is sort of my thing. I’m- Miss de Fontaine wishes for me to become the brain for your operation, handling the technological side of your missions so that you can focus on the physical parts.” "Is that why you’re not here, then? Keeping your identity concealed?” “Oh God no! No… I just- I work best from where I am right now.” And nowhere, nowhere else. --- Fourteen months following the void out of Manhattan, Valentine Allegra de Fontaine has you assigned as the newest member of her struggling superhero team. The New Avengers. You serve as their eyes and ears, their brain, and their personal AI in the style of famous JARVIS, though you lack the cool accent. Oh, and you also haven't left your home in nearly a decade, so.

Bucky thought himself to be a long suffering kind of guy.

Just… you don’t make best friends out of Steven Grant Rogers - any iteration of Steven Grant Rogers - without an unusually high penchant for tolerating bullshit in your day to day. Oh, your buddy is ninety-seven pounds and picked a fight with a guy bigger than you are, Buck? No problem, go get your ass kicked too if it means keeping him out of the hospital.

Oh, your buddy entered an experimental program while you were locked away in some HYDRA camp? No problem, just follow the lunatic wherever the hell he decides he wants to go.

It just didn’t matter, if Steve wanted to do something then Bucky was the guy.

The problem is - and half a dozen therapists have forced him to accept it by now - is that this isn’t just a Steven Grant Rogers thing. This is a James Buchanan Barnes thing.

Which is why he now is in charge of all of these assholes.

Fourteen months and twelve days since the New Avengers made their entirely unplanned debut to the world, and the barely rebranded New Avenger’s Tower had become something like a home and a hub all in one. It wasn’t as if the informally known Thunderbolts had anywhere else to go. Alexei wanted to be with his daughter, Yelena wanted to be an Avenger like her sister, Bob just wanted to be with people who cared for him, Ava did not oppose the lavish new means, and John was… himself.

Bucky? Well. He was between things, except the between period had only gotten longer and longer, and he was having a harder and harder time imagining being anywhere else than here. They’d grown on him, like mold. Or tumors.

Truth be told, they needed each other. It wasn’t outside the realm of Bucky’s psychology to understand that going it alone just wasn’t feasible. It wasn’t for ordinary people whose worst traumas were the goldfish they accidentally killed as a child, and it definitely wasn’t for people like them.

So he stayed, and really, he didn’t even try to figure out a reason not to stay.

The Tower, since it’s renovation, has undergone a nauseating trading of hands across the members of the Thunderbolts in a way that reminded Bucky of old school Tom n’ Jerry until finally landing on it’s longest and most comfortable configuration. The things that had stayed the same: all communal areas of the Tower remained squarely in the dead center, just above the neighboring office buildings, and positioned so that everyone had to be equally inconvenienced on travel time through the skyscraper. Bucky remained in the same floor he has been since they moved in- nobody was really willing to fight him on it on account of stubbornness. Bob got to keep the floor closest to the communal center, directly beneath. He didn’t like heights, and no one had the heart to force him to be far away.

Yelena took a floor close to Bob, Alexei took the floor closest to Yelena. John made sure to take the furthest floor he could from Bucky, leaving Ava in the middle.

Somehow this still created conflicts. Mostly in the fact that John and Bucky shared an elevator and the bastard was always racing him to use it first, leaving the other waiting there god knows how long dependent on where they were going.

In spite of their infrastructural warfare, the arrangement was nice.

Everyone stuck close by even with the immense amount of space afforded - often made uneasy by the scale - and the communal spaces of the Tower ended up being the most used for all things, sometimes even sleeping when nightmares or thoughts got severe enough to warrant not being alone. They all had them, but it was most often a divided line where some needed that space distinctly more often than others.

Bucky had categorized it into type S and type C, he was told type Stable and type Crazy were a little too harsh. So it’d been rebranded to Stable and Catastrophizing. He liked to think of himself as belonging to type S, sitting squarely alongside Yelena and Ava.

Progress for them meant a slow and arduous crawl from one rung of a seemingly infinite ladder to the next. Months on end of grueling and thankless work filled with uncomfortable conversations and deep personal confrontation to hopefully inch the tiniest bit forward on the path. The type of progress that Bucky knew intimately felt as if it wasn’t actually progress, at least in the moment. All these changes so minute that they could be overlooked in favor of all the places you should already be. You had to look back over the weeks, months, and years to really see how much you’d improved yourself.

John, Alexei, and above all else Bob belong to Catastrophizing.

He’s watched them make massive leaps and bounds seemingly in a matter of months, comparatively overnight versus his own progress. The sort of rapid adjustment to life that Bucky could bite steel over. Cutting their hair, putting on - conversely losing - weight. New clothes, a better outlook on life. It felt like some romanticized iteration of recovery where a hug and a ‘you matter!’ were enough for them to simply be cured of their afflictions.

Then the crash would come.

They would fall harder than Yelena, Ava, even he himself ever had. Possibly even combined*.* A total square one restart, if not at times worse*.* Like they’d taken eight steps back from when they first met each other. Somehow spitefully stuck themselves even deeper into the mud. It was always a titanic, catastrophic sort of mess. The kind of thing that couldn’t truly be prevented, only patiently waited out.

