#whole time they don't want to ask somebody like a coworker and feel stupid or w/e

[stopfunkinwmyheart]

it'll be a brother with an iten I've never seen in my entire life. I'll be like "heyy can I help ya" buddy will rly deadass be like "ye so I need one of these but smaller. it has to be the one for a rounded corner as well, it can not be the standard. this is crucial bcos I am doing rounded corners and will not be working w a flat surface. now ideally I want this exact iten, I can't remembered if I got it here or not bcos it was 35 years ago. I'm not sure if they even make them anymore. I don't even know what it's called or what it does. I'm unsure why I even want to complete this project. I don't even remember who I am or how I got here. do you know if these keys are for my car? who am I? you don't know who I am? who gave you this job? where is your manager little boy......."

[eddiestattoos]

My birthday is 2 months away and I'm already coming up with my excuse for how I'm going to book it off work that isnt simply "it's my birthday and I don't want to work"

[vampyroteuthid]

i have to bitch about my stupid fucking workplace or i'll die

ok i had a hot second where i thought it was getting better and i might be able to stick it out for long enough to not look terrible on my resume but then today my boss snapped SO hard at me literally just for doing my job and it almost made me cry. he usually has a huge stick up his ass about getting to people very promptly so when somebody pulled up outside who he needed to talk to my coworker said "oh go let him know mrs so and so is here" so i went over and he happened to be talking to his office manager whose dog has pancreatitis so i waited for a pause in the conversation and then said "mrs so and so is outside" and he was like "yeah i'll GET to it when i'm DONE with this" in such a forceful and bitchy tone that it made me physically recoil and say "ok just letting you know!" in a much nicer tone than i needed to and then i was struggling not to cry for the next 30 minutes for the crime of doing what i was told.

FURTHERMORE someone who previously held my position dropped her cat off today and they were all shit talking her behind her back and i've literally never heard them talk about previous assistants in any other way like it's always oh she was dumb oh she was such a know it all oh he hated her. i said "oh she seemed nice when i talked to her" because she was and my coworker was like "well when i came back to this job after taking a break he told me i had two jobs; to help [other tech] and get rid of her." so apparently this asshole literally will not just say it to the faces of his employees and just psychologically tortures them into quitting which really makes me think he's trying to do the same to me which is a realization i had many weeks ago but i was trying to believe i was making it up because i'm insane but i guess i'm NOT. to make this situation better one of the (two) techs is leaving after this week to go back to school and the other one doesn't work on fridays so i'm about to be the ONLY person to do all the animal restraining shit cleaning medical note taking prescription filling etc and his office manager leaves after 1 so phone calls after that too. for a man who openly dislikes me and does not speak to me at all if he doesn't have to. i asked the tech who's not leaving for advice and she said yeah have everything you can ready because as you can see he does as little work as possible. and i was like oh so we're all seeing that and you're just letting yourselves get walked all over and doing all of the work for him ok. then she reiterated what i already knew about not letting him see me not doing anything. then she told me "just pick up the phone and don't wait for someone to tell you you can" whole time i was never actually told that i'm supposed to be picking up phone calls i just started doing it when they weren't available because they told me to but i'm frequently unable to answer people's questions because i Just Fucking Started and i've never worked in a vet clinic before. and then i'm made to feel like i'm obnoxious for not knowing things and asking questions. if you are having issues with your employees being know it alls maybe you should stop making them feel like shit for not knowing things? also it is SO fucking bold of him to treat me like shit on his shoe when i am as mentioned about to be the only fucking person on fridays and one of two people the rest of the week. if you want me to quit so bad say it to my fucking face like a goddamn adult and clean the dog shit your damn self or make your poor office manager do it since you won't deign to do normal animal care tasks. he doesn't even have any fucking job postings up even though he's supposedly soooo short staffed (he is obviously but maybe he just doesn't care because he never does any of the work) and i know because i'm on all the job groups and on craigslist and indeed etc all the time because i hate this damn job and want one where everyone doesn't dislike me.

