#this post was only supposed to be like three bullets!!

[wolveswithhats]

We've talked at length about Kaz Brekker: Hot or Not, now let's talk about how Dirtyhands Does Himself Dirty, aka Kaz is driving his absolute beater of a body into the ground because he has no sense of personal wellness.

Welcome! and thanks for sitting in on my powerpoint presentation, there's a bottle of water under your seat and this complimentary crap art of the creature himself to get us started.

Disclaimer that I have no experience with using a cane, or being a teenage boy, or being a teenage boy that uses a cane, so take this all with a grain of salt.

SO. Cane height:

too tall and you're over-elevating your arm and shoulder and not able to fully support your weight, which is kind of the point?

too short and you need to hunch forward, straining your back

either or has negative bearing on your balance, posture, and gait, and will lead to pain even outside of the original injury site

Important to note because Kaz is def not getting properly sized for a cane right??

that's way too much of an admission of vulnerability and weakness, absolutely unacceptable

it's 1880-whatever fantasy Netherlands and WebMD doesn't exist for him to research the nuances of proper cane use himself, when will the Grisha invent the internet

stealing textbooks from the university is the period-appropriate (and Kaz-endorsed) option, but he has to be mobile for that, and is unlikely to ask someone to do that for him (see above: vulnerability)

it's been three years and growth spurts are a thing but Kaz asking for help is not (see above: weakness), so it's probable he's too tall for it now at 17 anyway

While super cool and iconic, a crow's head handle is unlikely to be particularly ergonomic, potentially leading to issues in his hand/wrist:

nerve compression

tendinitis

carpal tunnel

(Something probably to be said about the negative effects of an extra heavy weighted cane as well since it's as much a weapon as it is a mobility aid, but I'm not going down yet another research hole, I've already spent way too much time on this. Just keep it as a consideration in this running tally of Kaz's myriad of cane-related issues)

Contrary to the reputation he's trying to build for himself, Kaz is a human with human needs. On the daily, as a growing lad he should be

sleeping 8-10 hours

eating 2000+ calories

getting 30-60 min of physical activity

In actuality, Kaz is

absolutely not doing that, he will sleep when he's dead

surviving almost entirely off of a diet of coffee and spite

further aggravating his leg by hobbling up and down three rickety flights of stairs several times a day

engaging in the major league sport of cracking skulls with his cane. (that's some form of exercise maybe I guess??)

really bad at being anything approaching a healthy teenage boy (they eat! so, so much. please, someone Feed Him)

Additionally, while poking around, I found some overlap between the symptoms of the Queen's Lady Plague and smallpox, notably that one of the early stages of smallpox are sores that start in the mouth and throat and become pustulous, ie: Kaz's raspy, damaged voice. I don't think it's smallpox proper (the pitted scarring is so disfiguring that it would be all over his face and body, and immediately identifiable if he had it), it's probably a less aggressive but still very fatal strain of something adjacent in the pox family. Regardless tho, I'm cribbing one of the potential smallpox complications to contribute to my "Kaz is the Saddest, Wettest Dog" thesis: 

arthritis 🙃

I did check as well to see if any of the poxes could permanently weaken the immune system, and it wouldn't seem so; if you live, you bounce back. But that's ok because Kaz is already doing the footwork of taking a wrecking ball to his immune system just fine on his own:

poor nutrition ✔

lack of sleep ✔

stress ✔

Mmm, you are just crushing it, brother.

So I'm not trying to pitch any of this as fact, or throw hands with Leigh Bardugo in the parking lot of a Denny's for having Inej ogle over his ghostly white abs. If you are writing about his broad shoulders and good, good arms, all the more power to you! Maybe he's lifting dumbbells in his office to work that upper bod, no one can tell you he's not. I'm just saying that if you are more for the idea that he is an absolute wet paperbag of a boy (scrawny! sickly! in constant pain! arthritic?? likely to burst into flames if put into direct sunlight!!), there is more than enough to run with to support that argument.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Kickstarting a new Martin Hench novel about the dawn of enshittification

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

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/07/weird-pcs/#a-mormon-bishop-an-orthodox-rabbi-and-a-catholic-priest-walk-into-a-personal-computing-revolution

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. You can pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by @wilwheaton:

http://martinhench.com

This is the third Hench novel, following on from the nationally bestselling The Bezzle (2024) and Red Team Blues (2023). I wrote Red Team Blues with a funny conceit: what if I wrote the final volume of a beloved, long-running series, without writing the rest of the series? Turns out, the answer is: "Your editor will buy a whole bunch more books in the series!"

My solution to this happy conundrum? Write the Hench books out of chronological order. After all, Marty Hench is a financial hacker who's been in Silicon Valley since the days of the first PCs, so he's been there for all the weird scams tech bros have dreamed up since Jobs and Woz were laboring in their garage over the Apple I. He's the Zelig of high-tech fraud! Look hard at any computing-related scandal and you'll find Marty Hench in the picture, quietly and competently unraveling the scheme, dodging lawsuits and bullets with equal aplomb.

Which brings me to Picks and Shovels. In this volume, we travel back to Marty's first job, in the 1980s – the weird and heroic era of the PC. Marty ended up in the Bay Area after he flunked out of an MIT computer science degree (he was too busy programming computers to do his classwork), and earning his CPA at a community college.

Silicon Valley in the early eighties was wild: Reaganomics stalked the land, the AIDS crisis was in full swing, the Dead Kennedys played every weekend, and man were the PCs ever weird. This was before the industry crystalized into Mac vs PC, back when no one knew what they were supposed to look like, who was supposed to use them, and what they were for.

Marty's first job is working for one of the weirder companies: Fidelity Computing. They sound like a joke: a computer company run by a Mormon bishop, a Catholic priest and an orthodox rabbi. But the joke's on their customers, because Fidelity Computing is a scam: a pyramid sales cult that exploits religious affinities to sell junk PCs that are designed to lock customers in and squeeze them for every dime. A Fidelity printer only works with Fidelity printer paper (they've gimmicked the sprockets on the tractor-feed). A Fidelity floppy drive only accepts Fidelity floppies (every disk is sold with a single, scratched-out sector and the drives check for an error on that sector every time they run).

Marty figures out he's working for the bad guys when they ask him to destroy Computing Freedom, a scrappy rival startup founded by three women who've escaped from Fidelity Computing's cult: a queer orthodox woman who's been kicked out of her family; a radical nun who's thrown in with the Liberation Theology movement in opposing America's Dirty Wars; and a Mormon woman who's quit the church in disgust at its opposition to the Equal Rights Amendment. The women of Computing Freedom have a (ahem) holy mission: to free every Fidelity customer from the prison they were lured into.

Marty may be young and inexperienced, but he can spot a rebel alliance from a light year away and he knows what side he wants to be on. He joins the women in their mission, and we're deep into a computing war that quickly turns into a shooting war. Turns out the Reverend Sirs of Fidelity Computer aren't just scammers – they're mobbed up, and willing to turn to lethal violence to defend their racket.

This is a rollicking crime thriller, a science fiction novel about the dawn of the computing revolution. It's an archaeological expedition to uncover the fossil record of the first emergence of enshittification, a phenomenon that was born with the PC and its evil twin, the Reagan Revolution.

The book comes out on Feb 15 in hardcover and ebook from Macmillan (US/Canada) and Bloomsbury (UK), but neither publisher is doing the audiobook. That's my department.

Why? Well, I love audiobooks, and I especially love the audiobooks for this series, because they're read by the incredible Wil Wheaton, hands down my favorite audiobook narrator. But that's not why I retain my audiobook rights and produce my own audiobooks. I do that because Amazon's Audible service refuses to carry any of my audiobooks.

Here's how that works: Audible is a division of Amazon, and they've illegally obtained a monopoly over the audiobook market, controlling more than 90% of audiobook sales in many genres. That means that if your book isn't for sale on Audible, it might as well not exist.

But Amazon won't let you sell your books on Audible unless you let them wrap those books in "digital rights management," a kind of encryption that locks them to Audible's authorized players. Under Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, it's a felony punishable with a 5-year sentence and a $500k fine to supply you with a tool to remove an audiobook from Audible and play it on a rival app. That applies even if the person who gives you the tool is the creator of the book!

You read that right: if I make an audiobook and then give you the tools to move it out of Amazon's walled garden, I could go to prison for five years! That's a stiffer sentence than you'd face if you were to just pirate the audiobook. It's a harsher penalty than you'd get for shoplifting the book on CD from a truck-stop. It's more draconian than the penalty for hijacking the truck that delivers the CDs!

Amazon knows that every time you buy an audiobook from Audible, you increase the cost you'll have to pay if you switch to a competitor. They use that fact to give readers a worse deal (last year they tried out ads in audiobooks!). But the people who really suffer under this arrangement are the writers, whom Amazon abuses with abandon, knowing they can't afford to leave the service because their readers are locked into it. That's why Amazon felt they could get away with stealing $100 million from indie audiobook creators (and yup, they got away with it):

https://www.audiblegate.com/about

Which is why none of my books can be sold with DRM. And that means that Audible won't carry any of them.

For more than a decade, I've been making my own audiobooks, in partnership with the wonderful studio Skyboat Media and their brilliant director, Gabrielle de Cuir:

https://skyboatmedia.com/

I pay fantastic narrators a fair wage for their work, then I pay John Taylor Williams, the engineer who masters my podcasts, to edit the books and compose bed music for the intro and outro. Then I sell the books at every store in the world – except Audible and Apple, who both have mandatory DRM. Because fuck DRM.

Paying everyone a fair wage is expensive. It's worth it: the books are great. But even though my books are sold at many stores online, being frozen out of Audible means that the sales barely register.

That's why I do these Kickstarter campaigns, to pre-sell thousands of audiobooks in advance of the release. I've done six of these now, and each one was a huge success, inspiring others to strike out on their own, sometimes with spectacular results:

https://www.usatoday.com/story/entertainment/books/2022/04/01/brandon-sanderson-kickstarter-41-million-new-books/7243531001/

Today, I've launched the Kickstarter for Picks and Shovels. I'm selling the audiobook and ebook in DRM-form, without any "terms of service" or "license agreement." That means they're just like a print book: you buy them, you own them. You can read them on any equipment you choose to. You can sell them, give them away, or lend them to friends. Rather than making you submit to 20,000 words of insulting legalese, all I ask of you is that you don't violate copyright law. I trust you!

Speaking of print books: I'm also pre-selling the hardcover of Picks and Shovels and the paperbacks of The Bezzle and Red Team Blues, the other two Marty Hench books. I'll even sign and personalize them for you!

http://martinhench.com

I'm also offering five chances to commission your own Marty Hench story – pick your favorite high-tech finance scam from the past 40 years of tech history, and I'll have Marty bust it in a custom short story. Once the story is published, I'll make sure you get credit. Check out these two cool Little Brother stories my previous Kickstarter backers commissioned:

Spill

https://reactormag.com/spill-cory-doctorow/

Vigilant

https://reactormag.com/vigilant-cory-doctorow/

I'm heading out on tour this winter and spring with the book. I'll be in LA, San Francisco, San Diego, Burbank, Bloomington, Chicago, Richmond VA, Toronto, NYC, Boston, Austin, DC, Baltimore, Seattle, and other dates still added. I've got an incredible roster of conversation partners lined up, too: John Hodgman, Charlie Jane Anders, Dan Savage, Ken Liu, Peter Sagal, Wil Wheaton, and others.

I hope you'll check out this book, and come out to see me on tour and say hi. Before I go, I want to leave you with some words of advance praise for Picks and Shovels:

I hugely enjoyed Picks and Shovels. Cory Doctorow’s reconstruction of the age is note perfect: the detail, the atmosphere, ethos, flavour and smell of the age is perfectly conveyed. I love Marty and Art and all the main characters. The hope and the thrill that marks the opening section. The superb way he tells the story of the rise of Silicon Valley (to use the lazy metonym), inserting the stories of Shockley, IBM vs US Government, the rise of MS – all without turning journalistic or preachy.

The seeds of enshittification are all there… even in the sunlight of that time the shadows are lengthening. AIDS of course, and the coming scum tide of VCs. In Orwellian terms, the pigs are already rising up on two feet and starting to wear trousers. All that hope, all those ideals…

I love too the thesis that San Francisco always has failed and always will fail her suitors.

Despite cultural entropy, enshittification, corruption, greed and all the betrayals there’s a core of hope and honour in the story too.

-Stephen Fry

Cory Doctorow writes as few authors do, with tech world savvy and real world moral clarity. A true storyteller for our times.

-John Scalzi

A crackling, page-turning tumble into an unexpected underworld of queer coders, Mission burritos, and hacker nuns. You will fall in love with the righteous underdogs of Computing Freedom—and feel right at home in the holy place Doctorow has built for them far from Silicon Valley’s grabby, greedy hands."

-Claire Evans, editor of Motherboard Future, author of Broad Band: The Untold Story of the Women Who Made the Internet.

"Wonderful…evokes the hacker spirit of the early personal computer era—and shows how the battle for software freedom is eternal."

-Steven Levy, author of Hackers: Heroes of the Computer Revolution and Facebook: The Inside Story.

What could be better than a Martin Hench thriller set in 1980s San Francisco that mixes punk rock romance with Lotus spreadsheets, dot matrix printers and religious orders? You'll eat this up – I sure did.

-Tim Wu, Special Assistant to the President for Technology and Competition Policy, author of The Master Switch: The Rise and Fall of Information Empires

Captures the look and feel of the PC era. Cory Doctorow draws a portrait of a Silicon Valley and San Francisco before the tech bros showed up — a startup world driven as much by open source ideals as venture capital gold.

-John Markoff, Pulitzer-winning tech columnist for the New York Times and author of What the Doormouse Said: How the Sixties Counterculture Shaped the Personal Computer Industry

You won't put this book down – it's too much fun. I was there when it all began. Doctorow's characters and their story are real.

-Dan'l Lewin, CEO and President of the Computer History Museum

[navybrat817]

Puppy Dog Eyes

Pairing: William Miller x Female Reader

Summary: Will feels betrayed by someone he thought was his ally.

Word Count: Over 1k

Warnings: Fluff, humor, established relationship, talk of threats and interrogation, slight feels (it's me, okay?), William Miller (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Inspired by this post @ghotifishreads tagged me in. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Will counted the seconds in his mind as he stared his adversary down. Someone he should've considered an ally. Maybe even a friend. But now? He didn't recognize the beast in front of him.

He was used to people playing dirty behind enemy lines, but this? Betrayal in familiar territory? The sting was like a bullet to the gut.

“Before you test my resolve, I want you to know that I have forty three confirmed kills.”

A huff was the only reply he got.

Crouching down so he was at eye level, he huffed, too. His enemy was much smaller in size, but looks could be deceiving. “Now, I’m not going to hurt you. It wouldn't do either of us any good,” he said, tapping a finger against his thigh. “I just want to know why.”

He didn't get an answer. Only a defiant stare. The silent treatment. That was fine. Nothing he hadn't faced before. He had ways to make enemies talk if it came to that. And the puppy dog eyes wouldn't garner sympathy from him.

Battle had hardened him too much for that.

Shut down. Control. Manipulate. That’s what he did with his human instincts until he completed his mission.

Will continued the staring contest until the smaller one whined. It wasn't an answer, but it was a start. “You made this personal, you know. And I’ll throw you out in the rain if you push your luck,” he threatened, tilting his head to maintain eye contact. “No. You don't get to look away. Not after what you did. After I took you into my home.”

And how did he repay him?

“Honey?”

Your voice pulled Will’s attention away from the task at hand. “Yeah, baby?”

You leaned against the doorway, a smile tugging at your kissable lips. “Are you interrogating Bandit?”

Bandit, the puppy Benny got weeks ago. The puppy you offered to watch since his brother was going out of town for a few days and he didn't want to board him. The same little rascal who chewed up a pair of tennis shoes. New tennis shoes.

And hadn't touched a single one of his chew toys.

Will nodded to his ruined shoes. “You saw what he did.”

“I did and I'm sorry,” you said, though you had no reason to apologize. It wasn't like you chewed them up. “He’s a puppy and they’re going to do those kinds of things from time to time. Is it really worthy of an interrogation?”

“Yes, it is.” Bandit swung his head toward you and whimpered. “No, don’t you-”

“Aww. Is the former Captain bothering you?” You walked over and scooped him into your arms. The light golden puppy snuggled close, but looked at Will like he was taunting him. You had a soft spot for dogs and Bandit sensed that. Used it to his advantage.

“Taking his side?”

“I’m always on your side, Will,” you said, softening his resolve. “Now, Bandit, you know you aren't supposed to do that. Play with your toys, not shoes. Okay?”

Bandit barked. He actually barked for you. How did you do that?

“And apologize to Will,” you urged.

He barked again.

“Good boy,” you smiled as Will stood up and crossed his arms. “And don't worry, we won't throw you out in the rain.”

“I still might just to teach him a lesson,” Will half teased. “Or I can just put him in his cage.”

Bandit whined and hid his face. “Don’t you dare. He’s a puppy, not a soldier. And you were happy with watching him until now. Besides, he said he was sorry,” you said, giving Will your own set of puppy dog eyes.

You had a point. Bandit was a pretty well-behaved puppy, all things considered. He didn't bite. Didn't make a mess when he ate. Went to the door when he had to go outside. And he seemed content to sleep in his dog bed and didn't demand to sleep with the two of you.

“Fine. No cage,” he relented.

“Thank you. And I’m sure Benny will buy you a new pair of shoes once he gets back,” you added.

“Maybe,” he said. He wouldn't hold his breath to get new shoes or money for the damage done. He may be Benny’s big brother, but Benny adored his puppy and would likely blame him for leaving them out in the first place. He had a routine though. He put his shoes in the same spot after he exercised.

