#there was a lot of things i wanted to do or change

[seat-safety-switch]

The news keeps banging on about self-driving cars. That's useless crap. Why would I want to get rid of the driving excitement of my daily commute? Most of my cars aren't even assisted-driving ones. No, what's really going to change automotive ownership forever is the development of the self-driving tow truck.

You've probably seen a bunch of crazy hype videos about a theoretical future car dropping its owner off and then going to look for a parking space on its own. This will never happen. No matter how stressful you find the act of parking, just imagine how much angrier you'll be when you come out of the Superstore and discover your shitbox is gunning it on the highway because it decided that the best place to park would be somewhere in Manitoba. Then it does a U-turn across four lanes and rams a bus full of nuns. No.

For my money, the more useful scenario is this. My car breaks down, then I press a button and a tow truck magically comes to get me. We throw that car on the tow truck and drive home to get it fixed. Easy. Economical. And if the eggheads working on this kind of thing do their jobs right, I won't even have to mess with the tow hooks myself. I can go grab a taco while the robot truck is busy roping up my stricken car and preparing the little winky-blinky lights.

Sure, it's going to put a whole lot of tow truck drivers out of business. Don't worry. Those brave folks have a highly transferable set of skills, and will be able to shift into a much lower-stress job, such as hostage negotiation or brain surgery. We'll need to keep a couple on hand, though, for when the robot tow trucks all break down and then start a horrific nightmare of trying to rescue one another, followed by a swelling fractal mass of tow trucks pulling tow trucks down the highway. That's a future you can bet on. Can I borrow your phone to call roadside assistance? Mine died when the alternator in my Plymouth blew up.

[talaok]

How it was

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: After Abby's attempt at Joel's life, he's in the hospital, and while you try to navigate through the difficult feelings having almost lost him bring up, his mind seems to be on a much different, inappropriate, thing.

Warnings: talk of Joel almost dying, mentions of blood. Smut| oral sex (m receiving), attempt at fingering (lol), talk of f receiving oral, and Joel's dirty mouth.

a/n: i haven't watched the new episode yet bc im tired of crying but what i can tell you for sure is that did not happen, my baby is fine and ellie has never been happier.

"Well good mornin' to me"

You were bent over the armchair tidying what had transformed into your bed for the past ten days when you heard him.

His raspy morning voice had you turning around with a smile.

You let go of the blanket in your hand as you walked closer to his bed.

The rising sun was filtering through the windows of the hospital, illuminating his upper body with a golden light.

His face was still bruised and swollen and they hadn't yet taken his stitches out.

A bittersweet feeling filled your heart every time you looked at him, every time he winced as he sat up, every time you watched him struggle to walk for more than ten steps... it hurt, and yet it filled you with joy.

He was alive- he'd come so very close, the closest he'd ever come to the end of it all, and he had survived- he was still here, with you.

"Good morning" you beamed, taking his hand in yours as you sat on his bed "How're you feeling?"

He smirked, but you felt him squeeze your hand tenderly "Would feel a lot better if you turned around and showed me that view again"

You could only roll your eyes, chuckling softly.

"Really baby, you feeling any pain? You need something?"

His lips formed a soft small smile as he brought your hand to his mouth to leave a kiss on it.

"'M great babygirl, dontcha worry"

You very much doubted he was great, but you nodded nonetheless.

He never wanted you to worry, which was silly, because there was nothing else you did these days besides worrying.

"Now c'mon, give me some sugar"

"Joel" you protested immediately "I don't wanna hurt you, let's at least wait to see what the nurse says about the stitches"

You talked as if your protests had ever been anything but futile, as if the moment he gave you those sweet puppy eyes and his honeyed voice called your name you weren't already leaning closer.

"I don't care if it kills me darlin', just give me a kiss"

You stopped dead in your tracks, your mouth an inch from his, your breathing one with his.

"don't joke about that"

You knew it was just a stupid joke. But nothing was really a joke anymore, not since you witnessed him being carried into Jackson unconscious, his bloody face beaten to a pulp, his body so close to being lifeless... you knew that image would haunt you for the rest of your life.

"'m sorry, doll" he apologized, his eyes looking into yours with all the care and love inside him "'m here" he promised, squeezing your hand.

You closed your eyes for a moment, holding back the tears threatening to spill.

"Don't scare me like that ever again"

Your tone was serious, matter of factly, because it all was true. You knew, with terrifying certainty, that if anything like that were to ever happen again, you wouldn't survive it.

"I won't" he murmured, your hand in his the only thing grounding you "I promise you, darlin'"

There were so many more things to say, so many things you had to talk about, so many feelings, fears, and hopes bubbling inside you, and yet all you could do at that very moment was press your lips to his, kissing the man you'd feared losing forever, just to lose yourself in him.

The kiss was sweet, soft, tender even.

You didn't wanna hurt him, his lips were still cut and his cheeks were still bruised.

But despite it all, the feeling of kissing him was exactly the same. If there was one thing that hadn't changed, it was the way he made everything else disappear, every hurt, scare, and sadness dissipated into thin air when his lips were on yours- when his stubble grazed your face, his hands held you, his scent hugged you tight...

It always became just you and him.

And then Joel groaned in pleasure, and in what you knew from experience to be frustration.

Your mouths were still connected, just as your hands, only his tongue was now sloppily tasting you deeper, as his other hand, his injured, tired hand, found your thigh, slowly traveling up and up until two of his fingers infiltrated between your thighs, rubbing your cunt through your jeans.

You couldn't help but huff a laugh.

There he was, bedridden and barely alive, and he was still trying to get in your pants... quite literally.

"Joel" you chuckled.

He didn't answer, instead, he only compelled his head to lean forward to deepen your kiss as his hands started fighting with the button holding your jeans together.

The angle was uncomfortable and he was very clearly struggling, but you just sighed into his mouth, silencing your amusement.

It took about a full minute for him to unbutton your pants, but once he finally did, he slid two of his fingers beneath the fabric as quickly as he could, which wasn't a lot given the position.

You obeyed his silent command to spread your legs, but even as his fingers reached your clothed slit, he couldn't do much more than try to caress your pussy.

"Baby" you murmured with a smile as he desperately tried to pleasure you "do you really think now's the time?"

"yeah," he breathed without missing a beat.

Just then his fingers drew higher and came in contact with your clit, making you stifle a soft moan.

But the jeans were too damn tight, and he really had no space to work with.

"take 'em off"

You couldn't help but grin.

He had not changed. Not one bit.

"Joel I can't exactly take my pants off in here right now"

He groaned, his big brown eyes pleading you.

"why not?"

You laughed as you took his wrist in your hand and started leading his fingers off of you, to which he protested with a frustrated noise deep in his chest.

"Because baby... not only is the door open" you said, glancing at it " but anyone could come in at any moment"

He groaned, his hand on your thigh now.

"That never stopped us before"

He earned himself a pointed glare with that one.

You weren't gonna be caught pantsless as your barely alive husband fingered you. No way in hell.

"Then put a sock on the handle or somethin'"

An amused snort left you at that.

"This is hospital baby, not a frathouse"

Those deep brown, expressive eyes of his were completely shadowed with lust- the man was desperate.

Ten days of no sex and he was already looking like a deprived, starved man... not to mention the fact that he had begun to touch you inappropriately on day two.

He almost died, and instead of wishing to watch the sun rise again or listen to birds chirp in the morning, all the man seemed to think of was pussy... yours specifically.

"please sugar"

Goddamn, those damned puppy eyes.

Those two words were all you needed before you got up and started towards the door.

You heard him groan behind you.

"You're gonna leave your man layin' here blueballed?"

You laughed softly as you closed the door, hoping to god that the nurses would get the hint and not come in.

You didn't answer, you just walked back to him, watching his eyes sparkle with excitement once you took the blanket off of him.

How the man still looked hot in a hospital gown was something that needed to be studied.

His left leg, where he'd been shot, was bandaged completely, while the naked right one showed off his hairy thighs, which made warmth spread low in your belly... yeah maybe you'd missed sex too.

Silently, your hand went to the skin that was covered by the very hem of his gown, slowly trailing up and up and up until you cupped his hardening manhood through his boxers.

"fuck" he breathed, struggling to prop himself further up on the bed to get a better view.

You raised your eyebrow, shooting him a look- the last thing you wanted was for him to hurt himself.

"You've got to listen to hear if anyone's coming and warn me if that's the case, ok?"

He nodded mindlessly, his sole focus on your hand stroking his dick.

"yeah- sure" he murmured, urgency and need straining his voice.

Yeah, you were fucked.

Nonetheless, you hiked his gown up and pulled his underwear down- his cock was hard as a rock and you hadn't even done anything more than put your hand on it.

You bent over, looking to the side at him as you slowly, oh so slowly, started kissing his tip.

He twitched in your hand as your tongue darted out to kitty lick him, precum leaking from him just in time for you to taste it.

You were looking at him with those godforsaken sexy eyes you'd get as you finally wrapped your mouth around him, and Joel... Joel was in another universe already.

He groaned, shifting his hips up with a painful grunt as you hummed around him, starting to bob your head as you fit more and more of him inside your mouth.

"Fuck me-" he couldn't help but moan "fuck that feels good darlin'"

He strained his neck as his head fell back against the cushions, his eyes shutting close as his tip hit the back of your throat, making you gag.

He was fisting the blanket so hard his knuckles were white as chalk, and his breathing was so erratic that he was half sure the doctors would run in at any moment because the monitor would pick up him having a heart attack.

"Jesus Christ" he groaned.

Your mouth felt better than anything on this earth at the moment. You were sucking him so tight and god but you had him so deep inside you.

"Just like that" he breathed, watching your eyes water as you forced almost all of him down your throat.

It had been four years and you still couldn't get all of him in- at this point you'd given up trying- He was just too damn big.

"so good for me sweetheart" he grunted, observing his cock go in and out of you "Such a good girl-fuck"

Your hand had found his balls, massaging them tenderly- which meant Joel was pretty much done for.

"Goddamnit-- I'm gonna- I-"

He erupted, filling your mouth with his spent before he could even finish the sentence- and you were more than happy to swallow it all up.

He was breathing heavily, watching you with half-lidded eyes as you smiled up at him, before tucking him back in his boxers and putting the blanket back on top of him.

All sounds from outside suddenly filled the room again, reminding you of where you were... and what you'd just done.

"What did I do to deserve you?" he asked, smiling as you reached his side again.

"beats me" you teased, leaving a quick kiss on his lips.

He groaned from deep in his chest, his hand coming up to stroke your cheek.

"We still need to take care 'f ya darlin'"

"no, we don't" you immediately shook your head.

A side of his lips twisted into a smirk as he got an idea.

You didn't wanna take off your pants, and it's not like he could much to change position given his state, so that meant only one thing...

"Sit on my face"

And yes that idea made you hornier than you already fucking were, but unlike your husband, you still had some sense of decency left in you.

"I'm scared to hurt you when I kiss you and you think I'm gonna sit on your face?"

He looked at you for a moment, trying to figure out if there was any way he could convince you- unfortunately, the results came back negative.

"A man can dream" he sighed as he guided you down for another kiss.

"Let me get a taste at least"

Your lips parted in stunner- he really was desperate today.

"Jesus baby" you huffed, your mouth betraying you with a smile "H-how am I even supposed to do that, you really shouldn't force your hands to struggle too much, it could be bad for-"

His eyes sparked with mischief as he murmured "There ain't nothing wrong with yours though, ain't that right sugar?"

Heat crept up your face as you understood, but seeing the unadulterated need in his iris, the strain in his voice as he whispered 'Just a taste'... in seconds your own hand was in your panties.

"This is dirty..." you murmured, eyeing the door as your fingers delved between your folds, gathering up your slick.

"we've done worse" he breathed, his eyes only on what was happening beneath your jeans.

The worst part was that you actually had.

You swallowed thickly as you pulled your hand out of your pants, guiding your glistening fingers to Joel's mouth.

He wasted no time opening his lips, sucking greedily on your digits, a groan rumbling from deep in his throat at the taste.

You bit your lip, watching the scene unfold as you pressed your thighs together to relieve some of the burning pressure.

He would have probably gone on for god knows how long if you hadn't pulled your fingers out of his mouth.

His cock was hard again and he was goddamn tired of being in this hospital bed.

He wanted to go back to his old life. To his house, his wife, his daughter.

He wanted to get back to waking you up in the morning with his tongue between your thighs- not... this.

So he brought your head down, guiding you for yet another kiss that overflowed with all the hopes and dreams he had about it all going back to how it was.

"fuck me-" he groaned in between desperate kisses "I miss our life- I miss... shit babygirl, I your pussy"

You laughed softly into his mouth before leaning away, a devious spark in your eyes.

"Tell you what...I'll wear a skirt tomorrow" you murmured, ghosting his lips "and I think the weather might be a bit too hot for panties"

The groan he let out at that caused a nurse to worriedly rush in.

[inbabylontheywept]

Hi there, I love your writing and saw one of your recent answered asks. If you feel like it, could you tell or point us to a story about how you were taught kindness? I worry I have not learned enough kindness.

I actually got out of bed to write this. I saw the ask, and I knew the story, and I knew what I wanted it to be. It's a little fire and brimstone, compared to my other stories, but I think that's an important part. 

My mom was a young woman's leader for our ward and she cared a lot about her charges. One of the girls in her group had parents that were in the middle of a messy divorce, and with the mom reentering the workforce after 15 years, schedules were hectic. So my mom picked up their daughter from school for a while. The daughter only lived a block away from us, so it was a small thing to do for a family going through a very painful change.

Said daughter was fat. She'd been fat since we were all kids and she was deeply ashamed of it. Always trying to fix it. Always reading about and talking about diets. And one day, I was sitting in the back seat, and she was talking with my mom about some documentary she'd seen about the corn industry, and how corn syrup was in everything, and I remember her saying "It's literally poison."

And I just didn't leave it be.  

I said something about if she was sure it was literal, and she said yeah, totally, and I asked her if she knew what literal went, and my mom shot daggers at me through the rear view mirror before changing the topic. They chatted, and my mom told her some stuff about worrying less about food, and I don't remember the details but I know my mom was trying to steer her away from disordered eating. Then we arrived at her house, and she got out, and after that it was just me and my mom in the car. 

And it was awkward. We drove for maybe a half block before my mom said, Babs, what the hell was that, and I said something about how that's not what literally means, and she took me to task for it. 

Who cares what literally means, she said. Her parents are getting divorced. She feels terrible about her body. She feels terrible about everything. And instead of listening to her, you felt the need to point out that you're smarter than her. That you know a word she doesn't. You feel big, putting her down like that? 

I didn't have an answer. We sat there a few moments, silent, before she spoke again. I will never forget how tired she sounded. 

I know she isn't as smart as you, she said. But she's doing the best she can. And you could be doing so much more than this.

There was nothing I could say to that. I saw her face in the rearview a few times on the short ride home, and she wasn't sobbing but there were tears going down her face. I think she sat in the car twenty minutes after pulling in, just trying to get her composure back. I checked on her from the living room window like ten times. I can't remember the last time I felt like that huge of a piece of shit.

My mom is a gentle woman. She cried over worms with me. She hardly ever yelled, and she apologized after she did. That conversation caved my skull in like a cinder block dropped from a skyscraper. And I deserved it. 

I know it's probably not the tumblr way to encourage shame. But I have found it useful anyway. I think it is useful for me, to have a specific moment of knowing what failure looks like and feels like.  Missing the person to pick out the part that would make me look good, missing the big view of their life, missing the idea that what they need is not necessarily to be right. Too may misses.

There are a lot of stupid things that have crawled to the tip of my tongue, only to get stopped by the memory of my mom saying you could be doing so much more than this. 

I will not make her say that a second time.

[transagainstautogynephiles]

This is a rant, but I’m honestly fed up with people blaming this shit on gender abolitionists.

As a trans person who doesn’t associate with the trans movement cause of shit like this, this is the world that TRAs want. They want to be seen as a man instead of a masculine woman, regardless of their biology. To do this they will be throwing butch women under the bus. Since they persist with pushing this ideology that masculinity makes them a man and femininity makes them a woman, the subtext of their ideology clearly displays that this is an okay sacrifice for them to make if it means cementing trans ideology in mainstream social values. They act upset and surprised because of their cognitive dissonance. At least they can see that the result of their ideology is bad, but of course instead of holding their ideology accountable for its issues they’re projecting their outrage on to the group that was telling them this was going to happen from making masculinity=man and femininity=woman and disregarding sex based issues.