TO BE CLEAR i have been doing my level best this whole time despite being suicidally depressed (largely from this stupid fucking job) and exhausted from having to get up at 6:20 am to catch the bus, i have done everything i've been told to do to the best of my ability without complaining even shit like scrubbing the dead dog freezer or cleaning and reorganizing random ancient stuff no one has thought about in ten years or pointlessly cleaning things that aren't dirty just to look busy, i am always professional and polite to clients and my coworkers, i am often the first person there in the mornings and the last to clock out, i never bother him with questions because i learned very quickly he somehow doesn't have the answers to anything practical about how his business runs because he's comfortable being tech illiterate and making other people do it for him. as far as i can tell his dislike of me is literally just because i have god awful auditory processing so it takes me a while to understand verbal instructions and i have to ask people to say things again or repeat things back a lot. like he literally hates me for the crime of being a little slow and ? not automatically knowing ten million highly specific to this job and clinic things? i get paid $18/hr my rent for my room with my obnoxious preachy landlord costs WELL over half my paycheck i get absolutely no benefits i didn't even receive a contract or any kind of legal forms except a w2. broadly speaking i would consider myself a pretty patient person but now i'm just deeply pissed off and fucking broke on top of it. i think i'm going to give it one or two fridays to see how bad it really is and if it's as bad as i'm anticipating it would be generous of me to give two weeks' notice. and then does anyone think it would be detrimental to acquiring future jobs if i were to work in the weed industry? i can't tell if it would look bad to non weed employers but there's a listing for greenhouse people which i think sounds awesome. if you read this whole thing we will have an autumn wedding

[mypoisonedvine]

Consolation || Bucky Barnes x reader

summary: you know it’s probably not great that you always turn to your best friend Bucky whenever you’re especially hurt by your husband.  you know your husband should probably care that you spend so much time with him, but he doesn’t.  which is good, in the end, because you two really are just friends… until you’re not.

word count: 4k

warnings: smut!, infidelity (see summary, reader is married), descriptions of failing/sexless marriage, angst, fluff, ~feelings~

You were good at hiding it— the real reason why you showed up at Bucky's apartment unexpectedly, that is.  

It wasn’t entirely unexpected: you sent a text first, asking if he was down for a movie night, telling him you missed when you used to hang out more.  He did, too, but he had always been afraid your husband would be an issue.  Nice enough guy, but he didn’t seem to trust Bucky entirely… certainly didn’t seem to love that you two were so close.

And who could blame him?  A beautiful, sweet, smart girl like you… he understood why your husband didn’t want you hanging out with other guys when avoidable.  I’ve told him a thousand times, you’re just a friend— you’re just Bucky, you would tell him when you were recounting arguments, explaining why it had been a while since you two had had a chance to catch up.  But Bucky never told you that your husband was right to worry, that he had dreamed since he met you of being more than ‘just a friend,’ that he himself was the reason you two didn’t spend more time together: because he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from confessing his feelings.

Because of course he would never make a move on his best friend— on a married woman.  It would be so overwhelmingly inappropriate, such a colossal waste of time; and it wasn’t like he couldn’t handle just being your friend.  Sure, it killed him a little bit sometimes, but it was worth it a million times over to be near you at all.  He would take what he could get… and if that meant platonic movie night because you’d had another argument with your husband, then so be it.

“I stopped by the store on my way; heard your ice cream reserve was depleted,” you explained as you brandished the Ben & Jerry’s before slipping past him to put them in his freezer.  

He watched you walk there, silently hating how comfortable you were in his apartment.  He loved it, but he hated it, too.  

“What are we watching?” you asked, snapping him back to reality.

“Uh, I dunno…”

“You were supposed to pick while I was driving over, genius,” you grumbled sarcastically.

“I narrowed it down to The Ring or You’ve Got Mail,” he decided suddenly.

You chuckled lightly and the sound lifted his spirits. “Okay, so, two drastically different evenings."

“I mean, if you think about it, they’re both about meeting new people through technology,” he corrected.

“Do VHS tapes count as technology?” you raised an eyebrow incredulously.

“They do to me,” he shrugged.

//

With the ice cream supply exhausted and Bucky’s largest plastic bowl now containing only the unpopped kernels and little broken pieces of popcorn that didn’t make the cut, the third act of The Ring was beginning and you were spending more time covering your eyes than not.

“Let me know when the scary part is over,” you requested weakly from between the hands on your face.

“It’s a horror movie; the whole thing is one long scary part!” he laughed.

You peeked out through your fingers only to see another terrifying moment, yelping and hiding yourself in his chest.

He froze, not sure at all what to do with your face pressed against him; he held his breath in case the inflation of his chest would disturb you.  

“I can’t look!” you whimpered, voice muffled by his shirt.

He lifted his hand in consideration of stroking your hair comfortingly, but ultimately decided against it and set it back down.