To be fair, he should've been more careful. He would be in the future. If anything, he could try to see the positive side of things and use this as a learning experience. That's what you tried to do when you ran into unfortunate situations.

“Is it a bad time to suggest we get our own puppy?” You asked, smiling as you lifted Bandit up higher and put his cheek against yours. “Chewed up shoes and a scratched up couch aside, it might be nice.”

Dogs did make for great companions. He’d be lying if he said he hadn't pictured the two of you having a kid and a dog for them to grow up with. Someone who would be a friend to and watch over his child.

“What do you think?” You smiled when he stayed quiet for too long.

He softly smiled. Most people couldn't sway him to do anything, but you had a way about you. Maybe it was because he loved you. “I’ll think about it.”

You put Bandit down before you leaned in and brushed your lips against Will’s. “Thank you.”

He went in for another kiss, but stopped when the words fully registered. “Wait.” He narrowed his eyes. “Did you say scratched up couch?”

“...Did I say that? I don't recall.”

“I remember everything you’ve ever said to me,” he told you.

You put a hand over your heart. “That is so romantic.”

“And you said ‘chewed up shoes and a scratched up couch aside, it might be nice’, so what exactly did he do to our couch?”

Your eyes widened as you took a step back. “Run, Bandit!”

And he did.

I couldn't help myself. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[yourstru1y4ever]

Day 18 - Hiding an injury

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x F!Reader Word Count: 2.6k Content: Hidden Inventory Arc, canon typical violence (blood, passing out, becoming paralyzed), Gojo is a total asshole through most of this (sorry not sorry), Reader is in her first year at Jujutsu High along with Nanami and Haibara Tuna-Tober 2024 Masterlist <- check out the other fics posted this month!

A/N: So I’m stealing this prompt from the day 15 list because I really liked the idea of hiding an injury and I wanted to play with that here. Anyone who's curious about where in Hidden Inventory this takes place it would be in June 2006! Anywho be sure to like, reblog and comment if you want more! - YoursTruly

No one is going to help you out.

“Damn it!” You grumble. Of course the mission that the second years are supervising is the one where you, Nanami and Haibara get trapped in an incomplete domain.

The three of you were told that there was a second grade curse who could manipulate other people’s realities. The longer it was alive the stronger it would become. Granted it wasn’t supposed to be your curse to exorcize.

“A measly second grade?” Gojo whined. “Do you want us to immediately wipe it out? Give the case to someone else!” 

Gojo slouched over his desk in annoyance, while Yaga huffs out a sigh.

You and Nanami were sparring out by the track field and Haibara was keeping track of who was winning when you all overheard Gojo from the classroom.

Nanami rolled his eyes and brought his blade up towards you. Shaking your head, you spun the bamboo pole around your hands and pointed it towards him. He swung and you blocked his attack, looking for any opening to strike him.

Yaga glared at him, “Satoru is right, as much as I don’t want to feed his ego.” Geto agreed, “This curse is way too weak for us.”

Gojo brought his gaze to you and Nanami sparring. You were blocking every single hit from Nanami and you were starting to look bored.

“Why don’t we give it to the three of them?” Gojo blurted out.

Yaga followed Gojo’s gaze and took a deep breath in contemplation. “They’re still pretty weak, it’s only been a month since coming to Jujutsu High.” 

“We’ll watch over them.” Geto reasoned, “There’s plenty that they can learn from us out in the field.” 

And now you’re stuck in an incomplete domain because of their lazy asses.

You wanted to stick together as a group but due to the curse’s technique it separated you three from each other.

Maybe if Gojo wasn’t bothering you the entire bullet train ride over, you would’ve been able to sense the curse much better. 

There’s not much you can do about it now, you need to find the entrance. If the curse is strong enough to trap you in this twisted domain, then it’s strong enough to cause you serious damage. 

You can’t retrace your steps, when you look behind there’s just a vast emptiness. Looking ahead isn’t much better; it’s still a vast emptiness but you can see some semblance of walls trying to form around you.

No curses are surrounding you so you just keep walking forward. Staying still will get you killed. It had to be at least an hour since you guys had entered the domain, Geto and Gojo should’ve gotten you guys at this point. What’s taking them so long?

The walls are slowly taking more of a shape and you suddenly stop. Looking down, your feet are stuck in a viscous liquid. You’re unable to move from where you stand and you start to feel a prickling sensation at your feet.

“Damn it!” You yell. You can feel your frustration building up in your body and turning into raw cursed energy. Breathe. Conserve that energy, don’t waste it.

You close your eyes and focus your energy. Try to feel your surroundings, gauge where the curse is located. 

It’s an overwhelming presence, it feels like the curse is all around you. It has to be the domain you’re sensing. Dig deeper.

You can feel your heart beating and the blood flowing through your veins. You try to find any feeling similar to yours. 

A few moments pass by where you’re completely still, seemingly unaware of the presence that was slowly trudging towards you.

A claw swings down towards your face, “f o u n d. y o u.”

You lean back from the claw, eyes still closed but scrunched in a focus. While leaning back you focus your cursed energy to your right fist, a splattering of black and blue covering your arm.

You open your eyes and land the blow on its face. “Divergent Fist!” 

It tanks the hit, and gets pushed back when your cursed energy surges through the punch a few milliseconds after the initial hit.

The curse disperses around the room and the energy output it was spewing out grew stronger. The liquid you are stuck in is slowly creeping its way up your legs, making you more immobile.

You close your eyes again and focus on your breathing. Look defenseless, the curse will come back.

The curse’s overwhelming presence doesn’t bother you anymore. You can feel the blood moving in its body; it’s different from human blood that much you can tell.

Its weak point is now around your legs, the blood coursing through and trying to digest you. Your face twists in concentration and you can vaguely sense everyone else you were with. 

They- they’re outside!

SLASH! You barely dodge the curse’s attack, but your reaction could have been faster. You feel your right shoulder throbbing and a steady flow of blood coming out. You bring your left hand up to start putting pressure on the wound.

You needed to keep your arms up anyways since the goop is now at your hips and slowly climbing higher.

You’re the only one stuck in this incomplete domain. You can outsmart this curse. Desperate times come desperate measures.

You focus your cursed energy to flow through the bottom half of your body and you try your hardest to push your legs through the sludge.

With a lot of force your legs become free, small pin pricks lining your uniform. Run, escape, get outside. You need to see your family again.

With that thought, your legs had a dark blue outline that turned red from raw cursed energy. While Yaga trained you to keep your cursed energy more focused and balanced, you figured he would allow this exception.

As your raw energy flowed you picked up the pace, outrunning the curse. You bring the energy that flowed from your legs into your fists, never losing momentum.

With as much energy you could muster you bring your fist to a half-formed wall, “Black-!” You jump and your fist makes contact-

CRASH! “-FLASH!!” You crash through the domain, shards of the cursed energy shatter around you and you’re falling. Your hand opens up and you roll onto the ground, laying flat on your back with the wind knocked out of you.

Your body aches and you shakily bring a hand up to your right shoulder. You shift, feeling the curse still in the area. Just because you broke out of its incomplete domain, doesn’t mean that you’ve won.

“Damn. . . it. . .” You breathe out. Your legs are immobile at this point, realization sinking in when the curse poisoned you with that goop around your legs.

You can sense the curse still slinking around, waiting to finish you off but you can vaguely feel Haibara and Nanami closing in on your location. You smile and try to lean to your left side.

When you move, the curse picks up its speed to attack. Your smile doesn’t wane, if anything it gets wider.

The curse forms itself into a creature with multiple limbs, its mouth agape, leaking out purple blood. It’s charging at full speed towards you and you bring your hand up trying to give yourself some sort of protection.

You make eye contact with the curse and start laughing, “You’re. . . dead.” you huff out. Two fingers curl into your palm and the hand you had facing the curse becomes a finger gun. 

You pretend to shoot at it and the curse’s limbs fall off.

You become slack-jawed, looking down at your finger gun.

“Did I just do that?” You mutter. You feel a pair of arms wrap around your torso, lifting you up into a sitting position.

“Nah it was Nanami,” Haibara tells you, “Can you stand?”

“No. My legs are paralyzed from the curse’s poison.” You look over and see Nanami focused on the fight in front of him. Haibara walks in front of you, his back to you and kneels down.

He pats his back, “Hop on!” And you sulk while putting your hands on his shoulders 

“This is humiliating,” you say under your breath.

“Huh?” Haibara looks back at you and you hoist yourself onto his back.

“I said you should be helping Nanami.”

Haibara turns his attention back to the fight and gently picks up your legs to wrap around his torso.

He stands, “Nah Kento’s got it, plus Geto and Gojo should be here any second now.”

You scoff, “Uh-huh.”

You hear a squelching sound and the curse is exorcized by Nanami.

You rest your head on Haibara’s shoulder and allow yourself a moment of peace.

“Great work Kento!!” Haibara beams.

Nanami cleans off his blade, and wraps it up, “I wouldn’t have been able to exorcize it without your help.” He gestures towards you.

You weakly smile at him and your eyes flutter close.

“Hey come on stay awake!” Haibara shakes and you groan in frustration.

”I’m fine, I just-“ You freeze and whip your head to your left. Eyes focused on something the other two couldn’t see.

“What is it?”  “How many?” They overlap, you stay quiet and they wait for your response.

Nanami unwrapped his blade again, getting into a fighting position as Haibara took a firmer grip on your legs. His carefree smile turned into a more serious look.

“Two more curses, both are maybe a third or fourth grade.” You tell them and they visibly relax.

“Well if that’s the case-“ Haibara looks at Nanami and the blond rolls his eyes.

“No.”

“What?!“ Haibara pouts, “Come on, you owe me!”

You’re still looking at the oncoming curses, but something feels off. 

“. . .Fine.”

Gojo and Geto were here too, right? So that would mean what you are feeling Geto’s-

“Rock! Paper! Scissors!-”

“DUCK!”  You push down on Haibara’s shoulders and Nanami follows. You all land on the ground right as Geto’s rainbow dragon comes blasting through, destroying all the greenery you were surrounded by. The two boys hop off the dragon's back and Geto sends it away.

Motherfuckers-

“Maaaaaan, you first years got roughed up pretty bad, wouldn’t you say Suguru?”

“The curse should've been an easy task,“ Geto walks up to the pile of you on the ground, you glare at the two boys who are smirking.

Haibara slowly gets up and helps get you on his back again as you stare down the two upperclassmen. 

“The curse was able to create an incomplete domain, we were trapped as soon as we went inside the veil Haibara created.” Nanami informs them.

Geto shares a look with Gojo who still has a carefree smile on his face.

“An incomplete domain?” Geto pushes.

Nanami nods his head, “Yes, we would’ve been dead if she hadn’t broken through the domain.” The upperclassmen still.

Gojo turns and gives his attention to you, “You broke out of its domain? You?”

“I thought you guys had escaped!” You ignore Gojo’s question, “I sensed your cursed energy outside of its domain.”

“Uh, hello?”

“Nah we were stuck fighting these fourth grade curses. They just kept coming and coming; they were never ending!” Haibara complains.

Nanami nods his head once, “At least it gave us good training on target practice.”

“Hello? I asked a quest-!”

You cut him off, sighing, and barely look in his direction, “Yeah I did, so?”

“How?”

“Uhm. . .” You close your eyes and try to remember. Despite being in that fight mere minutes ago you can’t seem to remember, “I’m not sure.”

“HA?!”

Your shoulder throbs and you wince in pain, “You okay?” Geto asks.

“Just. . . fine. . .” You groan. Black spots start to appear in your vision and your grip on Haibara’s shoulders loosen. 

“Hey! Stay awake!!” Is the last thing you remember before passing out.

When you open your eyes, you’re back at Jujutsu High in one of the medical dorms. Your right shoulder is bandaged up and you notice that the cuts on your hands are gone as well as Gojo holding onto your left hand. He’s looking away from you, his head on your lap, fast asleep.

You use your other hand to gently card your fingers through his hair but Geto walks into the room, holding some tea. He gives you a knowing smile as you set your right hand down, a light blush on your cheeks.

“I see you’re awake.”

“How long was I out?” You try to sit up, but the lower half of your body still feels like mush. Gojo groans at you moving, but still stays asleep.

“For a few days at least,” Geto moves to the other side of your bed, “He’s been here since waiting for you to wake up y’know.”

“Oh.” You both glance at Gojo, who’s still resting. 

“We didn’t realize how much blood you were losing,” You turn to look at Geto, who’s avoiding your gaze.

“It’s not anyone’s fault,” You tell him and the corners of his mouth dip down for a moment before he gives you another smile.

“All that matters is that you’re safe.” You nod at that, but can’t help but still feel tension in the air. Sorcerer’s like you are a dime a dozen. They shouldn’t have been this upset at you getting hurt. It’s a small price to pay when dealing with curses.

“I should tell Shoko and the other’s that you’re awake.” Geto starts to leave the room, “They’ll probably ask you questions of things you remember and make sure that your vitals are alright; stuff like that.” He waves his hand as a silent goodbye as he leaves the room.

You lean your head back and look up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of everything. Why did any of them care?

Your legs are still slightly paralyzed from the curse, so you don’t feel Gojo stirring. He slowly blinks awake, eyes widening realizing you're okay. Thank God.

He wants to say something, anything, but when he opens his mouth nothing comes out. He looks down and sees that you’re still holding his hand. He squeezes your hand and smiles. You look back at him and he can see a faint blush on your checks, cute. 

“I’m sorry?” You tilt your head to the side and Gojo gives you a look.

“What?”

“I thought you said-,” You look down at your lap as Gojo lets go of your hand and stands up to stretch. His hand was so warm and without it just feels wrong.

“I didn’t say anything.” He crosses his arms and looks away from you, hoping you wouldn’t notice that the tips of his ears are slightly pink.

“You probably said something stupid,” Shoko tells him as she enters the room. She gives you a smile, “Glad to see you’re awake.”

“Glad to be awake.” You give her a smile back. 

Shoko nods her head and starts her examination while Gojo stays beside you, not saying a word or acknowledging you.

However, Gojo doesn’t actually leave your side until after you go back to your dorm, which took most of the day. He quietly helped you walk back to the dorm, since your legs were still recovering from the poison, and made sure that Haibara or Nanami would bring you something to eat.

But of course Gojo went back to his usual asshole-ish self once you were fully healed and back in class. 

You wondered if that would ever change. . . though you seriously doubted that.

[sister-lucifer]

A Bullet in the Chamber

Proxies (Hoodie, Masky, Toby) x Gender Neutral Reader

Genre: Horror/Dark Angst 

Summary: They want you to prove your love, to prove that you truly believe you’re meant to be together…with the help of Tim’s revolver, of course.

Content/Warnings: God, where do I start…obviously massive use of a gun, they play russian roulette, descriptions of gore, the proxies are super manipulative and emotionally abusive to reader, just a super obsessive not healthy relationship, this is NOT a feel good fic, it’s implied reader is being held captive 

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

“We just wanna…play a little game with you, that’s all,” Tim drawls, his voice deep and lazy as he looks at you from behind his mask. 

You’re nervous suddenly. Unbearably nervous. A cold chill runs throughout your body and makes your stomach convulse in an agonizing manner, and you don’t know if you’re going to vomit or pass out first. You don’t know why. He’s only just started speaking. Maybe it’s the way he drew out the last part of that sentence, or the way he immediately tried to soothe you before you’ve even fully understood what’s going on, or just that look in his eyes that says ‘I want to fucking gut you.’ 

There’s a reason you learned to keep your guard up around these three.

Suddenly the little circle you’re all sitting in on the floor feels much, much tighter than is comfortable, and it doesn’t help that Toby slides in closer, bumping your shoulder with his and flashing you a knowing smirk. What exactly he knows, though, is a horrific enigma to you.

Brian is on your other side, and although he doesn’t move, for a split second he glances at you out of the corner of his eye before his gaze returns to Tim. He’s managing to hold a straight face, but you can see the corners of his mouth just barely twitching as he internally fights to keep the emotion bubbling beneath the surface at bay.

There’s silence for a few moments, you’re not sure how long, but you don’t realize they’re waiting for you to speak until Toby nudges you.

“I, uh…what, um— what kind of game…?” You stammer, immediately regretting your question despite the curiosity that’s gnawing at you like a starving animal. You shudder when Toby giggles, clearly trying to stifle the sound as he bumps your shoulder again. 

Tim thinks over his answer for a moment, scratching at his stubble in a manner that is far too casual. You think he’s going to speak, you’re expecting it, but he doesn’t say anything at first beyond a tired sounding sigh. Your eyes are locked onto his hand as it reaches behind him, and when it emerges once more it’s holding onto the grip of Tim’s revolver. 

“There’s one bullet in the chamber.” 

The world is spinning suddenly as you watch him place the weapon on the ground, and the sound of it sliding across the floor to you makes you sick. You bite back a gag as it slows to a stop in front of you. Your mouth hangs open uselessly as you struggle for words, desperate to pull out some sort of protest to what you know he wants but no sound comes. 

They watch you grapple with yourself for a few moments before Brian places a hand on your knee. It’s supposed to be a comforting gesture, and normally it would be, but now it feels like a threat. 

“Hey, don’t freak out so soon,” He says, lips curled into a subtle smirk, “We did this all the time when we were younger, it’s practically a rite of passage.”

Unsurprisingly, this does little to quell your fears. You’re shaking now, unable to wrap your mind around how they could be acting so nonchalant about putting your lives on the line like this.

“Listen,” Tim huffs, “I’m gonna be straight with ya, kid. We know how you’ve been feeling recently.” 