For Alexei that usually meant hiding the alcohol, forgiving the disappearance of food. Not acknowledging the couch has been robbed days in a row as he was robbed of the willpower to get off it and sleep in his own bed. Quiet nights spoken in Russian between himself, Yelena and Alexei. Tender with his daughter, reminiscing with Bucky.

For John, sparring matches that turned into outright fistfights. Vicious words that weren’t truly meant, met with stone until the soldier would hiss and seethe and retreat into himself and his room. He’d only reemerge days later looking a husk, a peace treaty offered by coffee and a conversation no one really wanted to have. Shave, Walker. Fuck you, Barnes. The shadow gone from his face and his eyes by next morning.

Bob? Holding on, no matter what. Sometimes that meant dealing with the ache of seeing him recoil harder from a gentle touch than he would a harsh slap. Dark, soft blue eyes turning beady and sharp with paranoia at the concept of freely given love and companionship. Catatonia met with meals, victories if he took even one bite. For Yelena, washing his hair when he couldn’t muster it. For Bucky, offering a hand Bob wasn’t afraid to crush in his sleep. When he needed to feel not-alone, but not-terrified of his own strength.

It was a system. A bad, fucked up, ill conceived one. But it worked, it was theirs.

They were getting better, their way.

This month has proven itself to be comparatively light in the mentalympics department, as Ava had called it and it had stuck. None of the Thunderbolts have been required to leave the Tower at any point in the last few weeks, taking it as their paid-for vacation meant that the only times anyone braved the city that never slept was to stock up on large amounts of booze and snacks- too impatient for the weekly drop off to arrive. From there? Game nights, movie nights, show nights. Charades has come up an alarming number of times with Yelena topping the scoreboard most frequently and Alexei consistently failing to guess almost anything. John and Ava have made a running pool on how many times the man can somehow derive Soviet era propaganda out of the weird undulations another member of the team is making.

All of this is pockmarked with training sessions, evenings taken to snoop around the tower (a year later and new things still keep getting found). And sometimes the overhead being stolen to play music while everyone brings blankets and pillows from their floor.

Ava and Yelena started it. Bob joined without much hesitation. Alexei joined with no hesitation. John and Bucky were pretty helpless to deny what they knew was coming.

The sleepover tradition.

Still, it’s early in the morning and there’s no guarantee anyone will posit that tonight be the night everyone clusters the sunken conversation pit with all manner of malleable objects to sleep on. Instead, Bucky scrolls through the The New Yorker on his phone while drinking dubiously spiced coffee out of a mug labeled ‘badass babysitter’ on the side with little cartoon flowers strewn across it in pastels. He’s already fully dressed for the day, and the deep navy blue and sheer black contrasts entertainingly with the salmon colored ceramic. Alexei’s word, not his. Across from him is Yelena, phone also in hand and feet on the table. John has been warring with her penchant for climbing on furniture for some time now, Bucky knows he’s already lost. She’s adorned in one of the many bundles of Avengerz clothing Alexei had procured for the team since everything went a touch sideways, avidly denying to ever be seen in public with it and yet unable to deny the softness of the pajamas. Her hair is unkempt, pale tresses scattered about and her face bare of any makeup. She looks unguarded like this, just taking space rather than commanding it per her usual.

“Do you think it’s been too quiet, lately?” Yelena’s voice cuts abruptly across the table at him, her head suddenly lifting from her phone and toward the ceiling, conversational but loud enough for the muscles in Bucky’s shoulders to twitch reflexively. Her brows pinched like she was wrestling with a puzzle. “I mean, there hasn’t even been a fire in the kitchen this last week. It feels wrong. We’re never this pleasant to be around.”

Bucky’s phone clicks dark, clattering gently on the steel-and-glass surface provided by Valentina’s many interior designers. Sterility was in, apparently. “Hello to you too, Yelena. Don’t jinx it, maybe?”

To that, Bucky is rewarded a shit eating smile from his friend. Though she’s still not exactly turned to look at him, her head has canted further in his direction knowing that he’s taken her bait for the morning. “Please, better to know now so that you’re prepared when all the good behavior comes back as something much, much worse for you later.”

The ‘for you’ was pointed, badass babysitter glinting ominously on the side of his cup as he took another sip from it.

“Well, I would like to continue believing you’re all just finally beginning to grow up. I’m very proud.”

“Who- uh, who is growing up around here?”

Bob found his way up from the floor below, finally. Though the man struggled with sleep it didn’t typically make him any more of an early riser, certainly not the way Bucky was- instead, if Bob wasn’t already camped out in the living room watching the sun come up, he was often close to the last to arrive.

“Absolutely no one, but we can let the old man dream.” Yelena is grinning once more at him, a little less sharp as Bob passes around the two of them on his way to the fridge. “I was just saying that this place seemed a little too quiet as of late.”

And without a beat missed; “Don’t see that lasting too long.”

“See! I told you.”