Thankfully, the movie was almost over and you wouldn’t stay cuddled up to him after it ended— meaning he’d finally be free from the glorious torture of your nearness.

But then the credits were rolling and you still didn’t budge, holding him tight.  At first he thought you were just still scared, but then you took a slow, shaky breath… and he realized something was wrong with you, way beyond just a spooky movie.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, preparing to hear you explain what really happened with you and your husband that made you come here.

You just shook your head a little against his chest, making him sigh.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he continued, and you hesitated before pulling back and sitting up straight again.  As painful as it had been, he missed your touch already.

“Yes,” you answered, “but I shouldn’t.”

“Okay,” he nodded.

“But I need to.”

“Okay.”

“But I can’t.”

“...okay…”

You groaned and hid your face in your hands— not from fear this time, but exasperation.  “I told myself that if it ever got to this point, I’d tell someone.  But now I… I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” he soothed.

"He doesn't… we don't…” you started and stopped a few times.  “God, Buck, I can't even say it…"

"You don't have to—" he began to tell you, but you said it anyway, tearing your hands away from your face and looking back at him sternly.

"He hasn't touched me in months.  And today marks an entire year since the last time I had sex."

He tried not to choke when he heard that.  He figured you were just going to say that he was texting a female coworker too much or flip-flopping about if he wanted kids or not.  This was something else entirely.  "Oh… um, wow."

“Yeah.”

He wasn’t sure where to start.  In spite of all his obliviousness, he was pretty sure he should say something, he just didn’t know what.  “And he… he knows that you… want that?  I mean, you’ve like… tried to, you know… initiate things, right?”  He cringed at his own voice, and stupid question.

You laughed a little, in a sad way.  "I've begged him for it, fuck, it's so humiliating.  It doesn't even work.  He's always too tired, not in the mood, busy with something.  And of course I want to respect him and not pressure him into anything but at the same time, I feel so fucking unlovable— so hideous."

"You're not hideous,” he said firmly, more sure of that than anything else he’d said so far.

“I try to believe that, really,” you mitigated, “I try not to take it personally— but fuck, it feels personal.  Do you know how often people talk about sex?  It’s like society has this idea that men just wanna bang twenty-four hours a day and the only thing stopping them is women being prudes.  Do you know what it’s like to hear people talk like that when your husband rejects you every night?  Do you know how it feels to hear your girlfriends complaining about how their boyfriends are pestering them for sex too often, and you’re just sitting there screaming inside your head ‘at least he wants you’?  Bucky, you can’t even imagine…”

“I can’t,” he agreed.  

"It's been so long…” you sighed shakily, collecting yourself before you started again.  “It's been so long since somebody touched me.  I wondered if I would forget what it felt like."

His hand shook a little as he reached out with his flesh hand and brushed it against your arm, staring into your watery eyes and finding less fear there than he expected, thankfully.

"Did you forget?" he asked softly.

"I must have," you mumbled, "it feels better than I remembered."

The heartbreak in your voice made anger bubble up in his chest, amazed at how your husband ever allowed this to happen; ever allowed you to become so touch-starved that even just a brush on your arm made you emotional.  "I can't imagine being with you every day and not wanting to touch you whenever I could get the chance,” he admitted.  “I can't imagine being your husband and not making love to you every day, every hour, whenever you wanted; whenever you'd let me.  I can't imagine having you beg me for something and not giving it to you— I'd give you everything."

He had to fight a gasp as you suddenly grabbed him and pulled him into a kiss, a bit sudden at first but melting into something gentle and patient and soft.  

“Then do it,” you whispered as you finally pulled back; he could barely think straight to even process what you were saying.  “Give me everything.”

He nodded a little before he kissed you again, rough but deep and slow.  His hands roamed your body like he'd wished to for so long; his tongue slid against yours and the taste of you drove him wild.

As hard as it was to break from your lips, he moved his kisses down your jaw to your neck, sucking at your pulse as you groaned and clutched at his shoulders through his shirt.

"Fuck," you whispered under your breath, and he must've heard you swear a million times but this time it sounded so different.  

His cock was straining against his jeans already, just from this— it was like he was a fucking teenager again, but to be fair, you'd always had that effect on him: sweaty palms, stammering, sudden boners.  It was like lifelong puberty with you around.

When his fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt, just barely brushing over the skin right above your sweats, you pulled back briefly to pull your shirt off over your head.  He thought it might be awkward if he just stood there gawking at your chest, so he only allowed himself a moment of it before he got back to work holding you tight and kissing your collarbones.