That hardly narrows it down. You’ve been feeling a lot of things recently, none of it good and all of it confusing. That’s just the sort of conflict born from this kind of captivity. You shrug, unsure what to say. 

“We know you w-wanna leave,” Toby clarifies, “I saw you staring out t-the window the other day…you just s-sat there for hours.” 

That…made you feel a bit guilty. You shouldn’t, but you do. You could’ve at least made it less obvious. 

“We trust you, hon,” Brian adds with a nod, “But we also think we could all use a little…what did you call it?”

He turns to Tim, who yawns before answering. 

“…Group bonding.” 

You shudder at the phrase. Disgusting. 

“I…I don’t think this is the best way to…t-to do that,” You murmur, but your words hold no weight when you can’t even look them in the eyes. You’d never take the risk of making any sort of real fuss anyways.

Tim shrugs, seeming to consider your words. 

“How would you do it, then?” 

You…don’t have an answer for that. Why don’t you have an answer for that? 

“I-I don’t know, I mean…can’t we just have awkward group sex like other, uh…groups, or whatever?” You ask, hesitating to call your dynamic any sort of relationship.

You make sure to tack on a nervous laugh at the end to make it seem lighthearted, but no one is amused. Toby giggles, but he’s laughing at you, and it’s painfully obvious. 

“Don’t stress about it,” Tim says, “Just think of it as a…a test, you know?” 

He sighs when you shake your head no.

“Ya know, like…a way of proving yourself. I mean, you trust us, right?” 

You hesitate to answer that, but nod quickly when Tim narrows his eyes at you. 

“Good. Well, think of it this way: if we all survive this, it’s a sign that we’re…meant to be together.”

“There has to be a better way—“ You blurt out before you can stop yourself, and Brian instantly takes to calming you. 

He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into his side. His other hand comes up to your face, holding your head against his shoulder.

“Calm down, baby,” He says softly, “Don’t jump ship so fast. I told you, we’ve all done this before. We’ll even go first to show you there’s nothing to be afraid of, alright?”

He’s not really giving you a choice. 

You nod.

Maybe you’ll be able to just get this over with. If you sit here for much longer, you’re gonna be sick. 

Toby reaches out to grab the gun first. That doesn’t surprise you at all. He’s never been one for forethought, or common sense in general. One day his hubris will get him killed, you think, but for once you’re hoping it won’t be today. 

Not today. 

Not here.

Not right in front of you. 

Brian doesn’t let you go, continuing to hold you against him as Toby makes a show of spinning the chamber, letting it run until it stops on its own. He giggles with deranged amusement as he presses the end of the barrel to the bottom of his chin, looking back at Tim with a crooked grin. 

There’s silent for a few moments, and you can’t look away from him until you follow his gaze to Tim, who is staring back with furrowed brows.

He’s still for a beat, and then he nods. 

A signal. 

Go. 

You have a split second to process Toby preparing to pull the trigger before you bury your face in Brian’s hoodie and he, in turn, covers your face with his hand and squeezes you tight. It’s hardly comforting, but it’s better than nothing. 

The soft click of the trigger seems to echo endlessly in the silence that follows. 

Silence. 

You quickly look back up and are immediately met with Toby’s hazel eyes looking back at you, their corners crinkled with the wide smile that’s spread across his pale face. 

“Lookie there,” He drawls with a laugh, “This h-handsome face is still in tact.” 

“Hardly the better outcome,” Tim mutters with a roll of his eyes.

This prompts Toby to slide the gun to him next, crossing his arms in feigned hurt. 

“You go n-next then, wise guy. If you blow y-your brains out, at least we’ll know you h-had one.” 

“Shut up,” Tim hisses back as he, too, brings his hand up to spin the chamber of the revolver. You’re still trying to catch your breath. You didn’t think they’d be so eager. 

You’re gripping onto Brian’s hoodie so tightly your knuckles burn as you watch Tim press the barrel of the gun to his jaw, angling it upwards toward the dome of his skull.

He’s not nearly as giddy as Toby. He’s straight faced and silent, which isn’t odd, but something in his eyes is darker than you ever remember it being. You can only see his eyes with his mask on, yet you know his expression exactly. He’s staring right at you, and you’re imagining his brains dashed against the wall behind him, his face and any identifying features that once made him human reduced to a splatter of viscera that barely resembles the pieces of a person. 

And when it’s all over, you think, you’ll surely be the one left to clean the mess of what used to be Tim. You’ll be left to scrub the red stains from the floorboards while the others continue on as if nothing has happened, and suddenly you can’t breathe.

The world stills as once more the trigger is pulled with a click.

Then relief hits you like a shockwave when that click is followed by silence.

Silence.

Your lungs fill faster than you were ready for, and you cough and sputter as your chest heaves with newfound breath. Brian rubs your shoulder gently, his other hand reaching out to grab the revolver as Tim slides it to him. The gun is exchanged without a word, only piercing eye contact as Brian lifts the weapon and spins the chamber, just as his companions had done before him. 

It seems so natural for all of them. In the half a second it takes for Brian to lift the gun you wonder how many times they’ve done this, if you’re the first  person to witness this ritual, and if not, what happened to those who came before you. 

You don’t find any hope of getting answers, though, as you watch Brian press the barrel to the side of his head. He gives you a squeeze, and you can’t tell if he’s assuring you or saying goodbye just in case. 

You still haven’t released his hoodie despite the throbbing pain in your fingers. You’re barely a thread away from tearing out a patch, but you can’t let go. You don’t look at him this time, unable to pull your head away from where it rests on his shoulder. You wrap your arms around him and squeeze like you’re trying to crush him, but he only lets out a breathy chuckle and ruffles your hair in response as if he’s amused by your terror. You’re a scared kid to him, a foolish little child running from an imaginary monster despite the very real threat. 

You can hear his hoodie shifting as he adjusts the position of the gun. You can hear the slight scratching against his hair as the barrel moves against his head. You can hear him suck in a quick breath as he readies himself to pull the trigger. 

You hear the click. 

And then silence. 

Silence.

You’ve never been so grateful for silence. 

You nearly jump out of your skin when Toby claps and laughs loudly, practically howling with wildly misplaced celebration. He shakes you in his excitement, unable to get any intelligible words out through his giggling. 

“Shhh,” Brian says with a finger to his lips, “We’re not done yet.”

He’s right. Goddamnit, he’s right. Not everyone has played yet. You were hoping that maybe just this once the higher being that trapped you in this hell would have this minuscule mercy on you, but you were met with a resounding no. 

Brian places the gun on the floor in front of you. You can’t hear the sound of the metal gently knocking against the wood floor, but it makes you feel ice cold. Your world is rapidly going dark as you struggle to make yourself breathe. 

You can feel the others’ eyes on you, three pairs of eyes staring right at you and boring a hole through your skull that’ll surely be identical to the one the bullet will leave. Maybe they’re imagining it, too. 

It seems you’re not moving fast enough for them.

Toby reaches out and grabs your wrist a bit too roughly, forcefully placing your hand on the gun. You wince like you expect it to burn, but you’re left with only the cruel sensation of metal on your palm. 

You weakly curl your fingers around the grip of the gun. It feels impossibly heavy as you lift it, trembling like a leaf in the wind. You force your other hand up, placing two fingers on the chamber of the revolver as you prepare to spin it.

You press the pads of your fingers against the metal, pushing down in an attempt to spin, but the gun slips from your shaking hands and clatters to the floor. You yelp in surprise and clamp your hands over your mouth, tears suddenly forming in your eyes but refusing to flow over. 

Brian sighs. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or just disappointed. He picks up the gun, and you think that maybe, just maybe he’s going to let you out, grant you some small reprieve and tell you you don’t have to do this. 

Instead he wraps an arm around your waist and holds you close, and his other hand presses the barrel of the gun right to your head. 

“I’ll do it for you,” He says, as if it’s nothing serious. Like he’s just grabbing a box off a high shelf to be nice. 

You feel like he’s strangling you. He might as well be. It would be a more humane death. 

He’s going to kill you, you think, you’re going to die in this godforsaken house with these bastards, you’re going to die in isolation with no one to honor your body. 

They’ve sentenced you to death. 

You think back to that question of how many have come before you. Is this what they thought about, too? Is this the first, third or twentieth time someone like you has been here? How many unfortunate circumstances have stained the floorboards red over the years this cabin has stood? 

It doesn’t matter. 

None of that matters. 

You’re going to be the next. 

That’s all there is for you to be now. 

A stain of red on the old wood floors will be your only legacy. 

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears as you look up at Brian. His expression doesn’t move an inch. There’s no trace of the humor he always seems to have, not even a hint of feigned compassion or sympathy for your position. He’s not letting you out of this. None of them are. 

You reach down and grab Brian’s hand where it rests in your hip, your nails digging into his knuckles. He doesn’t react. He doesn’t even move beyond adjusting his finger to pull the trigger. 

Each second seems to go on for an eternity, yet at the same time everything is moving far too fast. You can’t process what’s happening but you just want it over with, that’s your only choice. 

He’s lifting his finger, preparing to bring it down on the trigger. 

He’s pressing the barrel of the gun into your skin just a bit harder as he readies himself for whatever happens next. 

This is it. 

This is it. 

This is it this is it this is it this is it this is it this is it this is…

The trigger clicks. 

Then there’s silence. 

…it.

Silence.

And then Toby erupts with animalistic, ecstatic laughter. It rings in your ears and echoes around your skull in an almost painful manner. You can’t stand the sound. 

You’re alive. 

The game is over. 

All at once relief floods your body in such an overwhelming manner your vision goes dark. You can’t speak a word before you’ve gone limp in Brian’s arms, and he barely has time to put the revolver down and catch you. He holds you in his arms and makes a half hearted attempt to wake you, but when you don’t respond he looks up at Tim with a smirk. 

“Out like a light.” 

Tim can’t help but chuckle, and for a moment it’s even a full on laugh. This only encourages Toby, who’s flopped over onto his back as his body writhes with mirth. 

Brian groans as he stands, pulling your body up with him. He throws you over his shoulder and nods to the others. 

“I’m taking this one up stairs, gonna put ‘em to bed. I’m sure they’ll be whiny when they wake up, and you two better deal with it.”

Tim and Toby nod and wave him away. Toby’s finally stopped laughing enough to pull himself off the floor as Tim picks up the revolver. He shoves it into Toby’s chest, nearly pushing him over. 

“Go put it up,” Tim orders. 

“Or what?” Toby teases as he takes the gun, “You g-gonna get mad ‘cause I won’t clean up y-your toys?” 

“Just do it,” Tim demands with a growl, clearly not amused. Toby rolls his eyes and huffs like a defiant child, but nods. 

Tim starts to walk away, headed upstairs to his own room, but he pauses on the first step and turns to Toby. 

“Oh, and don’t forget to load it,” He adds, “If it’s empty the next time I need it, I’m gonna kill you.” 

[hanckocks-dagger]

Shake, rattle, and roll

masterlist

John Hancock x f!reader

Description: After three weeks on the road, you come home to Goodneighbor to find a sweet surprise from Hancock. Naturally, you fuck him about it. 

Tags: Such sappy smut guys, holy shit theyre in love, Hancock is a simp. Reader could be viewed as SoSu or not, no y/n, female anatomy

Warnings: smut! Pretty vanilla though, honestly, so nothing else to mention

Word count: 6K

Cross posted on my ao3

The last day of travel was always the worst; with the end goal in sight

The morning sun beat down on you, the trek from Lexington having seemed almost endless. There was only one thing on your mind as you marched over the Harvard bridge; Hancock's bed. You had the full intention of crawling right into it and staying there, comatose, for several days.

Of course, it wasn't quite that simple. You needed to unload the spare weapons you'd picked up, throw those to KL-E-0. You also had some things to drop at Daisy's, some things to pass on to Ham for the Third Rail...

You pulled your pack higher onto your shoulders, ignoring the ache of your back from the weight of it, all the junk you'd decided to ferry back with you. The straps of the bag were sure to leave deep, painful indents in your skin, almost permanently rubbed raw after weeks of travel.

Downtown, you skirted between Diamond City outposts, making your usual wide berth around the city itself. Despite being human and technically welcome inside the city, you'd taken to avoiding it, as if their prejudice was infectious. You hadn't entered the gates in months by now, and even though you missed Power Noodles and stopping by the agency to bother Nick, you felt no real urge to step inside.

The inhabitants' paranoia, towards the institute and towards outsiders, made the air in the city oppressive. Compared to the freedom of Goodneighbor, even with all of its own problems, Diamond City felt tyrannical in comparison.

You made a wide berth around the old scrap yard, overrun by feral dogs, climbing a fire escape to reach the elevated turnpike.

The closer you got to Goodneighbor, the hard it was to push forward. With the end in sight, close enough that you could practically count the steps you had left, aware of every finite amount of energy you had to eke from your body. Still, you reused to break, pushing forward, hands wrapped tight around the straps of your pack, like a schoolchild with their brightly colored schoolbag

Just a little further. Just a little more. The turnpike turned North, and you had to duck and pause as some gunner scouts passed, the highway connected to some high-rises, precarious wooden planks forming bridges.

Crouched down low, your calves burned, your fingers ached as you gripped your revolver, checking the bullet count on autopilot and lining up a shot, just in case you were spotted.

You weren't, the mercenaries passing from one end of the bridge to the other, wood creaking under their weight, loud, unconcerned conversation passing between them.

You sneaked past them in a crouch, knees and back protesting, familiar flood of adrenaline humming through your blood, heartbeat in your ears. The thrill stayed even once you were out of eyesight, until you'd shaken out your joints and rolled your shoulders, back to your brisk pace.

One of these days, you promised yourself, zeroing in on the broken jaw of the freeway that you used to find your bearings, you'd find a way to make a portable Ham-radio. Staying away so long was making you half-insane. You hadn't heard his voice in over two weeks, and at this point you would have sold all the loot you were lugging around to see his face a few minutes sooner. You'd pay insane sums to be able to hear him on the regular while you were away. Joking, complaining, hell, even just reading off his fucking caravan logs.

The body of the freeway dropped to the ground, crumbling concrete surrounding a Gunner camp, probably the one those two idiots earlier were supposed to be protecting. Well, you thought, pulling a trip-mine from your pack, it wasn't your fault if they were fucking morons.

Behind the rusted body of a truck, you waited for the perfect moment to strike, listening with patience to the Gunners as they yelled and laughed, carefree in the way only over-confident assholes ever could be. On a different day, you would have attacked with something more complicated, something that could blast the entire camp in one go, but today, you were tired and homesick.

At the right moment, you activated the mine and tossed it, scurrying from behind your car to drop off the side of the freeway, landing in a crouch in an alley a street over from Goodneighbor, booking it as the mine went off and the yells changed from happy to panicked.

You'd often thought, as you and Hancock laid spread eagle on the bed, or sprawled over the couch, that between the two of you, you were by far the one more likely to turn feral. He was too clever, his mind too sharp, even dulled by drugs. You were the one running around the wasteland, scampering like some little creature, hoarding old-world junk, killing nearly indiscriminately. You survived on the high of your own adrenaline, surviving scrapes by the skin of your teeth, by clawing, biting, crushing, choking.

You held your breath until you could see the glow of the welcome-sign, neon arrow pointing at the door, like to the entrance of a dingy nightclub. It shone like a beacon even in the daylight, beckoning you home.

When your fingers touched the door, you swore you gained a second wind, the eerie stillness of downtown Boston turning into the hum of bustling Goodneighbor residents. You greeted the Neighborhood watch as you entered the town, and they variously tipped caps or winked at you, hands always on their guns.

Daisy's was full, the sure sign of a newly passed caravan. You spotted that Railroad guy, sipping from a bottle on the bench in front of the store, doing his usual job of completely failing to fit in by being almost unnaturally nondescript. That might work in Diamond city, but not in Goodneighbor.

Your steps were slow as you maneuvered through the crowd, aware of the pack on your back and the guns slung over your shoulders. You headed for Kill or Be killed, planning to unload some ammo and spare rifle you'd picked up. You kept your eyes peeled for that flash of red in your periphery, the heat that filled your chest whenever you were near him.

KL-E-0's store was empty, meaning she was probably on the second floor, conducting some less than savory business. You'd hustle out of there if you heard the sound of her laser powering up, but you decided to spare a few minutes.

You leaned your forearms onto the counter, taking some of the weight off your sore feet and back, eyes running over the visible apparel, wondering what things you should offload.

Sure enough, barely a minute passed before you could hear the wood creaking above you, footsteps descending the staircase and an achingly familiar voice:

"-Talk when my girl brings something new, call it a uh- personal favor."

You raised your head from where it had been lolling, that familiar voice sending a sweet ache through your chest and a giddy smile onto your face. His girl.

Hancock was turned away from you, speaking to KL-E-0, trusty shotgun in his hands.

If your pack had been lighter, you would have bounded into his arms and dragged him right back to the old State House. You would have indulged the exhibitionist in him, wrapped your legs around his waist and let him stick his tongue down your throat right there in the street.

Instead, though, you settled for walking over, supporting the bottom of your pack to keep it from rattling. KL-E-0's red eye flickered over to you for a moment, inscrutable as always, but she stayed quiet, allowing you to surprise Hancock as he chattered about the recoil of his gun.

You wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, smushing your face between his shoulder blades. You breathed him in, the familiar smell of tanned hide, cigarettes and that ever present old-museum-smell that he'd tried many times in vain to get rid of. You inhaled with a shudder, pressing a kiss to his back, feeling his momentary frozen shock melt away as he seemed to register who was touching him.

He spun in your arms, leaving you face to face with soft eyes and a softer smile, a hand coming up to cup your cheek.