Being trans, hating your body or how people perceive your body, and wanting to change sex to disassociate from yourself is a mental health condition, and people who are gnc should be themselves without transing themselves. The modern transness has become a social contagion and it’s making a trend and mockery of a mental health issue I wish I didn’t have. I wish I could be a gnc woman and not try to pass as a man, but I can’t stand the thought of myself as a woman. I wouldn’t wish my mental health issues on any butch woman and I don’t appreciate maintsream trans ideology pushing the whole egg thing and pushing people into something that is essentially a dissociative disorder.

The TRAs want to maintain the gender hierarchy not dismantle it, cause if they dismantle it then what would they transition to if they don’t get surgery? If there is no gender for them to transition between and your sex didn’t determine your gender(personality, self presentation, and stereotypes) then they’d feel lost and hate either not having something to help them disassociate from their bodies or not being able to social signal that they’re progressive and give themselves a community just by slapping on neopronouns or wacky clothes. It makes sense since a lot of them including myself are autistic and struggle with finding community, but this is a harmful route to take and throws gnc people under the bus for selfish reasons. There are plenty of other ways to find and make communities, but instead they choose to trample on issues of sex based oppression and the oppression of same sex attraction to make themselves feel valid.

TRAs told lesbians to be attracted to gender presentation and pronouns, not sex. TRAs deny sex based attraction and sex based oppression. Of course the society that has bent over backwards to accommodate the trans movement now treats someone aesthetically masculine as a man (or for conservatives, a woman they can now claim is a man to shun her), cause that’s what you’ve been preaching. They are playing by TRA rules. Of course those conservatives are gonna align with the aspects of your ideology that benefit them, like using it as an excuse to kick butch lesbians out of womens spaces.

There is no material difference between a butch and a trans-man unless there’s been surgery, which TRAs say isn’t necessary for someone to be trans (while also saying, “but if the trans people don’t get surgery they’ll kill themselves!”). If someone can be officially trans without surgery and there’s no material reality difference between butch and trans, then by TRA logic the conservatives can think that being butch makes you a man because, masculinity = presenting as a man in the gendercult. Conservatives are playing by your rules and kicking “a man” out of the women’s restrooms, this is where mainstream trans ideology leads society to.

I wish the trans community would please let gnc people be themselves and stop calling them transphobes or terfs when they don’t play along with the mental gymnastics of denying sex based issues. I wish they wouldn’t push gender ideology on them with the consequences of being shunned or sent rape and death threats if they don’t give in to their disillusionment. It’d be great if they let real trans people who struggle with dysphoria get help for their mental issues without being pushed further into the disassociation by therapists who are trying to maintain gender roles and the status quo. They gotta stop saying that they’re trans because they like being masculine or because they like being feminine, just be gnc, and stop making more gender boxes for people to fit into, abolish it all and work towards getting rid of the hierarchy. Gender critical people would be able to fight back against this shit that the conservatives pull if TRAs weren’t constantly undermining feminist gender critical people and gender abolition progress. I’m just tired of this shit honestly.

As a trans person i look forward to the next millennia where we have abolished the patriarchy and abolished the gender hierarchy that it uses to oppress women. It’ll be a long road ahead with the gender supporters constantly upholding this shit.

[lordtardigrade]

I love the idea of John hearing that you want a divorce and just deciding you're clearly not in your right mind and can't be trusted to make decisions for yourself anymore.

When you try to leave him, it’s during a big argument…. A big argument. Things were getting heated, the argument reaching its peak and turning into a screaming match that ended up with the police being called.

He’d seen a chance, and he’d taken it.

He could almost convince himself that what he’d done had been out of genuine concern for you… He knew better, but he couldn’t admit it, not when he’d then proceeded to do far worse with even less justification.

Oh, how you’d glared when he told the officer that he was worried about you- that your behavior was “irrational”.

And it was… at least in his mind. He just didn’t mention specifics, lest the good officers definition of irrationality differ from his own.

Just like how when he’d told the officer about your self harm and suicidal thoughts, he didn’t mention how long ago that had been, nor did he mention the treatment you’d received since then.

And that’s really all it took. From the moment the officer gave John that sympathetic glance, he’d known he’d won. When the man takes John to the side, quietly asking him if he thought you needed to be brought to a facility, John turned, giving you an apologetic look as you glared at him, fists clenched in anger as you silently fumed.

“Yes… I think that would be for the best.” He says softly, faking guilt and internal conflict over the decision.

Seeing the betrayal and confusion in your eyes had almost made him regret it.

Almost.

But he knew this was for the best. You weren’t in your right mind- how else could you say you wanted to leave him?

And the more he repeated those words, the more he came to believe them.

Of course, the involuntary hold would only last 72 hours, and John knew you’d be livid once you got out. He had to make sure he was ready for you to come home. All it had really given him was time.

The emergency conservatorship is surprisingly easy to acquire. Your admittance to the mental hospital combined with you not being able to appear in court and defend yourself made it a relatively easy win.

Getting a proper conservatorship set up would be a bit more difficult of a process, but John had already contacted Nikolai and asked him for assistance with finding a doctor willing to… fudge the truth a bit for the papers. The man’s contacts would also come in hand when it came to getting his hands on some of the medications he’d be keeping on hand until you settled down a bit… just for when you got yourself a bit too worked up.

It’s a rough couple months, because christ- you’re beyond livid with him. Once you finally wear yourself out with all your crying and screaming, John’s left with a sobbing wife who looks up at him with her eyes heart broken from betrayal.

It breaks his heart when you look at him like that, but he has to remind himself, this is all for your sake. You’ll understand that one day.

John takes to his new task of caring for his wife with a steady but firm hand, allowing you to pout and mope for a few weeks as you adjust to what is- admittedly- a big change. It’s only when you turn that anger towards him or bring up wanting to leave that he has to correct you.

When he hands you a cup of water and a little blue pill, you know he’s not asking.

The Midazolam usually does the trick, but occasionally John has to be a bit harsher in his corrections.

He has faith you’ll come around. He doesn’t even hold your behavior against you, his poor wife is dealing with a lot, and if stepping up to take care of you is what he needs to do to keep you with him safe, then that’s what he’ll do.

And when you do finally accept your new life? He couldn’t be happier. He’s so glad you were finally able to move past what he’d done- what had to be done to protect you.

[ms-demeanor]

It seemed like your job was getting better there for a minute under new management. Is it new management that's fucking up now, not "fixable", or is it holdovers from the old guy?

So my company, formerly owned by Gary, was "Strangled Bats LLC". The company that bought us is "BunnyCorp Inc." Late last year, BunnyCorp Inc hired "Bruno" as our new CEO. The middle management are Bunnies from BunnyCorp.

Gary was a shithead who abused his employees but he was a stickler for documentation, standards, and naming conventions. Even though we lost a lot of documentation when BunnyCorp let Strangled Bats' CRM subscription lapse, I was able to save a bunch of PDFs and we actually still have printed copies of a BUNCH of our documents. Strangled Bats LLC was a terrible place to work and was very old-fashioned on some things, but we save our papers.

BunnyCorp Inc has a lot of very friendly bunnies in management who are cuddly and cute and easy to get along with and wouldn't know a configuration manager if it bit them in the ass. BunnyCorp was interested in acquiring and absorbing many companies to become one big company and cared more about purchasing companies (and therefore their client bases) than it cared about integrating those companies into itself OR than it cared about making notes on its customers.

Bruno has a long history of working in MegaBigCo and making things very efficient. When Bruno was hired as CEO, BunnyCorp officers did a great job of putting a good face forward and making it look like they had their shit together. By the time Bruno started, I had been working at BunnyCorp for three months and had mostly been focused on trying to get Strangled Bats' systems to mesh with BunnyCorp.

In January, Bruno had been with the company long enough that he started making changes to make things more efficient, because he'd been there long enough to see that there were some problems. At that point, I had started to notice that it seemed like we were duplicating an awful lot of work that was no longer related to issues with un-meshed systems, because I had meshed a lot of our systems. I got promoted and started training someone to take over the simpler parts of my job and was given the responsibility of looking into a lot of our contracts and agreements.

In March, the shit hit the fan and Bruno and I simultaneously realized that BunnyCorp Inc had been papering over a vast chasm of problems, most of which had to do with:

people with institutional knowledge leaving because they were underpaid

previous owners being shit at documentation

nobody except LITERALLY FUCKING ME knowing what modern server hardware standards and pricing should be

solutions for clients that were built with an eye toward reducing cost in the moment rather than planning for growth or longevity

Bruno has good thoughts about improving stuff, thoughts that I support and think are a great idea and think we should try to implement, but he's also a MegaBigCo kind of guy and likes to let employees grind to prove that they're dedicated and worthy of a promotion/raise - this is a shitty attitude that I think is counterproductive and I think is on the verge of leading our entire senior staff into burnout, but he's not at all wrong about the changes that need to be made. Bruno found out that a bunch of our clients don't have spare server drives onsite and shit a brick because of how badly he wants us to get spare server drive to the client sites; he is willing to eat the cost if it means we can get spares to the clients. That's great, it's not wrong, and there aren't enough hours in the day for me to get that done and also do procurement.

Bruno is only just now seeing the tip of the iceberg in terms of how utterly fucked our documentation is; if Bruno is the captain of the ship telling us where to steer, I'm the lookout on deck who sees the icebergs before anybody else.

I have been shouting to the Bunny management about icebergs since December and the ship hasn't changed course; Bruno has directed us to put more coal in the boilers and speed up and to patch up some holes and scrape some barnacles off the hull, but I can't shout loud enough to get the Bunnies to pass on the message about the iceberg, so all I can do is make notes about where the iceberg is an when we hit it provide the notes that I took that the Bunnies ignored so that maybe we can start patching up the breaks before water floods in and kills us all.

Things were great for a while because I was no longer working with an actively abusive shithead. Working with Gary was like sighting icebergs on the deck of a ship that leaked a bit and avoided icebergs deftly, but I was left to freeze on the deck all the time because freezing on the deck was all I was good for. Getting acquired by BunnyCorp was like someone handing me a warm coat and telling me to go inside and have a cup of tea and sit by the fire. But then I realized that the niceness and the okayness with taking time off and the slight raise were very comforting but someone still had to go out on deck and watch for icebergs but now nobody is passing on the message that we need to steer away from the fucking icebergs because if you say there's an iceberg that might make someone feel bad and making people feel bad is counter to the BunnyCorp company culture.

I have a constant drumbeat in my head that says "I can fix this, I can fix this, I can fix this." If I work late and go get the info for all the firewalls that I can access, and share info with the team about the ones I can't access, I can update the documentation and fix this. If I get notes on all the servers, and get spares for every machine, and get the techs scheduled to go out and install, I can fix this. If I can go in to the configurations for all five thousand computers and manually check and archive all the old devices, and manually update a field for every one of the two thousand windows 10 machines, maybe our team of sixteen can replace twelve hundred and upgrade eight hundred computers at our two hundred client sites in the next five months. If only I can go through all of those two thousand configurations and update that field before I get dragged away to another phone call from a client or another meeting about how the next acquisition is going to go, so I better do it now, at eight pm at ten pm at midnight at two am when there's nobody to call and no meetings scheduled. If I could just *lock in* I can save us, I can make sure the clients are getting a good turnaround time on their requests and I can make sure the licenses are all getting renewed because I updated all the configurations and I will update all the configurations going forward and I will document this company at knifepoint and I will hold it together with duct tape and spite and I will make it work i will make it work nobody else is doing anything I have to make it work because that's an iceberg, I know some of them see the iceberg, and they're Bunnies and I'm a Bat, some of them have seen this iceberg long before I could see it but they're not turning but if I yell about it and make notes about it and lock in and document it and skip lunch and skip lunch and skip lunch and skip lunch and skip lunch and take half a break so that I can get another device off the list maybe THEN they'll act like there's an iceberg ahead and they'll turn and I won't have to fly off the deck and go find another ship and I can stay on the boat with my friends and the nice bunnies and it will be okay, it will feel like it did after Gary was gone and I could BREATHE and people said that I was smart and good at my job and I deserved more money and I had been treated badly and there were no icebergs because it was so bright and sunny and nice that the whole sea looked like dazzling snow and seemed soft and safe and like I wouldn't have to keep freezing on the deck to stay alive.

So.

You know.

There have been ups and downs. I'm having some trouble staying motivated and even with some decent management it's difficult to orient the team toward the metrics we need to meet in q3 to stay solvent and keep our forward momentum up.

I'm considering sniping our customers and starting my own business, nobody makes the office admin sign a non-compete.

[pilos-000]

haven’t been able to log in to tumblr for a few days and just saw @kyri45 ‘s new update and-

OMG OMG SHE IS SO CUTE AAAAAAAAAA 🥹🥹🥹

When I saw the little menace my lil brain cogs started working and came up with THIS :DD

I SAW HER OLDER SELF AND WANTED TO DRAW IT IMMEDIATELY!!!

Okay, we got a few headcannons to unpack here (we may not see her older self so I went all out in this one and made up a bunch of things that will surely not come true, but a guys gotta do what they gotta do):

Her lil orange hair strand could be dyed or glamoured to represent her baba! I just found the idea so cute and added it

This ones a lil personal but I just LOVE long skirts so a just had to add it to her design, and I can’t say I didn’t like the way it turned out honestly!

I kind of (a lot) took inspo from the baby design bc I am incapable of thinking of an outfit that is original :( BUT it fits well so its all good

I wanted to imitate the gremlin but cutie vibes her first encounter was giving- I would say that turned out to be a success too!

AND OF COURSE I KEPT THE STRAND MK GAVE HER WHO DO YOU TAKE ME FOR >:(

There’s also the scarf that represents macaques :P

I didn’t know what style of weapon she would have, my original idea was to change the weapon the family got going and give her a sword but I didn’t know how suitable it would be, so I scrapped the idea :\

I also wanted to change up the hair style a bit, simply because it wouldn’t make much sense that it would stay the same all the time haha

Let me know what you think!

[mallory524]

Can I request thunderbolts and how they handle female reader whos feeling down? About a person thing or a mission or whatever, it doesnt matter, just maybe some hugs if its not too much to ask? I love love love your thunderbolts reactions to reader getting kidnapped!! Im also so obsessed with them rn <3

(ahhhh you're so nice thanks)

thunderbolts when you're feeling down

tags- fem!reader, comfort, hugsss, vague mentions of injuries, people are mean but the thunderbolts love you

notes- i know i've been taking so long to get back to requests i've been busy and i barely went on tumblr the last few days but i'm turning that around now let's go babyyy

Yelena

You’d gotten hurt during a mission that went very wrong and Yelena had to help you hobble out of there herself. Your body may have healed pretty quickly, but you were definitely acting differently for the next few days. You were just so … sad. It was surprising for Yelena, especially since this was by no means the worst mission you’d ever been on. Nonetheless, you weren’t your usual bright self, and Yelena knew something was eating away at you.

Yelena won’t let you pretend nothing’s wrong, of course. She eventually gets to the bottom of it, hearing you say it made you feel weak after needing so much help the other day. "Yelena, you and Ava have such cool abilities, and we’ve got three super soldiers Plus, a guy who can’t even go on these missions because he’s too powerful to be let loose-" She quickly cuts you off. "No, do not start that. Don't start comparing yourself to other people. You are one of the most capable people I know. You've saved me and the others so many times. You don't even give it a second thought," she tells you, taking your hand into hers. "This is just one of those times we get to help you. You deserve to have someone take care of you for once." Just the way she says that she gets to help you really shows how much she cares about you, and how much she wants to be there for you when you need her.

If going out and taking a brisk walk around town would make you feel better, Yelena's got her shoes on, ready to go. If you want to fall asleep watching a movie with her, she'll grab some snacks and a big blanket to wrap around you. She won't leave your side until she's seen you smile - really smile - and even then, she's still spending as much time with you as she can. No such thing as too many hugs or too many kind words for you.

