#this and and ‘workplace assault’ that

[screamlet]

I would love a 7 and/or 8 and/or 21!!!!!

hello hello! i think this counts for all three: cuddling for comfort (7), reluctantly (8), and in the water (21). 300ish words.

---

Sometimes Buck has dreams about he and Tommy getting swept back into each other's lives with a low-stakes work disaster. Some call gone slightly wrong that gets their adrenaline pumping, then has them run into each other's arms and erase all the dumb shit they've said and done to each other in the past several months.

Buck, mostly a coward, knows it's stupid when just texting his ex he was still in love with could get the job done without breaking any bones or other damage. But workplace hazards were less scary than his feelings (overwhelming) and Tommy's feelings (unknown, the scariest thing of all).

Yet Buck, a coward and a dummy, forgot the death part of near death experience.

It feels like centuries, but Tommy finally starts to cough up water after all those chest compressions. He pushes away and turns onto his side, gasping for breath as he coughs all over the ground where he's been laid out.

"You idiot!" Buck yells as he grabs Tommy. He sits him up and hunches him over, hitting his back ferociously to get him to cough out the rest of the reservoir that had almost drowned him.

"Hey, Buck, I think it's assault at this point," Lucy snaps as she pulls at his arm.

"It's okay," Tommy croaks. "It's helping."

"Yeah, not when he fucks up one of your vertebrae."

Buck comes around to Tommy's front and cups his face, sopping wet and red, scratches all over from the fall he had during this big ground duty call. "I'm so mad at you," Buck says, then pulls Tommy into his arms again, less a hug and more a trap Tommy won't escape. "I'm never gonna let you live this down."

Tommy coughs more water onto Buck's turnouts, wheezing hard and ugly but alive, alive. "So you're gonna let me live, huh?"

"Asshole," Buck whispers, kissing the top of his head.

"You, too, honey," Tommy rasps as his arms slowly, finally, wrap around Buck.

[delopsia]

Ingredients: Inappropriate usage of portals, somewhat public sex, risk of getting caught (but you don't) To be fair, it started as a joke.

A curious little, "can you reach the light switch from across the room?" that swiftly evolved into portals connecting apartments and stepping from bedroom to workplace one minute before the start of a shift. Instantaneous visits and retrieving forgotten things in the blink of an eye.

It was only natural that you joked about this, giggled 'what-if's shared in the darkness of the bedroom. Testing theories by walking his fingers up your spine while on opposite sides of the apartment, and sharing kisses from different rooms.

In your defense, you thought he forgot about you suggesting this.

But that is definitely, definitely his lube soaked cock, sinking into your unsuspecting pussy, unbeknownst to anyone sitting around you.

Your teeth sink into the inside of your lip, hard enough to draw blood. The bulbous tip of his cock wedges inside of you with a soft 'pop' sensation, your thighs unkonsciously parting to make room for a body that isn't there.

From the table, your phone lights up with a message.

You look cute in that color :) - Bo

As if he's not gradually pushing deeper and deeper, his thick length dragging deliciously against unsuspecting nerves, helplessly fluttering around him. Your hand wavers as you bring the glass to your lips, the bitter liquid a welcome assault on your senses.

A bluriness taints your vision, distorting the screen as you type. This is an abuse of power.

That little portal lurking between your legs must not be as air-tight as he thinks it is, because you swear that you hear him giggle, all light and cheery, like he isn't balls deep in you right now.

That nameless woman's voice drones on, paraphrasing from the block of text projected onto the big screen, yammering on about safety and proper licensing and blah blah blah. Why did you even—

A shallow thrust has you jumping in your chair, its feet chirping across the floor.

Some no-name man looks your way, a politician who suspiciously reeked of apple cider when he shook your hand earlier. But he doesn't suspect anything, turning back to the presentation in an instant.

How could he? How could anyone know that Robert Renolds, The Sentry, the mysterious super power who warped New York a few years back, is slowly dragging his cock out of you right now?

He pauses, just the tip resting inside.

Your screen lights up once more.

Do you want me to stop? - Bo

Breathing hard through your nose, you force your thumbs to move. Nope.

And he snaps back in hard enough to nearly send you three rows back. A gasp catches in your throat, threatening to burst past your lips.

This angle isn't helping, perpetually aware of the way you're clenching around him, his balls gingerly smacking against your clit. What position is he—fuck—is he even in?