Warm lips pressed to yours and you melted arms sliding up to hook around his shoulders, pulling him flush to you. A corner of your mind– or your heart– which had spent the past two weeks growling about being apart from him, finally quieted down.

"Is that your gun digging into my hip, or are you just happy to see me, love?" He asked you when you separated, leaving you to snort and hide your face in his shoulder, so giddy you thought you might burst with it.

You swallowed past your joy, composing yourself so that you could lean back and flick the tip of Hancock's tricorn-hat upwards, giving you a better view of those lovely dark eyes, always so emotive, crinkled at the corners.

"Good to see you too, Mister Mayor," You breathed, hands sliding from his shoulders down to his waist, backing out of KL-E-0's store, dragging Hancock along with you. He came willingly, not allowing even an extra inch between the two of you.

All thoughts of bartering, even your own body's complaints were forgotten, your heart singing. You blinked against the sunlight, convinced suddenly that the weather was reflecting your mood.

"What's your plan for the day?" You asked, when it became clear Hancock was too busy staring at you to say anything. The two of you seemed to be wandering in a leisurely pace towards the old State House, but you didn't care where you were going. You'd follow him around all day if you had to. You could be going right back into the Wastes for all you cared. You'd trail behind him as he did whatever he needed to do, collapse from exhaustion and let him carry you back to bed.

"Oh, you know," He said, pulling you up the steps to the Old State House, opening the door for you, ushering you inside, "Was gonna get high and mope around all day, waiting for you." He had no sooner shut the door than he grabbed you by your belt, pinning you to the wall, your heavy pack hitting the wall. "Probably drive Fahrenheit crazy with my pining–"

You hum, smoothing out the lapels of his coat as his hands wander.

"Now, I'm thinking we go up and let the whole town we're reunited."

"Sounds perfect," You agreed, pressing a kiss to his jaw before pushing him gently in the direction of the staircase. He led the charge, half toppling over every step in his desperation not to let go of you.

The second you hit the landing he whisked you back into his arms again, hands restless as he squeezed your sides, traveled up your arms, touched your face, all before coming right back down again to squeeze your ass. Another breathy laugh escaped you, so happy you couldn't put your smile away even as you kissed him.

His hand slid up to your lower back, guiding you towards the bedroom, your lips still locked together.

you pulled away at the door as Hancock filled with the stubborn doorknob, always jammed right when you needed it to open. You keep your arms hooked around him, but you give a salute to the neighborhood watchman stationed in front of your door. His face stayed stoic, either used to yours and Hancock's antics, or from copious threats from Hancock. Both seem equally likely.

He did give you a nod, though, as Hancock crooned in victory, having managed to fling the doors open. You gave him a smile, right as Hancock grabbed your arms and pulled you in. You kicked the doors shut behind you, already laughing as Hancock showered your face with kisses, dipping you like a dancer.

You separated from him enough to finally drop your pack, which thumps to the floor. Your guns come off, placed down with more care, followed by your bandolier and scavenging jacket.

Hancock cracked the doors open as you busied yourself, calling out, "Make sure to keep all the riff-raff out today, yeah brother?" And then the doors were shut and locked. A peaceful quiet descending over you.

He takes your hands, pulling you to the center of the bedroom, leaving you bathed in afternoon sunlight peeking in from the open balcony door. The room was as clean as it ever was, five hundred years of grime that you'd long given up on trying to get rid of.

With the door open and the spring air flooding in, everything felt fresher, not weighed down by centuries of history, but just a normal bedroom. Your books had been stacked in neat piles on the dresser, where you could see one of your shirt sleeves peeking out from the drawer. The bed was newly made, and....

"Is that..?" You stared, taking in the sharp white color of the fresh sheets, looking brand fucking new. Not Commonwealth new either, no, this looked like the bleached and pressed sheets of a fucking prewar hotel.

Your eyes sought out Hancock's, expecting to find him grinning, boastful, the usual exaggerated ego coupled with his general cool-demeanor, but instead you found him looking... uncertain. One hand rubbing the back of his neck like he was... bashful.

"Where did you get this?" You asked, stepping over to the bed. You ran a hand almost irreverently over the fresh sheets, feeling the starched, crisp texture of it, not rotting and mildewed like almost everything was.

"Oh, a uh– new trade caravan passed through last week. From somewhere out west, they've been growing cotton and weaving shit.

As if in a trance, you started shucking off your clothes, not wanting to sully the fresh sheets with your blood and dirt stained layers. You only get as far as your outer shirt when Hancock's hands sneak back onto your waist, almost timid in their touch. You half wanted to slap them off in your urge to get naked, get under the sheets and let him touch you there all he wanted.

Instead, you spin around to face him, guide his hands under your shirt to the warm skin of your stomach. "You're an angel, you know that?" You said.

He laughed, "Only for you, sister. Devil to everyone else."

You laughed back at him, finally shedding your shirt. As you try to wrestle off your boots with the force of your heel, all the examples to the contrary fly into your head: Every kind action he'd done, every willingly shared drug, every situation where he'd chosen less violence than he needed to. The nights you'd spent watching him agonize over whether he was good enough for his community, whether he was making the right decisions.

Instead of bringing those up, you pecked his lips in thanks. With his 'help' (groping), you got your undershirt and bra off, leaving your torso bare.

You leant down to unlace your boots, your earlier attempts having been futile, but before you could Hancock had you off your feet, tossing you head first into soft, fresh sheets. He took over, hands trailing teasingly over the waistband of your pants before he turned to your boots, sliding them off and taking your socks with them.

You groaned, cheek smushed into the mattress, as nimble hands pull your pants down and off. Trailing fingers, tickling the backs of your naked calves, up into the hollow of your knees. You had to stifle a giggle as a feather light touch against your inner thigh made you jump.

The bed shifted as he climbed onto it, his legs bracketing yours, knees pressing into the flesh of your thighs.

Fingers on the waistband of your underwear.

"How about we get these off?" His voice, low and gravelly, suddenly hot in your ear. A gentle bite to the cartilage of your earlobe, the drag of fabric as your underwear was pulled down your legs and then tossed somewhere.

"You know," You breathed, raising yourself onto your elbows so you could crane your neck and tried to catch him in a kiss. You missed, but settled for kissing his shoulder, hovering just by your head. "I'm feeling a bit exposed here. You've stripped me bare and you're still clothed."

You turned underneath him, determined to get him to kiss you again, were met with his grinning face just above yours. "Well, let no one call me an unfair man," He said, sinking onto his haunches, just out of reach of your desperate mouth. He plucked his tricorn from his head, settled it onto your.

You raised yourself to him, stole a quick peck, languishing in every brush of his lips against yours. It was dangerous, how much you'd missed him on the road, pining to the point of distraction. The times you'd ducked into buildings to ease an ache brought on by reminiscing, imagining him besides you, or on you, or in you. Imagining him being beside you as you stumbled into firefights, imagined his hands patching you up, rather than your own.

"You didn't happen to remember to take any Rad-X this morning, didya?"

His words pulled you from your stewing. You groaned. In your excitement to get home, you'd completely forgotten.

"Can't we just... skip it? This once?" You asked, pulling on his collar, dragging him down to lie on top of you, his mouth in reach again. You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, hooking one leg around his waist to ground him to you, keep him from getting distracted.

"You and I both know you'd regret that in the morning, sister."

He was right, the bastard. Spending your morning throwing up, hooked to a Rad-Away was not your ideal first day back. So, lamentably, you release your grip on him, hands and leg flopping to the side as he leant over to grab a bottle from the nightstand.

"I'm sure we can find something to... entertain you, while we wait for it to kick in."

You pouted, making a show of how frustrating his interruption had been, how desperate you were to get him back. Here you were, naked, spread-eagle and waiting, with patience you didn't have.

You watched, silently, as he dug into the bottle, drawing out two pills. As he stepped back over, you pulled yourself back onto your elbows, waiting for him to hand them over, or maybe deposit them into your mouth himself.

Instead, as he kneeled onto the bed, he put them into his own mouth, leaning over you to meld his lips to yours. You grabbed at him, feeling his arms wrap around your waist to support your weight as you melted in his arms. Slowly, in long, deep, searing kisses, the pills moved from his mouth to yours. Once they were on your tongue, he pulled his mouth off yours, scarred lips shining with spit, and moved to your neck, nipping and sucking at the skin as you gather enough saliva to swallow the pills.

Rad-X was quick to kick in, but the effects weren't instantaneous, leaving the pair of you with at least ten minutes to kill. On a normal day, you would have been happy to spend those minutes making out, taking your time in stripping Hancock off his clothes, egging each other on with dirty words and dangerous fantasies. But you'd spent over three weeks away from Goodneighbor, over three weeks of precarious mental foreplay, dreaming of his touch at night, fantasizing of him in the day. Suddenly, even the prospect of radiation sickness was not enough of a reason to stay away.

You tore at his coat, rucking his frilly shirt out from under his sash, exposing his slim stomach. You watched the muscle there tense under your touch, as you ran cold hands over his hips, tugging him closer to you. With practiced hands, you made quick work of untying the sash at his hips, satiny fabric sliding from your fingers and onto the floor like a waterfall.

Hancock bit into the flesh of your shoulder, making you hiss and dig your nails into the skin by his hip bones in retaliation.

You pull his chin upwards, leading his mouth to yours again, keeping those teeth from doing any more damage just yet.

Your generous hands wandered, up and under his shirt, roaming over the breadth of his chest, feeling it expand as he inhaled. You nipped at his bottom lip, drawing out a rumbling groan, felt both in your mouth against his, and in the vibrations against your fingertips.

You scooted to the edge of the bed, bracketing his hips with your thighs, freeing his hands so you could tug his coat off. Your hands slipped up under his collar, pushing his narrow shoulders backwards, giving you enough leverage to push the heavy coat backwards, the heavy fabric thumping to the ground.

Sometimes, when Hancock looked particularly vulnerable, usually collapsed on one of his couches, bleary with the haze of jet, his outfit reminded you of a child playing dress-up. In ancient coat tailored for a man with broader shoulders, a hat fit for a pirate and a disdain for the sort power he wielded.

You pulled your lips off of his, formulating a plea that would get you what you wanted, what words would make him understand just how badly you  ached for him, just how unbearable the emptiness in you was. You pressed a chaste kiss to his sternum, bare but hiding in the ruffles of his shirt, and made a blind grab for the waistband of his pants, words suddenly elusive.

His hands stopped yours, stilling them just by the button on his pants, so close to their goal.

You whined, the sound almost entirely involuntary, tilting your head up to meet Hancock's gaze with your own, sure now that he was teasing you.

"John," You managed, "This is cruel."

His eyes crinkled, as if you were the one making the joke, as if you weren't the one burning from the inside out.

"Well, now, I can't have you destroying my reputation. I worked hard to be known as a generous lover."

"Then stop teasing and fuck me."

But he only snickered like a bawdy teenager, gentle hands guiding yours to grasp at the fresh sheets. You watched helplessly, heartbeat in your throat, as he stepped back, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows before sinking to the floor in front of you, guiding your legs over his shoulders.

"This'll coast you over, sister."

He grabbed you by your thighs, tugging you closer until you could feel his breath on your [core]. Your thighs trembled, heels digging into his back, desperate to push him closer, to get his mouth where it needed to be.

Your eyes were squeezed shut, hands balled into fists, half convinced you would burst into tears if he didn't do something. You swore you could feel him laugh, right up against your pussy, unable to hear it over the rush of blood in your ears, a split second before his tongue was finally, mercifully, on you. The slick drag of it landing quickly on your clit, lapping at it teasingly, every strike on your nerves making you seize, already so worked up from being near him.

You cursed on an exhale, lungs burning, every nerve in your body sparking, your blood heating. There was an obscene slurping as he sucked hard against your clit, pressure just on the right side of pain, his fingers digging into your thighs.

Your head pushed hard into the mattress, Hancock's hat falling into your eyes, rendering the outside world suddenly dark.

Suddenly, all pressure vanished, making you let out a long, pitiful whine, releasing your death grip on the sheets to raise the hat and see what the ghoul would be torturing you with this time. You raised your head, found Hancock on his knees by the bed, looking at you with pure reverence, fingers running up and down over the plush, soft skin of your inner thighs.

You could feel the way his ministrations had spread your juices, the way the skin at the meet of your thigh and pelvis were glued together, sticky, pulling at your pubic hair just enough to be uncomfortable.

"What are you starin' at?" You panted, trying to get his wandering mind back to the matter at hand.

He grinned up at you from his perch, "What do you think?"

Fingers, crawling slowly, teasingly, up your thigh, into the divot where leg meets hip, tickling. Then, slow, gentle strokes through your pussy lips, scooping up all your wetness. A teasing, fleeting touch across your clit, making you seize, arching off the bed with a whine.

Then, the slick, slow glide of those fingers inside you.

"F-Fuck," You huffed, meaning to say something more like 'fucking finally, you torturer'.

"Such a pretty girl for me," Hancock says, that sly purr sending its own spark up your spine, mixed with his fingers, a slow, tantalizing in and out, "Been thinking about you for  days,  love. All alone out there, with no one to help you out. Running back home, to me, to let me help."

His fingers stilled. You clenched around him, every muscle in your legs seizing, your chest heaving.

"Is that what you were doing?" His voice was delicious, closer now. There's a bite into the flesh of your stomach, just above your belly button and you tensed against it, squirming into his fingers.

"Yes," You breathed, grinding hard onto his fingers, willing something, anything, to put pressure on your clit. You try squeezing your legs together, but Hancock's arm is in the way. A pathetic whimper escapes you.

"Wanna tell me about it, sister?"

You get out a "Please," legs moving restlessly, trying to get him to do anything, go in our out, anything at all. Blindly, you reach out and get him by the back of the neck, trying to push him downwards. You can feel his smile against the skin of your hip.

"Nngh- mmm, yes, I thought of you. Every day I was away." His head sunk lower, chin resting on your pelvis. "Thought about this, or sharing a hit of jet, or letting you pour wine into my mouth."

His mouth found your clit again, and you were sure you could cry, feeling his tongue flicking at the little nub, fingers starting to move again, a slow, languid in and out.

You arched off the bed, hands gripping the back of Hancock's head, legs going over his shoulders, pressing into his back.

"Shit," You breathed, one hand shifting to grab his forearm. The pressure on your clit increased suddenly, sending a spark through you that left you limp. Your hands slid from their grips, spilling onto the bed.

You looked down, finding Hancock's eyes on you. Then, he twisted his fingers in a way you didn’t recognize increasing the suction on your clit until you felt like he was trying to give you a hickey. You gasped, fingers digging hard into the bed, fabric rustling in your palms, hips snapping upwards, further into his mouth.

"Wait, that felt– do it again," You panted, to which he happily obliged, tongue and fingers twisting in a way that lit a spark in your body, like the strike of a lighter. A few more repeated movements and you moaned, probably loud enough to wake the drifters in the attic. Hancock's free hand wandered up the bed, catching one of yours in his own with a gentle squeeze. A moment so sappily romantic it managed to push you over the edge, your orgasm cresting over you like a warm wave.

Slowly, with a few extra nips to your inner thigh, Hancock sat back. Face wet with you, mouth curved up into a smile. You squeezed your legs together, shading your clit from the open air, chest heaving as you recovered from over stimulation.

"Get up here, please," You called, voice languid, hands reaching out to embrace him, crush him to you, hold him there forever. He obliged, crawling up against you, the texture of his pants against your naked thighs sending goosebumps across your skin. He slotted perfectly into your arms, pressing his mouth to yours.

You ached for him, wanting to get him closer, to tangle with him until you were impossible to separate. You kissed him like you were starving, all teeth and desperation, hands moving to shove off his vest, to unbutton his shirt, to get him naked, get him closer. He helped you, tossing the vest and then the shirt to the floor, warm chest pressing to yours, your tits trapped between the two of you, his rough skin grazing against your nipples, heat building behind your sternum.

Between your bodies, you felt his hand work at his pants. You were pressed so close together that every fumble grazed against your core, sending shocks of heat through you. You were so overwhelmed with need you couldn't decide where to put your hands, sure you'd be more of a hindrance than a help if you tried to get involved.

He made quick work of it, tugging down his pants, followed by his underwear.

He lined himself up, your excitement mounting until you were sure you would come again the second he entered. He captured your lips in another searing kiss, and finally your hands moved without you having to think about it, settling low on his hips in an effort to drive him closer.

"Ready?" He asked, and you felt your mind flash back to your first time with him, a rushed affair after a night drinking with him at the Third Rail. Even then, as it was a desperate fumble to get naked as fast as possible, spread over the couch in his office, clawing and biting with ferality, both of you desperate to get closer, even then, he had paused, hands on your panties, and asked, in that same soft tone, if you were ready, as if he expected you to have changed your mind.

"Yeah, I'm ready," You breathed, eyes squeezing shut in anticipation.

It's a slow, slick, delicious glide that has both of you groaning. Something in you slots into place, all your frenetic energy calm, as you grip at Hancock's back, burying your face in his neck as he starts to move.

"God, that's so–" you gasped, unable to finish, unsure of the words. You hitched a leg up onto John's waist, dragged him in for another kiss.

His pace was achingly slow, his touches sickeningly sweet. You focused on the fullness of it, the way the glide and drag of it seemed to fill your lungs even as he stole your breath with his tongue.

You wanted to live in this moment forever, here with him, inseparable in every way, as close as you could be. Hancock's hips drove deep, making you arch your back with a gasp for air, his lips vanishing off yours. The pace stayed sweet, sentimental, and you relished every sound that came from his mouth, every trembling breath.