Bucky

Being with a congressman, you already had a lot of events you had to attend, but now you're both in the New Avengers sort of against your will, so double that. It's constant formal events and conferences and banquets, and talking to some of the most arrogant people in the world at all of them. You try to make friends, or at least find someone to talk to, but your efforts aren't often met with the response you want. Some are nice, but a lot of these high society types look down on you. You try not to take it personally, because they look down on everyone, but it's hard not to be discouraged when you're constantly surrounded by people who believe themselves to be so much better than you. They're so cold, and Bucky is often the only real source of warmth or kindness you have all night.

After you get home after an especially exhausting evening, Bucky waits for you to get changed into your comfy clothes so he can talk to you. The moment you walk back into the room, he pulls you into a hug. "You're so patient for putting up with all these things," he mutters to you. You try to tell him that you don't mind, but he knows. These events have gotten to be draining. You finally tell Bucky how those people are really starting to bring you down. He reminds you that he loves you so much, and you shouldn't spend time worrying about anyone who can't see how wonderful you are.

Bucky will cook you some comfort food or draw you a bath if you want, or the two of you can just spend the rest of the night quietly enjoying each other's company, watching something or listening to music. He'll do anything you want. He hates when you're discouraged like this and he just wants you to feel better.

Ava

Life with the Thunderbolts/Avengerz has been great, but lately things haven't been as fun. The team is getting really busy, so you aren't taking the time to hang out anymore. It feels like when you're not on a mission, you just sit around the tower and everyone does their own thing. It was nice at first, but it's gotten lonely. You're spending all your time alone or working, and you've been in low spirits as a result.

Ava's concerned by your change in demeaner, and one day she asks you about it. When you finally open up and tell her how lonesome you've been lately, she feels terrible. "You're right, we haven't been spending enough time together. I'm sorry," she tells you, gently reaching out to embrace you. "We should be making more of an effort to hang out throughout the day. We've had a lot of big changes in our lives lately, and you shouldn't be processing it all by yourself." She sits with you for the rest of that afternoon, talking, laughing, watching tv and holding each other. When you leave the room for a moment to grab a blanket, Ava texts Yelena and asks that she make sure no one has anything planned later tonight; the team should do something together, even something simple like a movie night with everyone crammed on the couch. Ava likes her solitude, but she knows you'll love spending some quality time with the group. She doesn't want you to have to spend another night isolated in your room.

John

The mission had been pretty rough, and nearly failed completely. It was a rescue mission, and in spite of the chaos and darkness, you thought you'd figured out where the hostages were. It immediately became clear, though, that you'd fallen into a trap and led your friends right into it with you. You eventually got out of there and saved the people you were looking for, but you were all injured to varying degrees because of your mistake.

Back at the tower later, you're laying down on your bed all alone while everyone chats in the other room. John walks in, sits beside you, and asks what's going on. "I almost got us all killed, Walker. I can’t face any of them,” you say, sitting up but not turning your head to meet his eyes. Hearing you talk like this breaks his heart - and hearing your voice tremble a little like you might cry sends him into a panic. "Hey, hey it's okay! You made a mistake. Everyone does... you know I have."

"Well, Ava was pretty mad at me back there. She has every right, but you know... it hurts." He gently turns your face so he can look at you. It's sad, you're blaming yourself for everyone else's injuries, but you're looking pretty banged up yourself. "Well I'm not mad at you," he says softly. "You helped a lot of people today. It just didn’t go very smoothly. You did your best, don’t beat yourself up about this." You've got him by your side for the rest of the night. He doesn't want to rejoin the group, he just wants to be there for you. You lay there with your head on his chest, as he gently strokes your hair. He occasionally leans further down to quietly compliment you: telling you how smart you are, how beautiful you are, how strong...

Alexei

The news is rarely on in the tower. It's a lot of the same stuff over and over, and many channels don't have anything nice to say about any of you. It's usually not anything surprising or even very personal, just repetitive. A lot of "Who even are these people?" and "How can we trust them?" and "Captain America is suing those frauds " and "Remember when John Walker killed that guy?". It starts to get to you, though, when the press starts to find out more and more about your past. Turning on the tv and seeing literal footage of the things in your life that you regret the most is the worst feeling.

Alexei catches on to what's happening. You seem sort of down all the time and you're not talking very much anymore at those galas and charity events that you all have to go to, or even to your friends for that matter. You eventually confide in Alexei about how much this is all beginning to bother you. He grabs you by the shoulders, looking you in the eyes and immediately trying to cheer you up. "Do not listen to any of them. You know who you are and we all know who you are. These vultures just look for the worst in everyone. You have come a long way and you are doing your best. Do not forget that." You now have someone standing up for you whenever some reporter tries to give you a hard time. Alexei is a very friendly guy, but he can be intimidating when he needs to be. He texts you throughout the day to see how you're feeling, even after you insist you're fine. He will do anything you want to do if he thinks it'll raise your spirits, even if that's just a big hug at the end of a really tough day.

Bob

Most of the time, the team works on their own, but you do have to check in with Valentina occasionally. No one enjoys that. Her career is almost entirely in the hands of the New Avengers, so she kisses up to you when she thinks it will help her, but she's still kind of the worst. You meet up with Valentina on your own today and you try to be cordial, but she keeps throwing in little digs. She asks you if you’ve slept because “you look so tired”, she asks if that's really what you're wearing to the press conference, and before you leave, she tells you to leave the talking to her tonight. "We really want them to root for us, and with your past... well you understand,” she says. You carefully remind Valentina that she's one to talk about bad press, and that shuts her up, but her words stick with you regardless.

Bob's in the other room, listening to the constant slights. He knows all too well how Valentina can be so inviting, and then belittling a second later. It’s not clear whether or not she even realizes she's doing it. Maybe it makes her feel like she still has a little power over you and the team. You brush off all her words, but Bob knows it's gotten to be too much. Throughout that long, boring press conference, Bob keeps glancing your way, and you seem sort of off. Bob pulls you to the side afterwards and asks you about that meeting with Valentina, checking in to make sure you’re okay. You just wave it off and tell him you don't care, and that "being a little rude is definitely not the most egregious of Valentina's many crimes". He nods and takes your hands as he tells you, "I know, but I don't like hearing her talk to you that way. You’re just… you’re just so great. I don’t want you thinking otherwise. Especially not because of people like her.” You wrap your arms around him and thank him for his sweet words. Bob doesn't just move on after that, though. He knows how much impact words have. He makes sure to regularly assure you, tell you how nice you look, and comment on how kind and strong you are whenever he can. The world isn't kind and he wants to make up for it. He doesn't want you forgetting how wonderful you are.

[lastflunky]

It felt like a lot of people really wanted SU to be a show full of constant cool fights and then killing the final bad guy with a big laser beam.

While Akira Toriyama was cited as an influence in the shows design. In terms of story, SU has more in common with Magical Girl shows.

This is why we get a lot of Beach City episodes (which aren't a waste of time). Within Magical Girl genres conventions, you get slice of life antics as well as magical hijinks. It tends to be 50/50. The normalcy is a key part of the genre. Cardcaptor Sakura is like that. E.G. Let's go to the library so Sakura can finish her summer break homework. Oh no! The book she needs to do a book report on is possessed by a Clow Card!

These shows tend to be about friendship and the connections we make with people. How a kid learns to deal with new responsibilities and will make mistakes along the way. Cat fingers is about Steven trying to learn shape-shifting with disastrous results.

Villains in Magical Girl shows are sometimes redeemed like the various Sailor Moon villains or the aliens from Tokyo Mew Mew. Even if the bad guys die, there's a bit of sympathy for them. Of course 100% evil villains exist but it's clear SU is playing with that grey area. Characters like Usagi want to give people a second chance. There are villains that change their minds and want to be better.

Also Revolutionary Girl Utena is full of really flawed teenagers who do awful things but are also sympathetic. If people can't handle SU, I think RGU would make their heads explode. We know that SU was influenced by RGU. Sugar has stated this.

It felt like a deliberate choice in Steven Universe Future when Steven asks Jasper to train him. We get a training montage and a DBZ-like fight. Steven powers up (becomes perfect Steven, if you will) and shatters Jasper. This is a breaking point for Steven and starts the end of Future. Congrats to the people who wanted Steven to go super saiyen and kill someone. Steven regretted it instantly, revived them and is now having a mental breakdown.

I'm not criticising Shoeun anime but the kind of people who only care about flashy fights and power levels. I feel like in addition to people obsessed with shows/characters being their vision of perfection or believe in the idea that might makes right. They wanted Steven Universe to be a different type of show entirely. Dragon Ball is an influence on SU for sure (Vegeta is one of the most famous redeemed villains after all) but it was inspired by a lot of different shows as well (Future boy Conan, Dr. Slump and I think the Simpsons?).

sometimes i worry that *i'm* wrong and SU is bad/rushed/blah blah. then i remember whites fragile need to be perfect and ego defense of thinking she's fixing things. i remember how its perfectly mirrored by stevens need to fix others. how its both beautifully symbolic in CYM an made more explicit and heart-rending in future.

yeah that shit rules. white being reformed is great. its the ultimate rebuttal to the ideology that only good/useful/perfect people deserve to live- which is exactly the standard white held herself and everyone else to. it mirrors stevens arc of selfless heroism. it mirrors the toxic, insecure selflessness thats plagued everyone from pearl to jasper to rose about what it means to "deserve" to live it ties into "love like you" of how learning self-love is intertwined with loving others. it ties into how steven can't let go of his hero role until he's confronted by *literally* having his own mind in white's body, hating the idea of being like her yet ironically reacting exactly how she would - "this is someone bad for society, they should be shattered, this is what's best for everyone." trying to hurt her only hurting him. trying to help her helping all of gemkind - from the corrupted gems to dismantling a system that was held up by those exact ideals.

yeah no SU is fantastic. i'm so sad that its reputation is "oh well it wasn't that good, but it had some lgbt+ rep :)" which is just about the most condescending crap ever. i would gladly flip it. i think most cartoons that have come after SU haven't been that interesting, they've just been mostly generic stories with some lgbt+ rep.

[enwoso]

words of wisdom | leah williamson x teen!reader

(part of the grumpy universe)

read blood, not bond to get up to speed and for this little blurb to make any sense😅 i thought i had already posted this but clearly not..

grumpy masterlist

the house had quieted again. dinner was packed away, dishes done. the dog had curled up on the end of the couch, blissfully unaware of the emotional wreckage that was still lingering in the walls.

alessia was in the shower while leah was pottering around the house doing the little jobs while you had disappeared upstairs for a while but you hadn't really said much since you'd stopped crying in your mums arms.

leah had carried a pile of fresh washing up the stairs placing it on the end of the bed in hers and alessias room as she stood in the hallway lingering outside your room door before knocking gently.

knock, knock.

"hey angel. can i come in?" there was a pause. then a soft, "yeah."

leah stepped in cautiously, aware of what had happened. you were curled on your bed, duvet over your legs, hoodie pulled up over your head. you looked smaller than usual. softer around the edges in that way you get after an emotional storm.

leah walked in slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed but not too close. giving you the space like she always did, leah never pressed always waited for you to talk first. "thought i'd check in."

you glanced at her, then looked away again. "m' okay."

"you don't have to be." silence settled between the two of you. not uncomfortable, but full of the things that hadn't been said yet.

you let out a breath, you mind thinking too much but also nothing at the same time. "i don't even know why i got so upset."

leah smiled gently. "you found out something big. something that changes how you see someone who's supposed to be... safe. that's enough to knock anyone sideways."

"he never really been safe to me though..," you mumbled, playing with your fingers. "not like you or mum has been."

leah tilted her head slightly. "no. but he is yours. that's a kind of tie you don't just shake off."

you looked at your hands in your lap. "it's not even about the kids. not really. i mean, yeah, it stings, but... i think what hurts is that they get him. properly. all the parts of him i waited for and never got."

leah nodded slowly, she knew what you meant, heck she had lived through it with you. maybe she didn't feel it directly but she saw everything, every tear, every time he let you down. she saw the lot. "yeah. i get that."

you glanced at her. "you do?”

"i do." leah gave her a half-smile. "course i do, i remember it all angel, maybe more parts than you do."

you tucked your knees to your chest. "it feels like he replaced me. like i was a mistake, and now he suddenly knows how to do it right."

leah's voice was quiet, steady. "you weren't a mistake, angel. not ever. and he didn't replace you. he ran from his responsibilities and decided it was easier to try again than show up for the hard stuff."

"but why now?" you asked, eyes beginning to get glassy again. "why tell me now, like i'm just supposed to want to meet them?"

"maybe he thinks it's the right time. or maybe he's trying to clean up something messy with a nice little reunion. either way—it's not about what he wants. it's about what you need."

you looked over at her. "and what if i don't want anything to do with them?"

"then you don't," leah said without a beat of hesitation. "you draw your line, and you protect your peace. no guilt. you're allowed to do what's right for you, not what makes him feel better about disappearing."

you were quiet for a moment, like you were absorbing it. then: "it doesn't make me a bad person?"

"it makes you someone with boundaries. someone who knows what hurts and what doesn't feel safe. that's brave, not bad."

your throat wobbled again. "i just... i feel so angry. and then i feel guilty for being angry. and then i feel sad. and then i feel stupid for being sad."

leah scooted a little closer, gently nudging her shoulder. "that's grief, angel. you're grieving the dad you should've had. doesn't matter if he's still around—when someone doesn't show up for you, you lose something anyway."

you finally let out a shaky breath. "it just sucks. like big time"

"yeah," leah said softly. "it really does."

they sat in silence again for a beat, then leah reached over and offered her hand. no pressure. just there. you took it. and after a moment: "thanks mama."

leah smiled. "always my girl."

[paperbodiesamongthestars]

Halfway out the door, but it won't close

Yeah, I'm still mad. The show flatly refuses to address the emotional fallout of the events that take place on it, so I guess I'll do it myself.

Title from Say Don't Go by Taylor Swift, because I love a T Swift lyric as a fic title.

Read the whole thing below, or on AO3.

For the first time in a long time, Buck wants to run. 

The roots he spent so many years putting down washed away more easily than he ever could have imagined, and that hurts. He’s always known Bobby was important—the linchpin of the 118, in addition to being the father Buck always wanted—but Buck was somehow still surprised when things spiraled apart so quickly and so completely without him. 

And Buck gets it. He does. Everyone is retreating into their own corners, taking comfort from their families, and that’s good. He’s glad everyone has that kind of support system. He’s glad they have families to lean on, and to grieve with. 

He just wishes he had someone in his corner too. 

And Maddie’s got him—he knows she does. If he called, she’d be there in a heartbeat, no questions asked. But she’s pregnant. And Chimney almost died. And Bobby did die, making sure Chimney got out. They have a lot going on, and Buck doesn’t want to be selfish. 

Besides, he’s managing. Sure, he wishes he didn’t feel quite so alone all the time, and he wishes that all of the ways he’s trying to help weren’t fundamentally selfish, like they apparently are, but he’s dealing. The hardest part is that he’s been doing his best to be what everyone else needs—to live up to Bobby’s last words—and he’s falling short. He doesn’t—he’s really not sure what else to try, at this point. 

It really doesn’t feel like anyone wants him to keep trying. 

The temptation to pack up his jeep and just choose a direction is intense. He doesn’t, because he promised to take over Eddie’s lease, and Maddie’s baby is coming, and maybe there’s something Athena will need from him at some point, but he looks at the horizon on his way to work and all he sees is freedom.  

He compromises, and requests a transfer. The 118 doesn’t mean what it used to, to him, and maybe at another house he can get up for work without feeling like the grief is going to pull him under. Maybe at another house he’ll stop wanting to take a hard turn onto the freeway, and drive until he loses track of where he is. The 118 is already changing anyway. Eddie will head back to Texas, and the team will get a new captain at some point, and Buck isn’t at all sure that he can see someone else in that seat. Maybe this way he can keep his love of the job, even if it feels like he’s lost just about everything else he cares about. 

And then the building goes down, and the 118 pulls together to help. 

Buck withdraws the transfer paperwork. He doesn’t want to feel disloyal to Bobby’s memory. Going to work every day at that station, like things can ever go back to the way they were before, still makes him feel like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He’s paralyzed; every decision he wants to make feels like the wrong one. 