Eggs are tossed onto the counter, organic as demanded by John. A pan retrieved from it’s designated ‘we don’t care what happens to this one because it’s cheap and maybe someone stole it?’ spot, also known as Bob’s favorite spot in the kitchen (he lacked guilt if these ended up destroyed in some way or another) to be placed on the electric burner and warmed. Scrambled eggs, or omelettes? He was feeling pretty good, so maybe something a little fancier this time. He liked to treat himself in these tiny ways, because it felt like a reward but one he had to… earn? You don’t get nice omelettes if you don’t learn how to cook them yourself, type of thing.

Just as fluidly as he’d entered the conversation, Bob slips free of it, electing to become a background ear to the chaos of Yelena and Bucky chattering at each other. Their voices morphing into a fuzzy blanket over his still waking mind. A metaphorical radio turned on low so that he could focus on swimming to consciousness rather than the creeping anxiety of too much silence. The cadence of their voices soothing, the familiarity of it cozy and predictable. Today it seemed they were bickering over whether or not the Tower was going to be - wait, he wasn’t exactly paying attention. Something about firebombing the garden?

He hoped not. He liked it out there. Being outside without, y’know. Being outside. Still wasn’t quite good at that one.

Omelette to plate, plate to table, Bucky watches Bob situate himself dead in the center of his exchanging of light barbs with Yelena. The food passing into his mouth without much consideration, dark eyes blinking out at the windows across from them. This, itself, was an update for Bob. At the beginning even false tensity tended to make the mans’ hackles rise, waiting for the moment it turned severe and he needed to duck out of the way of whatever aggression was working it’s way out.

Now, he snorts to himself when Yelena calls Bucky frostbitten.

He’s a little like Yelena in that regard, in that he feels like a person inhabiting a space these days. But where Yelena hid behind a deadly persona, Bob had just seemed ashamed to need the same air they did. A little ghost with his shoulders to his ears. Now? Now he lets the tongs of his fork clink against the plate without wincing, and openly pays attention to the conversation he hasn’t reentered himself into.

John and Ava have returned after their first round of disturbing Bucky’s well needed relaxation in the breakfast area, and Alexei is finally arriving for the first time that day as Bucky is retrieving his and Yelena’s third cup of coffee, Bob’s first. (He wasn’t the most fond of coffee, but he appreciated the pick-me-up, especially when a frankly nauseating amount of creamer was involved.)

“We really need some kind of big spectacle, yknow? Just- yeah we can say we’re the Avengers and we can live in the old crews place, but we really need to kick some ass to secure our hold in it.”

“Well what do you propose, John? Beam a signal out into space? ‘Hey aliens, come here and pick a fight with us so we can look cool to the other people here!’”

“Pfft, no. They’d never agree to that.”

Ava is squinting at him from her position, close to Yelena who has now moved close to Bucky as the chairs shuffled around to accommodate the other three bodies clustering in. Bob has started to hit proximal capacity, with his shoulders squeezed slightly even though no one came close to brushing with him. It didn’t help that the man got caught between Alexei and John for company, both make their brand of obnoxiousness into a flag they bear proudly.

“Look, I’m just saying! We wouldn’t be having these problems if we were doing more than fight people the public never get to hear about in the first place.” John was poking at his second breakfast of the day, something he’d apparently ordered off Doordash? to be brought to the tower of all places, pushing around browned sausage and crisp hashbrowns and gravy and other assortments of things. “At this point we’re just doing the same thing we always did but together. And with matching suits.”

“Matching suits are good! Make us look strong, united!”

“It’s better that the public doesn’t know,” Bucky interjected over Alexei’s enthusiasm of identical attire, and had an elbow on his armrest now, waving about the other hand freely as he spoke. “If they know, that means we didn’t get there in time to stop them from doing something.”

“So you’re saying we’re too good at our job?” Ava, incredulous and scathing as ever.

“Yes!”

“No, not exactly. Just that sometimes this is thankless work.”

“Well maybe I’d like to be thanked.”

“Or at least keep getting paid.”

Bob’s eyes are darting about the conversation, watching how it develops without any really desire to partake. It’s not that he isn’t part of it, exactly. But that he doesn’t necessarily… care.

So what if they aren’t Avengers? Do they need to be? Isn’t the important part that they’re helping people?

His mouth opens to posit that question - dumb as it might be - to his friends, when:

“Ladies, gentlemen! I hate to interrupt.” It was like dousing ice across everyone in the room, for all the way all warmth and fondness fled out the windows and down the stairwell to some place they did not occupy.

Valentina’s voice still inflicted some sort of deep seated anger in Bob, he wasn’t sure why. Though he knew she was the one originally trying to kill all of them in the vault, and that according to Yelena and Ava she’d done… something with him while he was in his Sentry state, he wasn’t exactly sure what.

Maybe the part of him that twisted with rage still did.