"Wait," you breathed, tapping his shoulder like a time out, "Lemme, ugh–" With a few moves, you've twisted the two of you around, him on his back, you supporting yourself over him. He looked up at you, eyes twinkling with pure adoration, as you settled yourself with your legs under you, hands moving to his chest so you can keep your balance.

You settled yourself down onto his cock, your hips flush with his, and his hands found your waist, squeezing with that same softness. You set a pace, still calm, but decidedly faster, enough that your tits jiggle as you move.

"If this is some fucked up hallucination," Hancock rasped, voice choked, "I swear I'll lay off the drugs."

You laughed, breathless, grinding down to find that perfect spot inside you, hitting it over and over again, until the pleasure of it turns the inside of your eyelids white and your hands buckle, give out.

Arms caught you, of course, Hancock flipping you back over, managing to land that sweet spot again, enough that the tension spreads across your body, every muscle tensing up as you moaned, inches away from your second orgasm. His fingers on your clit do the trick, a few tight circles and the tension suddenly seeps out of you, a long, silent exhale. He fucked you through it, pace slowing down as you catch your breath.

You lean up to capture his lips again, grinding your hips to meet his thrusts, encouraging him to speed it up, to chase his own pleasure, relishing in the way his pace grows frantic, sloppier.

He gripped your wrists, bringing them over your head, held tight in his hands. Your torso lengthened, chin tilting upwards, exposing the length of your neck to him. He pulled away from your mouth so you take the chance, craning your neck upwards to nip at his skin, finding the soft tendons and sucking hard.

Through gasping breaths, he asked, "Where– nngh– where do you want me?" Your legs tightened around him, hands clawing at his back, using all the strength you had to keep him where he was.

Already, you can feel the way your own pressure is building back up, the way the repeated slide of it drives you right back to the edge.

"In– in me," You gasped, muscles shaking as he managed to hit that perfect spot in you over and over, back arching clean off the bed. You still weren't ready to let him go, even as you neared your third orgasm, still desperate to keep him where he was.

"Are you–"

"John," You cried, his hips slowing as he stopped again to check, your welfare always at the front of his mind. Sure, it would leave you raw and burning, making the next round a bit more pain than pleasure, but all you could think about was keeping the sensation of him imprinted on you as long as possible. "I'm sure, please."

He rutted against you, hips grinding against yours. His head dropped to your shoulder, gasping against your sweat slicked skin, two fingers sliding down against your throbbing clit.

You whimpered against him as pleasure flooded your body again, your grip on him weakening as your muscles shook, legs slipping from around his waist.

You mumbled words of praise as he came, hands roaming around his back, onto his cheek, your whispers of, "So good, so perfect, you're perfect, baby," audible only to him as he moaned. You felt the heat of him inside you, the slow building of fullness even as he softened.

You felt the slow, familiar tingling that preceded the lightly burning pain that would start. You felt Hancock shifting out of you, his mouth twisted into a guilty frown in the skin of your shoulder.

You clenched, feeling the slow dribble of heat spilling onto your skin.

Hancock's lips traced a path across your shoulder, down your arm, the occasional wet smack or nip at your skin pausing his journey. He detached himself from you slowly, regretfully, as if taking his skin off yours was some great sin. And it was, but in the service of a greater good, grabbing a clean strip of cloth from the bedside drawer, cleaning you up in gentle caresses, stickiness removed from your inner thighs, even softer touches over your pussy lips.

You let him busy himself, even as your fingers itched to get him back, wanting to tell him that you'd had worse pain, that you'd hurt for him every second if you had to. Instead, you only smiled at him when he glanced up at you, reaching up to pull him back to you. He came willingly as you pulled him back into your arms.

Tension faded out of your muscles and you melted into the bed, hands wrapped around Hancock's middle. "Did you miss me while I was gone?" You asked, smiling, voice soft. You just wanted to hear him say it, your own little version of 'I love you'.

Hancock raised his head, pecking your lips gently, leaving them tingling.

"More than you could ever know," He said, painfully earnest.

"Mmm, I think I have some idea."

Notes:

The smut chapter took me ages to write for some reason, so if it sucks... uh. No it doesn't (if u see any spelling errors pls let me know tho)

Thanks for reading! Please leave me a comment, or request something, or just come chat with me!

[daizedndconfused]

thievin’

a/n- idk why im up right now but yay first post of 2025 who’s hyped?? ik i’ve been like mia for a bit but i blame my ps5 for that. also back in school!! awesome (can you tell im crying) lmaooo anyway this is defo gonna be like a mini series so get ready okay lots of love everyone hope you keep up your resolutions if you do em<33

characters- cole brookstone x thief fem!reader

type- eh fluff kinda/enemies to lovers type beat you’ll see

warnings- very mild suggestive comments (not proofread)

synopsis- you’re a thief living in the most run down part of ninjago. you’re doing everything you can to make ends meet, but sometimes you gotta bite the bullet and take a gamble. in order to make a little extra cash you’re sent on a mission to steal a very priceless artifact—the most high risk heist you’ve ever been on. you encounter a certain ninja during your outing and you just can’t help yourself to a little bit of fun upon meeting him. will he let you go? will you succeed in recovering the artifact? or will it be your head on the line instead?

word count- 3.1k

Being poor was okay. Obviously, it wasn’t the ideal spot to be in, and sure you’d prefer to have money and not have to worry about whether or not you would be able to feed yourself tomorrow but you can’t have it all, can you?

Everybody thought Ninjago was the most gorgeous city–clearly they’ve never visited your side of town. You personally didn’t think it was an awful place to live, but it definitely isn't what people would expect out of the great ninjago city.

Nevertheless, it was home. Well, home since your parents died and you were left to fend for yourself. Technically, your mother died during childbirth, or shortly after. You didn’t really like to ask your father about it. It seemed insensitive.

The loss of your father was more recently caused by an unsuspected illness you didn’t have the funds to get treated. You lost him seven years ago, and you miss both of them immensely, even if you never knew your mother–she still held a place in your heart, and your blood.

Plus, it wasn’t as if you were completely alone. The loss of your parents and your home only hindered your spirit for a few months. But eventually, you had to grow up. You had only yourself now, and you needed to start getting your shit together.

That’s how you found yourself living in a narrow alley with nothing but a few blankets to separate yourself from the hard concrete, and a tarp above your head held up by hopes and dreams in case it rained. Courtesy of a girl you’d met three years ago–Henley.

You did what you had to to survive, the both of you did, but your version of ‘work’ was a tad more illegal than Henley’s. While your friend chose to work at some manufacturing factory that paid maybe ten cents an hour, you quickly developed the skill of ‘soft hands.’

Just a little something you picked up in the few years before befriending Henley. Plus, living where you did at the time, it was customary for your father to teach you martial arts, and teach he did. He often pushed you to your limits, making sure your senses were always on high alert.

Though now you supposed you were grateful for it. It made it easy to navigate the crowded streets of Uri–the poorer side of Ninjago that most people decided to ignore.

The early morning sun beat down on you, somehow finding its way around the tarp above your head.

Groaning you rolled over, hoping to block out the rays and catch a few more hours of sleep.

“Morning,” Henley yawned from beside you.

You mumbled incoherently back at her.

“I’ve gotta get going, work starts soon,” Henley told you. You heard her scooting closer towards you.

“Why d’you work at that shithole?” You grumbled, still not fully awake. “They barely pay you, Henley.”

You could practically see the expression on her freckled face. She was most likely staring down at you with a torn and somewhat somber expression.

“It’s the only place that would hire me,” she muttered. “You know that.”

Squeezing your eyes tight you then sat up, stretching out your back. Upon opening your eyes you came to find out your assumption was correct.

“Yeah,” you nod. “Which is bullshit by the way. Any web company would be lucky to have you.”

Henley shrugged a shoulder. “Well, beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Then it’s a good thing we haven’t stooped that low,” you reassured her. You left the unspoken yet out of the sentence.

Henley smiled, brushing back her mane of curly red hair. “Okay, now I really need to go. Please, be safe today, and try not to get caught. I really don’t know if I can stomach breaking you out of jail again.”

“In my defense,” you said as she stood to leave. “There may have been some alcohol behind the reason that asshole caught up to me.”

Henley fixed you with a look that said, Good luck, before she looked up and down the already busy streets and made her way to the factory.

You gave yourself a few more minutes before heading out onto the streets. As usual, Uri was already busy at like eight a.m on a weekday. Stall owners were yelling at anyone passing by as if the volume would persuade people to stop and buy a useless trinket they didn’t need.

Still rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you wove through people, fluid like a leaf in the wind. It was almost too easy to nick people’s wallets this way. In Uri it was almost impossible to walk anywhere without brushing shoulders with someone. Lucky for you, the jacket you wore held many pockets to store your ‘finds’ on the street.

After palming a few wallets on your way to possibly the best looking building in this part of town, you opened them up to find nothing much. Out of all the wallets you lifted, you got a whopping thirty dollars.

See that was the issue with living in a poor neighborhood–everyone you stole from was also poor. Not a great match unfortunately.

Sighing, you made your way towards the tallest building in Uri. It also just happened to be where you’d pick up a way to make some extra cash on the days that were really slow. Just from waking up this morning you knew today would be one of them.

The only issue is, the jobs you’re given are risky, and so you try not to do them as often.

The guards posted outside of the doors let you through without any issues. At this point you’d been coming here sporadically for about five and a half years. You were the best and most reliable thief Malina had.

A few doors, some hallways, and an elevator later, you stood in front of the woman herself.

Malina stared at you with a victorious glint in her eyes, her head resting on her intertwined fingers. “And here I thought you broke up with me.”

“Ah, you know me,” you shrugged, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jacket. “Always comin’ back.”

“Now that I can always rely on.” Malina leaned back in her big leather chair, one long leg crossed over the other.

Malina was the only successful business owner in this Uri. Shockingly, she got most of her wealth from illegal schemes and black market dealings. Which is why she needed you.

Malian didn’t waste any time in throwing down a file on top of her spotless desk.

“It’s all in there,” she waved a gloved hand, her diamond bracelet twinkling in the light of her office.

You reached for the file and flipped it open to survey its contents. Your eyes widened as you continued further and further down the papers clipped together. This job was impossible.

Usually, nothing is impossible for you. However, in the past Malina only ever had you stealing jewels from old guys on their deathbed, or artwork from museums, and sometimes some random priceless artifact guarded in an equally random warehouse.

Apparently this time she really wanted to put you to the test.

“This is a joke,” you said, flipping the file shut.

“How so?” Malina asked, dark brows furrowed in innocence.

“Look, you give me work, and I’ve always appreciated that,” you told her honestly. “But stealing from the Royal Family is my one way ticket to a lifetime in prison.”

Malina pouted at you. “And here I thought my star employee never got caught.”

You scoffed out a laugh, tongue in your cheek as you looked up to the heavens for patience.

When she didn’t back down you finally spoke. “What else you got for me?”

“Unfortunately,” Malina said, though her tone didn’t suggest she found it anywhere near unfortunate, “that’s it.”

“Bullshit,” you challenged.

Malina raised her hands. “I’m serious! Work’s been booming lately.”

Crossing your arms, you rolled your eyes. The two of you stood unspeaking, staring at each other as you weighed your options.

On the plus side, if you did this job successfully, you and Henley might be able to afford an actual apartment. A shitty one, but it was better than the alley. Plus, you might also be able to afford the first few months of rent before you get a real job and force Henley to quit hers at the factory.

Closing your eyes you reluctantly agreed. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Malina’s grin widened into an eerie expression, her pearly white teeth shone almost as bright as the diamonds around her wrist. “I knew you would. Clothes are in their usual place.”

You nodded and spun on your heel, hightailing it out of Malina’s office. Thankfully, ever since you all but pledged your loyalty to her, she’d provide you with some living essentials occasionally. Things like showers, a hairbrush, basic needs like that.

But when she sent you out on a mission, she made sure you were set up for success, and the rest was on you. Opening the wooden wardrobe at the end of the hall, you were greeted with the familiar sight of the dark clothing you typically wore on outings such as these.

You picked the uniform off the hanger and quickly found the nearest room to change in. Even though you wouldn’t be leaving until nightfall, you still would rather put it on now as it helped you even in Uri. With the hood and mask covering the bottom half of your face, the only thing you could really make out was your hair and eyes.

You spent most of the day on the roof tops, going over the blueprints of the palace Malina provided for you, along with the guard rotations. Pacing along the edge of an old rundown building, you slowly came up with a plan. Though, the object you had been assigned to steal was a bit odd. You expected jewels, or even the crown, but instead you were sent after a golden hourglass, with equally golden sand inside.

You didn’t know the properties or importance of the object, but to be honest, you didn’t really care. You just wanted to get the job done and over with so you could return home and finally place a roof over your head after seven years of sleeping under the open sky.

As soon as the sun set beyond the city, you set out. Of course, you left Henley a note explaining you might not be back tonight–and that you might not be back at all–but you assured her not to worry.

It took a while to get to the good part of town, but a few subway trains later, you finally made it. And what a difference it was.

Instead of yelling and aggressive haggling, there was light chatter, laughter, and the buzz of technology reverberating around you. Not to mention the colors. Almost every sign in Ninjago was neon, and sometimes you couldn’t help but get a little sidetracked looking at all the beautiful things you’d never get to experience yourself.

Eventually, you found yourself by the palace. Fishing out the timetable of the guard rotations, you determined that the east side of the castle would be the most unprotected in about two minutes–meaning you had to be quick.

Quick you were. You managed to get to the east side and scale the wall in a minute and thirty. Tiptoeing around the outer wall, you made sure to keep your eyes on the guards below. So far, none of them noticed you.

Finally, you landed on the tiled roof. By memorization, the hourglass would be located in a mostly open room on the top floor. Carefully maneuvering around the roof, making sure to not make too much noise, you managed to unlock the window and pull it open.

Thankfully, it didn’t make much noise. Letting out an internal sigh of relief, you quickly tied a rope on one of the support pillars of the palace and threw it over the side of the window. Directly below the window was an obnoxiously large potted plant that would do well to hide you from view.

You briefly wondered if you’d be able to climb back up with rope one handed, but instead you figured you could bring a cord to secure the hourglass onto your belt loop.

As usual, you landed on the red wood floors without a sound. As much as you wished to stick around and admire the impressive castle you’d only ever seen in newspapers, you had a job to do.

Heart hammering, you peeked around the plant to find two guards–both with their back towards you.

It feels almost too easy, you thought as you crept towards the hourglass displayed on a pedestal.

Once you got close enough, you took a few moments to inspect the pedestal. There was a very possible chance of the hourglass being placed upon a weighted pressure plate that would set off the emergency alarms if removed, but after looking at it, the stone surface looked entirely even. There most likely wasn’t any extra security around this artifact, but in the off chance there was, you’d have to be ready to run.

Calming your mind, you swiped it quickly, preferring to take it and bolt in case the alarms went off.

You got three strides in before your luck ran out. All around you alarms had started blaring, alerting every guard on the premises. However, by that point you had already tied the glass around your waist and were ascending the rope.

You could vaguely make out the alarmed voices of the guards chasing after you, and as soon as you heaved yourself onto the roof, you sliced the rope with the knife in your boot. Two thuds and pained grunts were all you heard before you bolted.

Guards were climbing up at every point, but what they had in size and brute strength, you had in speed and agility. Being quick on your feet was like second nature–and you really should send a letter to the Royal Family to invest in some guards. These ones weren’t all that good at their job.

You hoped over them in groups, and it felt like you knew the palace layout better than they did. You knew exactly where to step and when to step, that by the time you landed on the other side of the walls, you knew you had one.

You grinned and laughed triumphantly as you jumped across the rooftops. The guards got further and further away and you blame the adrenaline in your veins for what happened next.

Suddenly, something tangled itself around your ankles, sending you tumbling to the concrete of an apartment complex.

“Son of a–” you winced, cradling the wrist you had landed on at an awkward angle.

Sitting up quickly, you reached for the rope wrapped around your ankles when a boot beat you to it.

“I don’t think that belongs to you,” the stranger spoke.

Looking up slowly, you mentally cursed yourself at the figure standing above you.

The Earth Ninja.

Why the hell were they at the palace? Why did they care about some petty robbery, wasn’t there some maniac trying to destroy the world that they should be busy with at the moment?

“What? The outfit? It doesn’t–borrowed from a friend.” You leaned back on your palms, looking up at the Earth Ninja’s strikingly gorgeous face.

He wasn’t wearing his mask tonight, leaving all his features on display–brown eyes that you guessed were a gorgeous shade of hazel in the light, shaggy but well kept hair as dark as the sky above, and a build that could rival the strength of an ox.

Cocking your head, you pushed your hood back and mask down, letting him see your roaming eyes and approving smirk.

“I need that.” He pointed to the golden hourglass at your hip. Apparently he didn’t find your jokes very funny.

“No, I need it,” you countered. “How else am I supposed to keep track of the time? I don’t have a watch.”

You shoved your hands up, rotating your wrists spastically to emphasize your point.

The Earth Ninja leaned down, but you didn’t back down. “Just hand over the glass, and I’ll tell them you dropped it trying to flee.”

You too leaned towards him, the both of you so close your noses were almost touching. In the ninja’s favor, his expression didn’t falter.

“I told you, I need it.”

“And I gave you an ultimatum,” the ninja returned, his eyes hardening. “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

“Aw, but where’s the fun in that?” You smirked with a wink.

You saw his facade crack slightly as he twitched back every so slightly. That was all the hesitation you needed.

As the two of you went back and forth, you had been discreetly severing the rope binding your legs, and you quickly wrapped them around his waist, flipping him over onto his back. The Earth Ninja landed with a harsh exhale. You leaped off of him quickly before he could counter your surprise attack.