Futile, your legs flutter around someone that isn't even there, desperate to cling to him, something. Invisible fingers trace where you're stretched around him, wet, one of them slipping inside before you can realize what he's doing.

A whimper creeps out before you can stop it. The blonde across the table glances at you, questioning.

Another heavy thrust nearly rocks you forward.

Covering your mouth with a shivering hand, you rise, feigning sick. Oh, walking is so much worse. Every step reminds you of him. Lazily fucking your drooling cunt, stretched around that additional finger, fuck, fuck, fuck.

His thumb presses against your clit, rubbing idle circles into it.

Your knee buckles, awkwardly stumbling to regain your footing. Just a little...just a little further. His finger slips out of you in exchange for those lazy rocks of his hips, doing nothing but drag the underside of his cock over that sensitive little spot, working it in tune with your clit.

You don't understand how you've made it into the hallway, but you can only hope the crowd can no longer see you. A noise falls from your mouth, far too loud, but the bathroom door is right there, and—

"Fuck," blurting before you've even stepped inside, clamping your hand back over your mouth. The door squeaks shut; you can't turn the lock fast enough.

There's no plan beyond this. The sink is the first thing you can grab, damn near doubling over the thing. Little shocks of pleasure dart up your lower belly, legs shivering with the force of them.

"Robert," your whimper echoes, resonating in your burning ears.

The curve of his cock seems to reverse, suddenly pressing on something new. A warm body appears behind yours, big arms and fluffy hair. Strong, familiar notes of marshmallow and vanilla greet your nose.

"Baby," Bob moaning into your ear, mouthing at the shell of it, "baby."

He's drooling all over your cheek, and you'd chide him for it, but fuck, so are you. You don't think you could come up with a sentence, even if you tried. Can't do anything more than hang your head against the mirror and cling to this porcelain sink.

His thumb finds your clit again, working over it in synchony with his sloppy hips, short snaps breaking the already shallow, barely there tempo he's set. Tendrils of electricity crackle. Sparks fly behind your eyes.

"Bo," your warning rides in on a gasp; it's too late. Weightlessness graces your senses, head spinning as you cum around his still pistoning cock. A pitchy wail resounds from behind you, pushing into you one more time.

And he's cumming, too. Heavy breaths take to the air, panting like overworked dogs. You're too hot and cold at the same time, involuntarily clenching and unclenching, drawing a sharp twitch from him every time.

Somehow, you can already feel his cum spilling out of your sensitive pussy, some of it running down your thigh, certain to stain your clothes.

"You're lucky," your voice dies, already out of air. "You're lucky I wasn't talking to someone when you started that."

"I had my ways of knowing," kissing at your weary shoulders, a sharply innocent gesture, all things considered. Through the mirror, you can see his mouth open with a yawn.

A moment passes, and so does yours.

"I don't suppose you can magically end a conference, can you?" Trying your best to speak through it.

Bob hums, coming to rest his chin against your back. "You don't wanna go back out?"

You didn't even want to come here in the first place.

"I miss our bed," you confess. It's all you've thought about since you left the house. A nice, long nap, free of these damn, tight fitting clothes.

Sparkles of black and purple appear around you, swirling into a familiar portal. "I can do something about that."

[granitegrumbles]

Helluva Boss is hurt by the fact that it wants to have its cake and eat it too. It wants to be an episodic comedy about imp assassins going on hits where violence = funny and it’s alright for their main characters to be bad people because it’s an episodic comedy starring demons from hell, but it also wants to be a dramatic story about flawed characters falling in love while a class system, various antagonists, and their own mistakes keep them apart. It’s hard to take Stella’s abuse of Stolas seriously when Moxxie getting crushed or assaulted by Veroskia and her Succubi is a silly background gag. It’s hard to take Stolas on his word when he says that he doesn’t look down on Blitz and thinks highly of him when he weeps about being poor now and chokes his imp butler, again, as a background gag. It’s hard to believe that Millie and Moxxie are in peril when they’re fighting Striker when the fight cuts to Blitz and the doctor chasing around Loona with a giant syringe.

