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solarmorrigan · 2 months

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💘 for the writing game!

Hello! I definitely have to thank you for this prompt because I think it might be my favorite of all the fills I got to write for this meme (although I maybe got a little carried away) <3

Call this one a modern AU, probably. CW: emotional abuse, briefly mentioned homophobia, Steve just has a shitty family

💘 fake relationship / mutual pining / dared to kiss

Prompt from this list

So Eddie’s maybe been laying it on a little thick.

That’s his excuse, anyway.

It’s just – it’s possible he’s gotten a little carried away; while the idea had been for him to accompany Steve for moral support to the annual three days of torture that are his visits home for Christmas, Eddie’s priorities had shifted a little with the last phone call he’d overheard Steve taking from his mom.

Something-something-I hope you’ve found someone to bring home with you, Steven-something-something-your cousin already has a baby on the way-something-something-such a disappointment to see you alone, Steven-something-something.

Steve had looked so small and sad after talking to her, the way he always does after talking to her, and Eddie wishes his parents’ approval (or lack thereof) didn’t hold such a sway over Steve, not when they don’t deserve that kind of respect, but he also gets it – family is complicated. So instead, Eddie offers Steve a way to shove his parents’ faces in it.

Instead of showing up in a strictly platonic, friendly-like capacity, he offers to play Steve’s boyfriend for the holiday.

And since Steve is the same brand of crazy as Eddie (even if he buries it better), he accepts.

So from the moment they pull up in front of the Harrington house the morning of December twenty-fourth, Eddie plays the doting boyfriend to a tee. He holds Steve’s hand, he kisses him on the cheek, he snuggles up to him on the sofa; he plays nice with Steve’s homophobic grandfather, and is only a little snarky with Steve’s patronizing uncle, and talks Steve up every chance he gets.

So yes, he’s laying it on a little thick, but Steve’s family should think he has a partner who adores him.

Because Steve deserves a partner who adores him.

(Because Eddie does adore him. Which is – well, that’s probably part of the problem.)

It doesn’t work as well as Eddie had hoped it would, in the end. Steve’s family can’t fault him for being “pathetically single” anymore, but they can pick him apart in literally every other respect – and they do.

He takes it like a pro, letting the nasty, pointed comments roll off him, smooth and brittle as glass, never causing a scene or biting back, because it’s Christmas and apparently this is just how they celebrate.

(They mostly ignore Eddie, acting like he’s beneath them, which has Steve sending apologetic glances his way the whole day, like Eddie is the one who needs an apology when Steve is the one being vivisected by his family.)

Steve just holds in whatever he’s feeling until they’ve retired for the night, up in the guest room that used to be his room, that his mom had apparently barely waited until he’d moved out to start converting.

He holds it in and holds it in until the door shuts behind them and he all but collapses on the edge of the bed, crumpling in on himself like the ugly plaid duvet is crumpling underneath him, with his shoulders curved in and his face covered and his chest heaving with what are maybe supposed to be calming, deep breaths but are definitely not working, because the stress is still coming off him in waves.

And like Eddie said: he’s maybe gotten a little carried away with his role, but it just feels completely normal to go right to Steve, to curl his arms around him and pull him in close and remind him that his family’s opinions aren’t worth shit and that Steve is so good, and–

And when Steve uncovers his face, a little blotchy and pulling tight with the effort not to let any tears flow free, it just feels completely normal to press a kiss to his cheek, and another to the corner of his mouth, and another to his lips, all in quick succession, all soft and reverent and reassuring.

Eddie freezes the moment he’s pulled back. The moment he realizes what he’s just done.

“Eddie,” Steve murmurs into the still air between them, “there’s… no one watching right now.”

You don’t have to do this, he means.

“I–” Eddie’s voice gets caught up in his throat, because his brain is screaming at him to play it off, to tell Steve that he just got carried away, got too into the role – but his heart, noisy fucker that it is, has different ideas. “I… maybe haven’t been faking as much as I said I was. Or, like– at all.”

“Oh, thank god,” Steve breathes, and then he’s pushing back in for another kiss, his mouth eager and warm and perfect against Eddie’s.

And the next two days aren’t going to be any less stressful, spent around a flock of hungry vultures masquerading as people, but Eddie figures that if nothing else, at least one good thing will have come from the holiday.