He was a ninja, and you knew there was no way you’d be able to beat him at hand to hand combat, but you could avoid him. Your thought was proven when he was back on his feet and into a fighting stance a split second after you created distance between you and him.

The Earth Ninja raised a curious brow at you over his raised fists. “Who are you?”

“Funny I was about to ask the same thing,” you laughed. “But, I think I’ve got something that could help me out with that–Cole L. Brookstone–what’s the L for? Oh well, six-foot five inches, black hair, two hundred and ten pounds–” you broke off looking him up and down. “Well you certainly don’t look over two hundred.”

Cole’s eyes widened as he lunged for you, and the wallet in your hand. You jumped back from him easily and continued to read off his driver's license.

“Hazel eyes, nineteen years old–oh cute we’re the same age–”

“Give it back!” He demanded, reaching for you again, only for you to slide under his legs and appear behind him.

“Born on October 25th–” another attempt to grab you had you using the rope previously used on you against him, binding his wrists, and legs making him fall on his ass.

You then hopped onto the roof of the entrance hallway of the building, and sat on the edge, legs swinging in front of you.

You continued to flip through his wallet, “Restaurant receipt–you know you don’t have to keep those. Lifetime subway pass, oh you lucky bastard. Gift card you’ve probably had for three years, credit card–very shiny, one fifty in cash and–” you paused upon seeing the last item in his standard leather wallet.

Sliding your eyes down to the boy your age, you raised a brow at him, almost laughing at his red face you could see even in the dark.

“Why do you have a condom in your wallet?” You giggled.

Cole momentarily stopped struggling against the rope and had the decency to look away, embarrassed.

“Emergencies,” he grumbled, glaring up at you.

“Ah, right,” you sucked air through your teeth before tossing it back down on his lap.

Flexing his arms, he snapped the ropes like they were ribbons and did the same with the ones binding his legs.

“So, it seems we're at an impasse,” you sighed.

“No,” he stood, “we’re not.”

“Au contraire, you’ll never catch me. You had your shot, and you blew it.” You pointed at him accusingly. “I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that I’m very slippery. And I assure you–you chase, and I’ll run, and I can keep running for a damn long time.”

It would become a game of cat and mouse you knew would go on forever.

“Surely you don’t expect me to just let you walk away with a priceless artifact from the Royal Family.” Cole crossed his arms.

“Exactly–impasse.”

The stubborn boy shook his head, black waves flopping. “No, I–”

Before he could finish his sentence, the dart was already buried into his arm.

Cole startled, looking down at the tiny metal needle sticking out of his right bicep. He gave you an unimpressed look before reaching with his other hand to pluck it from his body. However, his hand was halfway there when it went limp by his side.

Cole’s brown eyes went wide as his legs too started to wobble, and shortly after the rest of his body gave away.

He once again landed on the ground with a dull thud.

Smiling slightly you gracefully jumped down from your perch and made your way over to him to retrieve your dart.

“What the hell is that?” He asked through gritted teeth.

“Just a numbing sedative,” you responded, pocketing it. “Don’t worry it’ll wear off in like an hour.”

“An hour? Hell no, help me up.”

“Hmm, tempting,” you deadpanned, but you did prop his back up against the wall of the roof in a sitting position.

Cole glared at you, and you smirked back.

“I enjoyed our little game of cat and mouse my friend,” you patted his cheek before standing to full height. “But I’m afraid I must be going. Places to be, money to be made–you know how it is.”

“Hey! Wait!” Cole called to your retreating back.

But you didn’t. Instead you leapt down to the adjacent roof and all but skipped back to Uri, happy that you weren’t caught, but you weren’t entirely mad about meeting the Earth Ninja either. Secretly, you hoped he'd track you down–where round two of your game would take place.

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

Do you love my daddy?

Vladimir Makarov x babysitter fem Reader

Let's imagine Makarov has a daughter, he's a single dad and you have been his daughter's babysitter since... The first time he saw you holding her in your arms, what if during these years you not only developed feelings for the little girl but also for her father too? What if one day your secret is discovered by her and runs to spill the Beans?

Warning: I know it says 'x Fem reader ' but I think you can read it as a Neutral, there's no physical description. Spelling and grammatical errors, as always I think is not probably the best story but I haven't posted anything in a while because I've been feeling a little depressed and this one was waiting on the list. Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

From the moment the little baby was in Vladimir's arms, he knew he needed someone capable enough to protect his daughter, someone strong but also with a warm and noble heart to love the girl as if was hers.

He spent long days and nights trying to find someone with those characteristics and spent long sleepless nights with the newborn baby, it was a hard mission, until he found you, totally unexpected, he was driving while his precious baby girl was in the backseat, he was so focused on the baby who was crying disconsolately that he almost hit you with the car, you reacted quickly and yelled at him.

«HEY! Focus on the road asshole!»

That's when he saw you, he was ready to put a bullet in your precious skull until he remembered there was a baby with him who suddenly stopped making noise. The baby was still crying but not breathing. He stopped the car right there and ran to open the door, you thought he was going to give you problems but he totally ignored you, that's when you saw him carrying a baby in his arms, something was wrong, you saw the baby's red face changing to purple. It wasn't breathing, a sobbing spasm.

«Baby, come on, breath, what's going on!?»

Without thinking too much you walked to him and took the baby from his arms.

He didn't try to protest, you put the baby in the next seat, you started to talk to the baby with a soft voice, in calm, while she was laying on one side, you were giving her small pats and rubbing her back with your free hand.

- It's okay baby, breath, I need you to take air, come on honey, you can do it, you're scaring your daddy.

The baby was getting more purple so you increased the intensity of the pats In her back and held her, positioning her tiny body over your forearm with her head resting over your palm.

Vladimir didn't know the fear until that moment, he was afraid, pleading you could do something when finally, his daughter made a noise again, a strong and loud whimper. You smiled, clearly you were as worried as him.

- Oh yes! That's it baby, good girl, you made it!

There was something about the way you held his baby that made Makarov realize you were the answer to his pleas. He was lost in thoughts until you brought him back.

- Hey, here you have. She will probably fall asleep... These tantrums leave the babies exhausted.

- Ah, yes, thanks.

- Sorry, I suppose that's why you weren't paying attention to the road, I'm really sorry.

- It's okay, you saved her... How did you do that?

- I'm a nurse, your baby was having sobbing spasms, we have to learn those things if we don't want to lose them during their tantrums.

Like fallen from the sky, that's how everything started, he almost begged you to work for him, he didn't care if you didn't know about personal defense or combat, he paid you the most expensive course. And the payment was three times more than what you asked him for.

Time flies, and the girl and you create a strong bond, she's such a precious pearl, you adore her as much as Vladimir, the man can't say no to his little princess, you go wherever they go, you cook, play, study and do everything with the girl, you feel like her mom, it's no longer a job, she became part of your life, she lives in your heart just like her dad, who's a gentleman, he treats you with kindness and tender all the time, you try to convince yourself it's only because you're raising his kid, but even those thoughts can't help you to not develop that silly little crush on him.

And He makes it more difficult, he sends flowers every morning for you and his daughter when he's not at home, he brings presents for both when he's back, joins you In the kitchen to help with the dinner or wakes up before you to make the breakfast, takes you and his daughter to the park so the three of you can have a picnic afternoon, joins to the playing time and reads fairytale stories for the girl every night. Out of home Vladimir Makarov is fierce, brave, strong and chaotic but when he's with his daughter and you, he's the opposite, you love both sides of the coin.

It's late at night, you're sure the little girl is deeply asleep so you decide to call your best friend, and as always you're talking about your crush.

«Y/n, I swear that man considerate you as his wife at this point, the kid is almost 6 years old, you're with them since she was a newborn...»

You feel your cheeks getting red, maybe your friend is right but... you can't create fake hopes In your head, this job is the best thing that ever happened to you and you don't want to lose it for those silly feelings.

- I don't think so, he's merely a gentleman. But oh god! It is hard to not love him! He's everything I always wanted, and the little girl... I seriously consider her as my own daughter! God... I'm so in love with Vlad...

Suddenly a gasp interrupts your words, you turn around and see a small figure on the doorframe, your kid has been listening every word you say.

Both are speechless.

«Y/n? Are you still there?»

-I'll call you later, bye.

You put the phone on the bed and walked quickly to the girl who is still surprised about what she heard a few seconds ago. You try to act silly, pretending nothing of that happened and kneel down in front of her.

- Honey, what are you doing awake? It's almost midnight.

- I had a nightmare... Y/n... Is it true? Do you love my daddy?

You shiver, unsure of what to say because there's no sign on the girl's face that can tell you what she's thinking or feeling.

- I... Ummm...

There's an evil smirk on her chubby face and a bright in her eyes that makes you feel afraid and at the same time happy.

- Can we keep it as a secret? I don't want your father to feel uncomfortable with this...

- SO... YOU, INDEED, LOVE MY DADDY!!!!

The princess started to run and jump around the room while you hid your face with your hands, you felt embarrassed and nervous, excited but afraid.

After a few minutes convincing her to keep the secret and taking her back to her bed, Makarov's daughter finally went back to sleep.

The next morning the smell of butter, pancakes and honey woke you up, you looked at the clock on the wall, 9 o'clock, you put on a hoodie and went downstairs as fast as you could to the kitchen and saw Makarov and his daughter cooking pancakes.

There's some fruit and juice on the kitchen's table, also a small bouquet of flowers decorating the table. You're observing everything cautiously when Makarov's voice brings you back to earth.

- Morning, sleepy beauty... Did you sleep well?

He smiled and wink at you, you once again felt your cheeks getting red.

- I'm so sorry, we had a tremendous night full of dreams and nightmares. Sorry, I can finish the pancakes if you wish.

- No, it's ok love, come on, take a seat, do you want some coffee or tea?

- Ahhhh...

Your little kid interrupted you.

- Y/n, look! Daddy made heart shaped pancakes!!!! He loves us a lot!

She smiled mischievously at you, you gasped and pretended to be surprised.

- Oh it's beautiful!! he certainly loves you a lot my sweet girl!

You kissed her forehead and went to the table, the girl followed you and took her seat in the middle, Makarov joined both of you minutes later with two cups of coffee and a glass of chocolate milk for his daughter.

The girl was strangely happy, more than usual, observing you and her father's interaction, Makarov is also acting more sweet and kind than normal, he's talking a little about how his week went, he's more focused on you, there's a different vibe that you can't describe in words, you only know it feels good, so good.

There were a lot of laughs, jokes, compliments and delicious food but by the end of the breakfast Makarov asks his daughter to go upstairs because he needs to talk with you in private.

She doesn't look at you, nods in silence and disappears. Automatically you started to take the dirty dishes and glasses to wash them when Vladimir caught your hand and softly directed you to go back to your chair.

Why do you feel so guilty? Are you in trouble? What kind of game is this? He treats you nicely and then needs to talk to you in private? What is going to happen?

All those questions were running through your mind when he, squeezed your hand, you looked at him and... He was smiling, there's a different vibe in the way he's looking at you, in the way he's holding your hand.

- Are you ok, love?

- Yeah, just... I feel like I'm in trouble. Am I?

He laughed softly and neglected with the head.

- No, you're not, you're fine y/n, but... There's something I recently found out, I was expecting you could help me to confirm this information...

You felt like you were going to pass out at any moment, you weren't sure about what was happening.

- I found out, this morning that... You've been hiding something from me.

- Wh...

- My daughter, has informed me about certain feelings you have for this little family and about your fears about me knowing about this.... And I think it's time to...

You didn't let the poor man finish to talk, you started to explain yourself, you let it all out.

- V... Vladimir I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable, I thought she was already asleep but she woke up and listened to me on a phone call and... Please don't fire me, you and that precious girl are too important to me, I love you guys, so much and I wouldn't know what to do without you at this point of my life...

You didn't know when you stopped talking, you only felt your mouth crushing against another one, a warm kiss intoxicating your system, while a hand is rubbing your back slowly, without thinking too much about what was happening you let your hands go and take place to the neck and shoulder of Vladimir, the way he kissed you was electric, you felt your body on fire, fireworks in your chest and a strong desire to not end the kiss.

After a while, both separate to take air, you were already missing his lips on yours, he smiled and sighed with some relief.

- I wanted to do that so bad. Y/n, for the moment we met, I started to think about you all the time, you and my daughter became the main reason to stay at home as much as possible, when I'm working I just want to finish and drive home, because I know my daughter is here, because I want to hear her laugh and see your smile, for the first time in my life, I feel like I'm on my knees ready to please someone else's desires.

You feel tears filling your eyes and a big smile on your face, you don't have words to express the happiness you're experimenting but luckily Makarov's daughter appears again yelling and running everywhere.

- Daddy loves Y/n, Y/n loves him too! Daddy and y/n are in love, daddy and y/n are in love!

Makarov catches her and hugs her, then he approaches you and kisses your forehead, you return the kiss but on his cheek and kiss his kid's forehead.

More than obvious that all that time she wasn't upstairs, she was all that time listening to her two favorite persons confessing their feelings for each other.

[uss-edsall]

On 9 November, 1942, flying off the coast of Casablanca, French Morrocco in support of the Operation TORCH landings, the Piper Cub (under the name L-4 Grasshopper) made her official combat debut in the Second World War. This once-civilian plane had been bought by the U.S. Army to function as "air observation posts," flown by pilots in the U.S. Army Field Artillery, attached directly to battalions. Her concept, proven in training maneuvers, was as aerial reconnaissance; aerial photography; single-person transport; air ambulance; and in particular, reconnaissance and artillery observation. She would prove to be perfect for all of these roles. She would go on to have an incredible record during the Second World War, one of the best planes built for her particular role, with over six thousand of them bought by the U.S. Army. She was small, she could handle landing tiny fields, she was stealthy, she was dead simple to repair and reliable in the air.

But on that day? For that mission? There were only three Grasshoppers, and it was an absolute disaster.

The three planes were attached to the 3rd Infantry Division. Their pilots were hurriedly brought to USS Ranger (CV-4), aboard which were three L-4 Grasshoppers in bad condition. All their efforts were getting the planes ready for flight. What the pilots did not know was that their commanders, from colonels to generals alike, did not prepare properly for their debut.

On 8 November American troops stormed ashore at Safi, Casablanca and Point Lyautey. The next day, Ranger turned into the wind, the pilots got aboard the planes. In the 35-knot wind the instant the ship's crew let go of their tails, the planes hopped off the deck and were in the air, sixty miles from shore.

Three miles from the beach, the allied invasion force appeared. Transports, destroyers, the light cruiser USS Brooklyn. Aboard the Brooklyn alert officers and anti-air gun crews spotted the L-4 Grasshoppers.

There was nothing in the allied aviation recognition books that resembled the L-4 Grasshopper. None of the artillery pilots' superiors had properly distributed warnings that the Army had procured the civilian planes, and were using them for the first time.

The Brooklyn's anti-air weaponry opened up. 5" shells, 40mm bofors, 20mm Oerlikons reached out to lick at the Grasshoppers. In the first flak burst the quartet of little planes scattered, diving for the deck. Captain Ford Allcorn leveled off at twenty feet and started juking like mad, gamely going for the beach leading his flight. Every other ship, seeing the Brooklyn open up on the unfamiliar planes, joined in.

The artillery pilots had not the fuel to return to the ship, even if they'd been trained in carrier landings, which they weren't. Land was their only option for salvation. Shellfire blew out Allcorn's windshield, shot off one of the doors. As the Grasshoppers juked and weaved, bullets splashed into the water all around them. A hundred feet from shore, they levelled off and gunned their throttles to the maximum - 80 mph - for the safety of the shoreline.

At which point the pintle mount machineguns on tanks ashore opened fire on them. For nobody had told the Army troops of the 2nd Armored Division either about the Piper Cubs, and seeing the Navy so enthusiastically shooting at them, they joined in. .50-calibre bullets ripped into the Grasshoppers, betrayed by their own.

Captain Allcorn's engine cut out after several tanks' machineguns stitched bullets across the frame, and five bullets tore into his leg.

The wounded planes got to the shoreline. They flew over the armor, guns straining to shoot at them, desperately trying to get to the safety of the Fedala Racetrack, where they were supposed to go. Allcorn spotted a relatively flat area and pancaked in, crawling out of the mortally wounded flaming bird before the fuel exploded.

And then the Vichy French opened up.

Lieutenants Butler, Shell, and Captain Devol (one L-4 having carried two of them) were taken prisoner after crash landing behind Vichy French lines, but were released when the French in Casablanca surrendered two days later on 11 November.

Amazingly, despite all this, nobody had been killed.

Captain Allcorn was the first Army aviator in the ETO to fly off a carrier, the first in combat, and the dubious distinction of the first to be shot down and the first to be wounded. Captain Allcorn, from his hospital bed back in the States, wrote a report about it all that even reached the Chief of Staff General Marshall's desk. He argued that this disastrous beginning was not the death knell of the Grasshopper. He concluded, perhaps rather dryly, that there was seemingly a failure to communicate between the Army and the Navy. His report helped the Piper Cub / L-4 Grasshopper survive the event, to go on to become one of the most produced aircraft of the war, and most widely used.

Even today, almost four thousand of the nearly twenty thousand Piper Cubs built are still in the FAA registry.

[booksandabeer]

Steve-Centric Stucky Fics: 5 Recs + 1 TBR

As promised, here is the rec list for Steve/Bucky fics with a focus on Steve-centric stories—all of them not EG-compliant, as requested. It's not quite as long as my usual rec lists for two reasons:

(1) I'm still sick and I can barely sit up straight, so please forgive the brevity of the list, and

(2) I deliberately wanted to include exclusively fics that were written in 2022 and 2023 to shine a spotlight on a few of the many wonderful writers and artists who are still creating absolutely fantastic works for the Stucky ship and who deserve to be read just as widely and passionately as older works in the fandom. Recency bias, but make it positive!