What he really needs to do is start looking for an apartment. Eddie and Chris are coming back to LA, and of course Buck is going to give him them their house back. He’s happy they’re returning—obviously he is. And the house never really felt like home anyway, aside from—well. It’s never felt like his, is all, aside from one bright, hopeful morning in the kitchen. 

He tries not to think about that too much. The warm light, and the billowing hope in his chest, and Tommy’s familiar scrunchy smile before everything went sideways. It’s too bright to look at for long, so he’s gotten used to locking it away again. 

He should call Tommy, probably, but it feels like it’s been too long. Tommy took a lot of risks to help them, and came to the funeral when Athena asked, to round out Bobby’s first team at the 118, and Buck didn’t even call him after. Never really thanked him. He’s got some texts on his phone—how are you really doing?—that he never responded to, and a couple of voicemails he hasn’t listened to. So yeah, he assumes that window is closed, no matter how much Tommy put on the line for him—for them. 

It’s one more thing that Buck used to have and doesn’t anymore. 

Buck is quiet at work, and the team thinks he doesn’t see the worried glances and the wordless conversations. No one asks him about anything, so he doesn’t share. He spends a lot of time thinking about how he used to picture his life, where he thought he’d end up. 

It should be enough, to have what he has now. He has his sister and the 118. He’s loved, certainly.  He matters to people—he knows he does. But it doesn’t feel like quite enough anymore. He knows everyone lost Bobby, and everyone is dealing with it in their own way, but he doesn’t think he should have to feel like an afterthought, or an inconvenience. He has the vague sense that he shouldn’t have to keep making his grief smaller, but he does it anyway. What else can he do?  

Eddie sets a firm date for his return, and he keeps telling Buck that he doesn’t have to move out, but Buck does. He does have to move out. It’s just—it’s the right thing to do. He thinks it is, anyway, but maybe he’s making it all about him again. He can’t tell anymore. 

Buck goes on calls, and he gradually packs his life back into boxes and labels them, and he goes to look at apartments. He doesn’t find any that he likes. They’re too small, or too dark, or in the wrong neighborhood, or they just don’t feel right. Big shock there—nothing feels right to him. 

Buck knows his realtor is frustrated when he tells her the kitchen in one of the units faces the wrong direction, and he gets it; he’s frustrated with himself. 

Buck goes back to his—to Eddie’s—to the mostly packed house, and he finally admits to himself that he’s not really looking for an apartment. 

He goes to see Gerrard, with a request for vacation this time. 

“It’s a good chunk of time,” Gerrard says slowly, from behind the desk where Bobby should still be sitting. 

“It is,” Buck agrees.

“Sometimes staying busy is better, in these situations,” Gerrard says. Buck can tell he’s trying to be gentle about it, but all he can see is Tommy’s shoulders hunching when Gerrard all but called him a fairy at the medal ceremony. He doesn’t waver. He holds Gerrard’s gaze until the man looks away, clears his throat, and signs the request.��

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Buckley.” He sounds irritated, and Buck feels a little better. He also hopes he knows what he’s doing, but he has a good feeling about it. He’s optimistic, maybe, for the first time in a while. 

Buck shows up to his next shift with a countdown clock in his head, and the rush of relief he feels almost makes him dizzy. He’s got another ten days before his time off starts, but it’s sitting there on the horizon now, an emergency exit, an escape hatch from his life.

He feels steadier now that he can see it up ahead. He’s a little more settled in himself, and he knows everyone sees it. His friends exchange relieved glances when they think he isn’t looking, and some part of him wonders why they can’t just talk to him. He wonders why they couldn’t just sit him down and tell him they were worried, but maybe that’s unfair. Maybe everyone is doing their best, and Bobby’s loss is just insurmountable. It feels that way sometimes, like Buck won’t survive this. It feels like all the bonds tethering him to his life snapped at once, and they’re just dangling now, the severed edges fraying by the day. 

Buck doesn’t say anything about the time off. He works and he smiles at his friends, and no one eats together or makes plans to hang out after work. He tries not to be too hard on himself for giving up—for betraying the last thing Bobby asked him to do. He tried—he really did—but he just can’t anymore. He can’t throw himself into holding everything together when no one seems to want to be held. 

He hopes Bobby would understand, but he can’t be sure.  

The day finally comes. Buck’s stuff is packed into his jeep or his new storage unit. He works his last shift and still doesn’t say anything. He thinks about it, but he’s not sure what he would even say. He figures his friends will have questions when he doesn’t show up for the next shift, but that’s a couple of days from now. Maybe by then, he’ll be far enough away to have found some answers. 

Buck makes it a little over an hour into his drive, heading north, before he has to pull over; he’s crying so hard he’s afraid he’s going to hit something. He takes the next exit, doesn’t see the number through his tears, and parks in the first parking lot he finds. He turns the car off, leans over the steering wheel, and gives in to his sobs. 

He’s not sure how much time has passed when he takes one deep breath, and then another. He feels calm for the first time in a while, emptied—for the moment—of the deep, terrible sorrow that’s been suffocating him for so long. He cleans off his face and then sits up straighter and looks around. He’s parked near a Jack-in-the-Box and he’s suddenly starving, so he goes inside and orders about half the menu. He goes back to his car to eat, windows down, staring unseeing at his surroundings as he thinks. 

Getting even this far out of LA, he feels like his brain has rebooted itself, like he’s stepped out of a fog and can suddenly see clearly again. He considers what he wants to do next. 

He could turn around. He could drive back into the city, and find a place to stay for a couple of weeks while he keeps looking at apartments, and he could use the time off to get settled into a new place. He could rebuild his routine. The thought of it makes a pit of dread open up in his stomach, so that’s a no. 

He could keep going. He could get back on the road, head north the way he planned, drive until he feels like stopping and find a place to stay the night. He could do that for weeks—he’s got six of them before he has to be back at work. It’s what he should do, probably. He could rely on himself, learn how to be alone. Only he feels like he’s already pretty good at that. He’s been alone a lot in his life, and he knows he could do it. But six weeks on his own suddenly feels a lot more like loneliness than freedom. 

Buck tilts his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes. With this unexpected—and almost certainly temporary—feeling of calm and clarity, he’s suddenly confronting some uncomfortable revelations. 

Underneath the grief and the helplessness he’s been feeling for weeks, he’s angry. He’s angry at Eddie for getting in his face, and for implying that he didn’t do everything he could to save Bobby. It felt like shit to hear it, and Eddie was a dick for saying it. He’s angry at the rest of the team, too. For not taking him seriously. For assuming he was as fine as he seemed, even after losing someone who was more of a father to him than his own father ever was. For not even asking where he was moving to when he left Eddie’s house. He loves Chim, but maybe he was wrong; maybe Buck doesn’t owe it to Bobby’s memory to stay in a place where he doesn’t really feel seen anymore.

Buck knows he’s a lot—he can be a lot. But he also knows that he’s grown up in the last few years. He’s loyal, and will do anything for the people he loves. And even before Bobby died, he wasn’t getting that back from his friends. He understands why—they all have lives, and kids, and it’s been a crazy year for everyone. But he consistently made the effort to be there for them, and it doesn’t feel great that no one could find the time to do that for him. 

Well. One person did. One person always showed up for him.  

Maybe Buck doesn’t actually need to get out of LA for six weeks. Maybe he needs some space from his friends and family until he’s got a better handle on his anger with them. But maybe he doesn’t have to spend the next six weeks alone. 

It’s entirely possible that Buck’s silence the past few weeks closed that door for good. But Tommy’s been texting and calling, even though he’s not getting anything back, so maybe it didn’t. There’s only one way to find out. 

It’s early afternoon by the time Buck parks in front of Tommy’s house. He doesn’t know Tommy’s schedule anymore, but he gets lucky—Tommy’s truck is parked in the driveway. Buck’s hands are sweaty all of a sudden, and some of the conviction he felt earlier has drained away. There’s enough left to propel him out of the jeep, though, and up the steps onto Tommy’s porch. 

He rings the doorbell and waits. It’s only a few seconds before Tommy opens the door. His face creases with surprise when he sees Buck, but his eyes are warm. 

“Hi,” Buck says a little awkwardly, and then he barrels on before Tommy can say anything in return. “I want to be friends,” he blurts, without really meaning to. Tommy’s eyebrows shoot up and then furrow as he frowns, and Buck watches his eyes shutter, the way they did in the kitchen that morning. “For now!” he adds hastily. “I’d like to be friends for now.” 

Tommy’s expression does something decidedly judgmental before he gets a handle on it. He’s such a bitch sometimes, and Buck likes him so goddamn much. Loves him, in fact, but he thought about it the whole drive here, and he’s a mess right now; if he says it for the first time today, neither one of them will ever trust it.

“Maybe you should come in,” Tommy says slowly, and his tone is so neutral that Buck winces. It’s fine. He can fix this. Tommy’s willing to at least hear him out. 

He follows Tommy into the kitchen, and sits on one of the barstools at the island while Tommy makes two cups of coffee. He slides one over to Buck and sits at one of the other stools. He’s got his expression under control now, and Buck hates it. Tommy’s so expressive when he’s comfortable that this carefully polite mask feels like a slap. 

Still, Buck feels more relaxed right now than he has in weeks, just because Tommy is sitting across from him, watching him, and yeah, he should probably start explaining. 

“I put in for a transfer,” he says, and there go the eyebrows again. Buck smiles despite himself. “I withdrew the request, later, but then I took some time off. Kind of a lot of time off, actually.” He has a thought, and he looks up. “S-sorry I didn’t get back to you.” 

Tommy shakes his head. “It’s fine, Evan. I figured you were busy with your family.”

“Not, uh. Not so much,” he says, feeling tears pricking at the backs of his eyes. “It’s”—he waves a hand—“everyone has their own families, you know?”

Tommy’s frowning at him now. “You’re their family too,” he says slowly, like it’s an obvious truth, and that does it. The tears come, and so does the whole of the last few weeks, words spilling out and over each other as Buck tries to convey his loneliness, and helplessness, and what Bobby said, and how hard he tried, and how no one seemed to want that, and then Eddie—

He loses the thread a little bit, and he’s not sure what he’s saying. He’s trying to get the important parts out through the tears, but he’s not sure he’s even making sense anymore. And then Tommy’s arms are around him, big and warm and grounding, and he stops talking at all and just cries for a little while. 

When Buck is composed again, Tommy takes a step back. Buck wishes he wouldn’t, but he holds out his hand and Tommy takes it, and that’s something. There are some things Buck still needs to say. 

“It got a little jumbled earlier, so I’m not sure if I mentioned it, but I, uh. I gave Eddie his house back.”

“You said,” Tommy says, and squeezes his hand. 

“I didn’t find a new apartment,” Buck admits. “I was going to go on a road trip, just drive for the next few weeks, stay wherever I felt like staying.”

“That sounds nice,” Tommy says. 

“It did at first,” Buck says. “Then it sounded really lonely.” Tommy makes a soft noise in his throat. “So I—I turned around and came here instead.”

“Because you want to be friends,” Tommy says slowly. 

“Because I want to be friends right now,” Buck corrects. “I absolutely want to try again. I wanted to try again last time, before—but I screwed it up.”

“Pretty sure I screwed it up,” Tommy says. 

Buck shrugs. “Maybe we both did. I want to do it right. But I’m a mess right now, and I don’t want you to think that I’m only here because…because everything else in my life is falling apart. I want to choose to try again when we’re both solid.”

Tommy nods, but his gaze stays on the countertop in front of him. “What if”—he clears his throat—“what if you get your feet under you, and realize this isn’t what you want?”

“I won’t,” Buck says, calm and sure. He tugs on Tommy’s hand to get him to look up. “Tommy, I won’t. I’ve been missing you for months. The only reason I want to wait is because I want both of us to know for sure that we’re building on a solid foundation, okay?”

Tommy stares for a long moment, searching his face, and then he gives one short nod. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, okay.”

Buck can feel the smile stretching over his face. “Yeah?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Tommy says, and smiles back. 

“I thought you weren’t ready to move in together yet,” Buck says without thinking, when Tommy shows him the spare room. 

Tommy rolls his eyes. “This doesn’t count. This is me helping out a friend, like everyone should do.” His tone is pointed, and Buck tries to ignore the little burst of pleasure he gets from knowing Tommy is mad on his behalf. He can work on being less petty about it later. 

“Yeah?” Buck asks. 

“Evan,” Tommy says, leaning in. His voice is low and intimate. “When I actually ask you to move in with me, you’ll know it.”

“Yeah?” Buck asks again, and it’s a lot breathier this time. 

“Yes,” Tommy says with a smirk, and Buck briefly wonders how committed he has to be to the friends thing. He watches Tommy saunter out the door, heading for the kitchen, and he firmly reminds himself that waiting is the responsible choice, and will absolutely be worth it.  

He’s by himself for the moment, but he doesn’t feel alone at all. He looks around the spare room, at his clothes hanging in the closet, and the soft blue comforter on the bed. Tommy put fresh sheets on it earlier, and they smell faintly of lavender. He sits on the edge of the bed, closes his eyes, and breathes. He feels good here, safe and comfortable and wanted. 

He knows his grief will be back, and the real world will intrude sooner rather than later. He’ll have decisions to make, and explanations to give when the team realizes he’s gone. He and Tommy still have a lot of talking to do. 

For right now, though, he can smell the faint scent of lavender, and Tommy’s body wash underneath that. He can hear the sound of Tommy moving around in the kitchen, and birds chirping at each other outside the window. His hand moves over the comforter, and he feels the echo of Tommy’s palm against his. 

Buck blinks his eyes open and smiles to himself. He’s not okay yet—not by a long shot—but for the first time since Bobby died, he knows that he’s going to be.  

[yes-no-maybe-soo]

So having finally gone through the main story update once, stared at the ceiling, then gone through it immediately again... I am in fucking awe. Speechless. How tf am I supposed to digest this lore drop??? I've been taking notes, gone over screenshots, gotten misty eyed over how much I love SylusMC and just augh... this has rewired the way I view a lot of things in this game.

For example... just how large part Sylus truly plays in the main story. How vital he is. He has been there from the very beginning, pulling strings, moving events along, watching, protecting... he is honestly Everythinglus atp. Universlus. Love and Deepspacelus. I cannot stress how central this man is to MC's story. No wonder he took 5 years to craft. And (loath as I am to say it) ... the gatekeeping of some of his content up 'til now kind of makes sense. His lore is just too closely tied to the main story plot (the lack of communication is still shitty though). I am still kind of shocked by this tbh because it's forced me to do a 180 on my stance re: Paperfold's feelings towards him.

This main story update is just mind blowing in different ways, sort of like Beyond Cloudfall and how that changed everything. I'll be obsessing over it for the rest of the week, at least.

Anyway, idc that it's too early in the morning for this I need to get my initial thoughts out of my system and what better way to do so than a long ass tumblr post. So yeah just gonna go ahead and wordvomit/theorize share some screenshots/details that blew my mind all the way to sunday, and also attempt a timeline b/c my autistic brain demands that of me.

(Be warned, it's long and kind of all over the place. I don't blame anyone that won't bother with it lol).

(Spoilers, obviously)

Can we talk about the SOULMATISM between SylusMC and how that is actually canon to the main story??? They reference the 10.5 grams of soul... Sylus says this

They are pretty much confirmed to still be destined archnemeses in their current timeline – they were meant to kill each other as kids/teens. But like in the myth – and honestly like always – they decided to give fate the middle finger and chose their own path together. Then they got separated but found each other again. Twice. And they always will keep finding each other. No matter which "soil" they find themselves in. They have always been soulmates. But not by fate. But by CHOICE.

I have tried to make a timeline of their relationship from what was revealed here, that I kind of think makes sense?

First, Beyond Cloudfall. Dragon!Sylus and later Dragon!MC dies, and are then reborn on the same planet. Note, that this is not earth but possibly Philos.

They are expected to fight each other to the death in the Arena. But instead they succesfully run off together. And perhaps go on to commit crimes... I am speculating this to maybe be the case because of the "even all the crimes you'll inevitably commit" line but also because of the potential scenario I mention in point 3.

At some point in time, they are separated by the Deepspace Tunnel. Either before or after the separation, Sylus is thrown into Tartarus. If it happened before, then it's possible that MC was somehow responsible for it (remember, as a child she threatens to throw Sylus into Tartarus. Which could be foreshadowing of some kind).