He tilts his head to deepen the kiss and Steve opens up beneath him, anticipating him like they’ve been doing this for ages, and – yeah, Eddie decides.

One very, very good thing.

#steddie-island #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #Eddie realizes that since there’s no pleasing Steve’s family either way he might as well just act like himself for the rest of the trip #so he does - like. as much as he can without picking a fight #because it makes Steve smile and that’s the important part #and the next night they realize that Steve’s homophobic grandfather is in the room next door to theirs #and Eddie fucks Steve hard enough that the bed hits the wall #repeatedly #and they leave early the next morning while Eddie loudly talks about how he’ll drive #because HE KNOWS STEVE MUST BE TIRED #and Eddie didn’t mean to keep him up ALL NIGHT but he just COULDN’T HELP HIMSELF #and then they spend their next Christmas with Wayne instead of Steve’s family and it’s much much better #the end #stranger things #eddiesteve #solar wrote #answers from solar

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dragonnarrative-writes · 1 month

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im the anon who sent that gaz ask and omg kyle's interlude was so good!!!!! im just giggling thinking of kyle wondering how much does she know? did she catch on somehow? fuck I have to take her out quick before she finds out how many projects ive finished and the whole time miss new girl is like. wow this guy fucking sucks at his job i want him gone from my hospital >:(

mans thinks shes gonna file a case with a police and she just thinks he's incompetent as shit

I'm so tickled. That's exactly what's happening.

CW: discussions of death and dying, autopsies, medical neglect

There’s something going on on the cardiac floor that you just… can’t quite put your finger on.

This isn’t the first hospital you’ve worked at, but you’re also new to urban healthcare, so you don’t want to rock the boat by being paranoid. But traffic from the cardiac floor is… steady. You’ve read the papers, know the stats like the back of your hand. And the cardiac floor is perfectly in line with expected trends. Every. Month.

There are fluctuations, of course. Plus or minus three to seven lives is nothing remarkable in cardiology. Macabre, maybe, but true. But that’s unnatural. In the seven months you’ve worked here, you’ve seen waves elsewhere in the hospital. The plastics floor had a month with zero deaths followed by a month of a persistent infection sweeping through the otherwise reasonably healthy patients. Oncology has seen a steady decline in patients sent your way, thank goodness. Even emergency and intensive care aren’t as fixedly consistent as the cardiac floor.

When you wonder about it aloud to the director, Dr. Martins just shrugs. “We have a good team up there. Very good at keeping things clean and double and triple checking their work.”

“But if that’s the case, then the number of deaths should be going down,” you point out.

Dennis gives you a rueful smile. “That’s not always how human bodies work, unfortunately. You know that.”

You do know that. Which is why the consistency grates against your nerves. So you decide to do a little digging.

The name that comes up the most often in the chart notes is one Kyle Garrick.

That’s actually not 100% accurate. He’s charting exactly the way he’s supposed to. And no nurse has complete, individual access to patients 24/7. But every dying patient he has access to is… perfect. Their blood work, labs, vitals, prognosis, medication adherence and refusal is almost too-the-letter, textbook precise.

The most obvious answer is that Garrick, and probably a couple of other nurses on the floor, are fudging the numbers.

The idea is infuriating. You hate the way the administrators keep changing medical record systems just as much as the next person, but inaccurate charting is a safety issue. People can, have, and do die because someone writes down the wrong timing for medications or assumes that a patient’s vitals are unchanged. If anything, this is probably worse than that. The fact that everything is so pristine probably means that some patients are just being written off. The nurses might be deciding who gets the excellent care the hospital is known for and who gets neglected.

You stay three hours late investigating the next cardio patient that ends up in your morgue.

After examining the body and reading, rereading, and re-re-re-reading his chart, you find it. A stutter in the dosages of blood thinners, a slightly higher blood pressure reading from someone who isn’t nurse Kyle fucking Garrick. Just enough evidence to have you testing the body with an aspirometer almost too late. And there it is. A fatal air embolism.

You want to scream, but the dead man doesn’t deserve that.

Three weeks later, sipping from your water bottle, someone calls into the office. “Knock knock.”

Dennis practically lights up. “"Good morning, Kyle. Been a bit since you've come to see us. Care for some tea?"