So without further ado, here are five Steve-centric Stucky recs and one more fic that I can't wait to get to:

1. say it soft and it's almost like praying by Somanywords | 41K, M

Author's summary: Natasha says, “Look, whatever the truth is about you, we have no way of really knowing the Winter Soldier's intentions. He’s not all there, he’s not who you remember. He’s a hot mess, Steve.”

“Why does everyone think that?” Steve says, and he’s nearly yelling, but not quite, because he doesn’t need to, not when they’re so close. “Why does everyone keep saying he’s a mess—have you seen me?" 

Post-CA:TWS canon divergent. I literally finished this fic about 15 minutes ago, so I haven't even left a comment yet. I'm still processing, you could say. The author tagged this with "just another post catws fic (but by me)"—and yes, that's what you get. All the usual ingredients are here, but the joy of TWS canon divergence is of course in the endless possibilities of how these well-known ingredients are used, re-arranged, and re-imagined as something new, exciting, and often much more satisfying than in canon. This fic excels at all three and is an absolute joy from start to finish.

2. Daybreak by BonkyBornes, art by PottersPink | 9K, NR

Author's summary: They called it project Rebirth because the person was supposed to be reborn, like a phoenix from the ashes. Steve was supposed to be the phoenix. He was supposed to rise from the ashes of his old body, he was supposed to leave behind his deafness and his limp and the scoliosis that bent his entire body to the left. He was supposed to leave behind everything that held him back.

In the end, the only thing that left was the only thing that mattered.

Shrinkyclinks canon-divergent AU. What if Project Rebirth didn't go right...but it didn't go entirely wrong either? A story about ghosts but not a ghost story. Or maybe something else entirely? Steve fights his body and time and the memories that keep haunting him. Beautifully written, with gorgeous art by PottersPink that perfectly complements the story.

3. Exhale by seapigeon, art by dudewhereismypie | 15K, M

Author's summary: After the Chitauri invasion, Steve parts ways with SHIELD, unsure if he can trust an agency that tried to deceive him and built weapons from the Tesseract.

He finds himself alone in an unfamiliar future, penniless, not even legally alive. Fortunately, he knows how to survive. Steve Rogers is used to getting by on his own.

The thing is, he doesn't have to.

Shrunkyclunks. Post-Avengers canon divergent. A fic that asks the question: What if, after the battle of New York, Steve had told SHIELD a polite but firm 'No'? Follow him as he strikes out on his own, finds an apartment, a job, and friends, figures out life in the 21st century...and of course falls in love!

4. Preberseeschießen by Ginny_Potter | 6K, T

Author's summary: Bucky breathes out and shoots. The bullet hits water… and there it is, the zapping sound of paper tearing.

The light turns on and off three times. Third circle. Just a lick out of bullseye. The Howlies explode in cheers.

Or, the Howling Commandos play a shooting game with the Austrian Resistance and Steve has lots of unresolved feelings about himself, his new body, and his changing relationship with Bucky. In other words, comrades are comrades, angst looms, and Steve feels.

Wartime fic. Would you like to read some excellent gay angst full of yearning and unresolved tension, peppered with interesting and wonderfully specific historical details and Howlies camaraderie? Would you like to get your heart crushed a little? Yes? Here you go. And if this makes you feel too sad by the end of it and you crave a bit of a happier resolution, just jump straight into a fistfull of dollars (5K, E) by the same author, which is not intended as a companion piece or even set in the same universe, but it works just as if it were. (Look at me sneaking in extra recs.)

5. Not In The Answer But The Question by aimmyarrowshigh, art by PottersPink | 27K, T

Author's summary: It rankles that his drink was made before he even got a chance to order it. What if he wanted a change? What if he were adventurous and bold? What if he tried something new?

---

Or, Steve Rogers shakes up his gray daily routine in 2014 by going back home to Vinegar Hill. To his surprise, the Jewish deli he used to frequent with Arnie is still standing.

And Steve's whole life changes again.

Shrunkyclunks. Post-Avengers canon divergent. A lost and lonely Steve tries to figure out who he was, is and most importantly, wants to be in this new century he's found himself in that is both terrifying and full of possibilities. Told in vignettes (I did not count, but I believe all of them are exactly 100 word drabbles) that perfectly illustrate the fragmented mind and life of its protagonist and his experience of constantly shifting and adjusting between past and present. A story about identity, memory, self-acceptance, and finding the courage to love and let yourself be loved. And food. So much amazing food!

+ 1 TBR: Operation: Gros Michel by SquadOfCats | 358K, E

Author's summary: “It starts with bananas. Of course, it's not really about the bananas. Just like a camel isn't bothered by one single straw, just like a dam doesn't break because of one extra drop. Obviously, Steve's mental breakdown isn't about bananas.”

Steve is overwhelmed and hanging by a thread, doing his best to take care of Bucky while still deeply traumatized himself. He finally has a breakdown over the stupidest of things: bananas. So Bucky takes care of him.

In which Steve learns to surf, Bucky becomes a gardener, and they both begin to heal.

Post-CA:TWS canon divergent. No, I did not make a mistake, the word count for this story really does come in at an impressive (or intimidating, you decide) 358,225 words! Which is the only reason why I haven't read it yet. I do want to make time for this asap because the snippets I've read so far were very intriguing and everything I've heard about it from people who have finished it, sounds absolutely amazing. So, this is the wild card pick!

Happy reading! <3

[lennadanvers]

Three times Simon wanted to hug you (and the one time he did)

This is the final part! I was supposed to post it yesterday but fell asleep. You can find parts 1-3 here.

Simon’s birthday wasn’t a special day. Only one person knew about it (Price), and all he got from him was a “Happy birthday, son” and a pat on the back. It was okay, though, because the captain couldn’t give him the only gift he wanted.

He had tried. Really. But he just couldn’t bring himself to ask you for a hug. How did people do that, anyway? Initiate that kind of contact?

Ghost was pretty sure you wouldn’t turn him down. You were too nice to him. But he didn’t want to make a fool of himself. Didn’t want it to be uncomfortable, or weird. You were so… Human. So warm, so much expression, skin, so much life.

He, on the other hand, had the name of a lost soul and the face of an abandoned body.

A poor combination – one that couldn’t manage to think of an effective strategy, by the way. Whenever he saw you, he opened his mouth and all that came out were sarcasm and dad jokes. An it really wasn’t that bad, because you were laughing a lot -and in his birthday, no less-, but he wanted to know what it felt to be safe. Unbroken. Close to you. Maybe then he’d be infected by your humanity.

He had watched Soap. How easy it was for him to touch people. But Ghost had put up a barrier, a boundary, and now it had become a prison. How was he supposed to cross it? To get out? He was a soldier. A fighter. He could stop people. He could kill. But Ghost wasn’t a fucking climber. And feelings can’t be pierced by bullets or cut by knives. He could hit the punching bag all he wanted: his knuckles still ached for a soft caress, not because of the blow.

It would have been the perfect birthday gift. Scratch that, it’d just be the perfect gift in general.

But no, the only perfect thing in Simon’s life were the sturdy defenses Ghost had installed around him.

Well, you were perfect too. Not in the same way, of course. You were so much better. You were unpredictable, flawed, changing. More than perfect. Simon could rely on you, even though he could never guess what was going to be your next move. You were always there, always close, but never enough (though he wasn’t sure it could ever be enough- can one melt into somebody else? Could he make himself a home inside of your ribs?). Always seeing, even when you weren’t looking (you didn’t look at him that much- maybe slightly longer than at the rest of the people at base, but his expression was always harder to read with the mask).

He, on the other hand, was blinded by your light, unable to see past the brightness you casted over everything.

That’s why he found himself hiding in the kitchen, just a couple minutes away from midnight. Ghost liked the kitchen. It reminded him of you. Like anything else, if he were to be honest. But in the kitchen, he felt the warmth of the oven and could pretend it was your heat, finishing cooking the parts of him that were still raw. The fridge was full of the time, dedication and love you had put into baking whatever sugary thing you had been craving recently. It tasted better than a birthday cake, even if it didn’t fully satiate his craving for something sweet.

He'd figured he would be able to enjoy his pathetic beer on his own.

Not in peace, though, because- as usual- you were there. At first, just in his head. You were in the buzzing of the fridge, in the condensation of the bottle, in the empty space between his fingers.

But then you were also under the doorframe, looking at him.

Your head had the same inclination it had when you were perched on a rooftop, eye against the rifle’s scope: you were searching for your target. You said hello in a sleepy voice, and all the lack of air in his lungs allowed him to do in response was nod. As you walked towards the fridge to get some water, he turned back to the table. There were eight chairs. The only one occupied was his.

What if you decided to sit down with him? Make a birthday toast, even if you didn’t know it was his birthday? Maybe all the years piling on his back would weigh less, huh? Especially if there were still seven chairs unoccupied after you sat down.

You didn’t sit. You stood there, quietly sipping water with your hip against the counter. Simon felt your eyes scratching at the back of his mask.

He ran out of beer rather quickly. Maybe a little bit of alcohol would help? But it was just a bottle, after all, and even though he smashed it as hard as he could against the wall surrounding him, it didn’t even make a dent. It just shattered. Ghost knew he’d still be finding shards of glass the next morning.

Taking in the absolute failure, he stood up and fixed the chair against the table. There, as if he’d never been here. Ghost threw the bottle in the trashcan next to you, the fabric of your pajamas was cotton, and pulled down his mask. He muttered some variation of “Sleep well”.

You were wearing shorts, goosebumps on your legs. His hoodie was warm. And big. He was almost certain you both could fit in it.

You blinked at him and left the glass on the counter.

“G’night, Simon.”

You took one step towards the door, and he was already willing his body to move, to open the way for you to leave first.

Ghost had always known you had better sight than him. You were an amazing sniper, out on the field, of course, but also out in life. You saw all the stupid little things: the defeated tilt of his eyelids, the dead motion of his hands hanging at his sides, the chains around his ankles that reached all the way to hell. And, again, you were an incredible shooter. An empathetic one.

Another step, and you were inside. Your arms held his waist softly. It was a slow movement- inhaling before pulling the trigger. Your cheek rested on top of his chest, the shot going straight through your target.

He felt your weight against his ribs, your hair on his neck, your fingers in his back… Simon felt you. He felt you.

His hands tripped to hold you; the grip stronger than socially recommended. But he was doing his best- he wasn’t a climber, after all. The height scared him. So, naturally, he held on for dear life.

Simon ducked his head, nose against your hair. That way he couldn’t see the empty space under his feet- it was easier to pretend he was still standing on the floor, and not floating above it. He took a step towards you, boots almost bumping into bare feet. It wasn’t a big step by any means, but it was the first.

Behind his mask, he could finally smell you. It wasn’t just your shampoo. It was your perfume (faint, subtle, fresh against the heavy air in his side of the fabric), you: special, delicate, and so different from him. Clean- somehow you had managed to get rid of the blood and gunpowder, the guilt, the grime. The last time the sun had touched his face (the first ray of a cool morning): that’s what you smelled like.

Outside.

Good, beautiful things on the other side of the wall.

No humidity, no rotting, no locked darkness. Clean, healed wounds. Life growing, symbiosis, instead of desperate survival. Even though he was so much bigger than you- back hunched, arms wrapped all the way around your ribs, body practically eating you, absorbing- Simon understood his own insignificance.

It was such a relief not being the strongest person in the room.

Simon’s lungs swelled, his knees and brows relaxing, lips and hands trembling. Finally, there was someone in his side of the wall.

If you have any requests/ideas, you can send them and I'll do my best to write them.

[misc-obeyme]

Lesson 36 spoilers below, including the locked lesson & hard lesson...

Sorry it's a little screenshot heavy but there was a lot happening in this lesson and I was having a lot of feelings. I think I screenshotted my way through the whole thing lol.

SO. MUCH. LORE.

We got so much lore!??!?!

Things I'm freaking out about:

Mephisto's whole lecture about the underworld and its rings

the fact that trains were seen as commoner's transportation 'cause they were used by demons who couldn't fly

SOLOMON (as if he wasn't hot enough) walking through all the rings of the underworld

Solomon just kinda laughing about it and then agreeing that it's really just a tourist attraction now???? THAT'S THE UNDERWORLD YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT.

He talks about the city of Dis which is straight up from the Divine Comedy. Does this mean Dante has been their resource all along?! That could explain Diavolo's Italian name...

Because he also talks about Minos who also made an appearance in the Divine Comedy... I'm just sayin!!

They said they're taking Lucifer to Cocytus?!? (Which is also in... you guessed it, the Divine Comedy. Where it's stated to be the home of traitors.)

Isn't that the same thing as the River of Lamentation?!?!

What're they gonna do, drown him???

Okay okay my list should have ended several bullet points ago.

(Though on that last one, if they're going full Dante, then they'll bury him in ice instead.)

ANYWAY.

Mephisto buying all those sweets for his little brother was the cutest thing ever. He needs to stop being precious. I was resisting so well and then he had to go and be a good brother and also be concerned about MC and ask if they were all right and yeah he's annoying but it's kind of endearing too....????

This whole part where he was just asking MC questions & worrying about them being hurt. STOP THAT. This is exactly the kind of thing I live for, you're doing on purpose, aren't you??

You are not supposed to care!

I warned you before to stop making me like you...

THAT'S IT. HE'S A KEEPER.

Also do you think that when they say commoners are demons that can't fly... are they saying that demons with wings are the only ones that can be nobles? Or are they saying demons with enough power to fly whether that's with wings or not? Because isn't Barbatos actually like a duke or something? Are you really gonna tell me that guy is a commoner? Even if he does work as a butler... maybe it doesn't count 'cause he can portal himself around?

But also! We know Mephisto is a noble so does this mean his demon form has wings? I thought for sure they were going to go with a tail.

BUT ALSO ALSO do the bros not count? They should all be nobles, but they clearly aren't, but they also aren't commoners? Maybe they're neither 'cause they're fallen angels? And we know three of them have tails, so...? I'M CONFUSED ABOUT HOW THIS WORKS.

Okay, sorry I'm getting off on a bit of a tangent here. There's just so much info that we suddenly got in this lesson about the world! And while I've been wanting more such stuff, I was hoping it would clarify some things not make things more confusing.

So anyway, there's a whole lot of underworld which they've mentioned before but only briefly, so it was cool to get more info on that!

Don't worry, Luci. MC has to travel through time as well as space and I don't think a trip through the underworld is going to cut it. I like it when you compliment Solomon, though.

I don't know how to tell you guys that the idea of Solomon walking through the underworld and laughing about it later makes me insane. So I'm just telling you straight out. I'm insane about it.

Are we still talking about the underworld? Because when I hear "tourist attraction" I tend to think of things like the world's largest ball of twine, not playing chess with Minos, Judge of the Damned.

That whole phone conversation with him was just so good. I know I recently wrote a whole post about him being sus and he still is because it's him, but do not misunderstand me because I love that man. I love his cute little laugh that he always does.

Then again, he's clearly terrible at lying. Good at just not saying stuff maybe, but lying directly? I'm not so sure...

So anyway, Lucifer's gonna be executed, huh? I like how both he and Mephi were like nope Diavolo is gonna fix this. They have such unwavering faith in him, it's precious.

Also, I LOVED THIS ENTIRE PART.

Lucifer saying he knows? He knows, but this is home now for him and his brothers? And then MEPHISTO coming right back with then you should understand why MC wants to go home??

I was not expecting Mephistopheles to understand and be concerned about MC wanting to go home like that. It wasn't something like yeah you should go home you're a human and don't belong here. He didn't say anything like that at all. It was just immediately like you must miss your family. Mephisto confirmed family man!

HARD LESSON: Solomon was being a complete menace. He locked Lucifer's brothers in a room??? What's he gonna make them do!? Eat his cooking?? No, he gives his cooking to people because he loves them and wants to make them happy. So it can't be that. My mind... it goes to dangerous places... why did they have to cut off the lesson without telling us what Solomon's intentions were??

...

I wouldn't mind being locked in that room with them all, though.

Please take this selection of screenshots of him being insufferable with that cute lil smile on his face.

To be fair, he's not wrong... it was pretty funny.

I CAN'T.

Also in the LOCKED LESSON: Barbatos my true love. This whole interaction was amazing. Simeon and Luke are so cute. Diavolo clearly doesn't know Lucifer super well yet and it's so adorable watching him figure it out. And now he's all like Barbatos how can I fix this? And Barb is just like sorry it's too late. LOL he's so strict.

Dadbatos mode activated.

Luke my sweet baby angel, never change!

Diavolo's sad face is so cute, I don't know how Barb ever manages to resist it. I'd just give in to everything he ever wanted all the time. I also love how he is straight up calling Barb mean lol.

They both look so serious. Cut him some slack, Barb!

And lastly, I only wish to leave you with this:

Everybody knows nobody can make tea as good as Barbatos does. Not even Lucifer.

Don't be angry, Luci. You're no Barbatos, but I'm sure your tea is delicious.

[somecunttookmyurl]

Hey, you recently mentioned somewhere about how growing pains aren't really a thing the way we think of them in the tags about a post about taking kids' pain seriously. And i've been sitting on that ever since, as someone who had severe 'growing pains' growing up that'd take me out for days but was told to stick it out. Thing is, they never went away and despite hitting 30 soon I regularly google something like 'growing pain in 20s' with some regularity.