Helluva Boss does not want to think about the deeper implications of its characters, worldbuilding, or experiences because it’s a comedy show, but it also wants its characters to realistically struggle with overcoming their trauma and wants you to notice the hidden nuances in people’s body language. It tells you that Stella has been evil since birth without a scrap of nuance and plays the scenes where she’s abusive as her solely finding Stolas’s suffering amusing, but also wants you to consider the way Stolas’s view of love through media causes him to unintentionally harm those around him with his unrealistic expectations of the way things work. It wants to be a deep look into its characters and the world around them but it also wants to be a workplace comedy where violence is the punchline, and as a result it can’t commit to either. It can’t just be silly shenanigans as the IMP crew takes jobs on because that would at best cheapen and at worst distract from the drama entirely but it can’t just be a drama because the writers want to have their sex jokes and head explosions, and in doing so they end up creating this weird mix where there isn’t any balance. The comedy doesn’t help the drama and the drama doesn’t help the comedy. They both work against each other.

[mediabrainrot]

when those rumors about Mia Goth came out about her kicking an extra in the head on the set of Maxxxine and we were joking that we were still gonna see it (sorry king) and my friend said “me not seeing the movie isn’t gonna unkick you in the head�� and well. every time i think about why Thomas Gibson got kicked off the show im like. can’t he just come back if he promises to be nice. him not being in the show isn’t gonna. well

[strangesmallbard]

having many thoughts about helena eagan. it’s so interesting that we’ve never seen helena’s inner world—who she is without anyone watching. until ep 4 last night this frustrated me, but now i think it’s a brilliant choice because wait, no. we have seen her inner world, her inner self: we know her inny. we know that devoid of context and history and pressure, there exists helly r. and she’s strident and bold and wants to get the entire fuck out of this fucked up cult. she wants to destroy the eagans from the ground up: from her own beating heart all the way up to kier eagan’s exalted, mythologized memory.

but no, that’s not quite right. because helena eagan is still a mystery to us: who is she fully alone but still encumbered by memory? who is she alone in the dark? (we do technically see her alone, but she’s still in lumon, surrounded by lumon, staring at her eagan-given face in the mirror). i think we see flashes of this helena as she awkwardly yet sincerely mimics helly r. when mark looks like he wants to kiss her in ep 2 and she stands still, staring, unsure how to proceed. when she utterly fails at improvising her innie’s wake-up moment. when she makes the snow seal for irv, breathless and excited to have a friend who will accept a gift from her. obviously this was also a ploy to make him believe she is really helly r, his friend, but there was something so vibrantly real in her eyes. this is a really, really lonely person! this is a person who’s maybe never once had a real friend even one time.

this moment also cemented my wavering belief that we’d been watching helena, not helly. when irv expresses his suspicion, we watch her face contort itself into a blank, threatening stare. helly r (and all her freeing possibilities) leeches from her body and we’re left with the blank, solid wall of helena. who is she behind that wall? i don’t think she knows either, except that she’s ashamed of who she is outside. this is the only inside thought she fully voices, cocooned in warmth with a person who thinks she’s someone else (two times over but that’s another post). her assault of mark s—and yeah that was 100% assault—was, i think, an attempt to prove she is capable of loving and being loved, like any person. she is a real animal with instincts still alive that the eagans try to mold into something neat and sterile and dead. or rather not quite truly alive.

all this to say: what the hell is going to happen when helena and helly r integrate?

[genderoutlaws]

shot in the dark but anyone have leads on jobs in toronto? my partner has almost a decade of food service and retail keyholder experience and they need to get tf out of their current job

[bemtevis]

i would fully marry franziska von karma if I could

[aemiron-main]

hard times from preachers daughter is extra agonizing as a patty song now considering the new broadway newby family lore revelations

[hezekiahwakely]

Tumblr: art between Colin and Sam is adorable, their miscommunication is cute, they're basically already jumping each other

Me, looking at the end of episode 7: well now.... you're not wrong....

[pynkhues]

I'm so glad your friends are both okay. That's so horrible.

Thanks, anon. It was about a decade ago (although the incidents happened in different years), so time's marched on. They're both doing well now.

[fingertipsmp3]

Does anyone else have a friend who’ll ghost you for weeks but if you fail to reply to their messages for like 2 days they immediately assume you’re dead

[jinxed-dreams]

My mum just showed me several "let's get this bread I guess" memes and asked wtf it means. I explained but apparently gen x has a difficult time understanding why the younger generations are so depressed because we have to go to work

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"ROBBERS GET CASH IN HAMILTON SHOP," Toronto Globe. September 30, 1933. Page 2. --- Armed Men Hold Up Dominion Store on Caroline Street ---- HATCHET CASE PROBED --- (Staff Correspondence of The Globe.) Hamilton, Sept. 29. - Two armed men held up and robbed the Dominion Store at 140 Caroline Street South tonight of $30 in cash, and fled in a car. They were about 40 years of age and well dressed.