Your eyebrows shoot up. Dr Martins hates unexpected visitors. Then you look over your shoulder, and you understand. Even old queens aren't immune to pretty privilege. The man that’s leaning in the doorway is gorgeous. Maybe its because you work with dead bodies all day, but his eyes and skin seem to glow, even under the fluorescents.

"Can't," the man says, apologetically. "Just dropping someone off."

"Well, at least let me introduce our new nurse!"

The fact that you’re wiping crumbs off of your mouth over a paper plate is the only reason no one sees your face fall when you hear him say, “Nice to meet you. Kyle Garrick.”

#slasher handler #cod #fanfiction #dark fic #kyle gaz garrick #gaz appreciation nation #dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #coffeeshop chats #please keep these requests coming because when they hit they HIT #i'm having so much fun #i promise im working on the next ghost part #but the giant weirdo is fighting me #gaz is much more cooperative and considerate

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just-null-cult · 7 months

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literally in love with ur art and noritoshi like lord 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️my man is so underrated its criminal

criminally underrated.......

Noritoshi should be praised, not subjected to this slander. as a simp- I mean good samaritan, it's my passion to bring his name into a good light even if his name is after the worst person but I digress, this isn't abt him

free my boy from the confines of his sentence. he's so babygirl, bro.... why is everyone looking over him. where's his screen time. Noritoshi, if you're out there, I miss you.

and tysm! it makes me happy to know my art is pleasing and doing Noritoshi justice. my plan of indoctrination and gathering Noritoshi enjoyers is going smoothly.

#noritoshi kamo #noritoshi kamo x reader #kamo noritoshi #kamo noritoshi x reader #d. does this even count as an x reader...?#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #but fr. tysm! i take pride in my art and it makes me smile when people enjoy it #i hope we can together make Noritoshi content to keep us fed until GEGE GIVES US FUCKING ANYTHING ELSE #GEGE. GEGE WHEN I CATCH YOU GEGE #GEGE I JUST WANT MY PRINCESS TO HAVE A WIN.. BE IT A FIGHT OR HAVING HIM BE SASSY TO SOMEONE OR SUCCEEDING IN HIS GOALS......#ANYTHING #FUCK. EVEN AN OMAKE OF HIM SHOPPING WILL BE ENOUGH ATP..#PLEASE #SOBS #I MISS HIM #NORITOSHI WHERE ARE YOU #also! im so sorry for answering your ask so late! im busy at times and draw slow but i will get to you in due time!!! tysm for your patienc #???

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arthursfuckinghat · 2 months

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Valentine Saloon - The Heartlands

#dude why is drinking in valentine so depressing #there's always one guy who stands behind you and just gossips #then another guy next to you who doesn't talk and gives you weird looks #then the bartender keeps bringing up the fight with tommy #bro cant my guy drink in peace please #how many shots of whisky does it take to get arthur drunk because apparently seven shots and two beers isn't enough #poor guy #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #mick squeaks #arthur morgan #liveblogging

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inoreuct · 1 month

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undercover op with sanji in a dress?? i think judge would be pissed asf if he picked a backless one and decided to own that metal spine bcs he’s a badass 😏😏 (unless cyborgs are discriminated against. are they? are they common in this au?? or are sanji and his sibs the only ones?? I’M SO INVESTED PLS 🤲🏻)

ooooh anon anon anon,,, YOU READ MY MIND WITH THE BACKLESS DRESS also cyborgs are pretty uncommon but they aren’t really discriminated against— more seen as things to be put on pedestals and not people, though. some see them as feelingless machines, and sanji’s siblings definitely aren’t helping that rep :((

there are other cyborgs but the vinsmokes are the most well-known, and their power + skills and apathy (save sanji) have people kissing the ground they walk on with a mix of fear and reverence. sanji just wants to be a Normal Guy, though, and zoro treats him like one, and it both pisses sanji off and makes him immeasurably happy. make of that what you will 🤭

“Found him.” Zoro frowns at his monitor, double-clicking with his mouse to zoom in. “Grey jacket, next to the beer taps.”

“Yeah, I see him.”

He tracks Sanji over the security camera, watching the blond slink through a crowd that parts for him effortlessly without even seeming to realise. Zoro can’t blame them, seeing as he looks good enough to stop traffic. “Remember, he doesn’t know what’s—”

“Going on, I know, I know,” Sanji mutters under his breath, weaving around a woman who gawks with her mouth slightly open as he flashes her a soft smirk and a wink. “Keep him unaware and get the drive. I could do this in my sleep.”