I've finally bit the bullet, done the doctor marathon, ended up at a rheumathologist and was like 'idk i've had pain my entire life i was told it was normal'. (Didn't go over well, but how could it have.) Despite him then noting hypermobility he's adamant hsd or heds aren't worth looking into. And now i'm sat here like. Well, was it ever growing pains?

Could you talk more about what you meant with the growing pains? My mind is not letting it go

'growing pains' is something doctors say to dismiss pain in teens and children a lot.

the fact is, yes, some children get pains that are temporary and ultimately harmless and not at all related to growing in fact we don't know why it happens

the other fact is it tends to be limited to the ages of approximately 3 to 11, yet doctors use it to dismiss pain in teenagers - who still do a lot of growing often very quickly (especially boys).

it affects mostly if not exclusively the legs (notably calves and shins) and worsens following physical activity. yet doctors will often use it to handwave away any and all musculoskeletal pain

so yes there is a type of pain children (but not really teens) can experience in their lower legs. but not a) the rest of the body b) long-lasting c) bad all the time and d) it has nothing to do with actually growing

and frankly given we "don't know" why it happens at all i'd bet decent money there actually is a cause for whatever pain happened even if it was temporary. like doing the three-legged race wrong.

edit: sorry skipped over the hypermobile part. for some people (i hate them personally) hypermobility is not painful. for most people it IS. this is for the simple fact that your ligaments and tendons (connective tissue) are too stretchy so they aren't holding your joints in place as well as they should. so you know what has to pick up your slack? your larger muscles. you know what is built for movement and not 24-7 activation to keep you assembled? your muscles. they're doing something they're not supposed to have to do, and they're doing it all the time and they are fucking tired. unfortunately (i have hypermobile EDS and didnt get diagnosed until i was 28) there is no "cure" for this. the only treatments are stabilisation - physical therapy to try and build up the smaller stabilising muscles and support garments or things like k-tape to take the load off the bigger muscles by providing external support. also massage and heat to relieve the tension and tiredness.

[skzdust]

Contingency

Part 1

Welcome to a new series! This is my first mafia au, so I hope you all like it! It starts off a bit slow but next chapter things will really pick up ;)

Summary: You accept a job from your best friend Seonghwa getting information on Ateez's rival group, SKZ. You decide to get to the organization through one of their members: Lee Minho. You find yourself falling for him, and things get even more complicated when SKZ's resident hacker seems to have his sights set on you as well.

Pairing: Lee Know x I.N x Reader

Includes: Seonghwa being a good friend, coffee shop meetings, Lee Minho being hot

Word count: 1.5k

Taglist (Comment on a post/send an ask if you'd like to be added): @weirdowithaphone, @caught-in-the-afterglow, @palindrome969, @skzstan12345, @katsukis1wife, @tsunderelino

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!!

Part 2 | Part 3

Masterlist

-----

“You’re looking for a job right now, yes?” Seonghwa raised his eyebrows, leaning forward on his elbows.

You blinked. “Blunt, but yes.”

“Perfect.” A smile lit up his eyes.

It often did. Seonghwa may have been a member of ruthless criminal organization Ateez, but he was warm and sentimental and kind. Although you supposed you hadn’t seen him at his usual work of interrogations—you doubted his victims got that same side of him.

“What is it?”

“Well… it’s something for us, actually.”

You were confused. “Doesn’t Hongjoong usually keep things internal?”

“That’s…” Seonghwa cleared his throat. “That’s the issue. We can’t send one of our own. I can’t tell you too much, but Hongjoong… he’s planning something, and he wants to know how much information a certain other organization has on us. We can’t risk one of ours getting captured by them.”

“Another organization?” Your eyes widened as you realized who he must mean. “You’ve gotta be kidding. Their screening process is infamously insane. I’ll never get far enough in to get the information you need in time.”

Seonghwa shrugged. “We’re putting the offer out to a few people. You’re not the only bounty hunter we know.”

You held one hand to your chest. “Wow, and here I thought we were best friends.”

“We are!” Seonghwa took your other hand. “Ateez knows other bounty hunters, but you’re Park Seonghwa’s favorite.”

“How sweet.”

He let go of your hand to make a heart between both of his. “Anytime.”

“So… I need to find SKZ’s file on Ateez and deliver it to you? For how much?”

Seonghwa jerked his head, indicating he wanted to say something in your ear, and you leaned in. He whispered the amount, and your eyes went wide.

“Deadass?”

“Deadass.” His eyes twinkled.

“For that money, you can consider them infiltrated already.”

“There you go! That’s the spirit!”

—

You went over your plan in your head for the thousandth time as you waited in the coffee shop. You had no way of knowing exactly when he would show up, so you couldn’t be distracted.

You spotted him as soon as he walked in. Nothing about him explicitly screamed “criminal underworld”, but the way he carried himself, the subtle quality of the leather jacket he wore, the shifting of his eyes across the space as he analyzed for potential threats all told you this man was just like you—dangerous.

You knew Ateez’s papers on your target—at least the ones you’d been granted access to—could only tell you so much, but you reviewed a few pieces of information you’d gleaned from the file as you watched him get in line.

Lee Minho loved coffee; his usual order was an iced americano. He had a fondness for cats. He’d had two girlfriends in the past three years.

Lee Minho had good aim; he could shoot a man in a snowstorm at night with one bullet. He had shot a man in a snowstorm at night with one bullet.

Lee Minho had the highest kill count in SKZ.

You added one to your mental list: Lee Minho was hot.

It was self-indulgent, but it would definitely make your plan easier for you.

You looked back down at your notebook, trying to look busy as he did another glance around the room. You tapped at the binding with the eraser of your pencil, biting the inside of your lip as you pretended to focus intently on something.

As the barista called out, “Minho!”, setting down a cup on the counter, you began to pack up your things. By the time the drink was in his hand, you were standing up, and by the time Minho had made it to the door, you were walking at a brisk pace, staring at your phone intently. So intently, in fact, that you walked right into him.

He reacted in moments, his hand moving to your arm, holding it tightly so you didn’t lose your balance. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m—I’m good, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t—”

“No worries.” He cut you off smoothly. “No harm done.”

“You sure you’re okay?” You looked at his coffee, which he’d held away from his body. “Nothing spilled?”

“Nope. Are you okay? All… good?” His eyes darted up and down your body, and his gaze lingered on your bag for a moment too long. You knew he was likely scanning for weapons, but a piece of you hoped he was checking you out.

“Yes.” You adjusted the bag on your shoulder, and his eyes snapped back to your face. His smile was reserved, but genuine. “I’m sure I’ll see you around if you’re here often, but have a nice day.”

“Yeah, I’m here a lot. Have a good day!” You tried to be peppy. That was your persona right now: y/n l/n. A kind, good person.

He nodded his head in a goodbye, then walked out the door. You followed him out and went off in the opposite direction, satisfied with the interaction.

—

You didn’t want to take the plan slow, but you knew that you’d have to if you wanted to get all the information Ateez had requested. Minho would suspect something if you were overly clingy or moved too fast. So, the next day, you resolved not to talk to him as you set up your laptop and notebook. You’d look up when he passed your table—one you’d selected right next to the part of the bar where customers picked up their drinks—and smile sweetly, and that would be it.

You weren’t counting on Minho looking around as he waited for his americano, seeing you, giving a small smile, and walking over. You hurried to close the more suspicious tabs on your computer, despite the fact that he approached from the opposite direction.

“Hello.” He tilted his head, as if analyzing you. “You’re here again.”

“I am.” You closed the last one and turned your full attention to him. “So are you.”

“I like the coffee here, it’s better than a lot of other places, and I usually need a lot of caffeine.”

You took a sip of your own drink. “It is good. What do you need caffeine for?” It was an obvious question, and you knew the answer, but it was something an uninformed civilian would ask.

He gave a brief laugh before saying, “It’s complicated, but I do business stuff with a bank. I work a lot of late nights. What do you do?”

You fought to keep a laugh of your own off your face. He clearly wasn’t used to giving that lie, and while it would’ve fooled a random person, you knew the truth, which let you monitor his tells.

(Which were shifting his weight between his feet, speaking a little too loudly, and the immediate subject change.)

“Mm.” You said instead, nodding. “That sounds important. I’m in tech stuff. Coding.” You raised your eyebrows. “It’s complicated.”

“Is it?”

“It is.”

You smiled at each other for a moment before the barista called out, “Minho!”, and he went to get his drink. He stopped by your table again.

“My name’s Minho.” He held up his coffee. “If you couldn’t tell from that.”

“I’m y/n.” You tilted your laptop screen down. “Am I gonna see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” He smiled, just a bit bigger. “Maybe we can sit together.”

Something bubbled in your chest—something real. Your plan had been to start dating Minho as a ruse to get close to SKZ, breaking up with him as soon as you had the information you needed. So you told yourself the feeling was just excitement that your plan was working. It had nothing to do with Minho specifically. You’d feel this way over any plan working.

You knew you were lying to yourself, but you shushed that portion of your brain. You could not catch feelings for Lee Minho.

“I’ll save a seat for you… wait, here.” You ripped a piece of paper off one of your notebook pages and scribbled your name and number.

You knew it was unnecessarily risky to use your real name verbally, let alone write it down with your number, even if it was a burner phone. But no one you worked with or around knew it, and you’d grown to miss hearing it.

You knew it was worth it when Minho mumbled it as he read the paper. “Y/n.”

You smiled. “Yeah, in… in case you want to call me or something.”

He put it in his pocket, his eyes glinting. “Y’know, it’s pretty risky to hand out your name and number to strangers.”

You shrugged. “I don’t hand out my name and number to most strangers.”

He leaned in a few inches. “And what if I’m the dangerous kind?”

You smirked. “Then at least you’re hot.”

He gave a real laugh as he leaned away. “You’re funny, y/n. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.”

You watched him walk out of the coffee shop, hands in his pockets.

You were glad the plan was working. That was all.

[theerurishipper]

Anyway, I had a discussion a while back about how Adrien wasn't abused before Emilie's death and I gotta say I disagree, but I'm feeling too lazy to write a whole post about it so here are some bullet points.

Adrien has no friends except for Chloe. I wonder why the boy who is so desperate for emotional connections and friendships would not want to or try to make friends for 13 years except for one girl who is conveniently the daughter of the mayor of Paris unless his parents didn't let him.

Gabriel canonically only gave Adrien a stupid pen for three years (i.e. during the time Emilie was alive) and doesn't that paint a picture of a loving and attentive father. Adrien has also never had a birthday party before.

Adrien's lack of awareness of social cues doesn't make it seem like he is someone who was allowed to socialize like children normally are, and speaks to a lifelong isolation as opposed to it just starting after Emilie died.

Adrien doesn't act like someone who is used to unconditional love and had it stripped away from him. Never does he express confusion over his father's sudden turn from being loving to coldness, not once does he indicate that his father used to act way differently. And yes, Emilie being nice and loving is something that can coexist with her being a bad parent who at best simply allowed Gabriel to isolate Adrien from the world and at worst actively contributed. Adrien only ever mentions that she was nice, not that she ever disagreed with his father on how to raise him.

Please do correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think a child who is used to being assured of his own worth and loved so unconditionally for 13 years would so completely internalize the contradictory idea that he has to earn love by being whatever the other person wants him to be in the span of less than a year without any trouble and with no doubts or confusion at all as to why everything is so different from before. The practiced way he wears his masks around others without once suggesting that it was different before at some point indicates that this has been the norm for him. And not once does he seem to expect anything different from anyone as opposed to just Gabriel. You would expect that someone who is used to being unconditionally loved would just expect that and view his father as an exception to the rule, but that's not the case.

To continue from the previous point, Adrien doesn't react to being shown unconditional love like someone who has experienced the feeling before would. Not once does he bemoan the loss of his supposed better treatment prior to Emilie's death. He acts genuinely surprised and shocked when Gabriel is nice to him, like he's never experienced it before. The way he clings to Ladybug's unconditional support like it's the best thing he's ever had doesn't speak of someone who was raised with unconditional love in abundance. He genuinely does not know how to not put up a front all the time in front of everyone because he believes that is what everyone expects of him, which is something that he probably shouldn't think if he spent 13 years of his life being loved and supported unconditionally and being able to be himself.

As evidence for this being a lifelong thing and not just something that started after Emilie died, consider the fact that Adrien's childhood dream is to be whatever his parents wanted him to be. Idk about y'all but the fact that this child had no dreams and desires of his own except to be his parents' little doll says a lot about how he was raised, and only proves that he's never really seen himself as someone who gets to have his own desires outside of pleasing his parents and having to earn their love even as a child, proving my point that this isn't something that started less than a year ago.

No, but Wishmaker really did shit all over the "Adrien's life only became bad after Emilie's death" argument huh. I sincerely question why anyone thinks that Emilie wasn't abusive after watching that episode.

And idk, the fact that he was constantly mind-controlled by his parents his whole life should be enough to understand that they are abusive pieces of shit.

My impression is that it got worse after Emilie died but was pretty bad before already (I mean, I thought it couldn't get much worse than mind-control, but Gabriel the asshat managed to make it happen). But honestly, the show has such an inconsistent tone with their portrayal of Emilie. They seem to want her to be seen as a good and loving and perfect mother, but then there are so many unfortunate implications regarding her treatment of Adrien that they just... do not acknowledge.

[russellsppttemplates]

Hiii girl 🪻💐! First, nice to meet you xx ! I really love your vibe. Love purple pp 💜! Can I request a small os, please? I saw you wrote monegasque reader and all cute os. Can I ask you (you choose) Lando/Charles/Oscar with inked!reader (like full arms tattoos and stuff) it’s always wag so ✨perfect clean✨, I’m tired to see the clean vibe, I want to be delulu with rockie vibe, feminine tattooed wag, normal wag 😬. Topic could be : new tattoo with driver reaction or handle with people opinion. Thanks 💜🪻 if you’re not feeling to write it, it’s okay too. Have a nice day xx

Note: hiiii! Welcome to this little corner of the Internet I made along with everyone who follows this blog! Thank you - this is supposed to be as much a safe pace for you as it is for me 🫶 I hope you had a good day, too! 🫶

"Someone spotted you when you left the tattoo studio", Oscar said as he stepped inside the apartment after having spent the day in the Center, noticing you were wearing a cardigan even though it was a warm day out, "they posted a picture online".

"So it's not a surprise, is it?", you slumped your shoulders slightly, shrugging the cardigan off.

"I don't know what you got, so it's still a surprise, sweetheart", he smiled, hugging you and being mindful of the wrap around your arm.

Oscar sat on the sofa and allowed you to model the new tattoos for him. Your right arm didn't seem to have any new ink to it, the same three tattoos you had in there still looking beautiful after two years. You like the idea of having one arm slightly more bare than the other so your right arm only had those three on the inner side of it, peeking through whenever you were sleeveless tops. Your left arm was the one where the tattoos were the most noticeable, the ink pieces scattered along the extension of the limb.

"I got this one, it's a bee", you pointed to the inner part of your arm, "it represents my safe hive, the people who are always there for me even if I'm not there in person", you explained. You had moved in with Oscar a couple of months ago and, more than ever, you spent long periods of time away from your family since you travelled to see your boyfriend race as much as you could, "I know I can fly away, but no matter how far and how hard times can be, I'll always be able to come back".

"It looks so pretty, the detail on the wings is so precise", Oscar pointed out.

"I chose the artist at that studio because she is great at doing the fine line tatoos with red ink", you began again, smoothing out through wrap so Oscar could see, "it's a heart with some flowers blooming from it", you pointed to the anatomical drawing, "whenever I set myself to do something, I pour my heart and soul into it, and my intuition hasn't failed me, so it's a little symbol to that".

"The red is somehow both subtle against your skin and so eye catching as well, I think it's the contrast with this one here", Oscar lightly touched an older tattoo you had next to the new one.

"Then I got this one, which I am quite nervous to show you, actually", you admitted, looking at your right wrist and covering it for the mean time, "I know people are really fussy with having a relationship tattooed on you because things can change so fast, but I don't like to think like that - my tattoos represent times of my life and things that happened - and if anything happens and I can't absolutely tolerate it, I can always remove it", you shrugged your shoulders before uncovering it.

Oscar held your hand and inspected it gently - the thin knot was both black and red, symbolising you and Oscar with the different colours but tied together seamlessly.

"I had to get it on my right one because I wear my watch on the left", you mumbled and a little twinge of nervousness could be spotted in your tone given that he hadn't said anything, "do you like it?", you bit the bullet.

"I love it, it's so beautiful, delicate and feminine too", he smiled, kissing around it.

"I also got a lightning bolt here", you twisted your wrist, "this one is just black and it's quite tiny, but it's about all the times I insisted and persisted - my stubbornness too - and how much I value that in people", you smiled.

"You're stubborn? Never would have guessed it", your boyfriend teased, earning your giggles and an eyeroll from you, "the line is so beautiful, she did an amazing job!", he complimented.

"I also got my first neck tattoo", you mumbled, "well, it's the first time I do it there, not sure if that means I'll do another because it hurt a bit more than I expected", you blushed, letting Oscar pull your hair back so he could see it.

The red inked word was aligned with your ear, "I chose the word rare because it's a devotion to myself, my self-love - accepting that I'm not perfect and that that is okay - I love myself the way I am and it's also a lot thanks to you", you tried to keep the tears pooling on your eyes from falling, "you loved me for me, all of me, no matter how many times people liked to point out any of my tattoos or how I don't fit the 'wag role', and I want a reminder of it everyday", you smiled.

Oscar cupped your jaw gently, careful of the sore area as he kissed your lips in a hard, long, searing kiss, joining your foreheads afterwards, "I love you, Y/N, all of you", he whispered.

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)