In whichever case, while Sylus is in Tartarus, MC has been taken to Earth – more specifically to the Gaia Research Center in the N109 Zone – where she has either regressed to or been reborn as a tiny child, and is experimented on by EVER who are after eternal life and want to use her powers to achieve it.

Sylus breaks out of jail and goes in search for MC, eventually pinpointing her location using the eye of Aether and landing in the N109 Zone in 2034 (this according to the Timelock Key). At this time, the Chronorift Catastrophe is happening and Dimitri – blaming MC for it and for the Wanderers – tries to kill her by putting her in the Deepspace Collision Chamber. But before she can succumb to it, Sylus arrives and breaks her out. He makes a deal with Dimitri to bring MC back to him in the future.

Sylus leaves MC to be raised by Josephine, and for the next 14 years he keeps watch over her from a distance (remember the giant red eye? And mephie ofc), while founding Onychinus and taking over the N109 Zone, and working on taking down EVER. He creates a special menu just for MC at Elysium, in the hopes that she will one day come there, order it, and find him.

LAR. They reunite again, but MC remembers nothing. Not their Dragon myth, nor their childhood, nor Sylus' rescue of her. Instead, she sees him as a monster and despises him.

Present time.

Now, there are some things I want to point out here re: this.

One – I was wrong about Sylus' being resurrected or reassembled. Clearly, he was reborn... but unlike MC with his past life memories intact. I also still see him as a Dragon for the same reasons I've stated before. And also because I want him to be lol. I definitely don't think he's human. Nor is MC.

Two – I still think that Sylus is older than what his profile states. Why? Because we know now that he came to earth in 2034. Fourteen years prior to LAR. Which would – if his profile age is to be taken as truth – have made him 14 at that time. Now, dgmw Sylus is crazy powerful and honestly probably could have won a gang war and perhaps even conquered a planet etc at that age. However... it does not at all line up with the descriptions nor with the visuals we have of him at that time. In the Tangible Shackles video, he is in no way shape or form a 14 year old boy. Same goes for the Anecdote – he is described there as "a tall man" and having a "deep male voice" and "striking features". That's as far as the physical descriptions go. Nowhere in the text is there a single allusion to his being a kid, but rather the opposite. And I do believe that the text would have drawn attention to him being well below legal drinking age in a story like that.

And then there is ofc the Approaching Dusk image as well as this one of him breaking MC out of the Deepspace Collision Chamber (it destroys me btw).

Just compare MC who is roughly 8-9 here to Sylus. The size difference is massive. So no, that is not a 14 year old. They are not that huge, not even a Burj Khalifa on legs like Sylus.

Anyway, what we learned re: SylusMC's lore for sure puts both of these scenes in a different light

We all thought he was talking about their Beyond Cloudfall past here.

But no.

He is more than likely talking about their childhood etc here... "you were quietly moved to another garden in a foreign land" ie their separation in the Deepspace Tunnel, when they had earlier been two flowers growing up together in the same soil and who were supposed to keep growing together and ＿|￣|●💔 yeah. Thanks for breaking my heart again with the same scenes but with new context, game...

And on this note... fuck, man, do I feel even worse for poor Sylus now. Not only did MC forget him once, but twice. While he remembers everything – Beyond Cloudfall, the Gladiator Arena, being separated from her... and also knows just what she went through with EVER. He knows in what ways the love of his life suffered at the hands of evil people.

How the fuck has this man not crashed out yet. He is as mentally and emotionally strong as he is physically powerful imo.

And then there is just his sheer love for her. All the things he did for her: Running away together. (Possibly) being imprisoned. Searching the galaxy. Rescuing her from Dimitri, and giving her a chance to have autonomy and a normal childhood for the first time in her life. Devoting his own life to taking down the organization that hurt her.

And waiting for her. Always.

But even after everything still being ready to let her go. In spite of everything.

HE LOVES HER SO MUCH SOBSADFHUJHJ

I thought I loved Sylus before this update but I swear it has made me appreciate his character even more. What sorcery is that??? You can really tell how much thought and care his team has put into crafting him and his story.

And the same goes for MC. She got fleshed out here in all the best ways and I admire her immensely. I think that line she has about hoping that she made the Gaia Researchers even for a moment see her as the child she was rather than as an object or experiment says so heartbreakingly much about her and who she is.

The two together have so many fantastic moments in this story that had me giggling and kicking my feet. I honestly think it's more romantic/hot than some of the memory/date cards. But I won't talk about it more here or now because this is already way too long lol. Will probably just make individual posts for them.

Anyway, I do want to share some screenshots I took that made me lose my shit

I noticed the patterns on the bell when I was going to take another screenshot from LAR and omfg do you guys see it too????? Tell me I'm not reaching or deluding myself????? Ouuuu Sylus team you always gag me

STAYRUS MY LOVE YOU'RE BACK

I think it's pretty funny how chill MC is about Sylus having wings like she really don't care she just rolls with it (as she does with a lot of huge revelations tbh). Unbothered Queen.

This is one of my very favorite parts of the Kindled. Look how tenderly Sylus holds her here... shielding and protecting her the way he has all these 14 years, but physically this time. And you can see how MC genuinely feels safe in his arms. Oh, how far they've come since LAR...

Anyway, I'm gonna finally leave off here with a prediction for Sylus' future myth. I have an inkling it will take place before and after they escape from the Arena and up until Sylus gets imprisoned. That makes most sense to me. We need to know what they were up to in between and what led to Sylus' imprisonment. In other words I feel like I can taste the Gladiator & the space pirate lore. If I am wrong though, I'm betting it will be a Hades & Persephone inspired one. There have been quite a few references to greek mythology after all. Gaia. Charon. The River Styx. Tartarus. Not to mention the Pomegranate imagery and references. And probably more I can't think of rn.

Oh and I'd love to hear if any of you guys have any theories or things you noticed in this update! I would not be surprised if I've missed important details.

[prototypesteve]

The trick to accepting these tropes at face value is to remember that you can relate to lots of shit that you don’t naturally relate to, it’s just that in those cases your identity wasn’t somehow threatened by being caught able to relate to a thing.

I’ve never had my mountain kingdom stolen by a dragon, but I get the basic idea of feeling displaced and wronged so I don’t scoff at Thorin. I find hunting endangered species kind of gross, but I can put that aside knowing the Hobbit isn’t Avatar.

I’ve never been delimbed by a friend who then let me fall into a volcano as he walked away to go raise my kids, but I get the idea of resentment and so I don’t moan “FFS Vader… move on…” I find revenge repulsive in real life, but I get how it can be a useful plot framework.

I’ve never rebounded hard from a breakup only to find out my new crush is the heir to my arch-rival who I don’t even really hate other than because my parents hate them—because this is before a Capulet wasted my best friend—but I got the basic idea of obsession and impulsivity getting someone into a bind over & over, so I was able to just sit back and enjoy Romeo & Juliet, live at the Globe. The hormones weren’t even the point of the story, overdoing it while you break free from others’ expectations was their undoing.

I don’t feel sexual attraction, but I know how easily I can be swayed to change my plans if someone says “I know you just ordered a croissant, but we just baked these blueberry muffins, do you want one too?” So I can kinda wrap my mind around stories about infidelity or three-ways.

Look at me go, showing absolutely no restraint right in the shadow of a statue of Chaucer, in Canterbury.

y'know, one thing i don't see get talked about much in regards to asexuality is how it feels to never be 'sexually motivated' by anything

and not just when it comes to advertisements using 'sexy' models to try and sell you stuff, but like. in general

sex as a favor, sex as a bribe, sex in exchange for whatever

casual sex, 'friends with benefits' situations, even simple flirting

it all looks a whole lot different from the perspective of someone who's immune to manipulation via sex appeal, who has virtually no understanding as to why sex would motivate someone to cheat on their partner, etc. etc.

sex is worthless to me

i mean, it's useful as a story element in fiction, but it genuinely perplexes me that sex is such a driving force behind so many aspects of irl society & of people's individual lives, for better or for worse

and that it's so deeply ingrained into how the average person views the world & various situations, because the average person feels sexual attraction, whereas i do not

i think the barrier between aces & allos is actually even deeper than it seems on the surface at times, because it's more than just the grating expectation that everyone must want to 'settle down' and have kids, it's also the fact that the majority of the world is sort of 'in' on a joke that aces will never truly be a part of

[oldermenfucker]

This City Holds My Heart | J. Abbot

summary: He hears you are coming back to Pittsburgh for the weekend. Maybe the reunion will wash away the pain that’s left inside him after your paths divided.

warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, heavy angst, hurt no comfort, right people wrong time kind of thing, p in v, exes reunion, mentions of suicidal thoughts, ex!fem!reader, neurologist!reader, Jack’s prosthetic leg, reader is nondescript except that she has hair (long enough to frame her face), reader has a nickname, mentions of PTSD & trauma, widowed!Jack, sad people in love, alcohol consumption (a few drinks), protected sex, lots of tears, JACK’S POV!!! English isn’t my first language<3

word count: 10.3k+ (BEAR WITH ME OKAY)

an: HI this is my piece for A Doctor A Day challenge hosted by these amazing people [ @clubsoft @ananonymousaffair & @letsgobarbs ]! I’m so excited to know your thoughts on this piece🥹 I poured everything I could into this fic, smut, fluff, angst etc and I really want to know what you guys think!

Prompt: "I know you just landed, and I know you're probably busy, but... I'd love to see you?" + Orange

He doesn’t remember the last time he ate something; was it the banana Shen forced him to take a bite from, or the granola bar Dana shoved into his hands when she came to take the shift? Whatever, it doesn’t matter.

  Jack pushes his fists into the pockets of his cargo pants, his tired gaze moving from the edge of the rooftop to the building in front of him, watching as sunrise hits the streets of Pittsburgh slowly, crawling its way between the cars and the old bricks of the walls.

  He replays the shift in his head, trying to figure out what he missed that led to three code blues. Each case had its own story, each patient had a unique experience, and families begged him to save their loved ones, but he couldn’t. 

  He brings his fists out of his pockets, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks at the peachy sky, watching how another day starts. Some people don’t get to see this anymore, he thinks bitterly, some people don’t get to start a new day. They are stuck in yesterday while he moves forward as if nothing’s happened.

  He looks back at the edge, he takes a step closer, gazing down at the people who move around, getting ready to battle through another twenty-four hours. He wishes he was this free, to walk down a street without the responsibility of the Emergency department, without the little limp in his leg and reminder of how long it took for the soft tissue of his leg to heal.

  He has been tempted before to jump, but nowadays he does not even have the motivation to do that. He is numb and has been like this for a good six years, worse after the Pitfest casualties. That was a year ago, how time passes in the blink of an eye, like the sunrise he watches daily.

  He throws his head back, listening to the birds chirping. They made a nest a few weeks back, usually coming to their home around the time he walks to the rooftop. They have a life based on instinct, just as he does; he eats, sleeps, goes to work, and then repeats.

  Robby calls him a soulless soldier— he is just as bad as Jack, if not worse — because most of the time, there is no smile on his lips, and his tone drips with sarcasm. 

  Pittfest changed everyone, including the ER cowboys more than others. Robby broke apart with Jake’s withdrawal, and Jack… Jack tries to survive, day by day, and shift after shift. He still finds joy in little things; when he saves someone’s life by his sharp mind, when a procedure is successful, when he argues with Walsh.

  There is still an ache inside him from years ago when his wife died, and it only got worse six years ago, and now? All he is a great doctor and nothing more.

  He says nothing when he hears the familiar footsteps on the tiny rocks of the rooftop, his stethoscope moving against his chest as he shifts his weight on his good leg, sighing in relief when the tension is halfway gone from his knee.

  “Haven’t jumped off yet?” Robby leans on the railing behind Jack, looking as the sun rises slowly from behind the buildings, “Thought you’d done this time.”

  “Why? I don’t think I’ve managed to get more depressed since yesterday,” Jack replies, resting his elbows on the metal railing behind him, looking from his peripheral vision at Robby who smiles and shakes his head.

  “A trauma came in just a few minutes ago, an attempt or pushed, we don’t know but he was the same age as you. Nearly sent me to cardiac arrest,” Robby drops his head on the back of his hands, “You better not jump, you didn’t do it last year, don’t do it ever.”

  “It’s exhausting, brother,” Jack sighs, tilting his head back as the sunlight hits his face finally, the warmth of it spreading on his skin deliberately, “Coming back here, watching people lose someone they care about, calling us names because they don’t know medicine has its limits. And yet, we come back, for what? I don’t fucking know.”

  “You have me, I’m here, I’ll never leave you hanging all by yourself,” Robby nudges his forearm, looking at his face with a pleading look, “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

  “You’re not lonely,” Jack shrugs, “You have Collins. Who do I have? Fucking Shen? I’m living in a loop, man. Every day is the same old same old. I miss my wife, I miss her, there is not a day that I wish I got the help I needed sooner, but even my therapist can’t do shit nowadays.”

  “You are being too hard on yourself, brother,” Robby straightens his back, resting his hand on Jack’s shoulder as they both look up to the sky, “Besides, I might have… some news about—“

  “Who?” Jack’s ears perk up, his posture growing rigid as he turns his head to look at Robby, “Who?”

  “Her,” Robby says with a small smile, “Your Clementine.”

  “Don’t say that stupid nickname,” Jack groans, shaking his head as he takes a step back, resting his waist against the cold metal bars, “She hated it.”

  “I think she liked it,” Robby shrugs, looking down at his shoes before he starts talking again, “There is a neurology congress tonight, and apparently a follow-up gala on Saturday night with the Head departments PTMC invited.”

  “So?” Jack tilts his head at the older doctor, scoffing when Robby raises his eyebrows at him, “You’re telling me you’re invited to a stupid gala that has nothing to do with me?”

  “For a medical genius you sure as hell are dumb,” Robby watches as Jack rolls his eyes, “I’m saying she’s coming back to the city.

  Jack’s heart drops to the bottom of his ribcage. This has to be a cruel joke, it must be. He doesn’t know how to react; be happy? Why? The last time you saw each other was to say goodbye. Be sad? He already is for ten thousand different reasons. 

  So when he looks at Robby with his eyes widened in shock, he knows that he is still deeply into something he has tried to bury for years, ever since he watched you board that plane.

  “What?” He sounds so small, like a kid lost in a playground; everything feels natural yet so off, like a distant dream turning into a nightmare in the back of his mind.

  “She has kept in touch with Dana,” Robby sighs and tightens the grip he has on Jack’s shoulder, squeezing the muscles gently to make sure Jack doesn’t get lost in his head again, “Dana told me her plane would land around… yeah, seven-thirty, eight at most. Which is now.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Jack asks, pressing his lips into a flat line, his hands shaking as his chest begins to rise and fall faster. He rests his sweaty palms on the railings behind him, closing his fists around the cold metal.

  “I don’t know,” Robby shakes his head, staring into the distance as the sun finally rises into the blue sky, “I just thought you should know.”

  “Thanks, brother, now I won’t be able to get a lick of sleep knowing my ex is in the town,” Jack snaps, running a hand down his face as he grits his teeth, all to stop himself from tearing up.

  “I didn’t say it to—“ Robby cuts himself off with a deep breath before he pats Jack’s shoulder and takes a step back, “Take it easy, man. I’m gonna go.”

  Jack listens to Robby’s footsteps; it takes ten large steps to reach the door, and he stops Robby by the eighth one, shocking both him and his friend to his dismay.

  “Is her number still the same?”

  Jack’s voice is shaky like he doesn’t trust himself to say it loud enough for Robby to hear, but his friend does, stopping in his steps to glance back at Jack with a small smile.

  “Yeah.”

  One, two, and Robby is out of the door, leaving Jack heaving with each breath. Jack dodges the railing and steps on the safe side just to lean over the metal bars, his lips parting as he gasps for air.

  You are back to Pittsburgh, you are in the city he watched you leave, the same city you made so many memories with him in the streets and bars. The same city that he broke your heart in, the very same one you told him you couldn’t do this anymore.

  He lets out a shaky breath, reaching for his phone absentmindedly. One call wouldn’t hurt, right? It wouldn’t tear his heart and break his bones surely. People call their ex-lovers every day, why shouldn’t he?