It had him smacking his lips irritably, pushing the plate away curt enough that it let out a mild whistle against the surface of the table that didn’t go unnoticed. John’s eyes were on him steadily, recognizing that flare of temper for what it was. It was one of the few more serious conversations they’d ever had with each other. Anger, and managing it in ways that didn’t result in broken furniture or self inflicted bruises. He didn’t need to say anything for Bob to nod at him. I’m cool.

Little could be done by way of explaining the idiosyncrasies of a body fundamentally divorced from itself.

“There’s an exciting new update for all of you. Something very important. Non negotiable. Head for the boardroom, you have thirty.”

---

Less could be done to provide comprehension to the scope of deprivation it required to no longer feel apart of the species you were, by all rights, born to.

Basically, you were a rather difficult creature to explain or understand. Not that you had much by way of practice in doing that.

So, here’s the thing:

Manhattan, New York is one of the wealthiest areas in the world - much less the country, that you could live. Brownstones, historic districts, lavish parks, beautiful boutiques. It was a gorgeous place, green and lush, industrial and waiting with open palms for those who had the means to take it.

You were buried a quarter mile beneath Manhattan.

With the cold war came the advent of nuclear hysteria, the world ever terrified for a mushroom cloud apocalypse that would bring with it the winter to end all winters. The world would crumble away to ice and decay and all life would slow to a crawl until only the most adapted and isolated of creatures could outlast the Earth repairing it’s destructive near-end.

And then none of that happened, actually.

But the important part of that is what came from it. What you got out of it. Circa the 1960’s full terror had gripped the nation that our world was going to end, but if you were a particularly savvy (and exorbitantly rich) hotel owner in one of the nicest areas of the entire country, you were building fallout bunkers and you were doing it before it was cool. And with so many of these incredibly intelligent wealthy individuals making shelters of all different shapes, sizes, and needs… Some of them just slipped through the cracks, entirely forgotten about.

Which made them ripe for the picking, if you happened to stumble upon one that hadn’t been registered with local authorities.

This place was your baby, your home. Eight feet of solid concrete reinforced with steel, shored up with external struts to protect against water instability from the surrounding ocean, heavily ventilated, and thoroughly treated. Vault door, cameras everywhere, back up generators, a pantry you’ve meticulously stocked over the years. This thing was frankly massive, built to sustain an entire family comfortably, and not just a singular societal reject.

This place was built for the end of the world, and now it’s your entire world.

Most of your days are spent right here, well - okay - all of your days are spent right here. But not all of them in this exact spot. With your feet kicked up on the dashboard of your very own surveillance system. Thirty-two chest-sized CRT screens imbedded into the wall stare back at you with footage from all across the city on their static clung faces. Traffic, weather cameras, even random footage from peoples’ doorbell cameras. You weren’t invasive enough to go inside, even if the curiosity ate at you sometimes.

Your station has been meticulously equipped over the years of your stay. Some of it is as brand new as you could get, others are classics. An IBM Model M is sitting in front of you, retro old keyboard in the same dingy green-yellow-beige that the rest of the bunker is, unaided by the old fluorescents flickering above. It’s what you use to do your work - what they use to do all of your work for you. More like a marionette to their ministrations. Beside it are a DAC and amp stack for a nice pair of German headphones found on Guitar Center or Amazon, and a bougie Shure microphone you acquired by shorting people out of bidding on it on eBay. Your guilt assuaged by running a cursory background check on the seller, wife beaters don’t deserve money.

Right now, your heart is in your throat.

There was a reason you came down here. A reason you stocked and live in this place that you illegally siphoned hot water and AC and all the other good shit to, without anyone ever knowing. Because you didn’t want anyone to know.

People… the outside… It’s terrifying. And not in the- the casual shakes or the nervous rambling or even the puking kind of way.

In the way that you’d open a manhole cover and crawl down it, wait there for hours until you were starving to make sure absolutely no one is around, scrambling from tight corner to tight corner to find your den to hide inside. That level of fear.

Blood curdling terror.

Now you’re willingly going to be introducing yourself to an entire group of people. Digitally. But still.

You knew them too, sometimes New York has something interesting happen to it and you’re so far beneath the crust that you get to witness it like a fun little spectator. So when a massive chunk of the city had - they recently dubbed it - voided out, you didn’t get to experience the misery and the terror the people up top did. You watched it all happen from your wall of screens and your expensive speakers and your everything else. Insulated and safe.

You also watched the people you’re about to talk to, stop the void. Somehow. Nobody really knew. It just kinda- unvoided everyone and thing. Lucky, y’know?

Valentina had contacted you after months of relatively low interaction, mostly just sent missions where you surveilled and reported back to her team whatever movements or information you could gather from your eye deep, deep beneath the sky. And then collected the paycheck that let you buy all the nice things that currently sat around you.

Pain in the ass to get here, mind. Since you didn’t let anyone so much as see the area that leads to your home. Better safe than sorry, besides, the locally delivery guys have come to an understanding with you. The extra hundred for every delivery without inquiry helps.

Now though?

“It’s time.” Her voice, grating as ever, made worse when it sounded over the heavy speakers you had set around your home base. “You’ve coasted by on little jobs this far, but we finally have need of your assets. You’re coming out of the dark, Terminal.”