“I know,” Zoro echoes, even as he holds back a scoff and an eye roll. He’s in a bad mood and he knows exactly why.

He’s scrunched up in his chair in sweatpants and a ratty tank top, a half-drunk can of beer steadily forming a puddle on the desk next to his keyboard as he watches Sanji sidle up to the bar and order a drink. Their target sneaks a look to the side before ducking his head and taking a gulp from his own glass.

The man’s a small-time photographer who looks clean-cut but understated— Insignificant. He’d been chosen precisely because of that fact; GERMA66 had deemed him acceptable as an oblivious carrier of a thumbdrive that supposedly contains plans for whatever the hell Judge is up to next.

Their job is to intercept it before it gets to Charlotte Linlin, or anybody she’s affiliated with.

The bartender returns with Sanji’s drink and he takes it with an elegant incline of his head. “Old fashioned?” he asks, gesturing to their target’s glass, and there’s a pause before the poor man looks around quickly.

“A-Are you—?” he starts, pointing to himself.

Sanji laughs, silky and soft. Zoro takes a controlled breath. “Who else?” He raises his own glass to his lips, and Zoro knows what’s in it. A rum and orange cocktail with Kahlúa and cacao nibs in the egg white foam on top. “That is an old fashioned, isn’t it? Yeah.” The blond’s lips curl up behind the crystal rim, a bold red and sharp at the edges. “You seem the type.”

“You seem the type,” Zoro mocks silently, scowling at the screen. He doesn’t even try not to scoff this time; his chair complains with a loud creak when he throws his weight back, sullenly crossing his arms over his chest.

Look. He’s not sulking, alright? It’s just— difficult. Sanji twists sideways, leaning one elbow on the bar, and the back of his dress dips low enough for his entire spine to glimmer silver-wet in the dim lights. Where was he?

Right, difficult. Sanji’s over there buttering up a literal nobody, and Zoro has to sit here, in his apartment, in this shitty rolling chair with no back support where he’s close enough to go in if Sanji needs backup. He listens to his partner flirt over the comms and grits his teeth as he tries to consciously keep his fists unclenched.

He’s not jealous. It’s just that he’d gotten used to the idea of there not being anyone else, he supposes. Neither of them have any time for romance outside of their jobs, and at some point being together had just become routine; and Sanji’s a flirt, sure, but at the end of the day it’s always Zoro that he ends up with. They have toothbrushes at each other’s places. Sanji has weights by his shoe rack and Zoro has a block of chef’s knives tucked into the corner of his kitchen counter.

Sanji’s laughter grabs his attention, and Zoro realises that at some point he’d lost the thread of the conversation. The blond pinches the collar of their target’s grey windbreaker between his thumb and forefinger, running down the length of it, and their eyes meet through the camera as Sanji pushes off the countertop and the man scrambles to follow.

His dress drags along the floor. The red satin is made heavy by crystalline beading, draping down to just above his hips as he makes his way to the lift lobby, and the man trails behind hanging onto his every word like a starstruck fool; Zoro suspects he himself isn’t much better. The lights of the lift lobby are harsh as they make their way up to the hotel above the bar, and Zoro switches from camera to camera all the way until the man’s sliding a key card into a lock and disappearing when Sanji shoves him into the room with an exaggerated giggle.

His expression sobers when looks directly at the camera across the hall. Strands of hair are drifting out of his chignon and catching in his lashes. “Sorry, mossy. Gonna have to sign off for now,” he whispers, and Zoro can hear the soft smile in his voice before he pulls his earpiece out and shuts the door.

Silence.

…Yeah, Zoro’s jealous.

It’s enough to have him finishing his beer in two chugs, leaning back to drag his hands over his face and groan. He knows what it looks like. Knows what it’s supposed to look like; a hookup, plain and simple. Judge can’t know that Sanji’s the reason the drive won’t make it to Linlin. It’s risky, sure, but they’re banking on the fact that he doesn’t know that Zoro knows anything about how Judge still has Sanji under his thumb. And if Sanji gets some fun out of it, well— Zoro can’t fault him.