He pulled you closer and you must've felt his cock pressed against you because you gasped a little.  And you must've liked it, because your hand slipped down and rubbed him through the front of his jeans, making him choke on nothing.

“S’big,” you mumbled, and he grinned a little.  

“Feel what you do to me?” he asked softly, and you nodded a little before grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand down your body and into the waistband of your pants.  He shuddered when he felt how warm your skin was, the lacy fabric of your panties, the slick folds you guided his fingers through.

“Feel what you do to me?” you shot back, but your cockiness faded when he circled his middle finger over your swollen bud.  He loved the way your body reacted so easily, subtle little gasps and shivers, your hips jolting forward for more stimulation.  You both moaned when he pushed a finger into your channel, your walls already pulsing around him.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

You whispered your approval and he twisted the finger inside you.  Even just that made you let out a heavy breath, your hands reaching down to grip his wrist— they didn’t push him away, thankfully, just reminded him to be gentle with you as he added the second finger, pushing a bit deeper than before.

“More,” you whimpered your plea, “I want more.”

For a second he thought you meant more fingers, but then you opened your eyes and gave him a look… that look.  

It made it abundantly clear that fingers weren’t going to be enough.  After all, you had asked him to give you everything.  So he gladly obliged when you started to tug at his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside.  You lifted your hips to let him pull down your sweats, not giving him much time to drink in the sight of you before you started opening his fly for him.

Being undressed by you made his heart race; the way you rushed, like you couldn’t wait a moment longer to have him, was flattering yet relatable.

You sighed when you got his cock out, instantly wrapping your hand around his shaft and stroking.  He shuddered at the softness of your hands, at your gentle but persistent exploration.  Clearly it had been a while since you’d gotten the chance to interact with a dick, but it didn’t show in any lack of skill— if anything it just made you more eager, your grip firm but your touches gentle.  He kissed you again, holding your face in one hand and leaning you back with the other until you were laid on the couch and he was hovering over you.

He guided your hand away from his cock, replacing it with his own as he guided the weeping head over your slick folds, smiling at your gasp when he bumped against your clit.

“Do you want this?” he asked, fully prepared for you to back out now before you did something you really couldn’t take back.

“Yes.”  Your answer was more confident than he was expecting, but he still couldn’t really believe it.  It was just too good to be true.  So he had to check again.

“...are you sure?”

"Don't make me beg, Bucky," you whimpered, "I've done it enough, I can't do it again.  Just make love to me— I need you inside me, please…"

Your head fell back as he pushed into you, your nails digging into his shoulders until he stopped from fear of hurting you (even though it took more willpower than he knew he had).

"Don't stop," you whined, "need to feel all of you, Bucky, please please don't stop—"

He definitely didn't have enough willpower to resist that.  Slamming into you all at once, he hissed as you cried out, baring his teeth at the sight of you quivering and moaning beneath him.

"I— I need a second," you explained, voice tight with ill-concealed pain, "it's been a while.”

"I can wait," he nodded, "I won't move until you're ready."

He could tell you were struggling, because how could you not be when you felt so fucking tight around him?  He guided you to breathe slowly with him, feeling your body relax slightly and noticing the way your face untwisted as you became more comfortable.

You nodded a little, but he needed to hear you say it.  "Fuck me," you whispered.

And he did.  

He still kept his pace measured and relaxed, savoring every inch of you— savoring your reactions to every inch of him.

But watching your face was going to push him towards the edge too fast, and he wanted to make this last if possible, so he leaned down to suck on your neck, thoroughly tasting your skin as you moaned and writhed beneath him.  It felt incredible to surround your body with his, to cage you in and pin you down with his weight— it made him feel like he could protect you, keep you safe, even though he knew he couldn’t save you from heartache as much as he wanted to.

If you wanted someone to touch you, to give you affection, to make love to you and make you feel loved, then you’d come to the right place.  That came to him naturally; the hard part was going to be letting you go, letting this be the one-time favor for a friend that he already knew it was.

“You feel so good,” he found himself whispering against your skin, just beside your ear, “so good for me.”

The praise must have had a strong effect on you, because your walls tightened around him suddenly.

“So perfect,” he continued, wanting to feel it again, “my perfect girl.”  And you weren’t his girl, but maybe he could pretend you were; you certainly seemed to enjoy pretending, with the way your moans egged him on.  “God, baby, your pussy feels so fucking good around my cock.”