This wasn’t what you were built for, but even with all the skills at your disposal money still became a necessity after a point. Not everything you could ever want or need could be procured by scams and technobabble-savvy. Not everything came without a hit to your conscience.

Still, the laminate counter and all the peripherals you’d accumulated have been dusted and disinfected three times now, all thirty-two screens have been fussed at to no end and you’ve shocked yourself enough times that the muscle in your ring finger was beginning to respond angrily to the uninvited stimuli. The whole place hums passively, the buzz off the fluorescents had grated your last nerve over an hour ago and have been relegated to some incredibly old desk lamp you stole and repaired from an abandoned library ages ago. The room, usually bright and weirdly pear colored has now been reduced to shadow and blue and a blanket of orange. Your shape cut across the concrete floor. It makes the place feel smaller, somehow.

Admittedly, and you knew this was an incredibly morally dubious choice to make, but you were kind of… stalking them?

It was a little too easy to get inside the New Avenger’s Tower, the artificial intelligence that Valentina supplied in the wake of JARVIS and FRIDAY being disbanded was little more than a rudimentary shadow of it’s predecessors. It could lock and unlock areas, manage cameras and microphones, knew the locations of every room in it’s premises, could tell time, and weather… But that was about it. It was a glorified app hiding in the ceiling. This meant that what you thought would be a battle that could backfire and get you in hot water with Valentina slipped by so easily that you were watching your future teammates make dinner, oblivious to your existence.

And the intelligence, CASEY (Central Authority, Surveillance, something-something. Valentina had tried to tell you and it’d already been terrible before the third letter in the abbreviation) was either none the wiser or not well programmed enough to alert anyone of the extra eyes in their home.

It felt wrong, it was wrong, but your excuse to yourself as muttered into a dingy mirror in your bathroom was that it provided you with pregame knowledge and ample preparation. So you wouldn’t fuck this up, or react too badly to how they react to whatever is about to happen. It was just you doing your own reconnaissance! Don’t head into enemy territory unprepared.

Maybe you shouldn’t be thinking of them as enemies. But- oh well.

It’s t-minus thirteen to the formal introduction and conversation has been entrenched on the big reveal, the big you. Some think it’s going to be good- two, precisely. The rest are thoroughly geared toward this being a disaster because Valentina’s print is on it. Not, honestly, a bad way to gauge it. Still, it had your teeth sliding against each other in anticipation. They won’t trust you, they probably won’t like you. It’s an uphill battle from go, and the worst part is that your odds are lower than terrible with her branding all over you. Not- not literally. But still.

If she has a hand in it, they’ll think you’re just as bad as her. And that’s something you have to fight past, starting in a matter of minutes.

“Listen, she doesn’t have control over us, we can just ignore whatever the hell kind of stunt she’s trying to pull.” Crackles over speakers situated at each corner. They’re a good quality, but the microphones installed at the Tower are not, so that it almost rings every time sound pushes through.

“But do we? We have no idea what this is going to be, and no guarantee we can worm our way around it.” Distinctly from James Barnes, arguably the most easy to identify of the entire group. His arm a glowing beacon of acknowledgement for who he is and who he was.

Again. Fundamentally untrusting people. You’re walking into Siberia in a Hawaiian-dad shirt.

“She hasn’t done anything too crazy since this began, and it’s been an entire year. Maybe she knows better with all of us being the face now, you know, after attempting to set us on fire?”

In a morbid way, you wish you didn’t already know about that. It would have been a good distraction from the lead ball in your gut. But alas, O.X.E. has had you in their pocket for awhile now, and that means you’ve been panty raiding their intelligence for ages at this point. The moment you’d seen her face pop up on national television following the blackout, you’d gone on a fun little deep dive to see what she fucked up that badly.

So much. Like an embarrassing amount, really.

Another candy wrapper is discarded to the half full trash can at your side. You’ve pretzeled your legs into the recliner you use as your desk chair in perhaps the least professional display of your state anyone has ever witnessed. Only topped off when you drag a blanket off the back and burrito yourself into it.

Walking into humiliation with comfort.

The screens switch camera to camera without your added input - they handle it for you as you worry away at lifted skin around your cuticles, taking not chewing your nails as enough victory for the evening - as they pass through something like a million tons of steel, marble, granite, concrete, and two inch thick panels of tempered and laminated glass on their way to the room where your debut will be announced to them post hoc.

Good god, you’re going to be fucking sick.

Valentina is already standing there when they arrive, and even through fuzzy and less than pixel perfect resolution you can see the ripple of discontent. They didn’t realize she was already in the building, and they didn’t like the following thought.

She’s as polished and corporate as ever, every texture and color her suit and jewels were clad in most likely approved by an entire team of stylists to convey a particular image and sentiment just for this evening. Like armor of a slippery, slimy variety. They all sit as her face stretches around an interpretation of a smile, her eyes dark and flat and calculating. She’s judging how difficult the sell is about to be.

“Thank you for arriving almost on time, perhaps this time next year you won’t embarrass us in front of national press by showing up when you’re told.”