It doesn’t change the fact that he feels sick to his stomach, and it’s pissing him off because he has no right. None at all. He isn’t entitled to anything; Sanji doesn’t owe him, or anyone, anything. It doesn’t matter how he feels. It doesn’t matter how close they sit when they’re falling asleep in the middle of a movie on Sanji’s couch. Sanji’s already been backed into a corner by his bastard of a father— Zoro refuses to complicate things for him any more.

He’ll get up in a moment. Grab a bottle of something stronger this time. The apartment will be his till morning, anyway, so what’s the rush?

And then he hears the front door beep as somebody enters the passcode, and he nearly falls out of his seat sitting up straight.

Zoro glances at the clock as footsteps echo through the entrance; it’s only been twenty minutes, give or take.

Multiple hard somethings clatter onto his desk, and he looks up to find Sanji leaning against the doorway. “Help me out. I’ve got a screw loose,” he says, grinning, and then there’s a moment before Zoro groans.

“If you think that’s funny then you clearly do,” he replies tiredly, standing as Sanji sits on the other side of the table.

He picks up the screwdriver he’d been given, reeling a little. Sanji isn’t supposed to be here, and yet— Here he is, pulling pins from his hair left and right and dropping them all over Zoro’s desk as his chignon untwists itself. A weary sigh leaves Zoro’s lungs. “Where?”

“L4, R6, L12 and 16, and… R23.”

“23?” He frowns. “That’s lower than usual.”

Sanji grimaces. “Slept wrong last night, I think.”

“Hm.” Zoro flips the tool in his hand as Sanji gathers his hair over his shoulder; it’s gotten long now, enough to dust the tops of his shoulder blades with soft, shimmering gold. He rests his thumb at Sanji’s hairline and drags down gently until he gets to the first corresponding vertebra and he’s careful as he fits the screwdriver head in, turning slowly until the joint tightens.

“Did you sleep with him?”

Sanji makes a pfft sound and doesn't even turn, used to Zoro’s straightforward questions. “‘Course not. What, not confident enough in my abilities?”

“No.” Zoro clamps his mouth shut when he realises how defensive he sounds. “No,” he amends, voice marginally less tense, four fingers wrapped over the edge of Sanji’s ribs as he moves down. “I just thought… You were having a good enough time. He liked you. No reason not to.”

“I didn’t want to. That’s the reason,” Sanji says, and it’s flat enough that Zoro knows to ease off. “When we got into his room I knocked him out before I nicked this,” he taps the thumbdrive he’d tossed onto the table with the screwdriver, “out of the lining of one of his jackets.”

Zoro narrows his brows. “Knocked him out how?”

Sanji shrugs a shoulder. “Compressed his carotid. Pretty sure the poor guy was enjoying it, honestly.”

They’re quiet for a while after that. Zoro holds Sanji’s side, elbows digging into the table as he crouches down to see what he’s doing. He resists the urge to press his nose to Sanji’s skin. Beading digs into his knuckles as the screw clicks into place.

“Zoro.”

He stills. They rarely use each other’s names. “Yeah?”

“Did you—” Sanji’s breath catches, the moment suspended until he shakes his head. “Nevermind.”

He’s beautiful, Zoro thinks. The scarring that frames his spine is smooth under his thumb. “Did it hurt?”

“Hm?”

“When he…”

“…Yeah.” Sanji puts the heels of his palms on the table, fingers curling over the edge, thumbs pressing into the sides of his thighs. “He said it was my fault, anyway,” he sighs, letting his weight drop so his shoulders hunch up to his ears. “That I wasn’t even supposed to feel pain, but I ruined it before he could… perfect me.”

Zoro lets his eyes flick up, gaze falling on the elegant curve of Sanji’s nape before he focuses on the last screw.

He’d made a promise to himself on that fire escape. The metal melded to Sanji’s back is a constant reminder to both of them that he’s a double agent. Everything they do is a risk; hell, they both lose sleep over it. Zoro’s used to his phone ringing in the middle of the night. Sanji’s finally starting to allow himself to call.

The blond’s head is hung low as the strap of his dress slips off his shoulder, and Zoro slides it back up and lays it in place. He’s done with Sanji’s spine. “How’s that feel?”

“Hm?” Sanji blinks as he looks up, before rolling his shoulders back. “Better.”