“Bucky,” you whined, arching your back, and he grinned because it was obvious that you responded even better to dirty talk than praise.

“You like that, huh?  You like makin’ me feel good?” he pressed, laughing a little when you nodded feverishly.  “Fuck, such a good girl… takin’ me so good, so fuckin’ deep…”

You grabbed him by his hair to make him kiss you again, hungry lips smashing against his.

Inspired by your passion but afraid of what he’d do with all of this control, he wrapped his arms around you and hoisted you up until he was sitting while you straddled him, looking up at you with a grin.  "Ride me, pretty girl, show me how bad you want it," he instructed lowly.  The way you rocked your hips and threw your head back was everything he'd dreamed it would be, increased exponentially.  Of course, he'd never told anyone that he dreamed about that, but he'd also never thought it could ever come true.  He ran his hands over every part of you he could reach, just to make sure it was real; just to make sure he memorized the feel of you while he could.

He leaned forward and wrapped his lips around a hardened nipple, sucking gently and smirking a little when you moaned loudly.  “You’re sensitive here,” he noted aloud, kissing his way to the other nipple but still teasing the first with his metal fingers.

Your moans came faster and louder, your fingers combing through his hair and pulling seemingly unintentionally.  He noticed that you let your eyes fall shut, your head crane back, and although he was glad that it was a sign of pleasure, he wanted to see you; he wanted you to see him, know that it was him making you feel this way.  so, he reached up and cupped your face in his hand, cradling your cheek, pulling you closer to look at him, staring into your eyes— and he knew it wasn't a subtle move, wasn't believable as a guy just helping out a friend, but he didn't care anymore.  When he kissed you again, it almost felt like you meant it, too; like you wanted him first, and not just as a consolation prize.

But you pulled back a little too soon, a reminder to both of you that this couldn’t be anything more than what it was.

Your hips gyrated faster and more vigorously, his hands gripping you tight and guiding your movements while you sighed and bit your lip.  You looked so indescribably good when you were immersed in pleasure like this, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly for balance, your chest swelling and deflating with quick breaths.

“So fucking beautiful,” he whispered below his breath as his hand softly trailed from your collarbone down to your thigh.  The sounds you made were constantly changing, a little more high-pitched and needy now as you rode him faster.  He was already picking up on the little signs that you were getting closer: your thighs flexing where they were straddled beside his own, how your body jolted and shivered in his grasp, your eyes wrenched shut and your skin breaking out into goosebumps.

Already he knew your body so well, but he knew there was so much more he would never get the chance to discover.  For now, he’d just have to settle for a preview of all the perfect little ways you fell apart.

And, in the interest of speeding that process up a bit, he reached down to where your bodies were joined and circled a thumb over your clit.

“Fuck!” you yelped, your inner muscles bearing down on him out of nowhere until he was forced to groan from your tightness.

“You close?” he stammered out, way less confident than he meant it to be.  He should’ve said something cool like ‘I know you’re close’ or ‘aw, baby, does that feel good?’ but no, he was too far gone and gave his own desperation away.

"Yes, baby, I'm so close," you sighed, "I'm gonna come— you're gonna make me come."

You said it with a hint of shock in your voice, like you could barely believe it.  He couldn't believe it, either, because it was surely too good to be true.

"Come for me," he instructed firmly, pulling you closer until his nose brushed against yours, "say my name when I make you come."

It was unfair, but he needed to pretend you were his for just a moment.  Only his.

"Bucky," you whimpered shakily.  Your walls tightened around him so perfectly, over and over, until it took everything in him not to bust right then.  "Bucky, I'm coming, fuck, I'm coming—"

"I know," he whispered, "I know, pretty girl, keep going."

Your nails dug into his skin, but he couldn’t even notice the pain when he was watching your face as you came— it was tight and twisted at first, before falling into a gasp and a moan that made his heart swell along with his cock that painted your walls the absolute second he knew you’d come.  It was intense, not just from holding back for so long, but from knowing he was coming inside you.

He sighed and started to catch his breath as you slumped forward and buried your face in the crook of his neck.  His arms wrapped around you and pulled you closer, the warmth of your body nearly overwhelming now as he felt little aftershocks ripple through your channel around where he was still within you.

"Thank you," you whispered, so quiet he could barely hear it.  But he did, and he nodded a little as he rested his face against yours, stroking your hair gently.  You held each other in silence for a long time, so long that when your breathing slowed down significantly and he could feel your body relax entirely, he realized you had fallen asleep.  