Miss Josephine Wheeler, clerk, was alone in the store when the two men entered about 7.15 o'clock. They flourished their revolvers, ordered her Into a back room, and told her to keep quiet, "If you know what is good for you." One of the men then went behind the counter and emptied the cash register.

Miss Wheeler told the police that one man was about six feet tall, clean-shaven, and well dressed in a grey suit and cap. The other man also wore light colored clothing, she said.

Allegedly Lit With Hatchet. John Tossone, 50 Gerrard Street, was removed to the General Hospital this afternoon suffering from a scalp wound and a possible fractured skull. Angelo Bambien, 366 Hughson Street North, was arrested on a charge of assault. as it is alleged he hit Tossone over the head with a lather's hatchet. The two men were at 50 Gerrard Street, and Bambien is alleged to have been quarrelsome and under the influence of liquor. In a rage, it is alleged, he raised the hatchet and struck Tossone with it twice, first with the sharp edge and second with the hammer end of it. Tossone's condition was reported to be fairly good, despite his injuries.

George Brown, 5 Inchbury Street, was severely burned this afternoon at the plant of the Canada Iron Company when he was pouring molten metal and the container overturned, setting fire to his clothes. He was burned about the chest, abdomen, head, arms and legs. Fellow-work- men rushed to his aid and stripped his burning garments from him: He was removed to the General Hospital. His condition tonight was reported to be slightly improved.

Hurt By Wrench. Sidney Piner, 467 Wellington Street North, was injured painfully on the face this afternoon when working at the Hamilton Cotton Company. wrench slipped as he was tightening a nut and struck him. He was removed to the General Hospital.

Ernest Denyes, alias Edward Burns, who was arrested last night after several citizens chased him from a house on Holton Avenue South, appeared in Police Court today on a charge of housebreaking. Before pleading to the charge Denyes asked for an adjournment, and, with the consent of Crown Attorney Ballard, the case was laid over until Wednesday. Mr. Ballard suggested ball be set at $1,000, should Denyes apply for it.

Lorne Gibson, hired man on the farm of John Prouse, in Ancaster Township, where ten fires occurred this week, appeared before Magistrate Vance in county Police Court this afternoon on a charge of vagrancy. A 14-year-old boy who lives at the farm also appeared.

County police asked for an adjournment of one week, and Gibson was remanded, while the boy was allowed to return to the farm. No fires ccurred at the farmhouse today.

Police said they expected there would be fresh developments by the time the case is proceeded with, a week hence.

[abbotsanatomy]

Can I request a Jack x reader where reader gets hurt while working and Abbot goes insane trying to make sure she’s okay 🤭

⨳ HEART IN YOUR THROAT

pairing: jack abbot x wife!doc!reader warnings: workplace romance, descriptions of injury, depiction of an erratic patient, assault of a healthcare provider. author's note: y'all i wrote this man stressed! (reasonably) he CANNOT lose another wife...

There's a tune stuck in your head, from the drive to work. You're humming it as you look over your most recent patient's labs. But you can't hear yourself anymore when someone yells from somewhere near the ER's ambulance entrance.

'Yell' isn't really the right word, it's more of a shrill screaming that chills you to the core. You're still leaning on the station counter, when you spot Jack running towards the screaming, followed by Ellis.

The computer's immediately abandoned, as you make your way through the ER in a sprint. You pick up a paper gown on the way out, and pull it on, tying it in the back. The emergency entrance's glass doors open automatically, as you make your way through them and onto the road.

It's chilly outside, as can be expected on a winter night in Pittsburgh. You can feel cold air making its way deep into your bones, but you know you have to move quick when you see the patient thrashing violently on a hospital gurney. You can tell Ellis and Jack have already gotten a few kicks to the face, trying to steady the patient's legs, where the blood is making it difficult to asses his injury.

You make for his arms, which are free and way too close to grasping Ellis by the hair. You're pulling him back onto the gurney as gently as possible, pulling both of his arms into yours. There's no way to be reassuring in this kind of situation, but you try anyway. He isn't taking any of it, though. His screaming directly at your face makes you flinch a few times. His wife shouting in the background isn't so comforting either.