“Look if you’re just here to berate us about the quality of our answers on what ice cream is our favorite—”

“Oh, Jesus no. I know better than with any of you. No, I have something much better for all of you to get used to.”

Again, as your fingers curl in tightly enough around your pants for the material to sting against your skin, the room seems to get even more coiled without you physically being there.

“Terminal, my dear. Why don’t you introduce yourself?”

Fuck. Fuck.

You go to introduce yourself, realize your mic is cut, set it hot and clear your throat at once. A part of you, however small but certainly tangible and real, dies horribly. Why didn’t you clear your throat before the mic was live, dumbass?

“Well, I- I believe the introduction has just been made for me, but hello there,” this part has been rehearsed for you a thousand times. You’d written out a script and paced the entire bunker for a solid week following this day, editing, scrapping, and then rehearsing the things you wanted to say. To sound perfect, polished. Like you might not be a total mistake for Valentina to introduce.

Your voice is a little squeaky and off kilter, instead of energetic like you’d been going for. Your delivery feels as rehearsed as it is, and the tackiness developing on your ankles has you kicking the blanket you used for comfort mere moments ago away and onto the floor.

“I go by Terminal, and Miss de Fontaine - if she does not mind me saying - has brought me on board to be a-”

You can hear the quiet groan that passes from someone’s mouth, and your voice flattens unintentionally as you wish more and more that the bunker would suddenly lose all structural support and simply turn you into red mist.

“-a new member of the team. I hope that… we can get along, and I am- excited, to get started.”

Again, because the first two times weren’t good enough: Fuck.

There’s a ripple of disbelief and apparent anger, resignation, even a touch of outrage in some of their faces. Barnes seems the most ready to roll with it, his slow head bob visible from where the camera is fixated upon them. Walker immediately the most outraged by this, shouting something to the effect of how she could expect them to work with someone without their approval or - even knowledge that this was going to happen.

“Who the hell is this guy? And why don’t we get a say in it-?”

“There’s no way you’re going to just- forcibly slot some random person in and expect us to be okay with it-”

“Oh, please, more members are good for team! Means we get stronger and more official looking, eh?”

Their objections and affirmations blend into noise, and your head hits the back of your recliner hard. And then a few more times, for good measure. It was honestly just more frustrating, for once damning the cushion for not letting you get a satisfying thunk out of the abuses you wished to laud against your own skull.

Then, across the table and cutting everyone off:

“What can you do?”

It’s the one that nearly destroyed Manhattan, you realize after a stunned pause. He’s sitting there somewhat folded in his seat, his elbows on his knees as he stares in a random direction. Like he’s aware of your presence but maybe a little too oblivious to notice he should be staring at the camera that just moved to point directly at him.

He doesn’t seem particularly invested, one way or the other. Instead, just… curious maybe? There’s a sort of innocence in it, like he’s more fascinated by whatever specialty you’ve been given than the fact that Valentina is trying to throw off all the team dynamics because she can.

It’s also not a question you were particularly ready for, given that you thought Valentina would use that opportunity for further pitching you to your new team.

“Well…” you start after a pause that goes on too long. “I am- I am one of the foremost black hats in the country, cracking code is sort of my thing. I’m- Miss de Fontaine wishes for me to become the brain for your operation, handling the technological side of your missions so that you can focus on the physical parts.”

“Is that why you’re not here, then? Keeping your identity concealed?”

“Oh God no! No… I just- I work best from where I am right now.” And nowhere, nowhere else.

Bucky seemed to right himself then, more of his face becoming visible within the eye of the camera you’d hijacked some time ago. He still doesn’t look particularly happy with what is occurring here, and yet unlike the others - there’s some level of acceptance.

“There’s a reason you’re doing this, Valentina. We haven’t needed a tech up until this point, what’s going on?”

The wobble of her expression is visible, even here. “Can I not just bring in more hands for the New Avengers? Does there need to be a reason?”

“Yes.”

And just like that, the polish erodes and something annoyed and acidic and acrid crosses her face. The posture never leaves, but her hands move in a way that’s far less diplomatic and vastly sharper. Little stabs and slices that indicate the deep set dislike she holds toward the man who has called her on her shit.

“Fine. There’s a situation. Look- O.X.E. has reason to believe that someone is looking to replicate what was done with Robert. They’re sifting through old files, poking about in shut down facilities. I’m not concerned that they’ll find anything on account of the fact that we got rid of the evidence, but that doesn’t mean they’ll stop.

We’ve grabbed what intel we could, and beyond a few dozen mercenaries with almost as many murders under their individual belts as our favorite Widow here. They’ve also begun to collude with the likes of Mikhail Doyenko and Aantu Haikali.”

Manila folders are thrown by Valentina into the center of the conference table they’d clustered around, and after a moment of heavy pause, each member of the New Avengers reaches forward to grab their copy of the report. It’s thick, filled with a few dozen pages of information on the named individuals as well as the organization they’d fallen in with.

Enmis.