Carefully, he held you tighter so he could stand up and carry you to his bedroom, your body instinctively wrapping around him like a koala… like even in your sleep, you could act all adorable and break his heart just that much more.  

He did his best to tread quietly and gently, laying you down onto the bed and only then pulling his softened cock out of you, finding his discarded boxers to put back on before joining you between the sheets.  

He knew you would be gone in the morning but he indulged himself in holding you tonight, breathing your scent and pressing your back against his chest.  He didn't want to fall asleep because he didn't want to miss a second of your body wrapped in his, but it was impossible not to with the soft pace of your breathing almost rocking him to sleep like a beautiful lullaby.

Where there was warmth and peace before, he awoke to cold and emptiness— both between his sheets and in himself.

It’s not like he really expected you to stay, and even if you had it wouldn’t mean that you would leave your husband for your best friend, that this would have ever been anything more than a glimpse of what could’ve been in another life or another universe.

He could still smell you, barely, and he buried his face in the sheets to take it all in before it faded away.  When it was gone, he pulled back only to find a wet patch of his tears there instead.

[rent-day-blues]

I don't know if you're still doing prompts, but if are... Injured John? Maybe he gets clipped by a car or something on his way to a shift and has to call it in and his brother(s) arrive to help him? Thanks!

now! I know you haven’t asked for a rewrite of S1E08 in the RDB verse, but i’m afraid that’s precisely what you’re getting.

“

“My brother knows how to jump out a window. From at least a couple storeys up, or so he says, anyway. I remember telling you that story. I’ve never seen him do it, I’ve only heard about it afterward. Apparently he didn’t do it right; sprained his ankle. Gordon gave him hell.”

John informs the cat at the far end of the branch of this fact, nonchalant, as though the pair of them aren’t about fourteen feet in the air, which is further than John would like to jump, even if he had the first idea of how to stick the landing. Falling is the easy part.

The dispatch office backs up onto the river that cuts through town, though not one of the nicer parts of the river. There’s still a little scrubby bit of embankment behind the complex, a few haphazard picnic tables on the top of the bank, and a handful of trees trailing down the slope, doing their best and failing, as evidenced by their scraggling grey limbs—which hadn’t looked that hard to climb. And hadn’t been, to be fair. As he and Eos have mutually discovered, it’s not the climbing that’s the tricky part. It’s all getting rather philosophical up here.

“When people call me about cats up trees, I send the fire department to prevent them from going up any trees after any cats. That’s a secret about my job. It’s easier to get cats out of trees than people. You know, if you have a fire truck. Or even just a ladder. Or have climbed a tree more recently than like fifteen years ago and can still remember how to get down.” John pauses, rueful, and then adds, “I always wondered what sort of moron goes up a tree after a cat. That’s the other secret—about 90% of the time, you get your own damn selves back down.”

Of course, the most sensible thing to do, even if one has already blown the chance to do what was formerly the most sensible thing to do, and climbed a tree in pursuit of a cat, would be to call the appropriate authorities in order to safely get back down. And even if he’ll never hear the end of it from whatever coworker he calls or whichever branch of the emergency service is summoned to his rescue, John still absolutely would call 911—if his phone hadn’t fallen out of his pocket in the process of climbing the stupid tree, in pursuit of the stupid cat.

The screen’s cracked (that’s not new) and turned off, and staring forlornly up at him from where it’s nestled amidst the gnarly roots of the stubborn old tree. Even if he can’t tell the time for sure, he knows it’s past the beginning of his shift. He hopes they start to wonder where he is, and sooner rather than later, though they’ll probably call before they come looking. And even if they came looking, no one’s likely to look around the back of the building. He’s been up here for nearly fifteen minutes by this point. His had been the earliest shift, and so it’s right around dawn. By the lightness creeping into the sky, he can tell that morning’s nearer than he’d prefer, and sighs to himself.

“I’m late for work now. When I don’t check in, they’ll know something’s wrong,” he informs Eos, because of course it’s Eos. There are plenty of alley cats around the office, but the stupid black shorthair with the white smudges on her face and paws is the only one he’d climb a stupid tree for. She’s the only one around to hear it when he laments, “I only stopped to feed you. I only meant to look for a couple minutes when I couldn’t find you. I didn’t think you’d have gone up a tree of all places. What’s with that? You’re an alley cat. This is not your area. I’m very disappointed.”