“Alright.” Zoro barely stops himself from drumming his fingers on the table as he bites his lip. He turns around under the guise of readjusting random things on his windowsill. “It’s late. You staying over?”

“…Oh, fine,” Sanji relents, waving a hand. “Too tired to go anywhere, anyway.”

It’s second nature to leave a set of pyjamas on the bed; Zoro usually takes the couch, if only because the springs are hell for the tactile sensors in Sanji’s spine. He’s just leaving when Sanji steps out of the adjoining bathroom with a wash of warm air with a towel around his waist.

“Pretty sure your bed’s meant for two,” he says lightly before grabbing the clothes and disappearing back through the door, and Zoro blinks. Sure, he’d splurged on a queen-sized mattress, but he’s never shared it.

He ends up lying down anyway and swiping through his phone mindlessly until Sanji comes out again, hair brushed back. The covers pull as Sanji climbs under and he stretches to turn the lights off, before they’re laying there in silence.

Zoro’s half asleep when he hears it.

“We didn’t do anything in that room.”

“It doesn’t matter if you did.”

“But we didn’t,” Sanji insists, and Zoro hears I didn’t want to do it, any of it, and he doesn’t even realise he’s reached for Sanji’s hand until their fingers brush.

“I know,” he says, gentle. Their hands lay in the space between them until Sanji threads their fingers together, rolling onto his side.

“Just, uh,” he begins, clearing his throat gruffly. “Just wanted to clarify.”

Zoro laughs against his will. His shoulders shake with it, and he hisses when Sanji kicks his shin. He finds the knuckle of Sanji’s thumb as he brings their hands up between their pillows, rubbing over the bone. “Go to sleep, curly. We’ll go through the drive tomorrow.”

Sanji’s lashes flutter before he swallows. “Okay.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, marimo.”

He turns his face into his pillow. He smells like Zoro’s body wash.

Zoro stares at his ceiling and wonders just how much he’d be willing to give to protect this man falling asleep next to him.

(He wakes not long after sunrise the next day.

Sanji’s ribs rise and fall against his palm, the corner of his borrowed shirt riding up. He’d rolled over Zoro’s arm sometime in the night; his other hand is tucked close to his chest, his ankle skin-warm and pressed to Zoro’s shin. His hair is all over the place and Zoro’s pretty sure he’s drooling.

He smells even more familiar now, like cheap lavender detergent that Zoro buys on a discount, leftover hair wax and orange from the night before. Just a hint of mint toothpaste. There’s the slight rasp of stubble when Zoro drags the heel of his hand across Sanji’s jaw, and the man mutters in his sleep, flipping over to face the other way and hug Zoro’s arm to his chest.

Well. Zoro doesn’t usually sleep in. He’s a busy man, he’s got weights to rep and evidence to process— But seeing as his arm’s trapped, there’s not much he can do, is there?)

(The next time he opens his eyes it’s past noon. He smells caffeine and hot butter, and it drags him out of bed to the kitchen; Sanji’s standing over the stove, hair shoved up into a haphazard bun with a blue ballpoint pen, spatula in one hand and Zoro’s laptop balanced on the other.

“About damn time, you log,” he huffs, jerking his head towards the table. “Coffee’s ready, help yourself. You won’t believe what bullshit Judge is trying to pull.”

Zoro raises both eyebrows and decides to save himself an ass-kicking by keeping his mouth shut. He pours himself a mug of coffee and sits down. “S’that my pen?”

“It’s—” Sanji frowns. “I picked it up off the floor.”

“Hm. I was wondering where it ran off to.”

Sanji rolls his eyes, leaning over to put the eggs down. “You’re fucking horrible. Are you telling me you only have one pen?”

“No. I was just looking for this,” Zoro reaches up and yanks it from his hair, “pen.” He yelps a laugh when Sanji swats him over the head and drags a chair out. “It looks better down, anyway,” he chuckles, wrapping a curl around his finger and tugging before he lets go. “Now run me through what’s going on.”

The blond gives him a stink eye and sighs, turning the laptop so it faces them both. “Okay. So…”)

(Zoro settles in, drinks his coffee, and he still hasn’t figured out how much he’d give. He’s starting to think there isn’t a limit.

He thinks he’d be okay with that, though.)

(part 1 | part 2)