Their known goals are listed, what little scraps were found from each abandoned base O.X.E. has raided, too late to get them while they were still escaping. They were slippery, skilled, and growing vastly more dangerous by the day. You knew because you’d read the same thing they were, days ago.

“I recognize the name, Doyenko.” Belova is the one speaking, the Widow with the pale hair and the eyes too clear. The one who had charged headfirst into pitch darkness and managed to save the world in the process. “He’s a trafficker, isn’t he?”

“Precisely, but worse than your regular. He specializes in the enhanced, whether that’s serum or something else.”

“Which means he’s got the experience and the equipment to handle a group of super soldiers.” Comes Barnes’ following reply, voice steady as he follows what Valentina has provided on a candy trail.

“I mean, c’mon! How good could they be, just some random souped up idiots this guy snatched off the street to sell? We’re actual soldiers, we have combat experience!”

“And we are team, they most likely run alone, no? Not prepared to be overwhelmed by the mighty Avengers!”

You were glad to be irrelevant in the conversation again, your little tatters of self esteem were still smoldering after being so thoroughly dashed on your lack of communication skills. The most successful exchange you’d had today was one of the members of the team asking you what you even do to warrant being on the team, though you suspected that maybe that was a more harsh reading of his question than he’d meant.

Robert Reynolds, Bob. The Sentry, or The Void. Supposedly the very strongest on that entire team, but in a sort of arrested development situation. From what you’d gleaned off your own eavesdropping and the information Valentina offered you to try and use to your advantage, Bob - as he preferred to be addressed - had not initially been an active member of the team following the void out on Manhattan. It was only as he grew more listless from being left at base constantly, combined with the burgeoning realization that just because he wasn’t using his more extracurricular power hadn’t negated the part where he’s bullet-proof that they decided to put him on the roster.

Bit of a disaster, at first. Some reports about near void-outs, some things being destroyed that were meant to be preserved. Lots of communication issues. Just the whole gamut of throwing a random- random guy into the middle of active combat. Even training looked to be a bit of a doozy, if the recordings you’d plucked were anything to go by.

It wasn’t that Bob didn’t try, he tried very hard- and what he picked up on he seemed to learn reasonably fast. But the issue came in the fact that- a lot of sparring tended to involve one side losing in order to learn from their mistakes.

Bob can’t… exactly lose. Hard to get the physical element of training by failure when kicking him in the head as hard as you can might actually break your ankle before it bruises his head. So instead of learning instinctively through the pain and the mistakes that cost, Bob has to go about it the long and conscious way. Deliberately taking in the lessons he needs instead of it just becoming imprinted on his dislocated shoulders and broken collarbones.

In spite of this, he sees rather regular combat in the modern day. He’s less of an aggressive force and more of their bulwark. A big living meat shield, bulldozing clean through walls and tearing reinforced doors off their hinges to make progression almost frighteningly convenient. All the while he served as a happy lookout while they took on all the action. He was quite content with this arrangement, it seemed.

He definitely looks different from the initial photos the press released, back when no one knew who the hell this guy was and yet he’d been cloistered into the center of the group of heroes you see now. He’s gained weight and his hair is - well, not short. But certainly shorter than it had been. Curling wildly in these thick ringlets that caress his ears and neck, dangling down in front of his face where he habitually pushes them aside as he speaks, offering timid bits of opinion and potential advice that his team receives with a surprising level of openness. It looks healthy, he looks healthy. More flushed and alert than he had been when those reporters descended like hawks to snap every picture they could get.

“Haikali is the bigger problem,” Valentina cuts into the discussion as it turns about. Drafting up early ideas of how to circumvent Enmises silver bullet for seemingly half of the entire team. “Doyenko might be a problem in combat, but Haikali worked on Riptide back during the blip. The man is a genius and a certified lunatic, if anyone would come into approximation of what we did here with Robert, it would be him. Issue being, it would be a far uglier and more botched serum, and he wouldn’t care. They don’t need to survive long, they just need to get the job done.”

And that was the crux of it, now wasn’t it? Bombs didn’t last beyond one use, they just needed to take everything else out with it.

It sets a sort of unsteadiness throughout the group, even you who sits with your knees to your chest and your chin propped as you parse through the cadence of everyone you are now expected to get to know.

“Terminal, it’s your turn to take it from here. Whatever they need, you get it. Got it?”

“Y-Yes, de Fontaine.” Your eyes squeeze tightly as you response, desperately believing that you don’t sound pathetic as you address her.

“Well, with that in mind. All of you play nice with each other! I have six interviews this week to try and deal with yet another one of your messes.” Valentina had abandoned any false pretenses of amicability, and her clicking heels manage to reach the microphone as she heads for the door.

“We’ll get you more information when they become active again, in the meantime. Do something that seems at least a little heroic, hm?”

When the door closes, you’re left with the crackle of your speakers and the deafening silence of their rigidity. They’re about as happy as you expected them to be, which is absolutely none at all.

This was going to be torture of the worst kind.