Usually he sees her on his way into the communications center. Today he hadn’t, and that wouldn’t normally have been that far out of the normal. Normally John would’ve let her be and looked for her on his lunchbreak, but he’d had a can of tuna in his bag that he’d wanted to put on offer, especially since he’d had a few days off, and thus it had been a few days since he’d seen her last. He’s watched her grow from tiny kitten to smallish cat, and despite his equal measure of certainty that she can take care of herself, since he’s at least partly responsible for her continued existence, he feels it’s his duty to look out for her. As much as he can, at least.

“I’m never gonna hear the end of this,” he tells her aloud, conversationally. She hasn’t even done him the credit of coming any closer from where she perches towards the skinnier end of the branch he’s perched upon, trying to coax her closer. He’d been about to climb back down, about to head inside and call someone better suited to de-treeing a cat—when he’d discovered that, no, actually, that wasn’t quite possible. Actually it’s quite a lot further down than it had looked from the ground, and with the way the embankment falls away and drops steeply towards the river, failing to keep his feet after even a good(unlikely) landing, would probably send him tumbling down the riverbank.

But he can’t just stay up a tree all day. He’s running out of options and is uncomfortably aware of the fact.

“You wouldn’t get spooked and fall if I started yelling, right?” he asks, though it’s been lurking in his mind as possibility, and it’s the reason he hasn’t, yet. “You’re tough. You’re a mean old—well, okay, young—and I mean, not even that mean actually—but you’re an alley cat, anyway. You’re tough. You wouldn’t get startled and fall out of the tree if I yelled for help. And even if you did, probably you’d land on your feet anyway. With better odds than me. I’ve read the statistics for accidental high falls. I’ll be honest, I don’t like my chances.”

As though seeking her permission, John reaches slowly, cautiously towards her, and is rewarded with a flattening of her ears and a bristling of her tail, and the sort of warning, moaning growl that immediately precedes a hiss of pure loathing. When he pauses for a moment, and then doesn’t give up on reaching for her, she goes so far as to take a swipe at him, though the movement destabilizes her already precarious perch, such that she clings with every available claw to the bark of the tree, and his reflexive retreat makes the branch tremor slightly, enough that he freezes and tightens his grip around the trunk. He feels the spike of his heartrate as his pulse pounds in his ears, and the scare is enough to change his mind about the risk of shouting.

“Wow! You’re kind of a brat. And if I didn’t like you so much, I’d—”

In the aftermath, he’ll never be sure if the sharp crack that lingers in his memory belonged to the branch, breaking; or the back of his skull, hitting the ground. The whole incident is a muddle of disconnected sensations that he’ll only recall piecemeal, and won’t be able to connect together. The swoop of vertigo as he’d lost his balance and toppled backward, too startled even to shout about his shock at falling. The way his knee had caught for a moment where it had been hooked around the branch, arresting his fall for only a fragment of a second, before gravity won the way it was always going to. The blur of black and a pair of green eyes staring down at him, from even higher up the tree than he’d found himself. And trying to push himself up from the ground. And then then sudden sharp shock of agony from some badly broken something being enough to plunge the sky above him into inky blackness.

John’s luckier than Virgil was, when Virgil had jumped out of a window, because he gets Scott, not Gordon. Although all Gordon had offered was his usual blistering sarcasm, and coming groggily back to consciousness to find Scott looking grim and mildly terrified, kneeling at his side makes John wonder if maybe Virgil got off easy The fear lurking in his big brother’s expression might be worse than anything Gordon could’ve said.

“Don’t move,” Scott orders immediately, with the sort of authority that must make criminals quake in their ill-gotten boots, and the hand he’s got braced against John’s shoulder is enough to prevent any attempt, though John doesn’t even begin to make one. “Ambulance is on the way.”

John blinks up at him, confused and still in pursuit of context for what he’s doing, staring “…Am I under arrest?” he asks, dazed and dizzy and damned if he can remember what the hell’s just happened.

“If I could figure out how to arrest you for being a stupid fucking idiot, you absolutely fucking would be. What the hell were you doing up a goddamn tree?”

Scott’s mad, which is a good sign. John still doesn’t move, but he has to think for a minute to answer the question, which makes his head ache horribly. Almost worse than the rest of them. “Cat,” he supplies eventually, and hopes this is helpful, because it’s the only detail his brain offers. Scott’s a cop. Could probably make detective if he wanted. John’s pretty sure he can figure it out.