  He opens the list of his contacts, scrolling until he sees your name with a red heart next to it; he didn’t have it in him to change the name, nor could he delete your number. 

  That is why his fingers are trembling over your phone number, trying to make up his mind before he does anything stupid. But luck is not on his side today it seems — not like it ever was — and his finger slips accidentally and presses the call button.

  “Fuck, fuck—“ he yells, putting the phone against his ear quickly, his hand going to his hip as he starts pacing the rooftop, his heartbeat racing with each beep of the line, “What am I doing?”

  He doesn’t know if he wants you to pick up the phone or not, he probably does but the thought of talking to you again after the farewell you had makes him anxious. What would he say? Hello? How are you doing? Aren’t these too cliche when you are calling your ex?

  The beeping finally stops, and he can feel his heart stopping for a second before it goes to voicemail.

  “Hi! Thank you for reaching out, please leave your message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!” 

  Your voice… fuck, your voice is still as sweet as he remembers. He calms down instantly, a tired smile covering his face as he listens to the voicemail repeating itself. You sound so beautiful, so free as if you didn’t cry hours in his arms as he pushed you away once more, as if he never happened to you.

  After the third repeat, he remembers he can leave you a message, hoping you still have his number and he isn’t just an unknown caller.

  “Hey,” he clears his throat, running his free hand through his unruly curls, “Hey, um, this is Jack! Y’know, Jack Abbot? Yeah well urm… I heard you are back in town, yeah, Robby said something about a congress you’re attending. I know you just landed, and I know you're probably busy, but... I'd love to see you?"

  Fuck, fuck fuck fuckfuck—

  He hangs up immediately, his fingers gripping his phone so tightly he thinks it might break. What did he fucking mean he’d love to see you? He is a fucking idiot, a total moron, a dumb piece of scum, but when his phone dings a few minutes as he is near going into a full panic attack, he stops.

  “Jack, hi! I’m exhausted now, but I’d love to meet with you before my congress! Our usual cafè near The Pitt?”

  He nearly drops the phone, opening the text in the blink of an eye, rereading the message over ten thousand times to make sure it is really you. And when he opens the contact, he sees that it is true, you have texted him, accepting to meet up with him, at the cafè you usually went to after the night shifts.

  “Yes, of course. See you at 6?” 

  He presses send and starts pacing again. Waiting for a reply after six years makes him nervous to the point he thinks he might drop dead on sight.

  “See you, Jack!”

  He sighs in relief when he reads your reply, chuckling dryly as he rereads the conversation, not truly believing how he is going to meet with you again.

  He walks downstairs with flushed cheeks and a heart beating in anticipation. When Robby and Dana see him walking inside The Pitt, he rolls his eyes at them and nods when Dana raises an eyebrow at him in a silent question.

  It is going to be a crazy day for sure.

  He dresses up as best as he can; a navy blue button-up with worn-out jeans and his black sneakers. Which is so… not Jack. He feels like he has put on a persona he didn’t know he had, his walls slowly building up with each step he takes toward the location.

  He thought walking would be a good idea because now his nerves are making him sweat, his palms growing more clammy with every step he takes. 

  What will he say? Will he ask about how you have been doing? How you are doing? Do you have anyone waiting for you at home—

  The thought makes him shiver, stopping him midway to open the door of the coffee shop. He hates the idea of you with someone, he despises it, he fucking loathes it. Even the image of someone holding your hand makes his eyes tick, and his fingers shake over the glass door, but he has to pull through.

  The bell over the door dings when he steps inside, memories flooding his mind as he looks around, remembering all the exhausted morning dates after the shifts, all the cries and hushed arguments you two had here.

  Bittersweet yet wholesome. He misses the days he could hold your hand, but he gave up as soon as everything got serious.

  He rounds the corner to the spot you would always sit, and when he does, his eyes fall on you. He freezes, hands dangling on his sides as he stares at your silhouette.

  The orange hue of sunset shines through the windows on your face, your hair framing your face just as beautifully as he remembers if not more. Your hand is tucked under your chin, looking down at the marble table, tracing the shapes mindlessly.

  You are ethereal.

  Jack feels his lungs are about to collapse when you turn your head and find him standing there, and he watches how your lips stretch into a soft smile, steading yourself with your palm on the edge of the table as you stand up.

  He licks his lips and glances down for a brief moment to catch the breath you are stealing from his lungs from a few meters away. He looks up quickly, crossing the remaining distance slowly before he stands in front of you, his eyes swimming with various emotions unknown to him — is it love? Longing? Sadness? He doesn’t know.

  “Hey,” he greets you quietly, hazel eyes locking into yours as he waits with bated breath for you to say something, anything. Instead of talking, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding him close as you mumble a ‘Hi, Jack!’ Into his shirt.

  Hugging. You are hugging him after years of no contact. He can’t think even if he wants to. He wraps his arms around your middle, pulling you close by muscle memory, breathing in your scent as he buries his face into your hair, trying his best to not cry right here and then.

  He lets go of your waist when he feels you lose your grip on him, slowly pulling back to look at his face, and he takes his time memorizing every up and down, every corner of your face.

  He thinks of the days he used to kiss every single inch of your face when you were on rotation and he was getting ready to go to the hospital. He remembers how he used to caress your cheek when you fell asleep on his chest on his old couch during movie nights.

  He also remembers the days you tried to not let your sadness show on your face when brought up his wife again, putting the bricks of the protective wall on top of each other to shut you out.

  “Shit, sorry,” you chuckle awkwardly, pulling away and he misses the weight of you in his embrace, the warmth you provide by just existing and breathing the same air as him, “Please, sit! I know you’ll be back in The Pitt in a few hours.”

  “Yeah, urm, yeah…” he huffs a slight laugh and walks around you to pull your chair out for you, “Ladies first.”

  “Ever the gentleman,” you tease him, thanking him as he pushes your chair in when he knows you are secured and smiles at you before he walks towards his own chair and sits down, “What are you having?”

  “Well… something highly caffeinated,” he shrugs, looking down at the wedding band he is wearing—

  Fuck, he totally forgot to take it off. Did he though? Did he ever want to take it off or did he think about it but didn’t ponder over it, like a passing joke in his head?

  He looks up instantly, finding you already looking at the black ring before you tuck your hand under your chin again, meeting his eyes with a small smile before you look away and gesture for the waiter to come and take your orders.

  “Espresso it is then,” you try to break the ice he notices, but he has already started to fuck everything up again from the very first second. He covers his left hand, nodding at you with a ghost of a smile on his lips while he feels as if he is about to vomit his heart out with how insanely fast it is beating.

  “Welcome, what can I get you?”

  “A cup of tea with carrot cake and,” you look back at him, smiling before you glance back at the waiter, “A shot of espresso.”

  “Coming right up!” 

  He watches you closely — he is staring but that’s a creepy way to put it — and he nearly melts when you turn to look at him with the softest smile he has ever seen.

  “Carrot cake? Really?” Jack grins when he watches you grimace, hiding your face in your hands as you look at him from between your fingers, “Never thought I’d see the day that you will eat a carrot cake.”

  “You’re insufferable!” You chuckle, resting your chin on the heel of your palm, and he watches these micro movements with such an endearment it makes his heart clench, “It’s just a newly formed habit in the hospital. My assistant brings me tea and her very sweet orange carrot cake every evening. Who am I to say no to a home baked sweet treat?”

  “Understood,” he nods and smiles, taking a deep breath to calm himself without making a mess of himself. Your laugh is still the same, even more beautiful than he remembers and it feels so good to be there to witness it again, “How’s Boston?”

  “Oh, you know, colder than here but I enjoy it,” you explain, resting your elbows on the table as you look at him, “The bars are pretty amazing! Not that I have much time to explore them because of the hospital and applying for a fellowship. But… it’s okay, I guess.”

  “Wow, you’re thriving,” he grins, biting the inside of his cheek, “I’m so happy for you.”

  “Thank you, Jack,” you reach across the table to hold his hand — a habit you had when you were nervous, and he quickly realized his touch grounded you when you needed it the most, “Enough about me, how have you been?”

  “Same old same old—“

  “Don’t do that!” You squeeze his hand, glaring at him before your eyes soften when you notice his defeated ones, “You know I hate this phrase, Jack. Come on, tell me about The Pitt!”

  He rubs his thumb over your knuckles, running a hand over his face as he notices the waiter coming with your orders to the table.

  You pull your hand back, letting the waiter put down your cups and plate, asking if you need anything which Jack replies with a quick ‘no, thank you’ before he looks back at you.

  “I’m sure Dana is keeping you updated—“

  “I want you to tell me,” you cut him off with a soft frown he knows so well, you always gave him this expression when you knew he was dodging the question poorly, “How’s Robby?”

  “He is great,” he shakes his head and chuckles, briefly thinking about how his friend has gotten his life together before he focuses on you again, “He is in a relationship with one of the new attendees, Heather Collins. I don’t know if you know her…”

  “Dana said something about Robby dating a resident after I left but that’s it,” you reply, taking a sip of your tea, “But please tell him I’m so happy for him. He went through a lot and deserves to have an amazing life.”

  “Will do,” he nods, drowning all the espresso shot in one move, kissing his teeth as he looks back at his ring again.

  “Take it easy, soldier,” you push the carrot cake plate towards him slowly, handing him a fork to eat something sweet, “How are you doing, Jack?”

  “Me?” He chuckles dryly, trying to come up with a sarcastic reply but when he sees how worried you look for him, “I’m fine.”

  “That’s it? Six years and you don’t have anything to tell me about?” You press the matter, giving him a teasing look but he has none of it.

  “We had a mass casualty last year, Robby lost his stepson because he couldn’t save Jake’s girlfriend—“

  “That’s Robby’s story to tell, I’m interested to know—“

  “Know about me?” He looks at you as if you have hung the stars, as if every moment he spends looking at your face illuminated by the dark fading orange light of sunset doesn’t make his heart stop, “Well, I go to the rooftop every day thinking I might jump this time, and when I look down I feel numb, maybe the therapy is working because I can’t do it. I see my wife in my sleep, I imagine the life I could have had with her.”

  You take a deep breath at the mention of his late wife — or wife as he always calls her — you take two large sips of your hot tea and he mentally face palms himself at rambling all these shitty thoughts to you. 

  “You still go up?” You ask, your voice small and trembling, thinking of all the kisses and fights you shared on that damned rooftop.

  “Yeah,” he looks out of the window, his eyes filling with tears before he wipes them quickly, enjoying the cold sensation of his ring over his heated eyelids, “It’s the only place that isn’t corrupted by death.”

  “Cut it some slack, our first kiss was on that rooftop,” you reach for his hands again, and he hates how easily he calms down from such a soft touch, “I don’t think I can ever forget it.”

  “Well, it wasn’t an easy trauma, the patient died before we could get our hands on him,” he squeezes your hands, “And you were so mad at me for not letting you go for the fourth round of epi.”

  “You had to shut me up somehow,” you laugh, looking down at your joined hands, “Fuck, I was so immature back then.”

  “No, you weren’t,” he caresses the soft skin of your wrist, his hazel eyes locking into yours with sincerity, “You were hopeful.”

  “Which was horrible for emergency medicine,” you shrug, “I still am, though. That’s why neurology was a great choice. It has death, I still feel the panic sometimes, but they don’t die while I’m operating on them. It’s such a dick thing to say but… I’m glad I’m not there to witness it.”

  “I get it,” he takes a deep breath, his eyes moving slowly from your hands up to your neck and face, falling over your lips, “That’s why the rooftop visits exist.”

  He looks down at his watch before he finds the courage to look into your eyes again, seeing how it is time to go back home and put his scrubs on. 

  Jack doesn’t wanna go, he doesn’t wanna leave. He wishes he could stay in this very moment, just in this picture pretending everything is fine and you are back, that he can delude himself into believing he has you back in his arms for an eternity.

  “I totally forgot, my congress starts at eight,” you pull your hands away from him, leaving his palms cold and itchy without yours in them, and he slowly drags his forearms back to his side, standing up to say the word he hates so much again.

  “Are you… are you leaving?” 

  “Yeah, I have to…” you pout, and it takes everything in him not to reach out and kiss you until the pout is turned into a grin, “But there is a gala tomorrow night. Fundraising and everything, I’d be in town.”

  “Yeah, cool,” he nods, forcing out a smile, standing up after you and waiting for you to say something, anything…

  “Will I see you there?”

  Yes. Yes. He can make it work. Say yes—

  “No, I don’t think so,” he curses himself in his head, fisting his hands, nails digging into his palms, “I’m not invited.”

  “Oh,” you say, eyes widening as if you have heard the most devastating news ever, fingers rolling the band of your purse as you gaze into his eyes, “Well then… this is goodbye I guess.”

  “Yeah, yeah—“ he gasps when you wrap your arms around his shoulders for the second time in six years again, holding him close for one last time before he wraps his large arms around your back as well, “I’m gonna miss you.”

  “Me too, Jack,” he nearly drops on his knees when he hears you say his name with tears stinging your eyes, “Me too.”

  “Goodbye.”

  He watches you with red eyes as you try to hold back a sob before you reach for your purse to pull out your wallet and pay for the drinks, but he stops you with a hand on your cheek.

  “I’ve got it,” it pains him that he cannot lean down and kiss you when you nod and scrunch up your nose in order to keep the tears from streaming down your face, “You’ll be late.”

  You move forward, pecking his cheek slowly, and he marvels at how soft your lips feel against his stubble, and he hopes whoever gets to feel your lips back in Boston worships you the way you deserve — the way he wanted to do but fucked it all up.

  He watches you leave, for the second time, and it ruins him, making a tornado inside him that wrecks the remaining parts of his sanity. You are okay, you are happy, and that is all that matters.

  He inhales sharply before he reaches for his phone, opening his text messages with Robby before he sends a quick text.

  “Will you go to tomorrow's gala?”

  It has been years since anyone had seen Jack in a fucking tuxedo. He thinks the last time he tried one was for his wedding, and after that, he dropped the thousand dollar fabric in the trash.

  But now? He is wearing one, with a white shirt under his black coat and a simple black tie he is trying so hard to fix. He looks in the mirror one last time, running a hand in his hair before he moves out of the bathroom, following the sound of music until he reaches the entrance of the hall.

  He feels out of place immediately. It’s not him who is supposed to be here, it’s Robby, but he can’t lose his last chance of seeing you again. So here he is, grabbing a glass of champagne as the waiter walks past him, drowning the sparkling liquor like water.

  He scans the hall, not finding you anywhere as he moves between people until he reaches the bar, ordering a Double Black Label neat while his eyes wander from one woman to another in hopes of finding you somewhere among them.

  He sips on his whiskey, leaning on his elbows on the barstool as he watches the doctors and CEOs get together in various groups. It is a ridiculous shit show, some people go to the podium to give their speech, some linger and chat, and it seems the only person he is interested in is nowhere in sight.

  He shifts his weight off his prosthetic leg, sitting on the barstool only to stare into the glass he has in hand, swirling the liquid with gentle moves of his wrist.

  It is still too far from him, but he can hear your laughter from a mile away. His ears perk up, and he almost breaks his neck when he turns around abruptly to catch you walking with a couple next to you, conversing casually before you spot him through the crowd.

  He stands up instantly, nearly losing his balance when he sees you are coming towards him, hearing a soft ‘I would like to introduce you to someone’ before you lead the couple to where he is standing.

  “This is Dr. Jack Abbot from PTMC,” he nods, smiling politely at the couple who introduce themselves as well, shaking his hand before the three of them look back at you, “I used to be his resident before I changed to Neurology.”

  Jack’s hand finds the small of your back as he talks with the couple, finding out about their specialty and where they work, how they know you, and how proud they are to be represented by you in this gala.

  “Well, we will take our leave for now,” The male doctor says, shaking Jack’s hand before he shakes yours, his wife doing the same before she pulls you in for a quick hug, and the two of you watch as they walk away.

  “Hey, stranger,” you turn to him, beaming at him when he smiles back, your hands coming up to rest on his chest, “Fancy seeing you here.”

  “I had to see you again,” he mumbles, his hands caressing a path from your wrist to your shoulders, feeling the bare skin of your arms and skimping down to your sides, resting over your hips with a gentle squeeze, “It didn’t settle right when we said goodbye yesterday.”