[redhoodfucker69]

okay I used to work for a pharmaceutical manager. basically it was a service that directly managed pharmaceutical benefits for insurance companies and also had its own mail order pharmacy. I was a call center representative and I won't get into it but I basically had a mental breakdown and completely ghosted before I got fired. that's beside the point. (people are seriously not meant to be expected to take 90 calls in a fucking eight hour shift. that's like five minutes per call and half of the time it takes five minutes just to get through the fucking HIPAA verification).

in any case. I was the first level customer service agent. the one you talked to so I could figure out what was needed, if I could resolve it, and what dedicated team was necessary to resolve it if I couldn't. dealing with both insurance and pharmacy at the same time meant I needed to be able to answer a lot of difficult questions, especially since we also had a specialty pharmacy on the side that dealt with more complex and highly expensive medications. sometimes it ended up I couldn't answer any questions at all, nor could my company, and I had to waste thirty fucking minutes figuring out who in their actual insurance company I needed to get on the line with so they could talk to them. nightmare job. in any case, the majority of questions and tasks I fielded had to do with the mail order pharmacy.

we tended to use USPS as our dedicated mail company except in special situations like overnight orders or specific refrigerated medications. even without a pharmacy tech license, I was qualified to place those orders. most of our callers were the elderly, because older folks prefer using the phone and talking to people and don't like ordering via automated system. (i don't blame them, when I refill prescriptions, I just jump directly to speak to representative bc who the hell has time to fight with a system that may or may not refill the wrong thing when I can talk to a person, and those systems OFTEN fill the wrong thing, I know from experience, especially when you're on the same medication but adjusting dosages and there's like three separate dosages with qualified refills). so, I would refill. a lot. of medications for old folks.

I cannot express to you based on my experience the absolute importance of having USPS functioning as it should and not privatized. many of these rural communities have no local pharmacy, are miles away from big towns that have them, and are entirely dependent on mail order pharmacies that refill medications every three months on a schedule. there are so many elderly folks stranded out there that have never lived in a big city in their life and rely on their kids living in larger towns to take them to doctor appointments, or dedicated caretakers, or just carpooling. they'll stack all of their appointments for the same day and all hop in a car to go to the city. they need these mail order pharmacies.

mail order pharmacies typically rely on USPS for a reason: privatized parcel delivery companies will often not serve to tiny rural communities. if you're living on a dirt road, you're shit out of luck for delivery. sure, there's some small towns with a physical location, or close enough to a town with a physical location they'll deliver. but not super often, and it also depends. if there's no physical location, but they still do in town deliveries, they'll often refuse to drop off a package that requires a signature due to the cost of whatever is in the package. why? because they don't want to constantly play signature tag with someone where there isn't an immediately available office to go back to with the package. and a lot of these packages require signatures because medications are fucking expensive. so if you want to get your medicine, you gotta drive 30 minutes to over an hour to wherever the hell your package is anyways.

that's where USPS comes in. because it's not for profit, it delivers everywhere, and even if a town doesn't have a post office bc it's got such a tiny population, the next town over will, and they'll deliver.

I cannot express this enough. privatizing the USPS will absolutely fucking kill these small communities, and may actually kill some people before the communities die off. I cannot tell you how many times I had to field calls where they only called once they ran out of maintenance medications waiting on a new batch, even though there's a fairly large buffer zone when ordering directly from the pharmacy where you should have a handful of days, up to a week, leftover when your new medication comes in. they will straight up wait for it to run out before they make the call. combine that with a chaotic post office and it will get out of control fast. they're stubborn and don't want to call their kids or caretakers to go pick up an emergency supply from the nearest pharmacy. I had to sweet talk a LOT of old folks into getting an emergency supply, and not every agent will do that, and even if they do, they won't always be successful. I wasn't always successful. one time I had to talk an old lady into getting an emergency supply for her anti rejection medication for her fucking liver transplant. I wasn't even required nor trained to tell people emergency supplies were something they could get when on the mail order program. in fact, I was told in training I could only say yes when asked the question, and I wasn't supposed to bring it up, bc insurance companies are fucking ghouls that would rather people die than spend a little extra money. many agents will go by the book and NOT bring it up. I didn't want someone's death on my hands, so I made sure to always tell them.

privatizing the postal service will ACTUALLY kill people, and postal workers know this. they talk to people on their regular routes. they get to know them. they see them every day. they're even more chatty with retirees and old folks because they're someone familiar to talk to and a lot of old folks are isolated. they know DAMN well not only their jobs are on the line, but people's lives are at stake here. they know the ins and outs of politics and cost saving measures with privatized parcel delivery services like FedEx and UPS. they know privatizing the post office will inevitably end in some of those old folks they see almost every day and chat to dying and them losing their jobs and benefits. I guarantee you a lot of the people getting laid off in the first round will be the older drivers that have been with the post office for 20, 30 years now, running the same routes and watching the same folks grow old. the drivers know that too.

so. yeah. this is gonna actually kill people. don't let the post office get privatized. if you see these protests in your city, swing by. you can protest with them, or if you don't have time, drop off unopened cases of bottled water. it's getting hot out here. keep your postal workers hydrated. maybe drop off some donuts for blood sugar. support unions.