“Cat? What…why—you’re not a cat!” Scott’s outrage at this explanation, admittedly rather light on the details, seems to run contrary to John’s assumption that his brother could make detective, if he just put the effort in. John blinks at him, bemused that he’s gotten it so wrong.

“…does one of us have a concussion?”

Scott just glares. “One of us absolutely has a fucking concussion.”

“…me?” If he doesn’t try to think too hard, his head doesn’t actually seem so bad. John’s back hurts, and he winces slightly, not moving, but wondering aloud, “…I think I’m lying on my phone.”

If John were working this call, he would be reassured by the fact that the victim was conversant, and alert enough to notice details like that. Scott just seems exasperated. “If you’re lying on your phone, it’s because you landed on your phone, which you emphatically haven’t used to call anybody about this.”

“…did somebody call about me?”

Scott’s glare becomes a glower. “Well, we didn’t get a call about a stupid idiot lying unconcious at the foot of a tree, we got a call—from your office—about a cat screaming behind the building like it was being skinned alive. Non-emergency, even! Dispatch only threw it my way because I was in the area and I owe Animal Control a favour. I said we’d make sure it wasn’t a false alarm.”

“I hate false alarms,” John agrees, and closes his eyes. Just for a moment. The sky’s getting properly bright overhead, and the dawn for which he’d named a friend starts to spread properly across the sky. It makes his head hurt, even if it reminds him of her. And despite everything, somehow he isn’t mad. “I like cats, though.”

Scott’s only mad because he’s frightened. John probably hasn’t helped, but somehow his last statement seems to be enough to get his brother to crack a grin, weary and worried though it is. “Well. Hope this one was worth it.”

“Yeah.” John smiles to himself and closes his eyes again, as he hears the distant sound of an approaching siren. Usually he hears it from the other end of a phoneline. He wonders if it’s scared Eos. Then he wonders if she’s nearby, watching, and feels certain that probably she is, actually. After all—

“She’s my friend.”

[minueteve-blog]

Every relationship is going to come to a comfortable area. We all love the tingles and butterflies that come with a new romance. Everyone has the love hormone running through their body and we really have to keep that going after we have gotten used to their presence. I got so scared of that with my ex that I was not going to be as special, and it got to that point very quickly. Boyfriends fight for you, and that only lasted for about six months before. I knew I was going to end up with Elijah. We kept fighting that we were meant for each other, but the struggle only lasts for so long before we both knew. Nobody wants to date a coworker, ha, especially me. There were the rumors, the fact I was not wanting heartbreak again, and all the opinions coming at me. Honestly though, he was my best friend. He made me smile every single day, and the majority of my time with him was absolutely effortless. Two years later, I find that the exact same. It blows my mind that now, we can make everything that is supposed to be stressful exciting and fun.

But, things havent always been amazing. When we were friends we had our fights and riffs. I think that comes with learning everything about a person. Usually if I fight with someone, I throw them to the side. I have my own issues I handle, I did not need someone that I deamed hard to be around. The first tiff was nothing more than somebody making a joke and Eli laughed at it. I'm always so picky when I was thinking about people to potentially date. One thing, and I was like 'nope', not for me lol. He has apologized so many times since then, and it was so dumb looking back. One of our major ones was actually hilarious. I was having a panic attack at work and I told Elijah to not ask me any more questions late at night over text. Haha'. Well, he was asking me about my feelings for him, and I kind of messed up that whole situation. I'm pretty sure we are all aware of the old "I don't want to ruin our friendship" line, and I am a perfect example of that cliche. Yet, I will say that we were the perfect friends and not having that was the worst nightmare. We did not talk for a week after that, and our friend Jordan knew we were overreacting idiots. Everyone knew by that point that we were meant for each other. One stands out: "I'm invited to the future wedding, right?" Little did I know. 😂 But, after being told that we were dumbasses enough, we apologized and balance was restored. As silly as it may sound, I think seeing how we resolve problems let me see that Eli was a really straight forward and sweet guy.

Also stupid, I had been in a relationship before. But with Elijah, we have done so many new things. The chapter that we are going into next is SO new to me. I have no idea how to get married with all the planning, dress finding, rsvps, decor, and venues. I'm even newer to buying a house, and potential children and adoptions? Whoa'.

But,

If I was going to do this with anyone, I'm excited that I get to go on this long road trip with my baby.