  “It will never settle right, Jack,” you look away from his intense gaze, chuckling when you notice his crooked tie, “You still haven’t learned how to do your tie, or you left it like this on purpose?”

  “Little bit of both,” he shrugs innocently, his eyes taking in your face; you are so close he can smell the champagne mixing with your perfume, your soft lashes kissing your undereye when you blink, your lips painted in a nude shade of pink, and your hair falls around your face like a curtain leading to the hanging Gardens of Babylon — you look like a goddess compared to him.

  “Good thing you have the right person to take care of you,” you whisper, eyes glinting playfully as you pull on his tie to redo it correctly. 

  Jack relishes the feeling of your touch on his collar. He feels as if his senses have heightened somehow because he swears he can literally feel every movement of your fingers on his skin through his clothes.

  He looks down at your dress, watching as the classy design clings to your body just the right way, showing off your curves and shoulders in the most perfect way.

  “You look so beautiful,” he breathes out, letting his hands wander over your back, knowing quite well that he is crossing an invisible line, but he doesn’t care now, you are here, back in his arms, exes or not he has the chance to have you all to himself tonight if you take him back for just a few hours.

  “Thank you,” he leans down to kiss your forehead when he notices how flustered you get, but his demeanor grows closed off when he notices a man making his way towards you, stepping next to you before he extends his hand.

  “Would you do me the honor and dance with me?” 

  You pull back from Jack a little, mouth agape as you look between the man and Jack, but with a little squeeze of his hand on your waist, you give him an apologetic smile before taking up the man’s offer and resting your hand in his palm.

  “Of course.”

  Jack watches from his spot how the man leads you to the dance floor as other people pair up and join you there, the band starts playing the music and to his dismay, he has to be subjected to the sight of another man twirling you around the hall.

  Even if he is seething in his seat, he can’t deny how elegant you look with your dress flowing behind you and that smile you give your partner… this smile makes his pulse quicken, a warm blush covering the tip of his nose and cheeks. 

  He watches as the man lies his hand on your waist, pulling you a bit closer, and it makes his blood boil even though he knows he has no claim over you. You are not his lover, not his girlfriend, hell you are not even his resident anymore.

  He can’t take it anymore, so as soon as the song ends he drowns the rest of his whiskey and strides towards you, clearing his throat to catch your attention.

  “May I have your next dance?” Jack asks, his heart hammering against his ribs as he waits for you to accept his offer, and you do, with a bright smile that lights up his world.

  “Yes, you may,” you turn around to the man you danced with earlier, “Excuse me, please.”

  Jack tucks you close to him when a new song starts, his hand moving from your shoulders to your hip, the other one holding your smaller hand in his as he sways both of you gently to the rhythm of the music.

  “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” He leans down to whisper in your ear, smirking when your hand wanders up to his shoulder, cupping the side of his neck gently.

  “Once or twice,” you chuckle, dropping your forehead on his shoulder as he leans down to breathe in your scent, holding you close until the thoughts of you ever leaving again fade away for a few hours at least, “Aren’t you supposed to be at The Pitt?”

  “They don’t need me there,” he says, putting a distance between the two of you to hold your joined hands up so you can twirl before he pulls you in a bit roughly, keeping your chest pressed into his.

  “And you thought you were needed here?” You ask, batting your eyelashes at him as his smirk widens, his band on your waist moving to your hip to squeeze you in response.

  “Am I not?” He feigns innocence, his tone matching yours playfully, “I could leave now if that’s what you want—“

  “I never said you weren’t needed,” you don’t break eye contact, and it thrills him as if it was six years ago when you danced for the first time at Dana’s wedding anniversary, “But I know a place if you wanna leave…?”

  “Tempting, very tempting,” he brings your hand to his lips, pressing feather light kisses all over your knuckles, “Are you suggesting?”

  “It might be the few champagne glasses I had but,” you break away from his grip, interweaving your fingers with his as you tug on his hand gently, “My room is on the twentieth floor if you are interested…”

  “Lead the way.”

  Your journey to your room is uneventful; you don’t have a chance to do anything because you are never alone. Not in the hallway he wanted to press you against the wall, not in the elevator bunch of people jumped into when the doors were about to close, not even as you walked on the floor because one of the doctors’ rooms was also on the same fucking lane.

  He is trying to act unbothered as you fumble with the key card, trying to open the door while Jack has his hands roaming your back absentmindedly, his touch trembling slightly in excitement.

  He is going to have you again, after all this time, he is going to hold you as if you are his again.

  You push the door open and tug Jack in by his tie, crashing your mouth into his as you press him against the closed door. He gasps into your mouth before he closes his eyes and kisses you back, one of his hands coming up to grab the back of your neck, pulling you closer until there is no space between you.

  You taste like Moet and cherry lip gloss with a hint of Vanilla in your perfume, and your hands feel warm and welcoming, anchoring him to reality because his life had no purpose before this very moment.

  You ground him, just as you have always done, with subtle kisses and tugs and a hidden hunger slowly pouring into your touch. He feels it all; the small skip of your fingers over his tux as they reach to undo the tie, the quiver of your bottom lip as they chase his chapped ones.

  Jack’s entire world has faded, and all he can see is you.

  He guides you further inside the room with slow deliberate steps, careful not to hit something and hurt you in the process. You break the kiss when you reach the edge of the bed, gasping for air before you push him down on the mattress gently.

  He sits without a fuss, his pupils blown out as he watches you take off your heels and slowly straddle his lap, pushing his coat and tie off slowly. Jack doesn’t blink, he is afraid of even missing one second of tonight. He wants to remember this forever in case…

  No. He shouldn’t go there now, he has you and that is all that matters.

  Jack’s hand comes up to your face, gently caressing your cheek, his thumb going over to your lips as he traces the edge of them while you work on his buttons, finally taking in the sight of his chest.

  He is so mesmerized by the look of pure affection you have that he doesn’t notice you have got him half naked already until you grab his hands and move them to the zipper of your dress.

  “What are we doing?” He bumps his nose into you as he asks, leaning forward to unzip your dress. Your hands roam his naked torso, fingers tracing the soft grey hair on his chest before slowly moving down to his soft belly.

  “Reliving our best memories.”

  Your answer is simple yet effective, and it awakens a deep ache inside him. He understands, he truly does. Your best memories were the ones where you were tangled under his sheets, limbs resting against each other while your mouths left soft traces of love on each other’s skins.

  It might not be the best thing to do with your ex, after six years of no contact, but Jack takes what he can because if he doesn’t, he will lose himself forever.

  You are the last string that attaches him to this life.

  His lips find your shoulders as soon as he pushes the straps of the dress down, kissing the hallow part of your shoulder above your collarbone, sucking in a red mark on the thin skin before he moves upward to your neck, licking your pulse point as he drags his tongue to your jaw.

  You whimper, you fucking whimper, and it makes his head spin with an intensity he had no idea he possessed.  He kisses a path to your lips, breathing your soft breaths while he pushes down the neckline of your dress, pulling back from your mouth only for his gaze to drop down to your chest, breasts covered with a thin strapless bra.

  His brain short circuits when you roll your hips down, grinding against the very painful bulge in his dress pants. His lips part as he huffs out in shock, totally forgetting about his not-so-little problem while he was tasting you.

  “I need you,” he whines, cupping your face in his large palms as he stares into your eyes, “I need you so bad. Please let me have you, please let me pretend I didn’t lose you just for a few hours.”

  “You have me, Jack,” you raise your hands to rest them on top of his, leaning your forehead against, “I need you too.”

  He nods immediately and takes his shirt off completely, watching as you stand up to drop your dress next to your shoes, and for the first time in years, his jaw nearly hits the floor when he finally takes in the sight of your body.

  “Fuck,” it’s a slow gasp, but you hear it perfectly, grinning before you dart toward the hotel’s bathroom, coming out with the pack of condoms in hand. He barks out a laugh when he sees what you are holding, “I’m not that young, we certainly don’t need a whole pack—“

  “Have some faith in yourself, old man,” you grin and watch as he raises his hips and takes his pants and briefs off, his prosthetic leg catching the light of the room. You move to stand in front of his greedy eyes, glancing at his leg before he guides you back onto his lap, “Does it hurt?”

  “No, not right now,” he mutters but it soon turns out into a deep throaty groan when you wrap your fingers around his cock, gently stroking him while you bring the condom to your mouth, tearing it open with your teeth, “That has to be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Ready?” You peck his lips, rolling the condom on his cock until it reaches the base, “Cause I can’t wait any longer.”

  “Me neither,” he pushes your panties to the side, swiping his fingers through your folds, dropping his head on your chest when he feels how wet you are, “You are soaked, baby.”

  “All for you,” you whisper as you line his tip with your entrance, slowly lowering yourself as the fat tip breaches your walls, both of you moaning at the contact. 

  He forgot how warm you were, how world-consuming your body felt, but now that he is feeling it all again, he remembers the nights he lost himself in the sensation of your cunt wrapped around him.

  “You’re so big,” you wrap your arms around his shoulders, nails digging into his back as you finally take all of him inside you, “Fuck, I forgot how good you feel.”

  He can’t form a coherent word without looking like he is having a stroke, because fucking hell he might be having one just now. Your cunt is stretched around his cock, and he can feel your pulse around his girth even through the condom.

  “Jack,” you whimper his name, grabbing his jaw so you can look into his eyes as you slowly move your hips in circles. He is pretty sure he already looks so fucked out with his lips ajar and eyes glassy with desire while he has to focus on your face so he doesn’t come too fast and embarrass himself.

  He reaches around you to unclasp your bra without looking away, short breaths falling from his lips as you begin to move up and down, and he successfully manages to get that thing off you before latching his lips to your nipples.

  He closes his eyes and groans when he feels your walls clenching around him as soon as he swirls his tongue around the tightened bud, his hands moving to grab the back of your thighs to help you move faster.

  He is so close, embarrassingly so, because he has been imagining this for so long. Jack clings to you as you ride him faster, the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin echoes in his head, leaving him panting and dizzy.

  He opens his eyes and finds your head thrown back as you fasten your pace, damp hair sticking to your forehead as you chase your release.

  He is hypnotized by how beautiful you look; his body glistening with sweat and thighs shaking around his hips. He watches closely how you moan loudly when his cock nudges your sweet spot deep inside your core.

  “Fuck, fuck— I’m gonna come,” he groans out the words, and you nod absentmindedly, leaning down to press your lips to his, kissing him as you grind down harder, urging him to let go.

  “Me too, baby,” you gasp against his lips, your body trembling as the knot in your stomach tightens and in a blink, it breaks, waves of euphoria rushing through your veins as you release around him.

  He hugs you close, snapping his hips up one, two, and three times before he buries his face into your neck, groaning from the depths of his throat as he empties his cum into the condom.

  He holds you as he comes, wanting to carve the memory of tonight into his head so he can remember it until his last breath.

  “Jack,” you whisper his name, running your fingers through his curly grey hair, kissing the side of his face as he tries to regain his breath, “Thank you for coming tonight.”

  “Thank you for giving me a chance,” he replies quietly, gently lowering you on the bed before he hovers over you, pulling his softened cock out of your swollen hole, “It’s been a long time…”

  “For me too,” you smile sheepishly, kissing his forehead before you sit up slowly so you can go and clean up, “I’ll go to the bathroom and order room service. What do you wanna have?”

  “Anything, I’m starving,” he smiles, flipping on his back as he watches you walk to the bathroom before he looks up at the ceiling, shuddering as it finally dawns on him what he has done. Sex. With you. After six years of radio silence. After all the arguments, after the farewell you shared at the airport, after him realizing how emotionally closed off he was — is.

  “Bathroom’s yours,” you walk back into the room, reaching for his white shirt on the floor, putting it on before you crawl on top of the bed, kissing him sweetly on the lips a few times before lying down and reaching for the phone on the nightstand.

  He turns on his side, kissing your bare thighs before he stands up and walks to the bathroom to get rid of the used condom. Jack splashes water on his face, shaking his head as he looks at his reflection in the mirror.

  Was it a mistake? Probably. But he doesn’t regret it, not now, not ever. He will forever cherish every moment he spent and will spend with you for a long time, perhaps forever.

  A deep unsettling sadness fills the pit of his stomach suddenly, and he runs a hand down his face when he remembers you will go back to Boston in a few hours. He wants to do something to keep you here, locked away from the world and its demands — just you and him.

  He cleans up quickly before the tears threaten to fill his eyes, washing his hands and wiping the sweat off his body with a damp towel while he walks to the bedroom, reaching for his briefs.

  “Greasy cheese Burger with extra fries, what do you say?” You ask, pulling back the covers on the other side so he can crawl in next to you, but before he has the chance the doorbell rings, “Let me go get it—“

  “Na uh,” he wraps an arm around your waist, pinning you to the bed before he plants a kiss on your nose, “I’ll get it, ain’t no way I’m gonna let anyone see you like this.”

  “Like what?” You sit up on your elbows, dragging your nose against his neck until you reach his lips, not kissing him just hovering while he breathes the warm air that you exhale.

  “All glowing and pretty,” your lips are practically pressed together, but still he doesn’t close the tiny remaining distance, “And in a white shirt only. No, this is mine to enjoy.”

  He smirks and pulls back, chuckling when you whine and drop back on the bed as he gets up to answer the door,  hiding his prosthetic leg as he pulls in the table before he shuts the door.

  “Oh my goodness it smells so good already!” You have moved to the edge of the bed, hands around your legs and head resting on your knees, waiting for him to bring the food to you.

  Jack’s stomach grumbles, making you giggle. He gives you a shy smile before he sits next to you, pushing the table closer to you. He watches as you dig in, taking a huge bite of your burger, moaning at the taste.

  “That good?” He asks, popping up a few fries into his mouth, nodding as the spices fill his tastebuds, “Fuck, yeah. It tastes delicious.”

  It doesn’t take long to finish your meal, but the time is filled with teasing and bantering, sharing bites, and saucy kisses while you eat. 

  What he doesn’t expect is to find himself on his side, with one arm under your head after you both finished your food. It feels… ordinary like he has done it every day, as if it is a routine. Domestic.

  “What happened to us?” He asks like a lost baby, his eyes exploring your face closely; from your lashes to your cheek, down to the soft small hairs on your jaw while he traces a path from your thumb up to your shoulder with his knuckles.

  “Many things,” you sigh, kissing his freckles on his shoulders gently, your hands on his chest as they wander, “You, me, your… your late wife.”

  You reach for his left hand that is touching your arm, pulling it to your face so you can look at the black ring he is still wearing. You twist the metal, and each circle twists his heart.

  He forgot to take it off again.

  “You were not over her back then,” you whisper, scooting closer to rest your head on the crook of his neck, “I don’t think you are now either. We just… became something so… good in a difficult time.”

  “I loved you,” he replies and hides his face in your hair, smelling your comforting scent before he resumes, “I still do. I fucked it all up. I… I wanted you for a lifetime but I wasn’t okay back then. I had lost my wife three years before we met and… and I tried, y’know? I tried to let you in, I tried to open up it just—“

  “I know, Jack, I know,” he lets the tears fall when you cradle his face, pulling him close until he is only a breath away, “I wanted to stay there and watch you heal, but you refused to seek any help, and I couldn’t watch you slip through my fingers any longer than I did.”

  “I’m sorry I ruined it all,” he sobs, tears streaming down his face. He reaches to mimic your position, cupping the side of your head, “I wish I listened, I w-wish I didn’t just… give up like a coward. It was not me, I never give up—“

  “You are not a coward, Jack, look at me,” he forces his eyes open, those bloodshot hazel orbs looking so devastatingly beautiful, “I gave up on you too. I pushed you too hard sometimes, I… I got jealous when you would bring up your wife. I was a fucking dick about it, so no, you didn’t ruin it alone. I had a hand in it too, a big one.”

  “You were in the right though,” he kisses the tears that fall on your cheeks, mumbling against your skin as another sob wrecks through his body, “We were happy together, fuck, how much of an idiot I was to bring up my dead wife when I had you. We could’ve had a future, we could’ve lived together and built a life, but I clawed on the past too hard that I was blinded.”