Somewhere throughout the struggle, the patient gains on you. You can slowly feel your grip over him slip. With a rough shove from him, you're down on the floor, face planted directly onto the pavement. You can hear a sickening crack when you try to move your face across the concrete. An intense pain shoots up from your nose, and you swear you can feel it in your brain.

"Fuck!" you shout into the ground, and even that hurts.

You can hear John make his way out of the emergency entrance, he almost leans down to check on you, but you give him a thumbs up. You just want this idiot on the gurney out of your sight, then you might get up. He makes his way to help restrain the patient.

Jack's voice is distantly shouting a question at Shen that you can't quite make out. Then, he's right in front of you, pulling you up by your arms before you can protest. There's an almost alarming amount of blood on the pavement where your face was. When he pulls your face up to get a good look, you can taste your own blood making its way down your throat.

You wipe away the blood from your top lip. Any expression you make is so painful you regret ever even having a face. Jack's eyes are going back and forth, analyzing every part of you to make sure there's nothing else besides the glaringly obvious broken nose.

"I think it's..." you take a deep breath in through your mouth, "broken."

The gurney passes you two, crouched on the side of the road. Jack shoots the patient the nastiest glare you've ever seen. He looks ready to kill the man. You're pretty sure he would've at least put him in the hospital if he wasn't already here.

The moment he looks back into your eyes, his face twists into a more comforting expression.

"Yeah?" he smiles, but it barely reaches his eyes, "I think so too, honey. Let's get you up. I'll take care of it."

You let him pull you up to stand. He's still observing you for any signs there might be something else wrong.

"You hurt anywhere else?" he asks, his tone soft.

You shake your head.

Even if you were, you're pretty sure the burning sensation in your face is clouding your judgement. "Nope. Legs just a lil' sore."

"Alright. We'll get 'em looked at."

By that, he means he's going to move you into the ER and damn-near yell at anyone who even suggests he go assist with the patient and let someone else take care of you. You always knew Jack had a protective streak, but seeing it in action is entirely different. You're sure you'd be laughing and making fun of him for it, if speaking and smiling and breathing didn't hurt so bad.

He guides you to one of the ER chairs, and pulls the cubicle curtain closed. The first victim of his very thorough physical examination is your nose, which he packs to stop the bleeding and then gives you a local anesthetic injection in. It dulls the pain and makes the manual realignment feel like barely a gentle pull.

When he's done, he checks you everywhere else. He does a million tests you both know are incredibly excessive. You let him turn your limbs every which way, check your breathing a hundred times, and perform a neuro exam more than ten times, probably.

"I'm fine, Jack," you kindly inform him, for the fifth time since you've sat down, as he flashes a light into your eyes.

He puts the flashlight away and nods, finally acknowledging you. His arms come to rest on your shoulders, his thumbs stroking the skin there. Your eyes meet. When you smile at him, he grimaces.

"Oh my god. Am I really that deformed?" you joke.

He shakes his head slowly, "You could never be anything short of gorgeous in my eyes."

You're about to make another joke, when you realize his eyes hold an intensity in them that's usually reserved for those terribly intimate moments you share, almost exclusively, at your apartment. He looks really fucking scared, too. It’s a proper notch down from how afraid he looked outside, so you’ll take it.

"Where doesn't hurt?" he asks.

You point to your cheek. It isn’t completely pain-free, but it's the only place you can tolerate any kind of pressure and actually feel it. He leans down and presses his lips gently there. It makes your eyes flutter shut instantly. Your hand comes to rest on the back of his neck, keeping him there.

"I think you'll need to perform an even more thorough examination. At home. In bed," you whisper into his ear.

When he laughs against your skin, you turn your face to the side, so you can press your mouth to the side of his jaw. You instantly regret it, though, because your freshly split lip burns.

"Ouch," you complain.

Jack presses one last kiss to your temple, before he pulls away. He grabs his phone out of his front pocket.

"We leave in an hour," he confirms.

"You can nap here. I'll make sure no one wakes you up until it's time to go," his voice is soothing, but you know he's not really asking.

Luckily, you can already feel your eyes droop, so you’re barely arguing anyway. Jack's footsteps are heavy, and when he pulls the curtain open you can tell he hesitates for a moment.

It sounds like he has a smug grin on his face, "And, uh, you're only slightly deformed."

Your eyes shoot open, but before you can grab something to throw at him he's already out of eyeshot.

"You can't say that to your patients, Doctor Abbot!" you yell after him.

The last thing you hear before passing out is his distant laugh.