  “I loved you from a distance for the past six years,” you whisper, pecking his lips gently, “Boston… it felt lifeless without you in it. It’s not the city that holds my heart, it’s just a passing location in life. You made this city shine brighter in the mornings, made the coffee taste sweeter, but at the same time… nothing was truly okay here.”

  “It feels like a distant dream when you talk about it,” he shuffles downward a little until he can rest his head on your chest, “But we were in love, why didn’t it make a difference?”

  “Because love isn’t enough,” he wraps his arm around your waist, holding you tightly as he cries softly into the shirt you are wearing, “Sleep, baby, you probably haven’t had more than a few hours to rest. I’ll wake you when I have to leave.”

  He wakes up with dread even though you are kissing his head and cooing at him. You are leaving, again. He has to let go of you for the second time, and it fills him with so much agony that his leg begins to hurt.

  “Hey, honey,” you angle his head so you can plant a kiss on his lips, grinning down at him as he blinks sleepily, “You slept like a baby.”

  “How long?” He grumbles and hides his face into your stomach, “Don’t wanna get up…”

  “Me neither,” you reply, and he can hear the pure sadness in your voice, but he doesn’t make any move to get up, instead his hands go under your shirt — his technically — so he can grope your waist, “But my flight is in an hour and a half…”

  “I slept the whole night?” He ignores your last sentence, sitting up slightly, keeping his weight on his forearm next to your chest, “I’m sorry, I—“

  “Hey, don’t be sorry!” You pull him down so he hovers over you, playing with the tiny curly hair on the nape of his neck, “I loved it. It reminded me of the time when you’d fall asleep on top of me after a rough shift. It felt so good to sleep with you again.”

  “I haven’t had a good night's sleep until… until tonight,” he confesses quietly, leaning down to drop a kiss on your lips, but when he wants to deepen it, you push him away gently with your hands on his chest. He looks down at you, confused and a bit hurt, “What?”

  “Jack…” he watches you swallow the words down as best as possible, but at the end of the day, you have to utter them somehow before it is too late, “I have to go now, I’ll miss my flight.”

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  His eyes water as soon as the words fall from his lips. He truly doesn’t want you to go, he needs you here, with him, in his bed, in his clothes. He breathes better when you are with him, he can think, and he can live.

  “I don’t want to go either,” you wipe the tears that stream down your face, “But I can’t stay, not when I have a life in Boston. Maybe one day I’ll come back, hell, maybe I’ll come back for my fellowship, but… for now, I have to go.”

  “We can get you a position in PTMC, I can talk to Gloria myself—“

  “Jack,” the way you utter his name breaks his heart into a million pieces, because he knows, deep down he knows he has to let you go. He has been denying it for hours, but in the end, he knows there is no way he can keep you here.

  “I’ll drive you there then,” he moves to the edge of the bed, taking off his prosthetic as the tears fall down softly. He begins massaging his leg slowly as you get up and pack your things, still only in his white shirt and nothing more.

  You look strikingly gorgeous; hair unruly, bare thighs, puffy face from all the crying, and he thinks he has never seen something more surreal.

  “Wait,” you halt in your step when he reaches for his coat on the floor, pulling out his phone before he takes a quick photo of you.

  “What was that?” You chuckle, moving toward your luggage to drop everything you own in it while you see Jack staring at his screen, “Baby?”

  “I… I wanted to have something from you to look at later,” he explains, his voice barely above whispers, “For when I miss you.”

  You suck in a sharp breath, he hears it clearly. But you don’t turn around toward him after it, probably shocked to your core by how raw and emotional he sounds.

  After taking out the clothes you wanna wear for your departure, you walk to Jack, standing between his legs as you slowly unbutton his shirt, taking off the fabric before you hand it to him — the last thing you had touched from his belongings.

  He takes it without a word, wearing it before he puts his prosthetic leg back on, trying his best not to break apart at how his shirt now smells like you. He won’t wash this again, he would hang this behind his door so he can smell it daily before he goes to the hospital.

  You get ready in thick silence, an uncomfortable one that you both know will break ten times worse than before eventually, and that it will lead to something far too devastating than anything you have experienced.

  He grabs your luggage, hand reaching to hold yours as he guides you out of the hotel room after you check it multiple times in case you missed something. You walk together, shoulder to shoulder, ride the elevator down by your head on his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around you.

  Jack watches as you check out, smiling and thanking the receptionist before coming back to him with a tired look on your face. He knows how you must be feeling, he feels even worse than you, because suddenly it is six years ago as he watches you pack your bags and ride to the airport together.

  He drives you there himself, muscle memory he thinks bitterly, with his hand on your thigh and your fingers caressing the freckled skin. He doesn’t wanna break the bubble you are in, he doesn’t wanna believe he is seeing you go again. He can turn the wheel and drive to his place, he thinks about it too, but he knows you are not ready yet, and he isn’t ready either.

  He looks down at his wedding band shining under the sunlight. The memories of your tears over this black ring rush into his mind, and he takes a deep breath to calm his racing heart — he isn’t ready for sure.

  He wants to say something, anything as he helps you through the airport, but he can’t, he doesn’t dare to utter a word and he hopes that his actions and eyes are showing what he hopes to say.

  “Don’t go,” these are the only two words he manages to let out as you look at him, hearing how your flight’s boarding has started through the speakers, “Please don’t go.”

  “I have to, Jack—“

  “No, no you don’t have to!” He presses his lips together tightly, his cheeks flushed and eyes red, “You just- just have to stay here, with me, be my Clementine again—“

  “You still use that stupid nickname?” You give him a watery laugh, cupping his face before you press your lips to his, muffling his sobs as best as you can, feeling how your tears mix together and fall on your chins.

  “Yeah, of course,” he kisses you back quickly, like he is in a rush to win a game, an endless competition with no victory, “I know you fucking hate it—“

  “I love it, I love you,” you peck his mouth again, “But this is where we need to part ways, Jack. It’s in our faith it seems.”

  “Curel fucking faith,” he bumps his nose into yours, hands clutching your hips so tightly as if you would vanish if he loses his grip, “I love you, too.”

  “Reach out to me when you forget to put your ring on,” you step back, letting his hands fall to his sides, “Find me when you don’t need to go to that rooftop, I’ll be waiting for you, even if it takes ten or twenty years.”

  And Jack watches you leave again, the same way you did six years ago, from the same spot. He watches you take his heart to another city, leaving him with an empty aching chest for an eternity.

  The next day, he walks toward the same staircase that leads toward the rooftop while twisting his ring, but it is not his late wife he is thinking about; it’s you.

  Today may not be the day, but someday he will find you, he is sure of it.

[banquetwriter]

Omg could you do a headcanon thing about like how Bob kisses! 😭 would be so cute

YESSSSSSS

warnings: kissing, talk of the devils tango, bob being a shy guy *, fluff

so i’ve seen a lot of ppl say this and i agree that bob probably doesn’t have much experience probably, like maybe not a virgin but definitely hasn’t had a healthy relationship with anyone so probably not new to kissing but that doesn’t make him any less nervous. his lips are super shy at first.

i have a feeling unless yelena turned into the world best hype man you probably initiated it or at the very least said you wanted to kiss him. if you kiss him first he’d definitely just freeze for a couple seconds before just melting into. and honestly the opposite if he kissed you for the first time.

like he’s super nervous and he just has to go all in or he’s gonna loose momentum. he just closes his eyes (way to early btw and nearly misses your mouth entirely) and pulls your face in.

i’d say a few weeks into dating he’s gotten a good rhythm. a quick peck on his cheek to say ‘bye’ but long kisses are for when your leaving for a while. he’s still probably a little hesitant but he’s definitely gonna kiss you.

his lips are sorta chapped but don’t really mind. hands wrap around either your face or your neck (like on the sides, he’s not choking you in public lol) he can’t help but giggle when you start to make out.

he gets so happy he can’t physically contain his laughter. as time moves on his kisses grow deeper. he’ll start using tongue more etc etc…

when yall are fucking his kissing style does change a bit. instead of almost polite kissing he just starts eating your face. it’s like he thinks if he can’t kiss you hard enough your clothes come off.

he definitely doesn’t just kiss your face, he makes sure to kiss your tummy, thighs, shoulder (when cuddling probably), your neck and ofc the spot in between your legs

deep long kissed are good but sometimes the short baby kisses pressed into your skin speak volumes.

as far as how you kiss him, he’s definitely a fan of you getting cuteness agression and covering his face in kisses. he loves it’s when you kiss his cheek and hairline. but his favorite is when you kiss hiz back. especially the top of his spine area.

it’s just so relaxing and intimate no one would guess except for himself.

[scirelistener]

FAIR TREATMENT

sanji x gn! reader

synopsis : you firmly believe sanji’s charms were so threatening that he should be locked up. unexpectedly, sanji also had the same belief concerning you.

things to note! : not beta read! honestly this shit is kinda cringe 😔 i wrote this with zero hours of sleep and the dialogues are very fucked up. sanji is also very cringe, trying to be the next shakespeare and failing greatly

The cook was undeniably handsome. Charming like he always prided himself to be.

You further leaned your face against the palm of your hand, eyeing the way Sanji danced around the galley like a routine. His hands expertly handling the pan, the flick of his wrist controlling the movement of the pan with an ease only a chef like Sanji exuded.

Strands of his golden locks flowed down from its usual position, threatening to cover the eyes that shined with a blue that the ocean couldn’t even rival. His eyes, even when he was busy swooning over women to the point where the shape of his eyes changed, held an endless depth of emotion. Sometimes the blue became a melancholic color that offered sympathy to others, other times the blue rivaled the color of the sky on a bright sunny day that lightened up the environment.

You sighed dreamily, head already several feet deep into your thoughts. You hadn’t even realized the cook had halted his cooking and had walked over to where you were sitting.

“A berry for your thought?”

You flinched out of the daze and came face to face with the cook who had taken the seat besides you. The expression Sanji had on looked painfully fond; his lips curled into a smile that made your heart want to pound out of your chest, his eyes softening with a particular glisten to the blue orb.

“Sanji. You should be jailed.”

The cook blinked, his eyes no longer half-lidded with fondness. His eyes widened, lips parted yet no words were spoken.

He looked good in any expression, you thought and felt a frown form. It wasn’t fair. It was enough that he looked handsome while doing nothing at all, but Sanji also had to look dangerously cute when he looked surprised.

Your lips pursed to an unbidden pout. “You’re too handsome. You’re also too cute, do you know that?”

“… P-Pardon me, dear?”

You let out a huff of bemusement, feeling a wave of frustration wash over. “It’s a little annoying at this point. You already look illegally charming when you’re cooking, especially when you wear that god forbidden pink apron. When you fight? Oh god, I think my heart skipped a beat at some point. You look so hot whenever you kick ass. But then when you’re acting all stupid over women, you look weirdly cute as well? Actually, no. It’s not weird at all. You’re cute, but you’re charming, but you’re also just really-” You flailed around your hands, the frustration restraining your usual vernacular. “You should be locked up. That’s it. It’s the only way I can get inner peace.”

The galley became dead quiet, the only audible sound was you two breathing except Sanji’s breathes started to sound a lot more.. frantic?

You looked over to the cook only to find him in a rather frazzled state.

If you squinted, you swore you could see steam emitting from the cook’s bright red cheeks. The redness was so visible despite the cook’s clumsy attempt at hiding his face by covering the lower half with his hand. The tips of his fingers were covered in blood, making you worry before realizing it was coming from his nostril. Both nostrils to be exact.

“… Sanji?”

“Don’t-” Sanji’s voice cracked, only further deepening the redness of his face. The cook cleared his throat and looked away, unintentionally allowing more view to the tip of his ears that burned in the same color as his cheeks. “Don’t look at me right now, please. I beg of you.”

It was a little concerning how shaky his voice was, each syllable wavering unlike the cook’s usual smooth flatteries. Perhaps you spoke a little too much, awkwardly scratching the back of your neck with a guilty wince.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Sanji. That’s wasn’t my intention at all. I could leave if you need some space-”

You hadn’t even left your seat yet, but Sanji quickly interjected by whipping his head back to you and wrapping his hand around your wrist as if to keep you from leaving.

“No!” The walls of the galley threw back the echoes of the cook’s booming exclamation.

You blinked, the warmth of his grip on your wrist surging throughout your body. His grip didn’t falter even a bit as Sanji burned in embarrassment once more, never leaving your wrist.

“I don’t- You don’t have to-” Sanji grumbled in frustration, uncharacteristically stumbling over his words. You waited patiently as the cook attempted to speak his mind all the while trying to not pay attention to how his hand never let go of your wrist.

With a sigh of exasperation, the cook stood up with a dramatic flair.

The blond kneeled in front of you like a prince, the way his hair fluttered behind him almost imitating a halo. (His nose was no longer bleeding, not a single trace of bleed left behind on his face. How and when he wiped it away was beyond your comprehension.) With a gentleness that tugged your heartstrings, the cook took your hand in his and bowed his head until his lips lightly grazed your knuckle.

Even without touching, you knew your cheeks were hot to the touch as all the blood rushed to your face.

A twinge of relief lessened your embarrassment when Sanji looked up with a persistent red hue across his face. At least you both were burning up like strawberries.

“If I should get jailed for my supposed charms, I must ask you to get the same treatment.”

“… Huh.”

The amused smile that borderline looked like a smirk should’ve been the warning sign.

“My dear, do you have any idea of your own appeals?” Sanji stood up once more, but never let go of your hand. Instead, he beckoned you to place your other hand in his and gently squeezed them both.

Then his mouth opened and words of flattery waxed out endlessly.

“Have you any idea of the jealousy that emanates from the sun when you’re happy? You shine so brightly that celestial bodies above can’t help but envy. Need I mention your smile?” The cook let go of your hand to do a very necessary twirl before grabbing your hands once more, eyes threatening to change into heart shapes. “I struggle to keep my composure when you smile, I hope you know. The way your eyes light up and the way your nose slightly crinkles.”

Was the room deprived of air all the sudden? You found it harder and harder to breathe as the cook went on and on, dealing an even bigger damage than what you did to him.

“When you so sweetly enjoy my food and compliment aspects of the dish, my heart sings! Oh and when you help Chopper treat us after a rough battle, I only pray that my heart does not melt from how hard I swoon! That damn mosshead does not deserve your gentle treatment at all, one should do nothing but cherish your kind actions! Not just huff and gruff, then walk away.”

Before Sanji could let out another syllable, you hurriedly clasped your hand around his mouth in an attempt to shut him up.

“Okay, okay! I get it! Holy shit, Sanji.” You suddenly understood why Sanji always got a nosebleed, suddenly feeling lightheaded all the sudden. You closed your eyes in hopes of you regaining your inner peace, letting out a shaky exhale.

You then opened your eyes to send a glare that had no actual effect on the cook who only saw it as another cute expression of yours, just on the verge of going into another swooning session. “This isn’t how I thought this would go.”

Sanji only replied with an amused chuckle before leaning down to gently but firmly place a kiss on your cheek. The contact was brief yet it lingered like the way cold breezes of wind left a numbing sensation to the touch.

The smile that Sanji had on when he leaned back was full of satisfaction. “I only speak the truth, dear.”

You huffed, suddenly not wanting to lose this weirdly one-sided battle.

Without a shred of hesitation, you tugged on the collar of Sanji’s (probably expensive) button-up shirt and pulled him in. Brushing away Sanji’s confused protests, you placed a hand against the back of his head before leaning in closer.

The moment your lips touched, a spark ignited in both of your hearts.

You leaned away just enough to be able to see his face and sure enough..

“SANJI!? HEY, SANJI!”

The man’s soul was threatening to escape from his agape mouth. His eyes looked dead yet tears streamed down his burning red cheeks. The nosebleeds that had finally halted re-emerged, trickling down his lips.

“I’ll die a happy man..” Sanji barely mumbled before his body fainted against yours, his full body weight falling over your struggling form.

“CHOPPER!!!”

While you desperately called for the doctor, Sanji slowly drifted away into unconsciousness with a lovesick smile plastered on his face.

a/n : i think i like sanji a normal amount. also i’m pretty sure, in all my years of writing my thoughts out, this is the first piece where i wrote an actual kiss scene 😔 listen i love me a good kissing montage but god i do not know how to write kisses. what i do know is yearning.