#but at the same time I don't know what I'll do when I'm there

[grotesquevi]

★ cupid carries a gun.

open up your skull, i'll be there climbing up the walls.

cw # 18+ mdni, modern au, mentions of marijuana, dealer+loser!ellie, blink and you miss a slight pervert behavior, sub!reader, switch!slightdom ellie, pussyslapsyum, pet names, fingering, public sex.

an # if you recognize this it may be because it's from my previous account aka @vicorices who got deleted out of nowhere, this is me trying to get all my work back up again cause i'm not losing three months of work thanks to a shitty team who wiped me out of the internet.

the first time she saw you, she called you bro by accident.

it happens unexpected. ellie's been selling weed for a while now and she's used to get random text messages from unknown numbers: a friend of a friend, a recommendation from some old client — of course when she got your text you're not going to receive special treatment, not when she greets you like she would greet a guy, asking you where to meet since the club's big.

you're friends with cat, that's how you got her number. your usual provider is being insane with ridiculous prices you cannot afford not even by chance, so you're searching for someone else, a reliable source you can buy your weed from without getting into much trouble.

she’s perfect for the job.

it's a surprise either way when you tell her to meet you close to the main stairs in the first floor, and you think you saw her by the time you get there, but before you can approach your phone lights up with a new notification from an unknown number you now recognize.

you like it, making them think you’re a man, confuse the people you buy weed from. it's funny cause it's not the first time it happens, matter of fact, it's really common as you approach the auburn haired girl, noticing she's far less intimidating than your last seller, less tattoos on the face to instead, be covered in freckles and green eyes.

and to ellie — it's clear you aren't a bro too.

you don't pay much attention since it's a quick interaction, but to ellie its enough to make her spiral. too much weed, too much booze that night made her look at you like you're most beautiful girl out there, barely illuminated by the sporadic lights that changes time to time as you approach to her in a nice top of a band she also hears.

"hey. sorry to make you wait" you're too kind to her rough heart, yet from up close she's able to look at your face properly: where the fuck did you know cat from? why she hadn't seen you before too? was she hiding you from her?

"ellie," she presents herself like you do and she's almost a little shy to ask you to walk with her to a less crowded space, cause it sounds different from when she usually asks, slapping herself mentally for being so lame when she meets a pretty girl in a situation like this: don't be a fucking pussy. "do you mind if we move to a quieter place?"

"no, no problem" you reply "i was going to ask you the same, actually. don't want to get kicked out from here."

and you must be really trustful person, cause ellie could be a bad person and you're following her willingly, entering a dirty, small bathroom only to lock the door beneath her not really knowing her true intentions. you know she's not going to do anything when she's nervously speaking to you as the space got way reduced.

"so, you're friends with cat" what's she even doing? trying to pull off some small talk she sucks for? either way your nodding as ellie gives you a small bag with an smiley face on it, letting you see the weed she's going to sell you out first — "you study here in this university?"

"yeah, it’s my last year" you say inspecting the weed with a pleased look, sure you're buying when you take a deep breath and it seems like actual weed and not a fucking rock so tight it seems it came in somebody's ass, good smell, some purple there between different shades of green "film school."

"sick," she looks at you for a moment since you're too busy looking at the product. under the white lights ellie can see the details on your face now, the small moles, the scars, things she wasn't aware of as she wasn't so close as she is now — "it's okay? you like it?"

“smells real good, my last supplier was pretty shit and always had the same strain" you find her concern cute, sure she must take pride in selling good stuff, maybe that's why cat shared her number so reluctant to it, you'd gatekeep a good dealer too.

“that’s lemon haze” ellie explains as a subtle layer of red spreads right over her nose, must be the weather inside the bathroom or something like that, but it's hot as she stares at your eyes and she's betting you must be thinking she's the weirdest girl in the planet. her flannel's too fucking tight, too thick. "it's a nice sativa, wont leave you stupid nor like a hungry animal."

girls like you may be out of her league, but even when ellie's brain saying the same, it does not matter when your fingers brush against hers and you're laughing at her bad joke, giggling like she's oh so funny and it's enough. it may be a tactic she's falling all the way in when saying a lower price than regular and your eyes widen cause you don't believe it: why would such a good quality be cheaper than the usual shit?

"you study in this university too?" you curiously ask as if you're trying to catch the trick, clever girl. she’s selling you cheaper to secure you.

"forensic science" you seemed a bit surprised by it since you didn't talk much to stem girls in general, being in two different fields: hot— "it’s my last year too."

"that sounds cool, never met someone who study that," you say as you're pulling out 20$ for at least 3 grams of top-graded-weed: she's fucking stupid for selling that quality for less than $30 "well nice to meet you ellie, if i don't get poisoned with your weed, you'll be definitely hearing more from me."

and she wants to say something flirty, something with her usual witty charm and her sarcastic replies she loves by heart, but instead of saying something clever, ellie ends up stuttering, tripping in her own words as she nods.

"i- uh- yes sure. save my contact and text me anytime."

fuck it, cause it does get her to know you'll be talking to her again someday, maybe this week, maybe the next, tomorrow. her weed is hella good and her own brain is feeding her delusions cause as far as she knows you might as well be the biggest heterosexual girl in university, but you're there waving her goodbye with a warm smile and your perfume lingers in the air for a while even when you're not there.

so ellie stays in the cubicle for a minute. the longest minute of her life when she takes a deep breath at the scent, discovering the fruity notes, the damn strawberries sweet as ever now impregnated under her nose.

fucking cat cause she must have kept you all to herself, pure selfish reasons — ellie thought they were in good terms.

it's crazy to say she would've done the same if you were her friend too.

the second time ellie sells you weed you're talking with your friends seated in a secluded spot of the main quad and the sun hits your skin just in the correct way to make her mouth go dry.

you're using this straight sinful sundress in blue and white, covering from the fresh air in a denim jacket and it looks so good she needs to check you actually messaged her in the first place and didn't imagined the whole thing.

she politely greets everyone but her attention drifts back to you when ellie's sitting close like you're friends with her before the people you’re hanging out with.

"was it good?" she asks, blatantly checking you out you're resting over your elbows, letting the exposed parts of your body fill out with vitamin d after being trapped in class for what it seems an eternity, and ellie feels trapped too, slightly different cause she's experiencing the victorian era on the flesh when only a glimpse of your ankles is enough to kill her — "guess it was if you're texting to meet up again."

"yeah, seems like you got the best weed in the whole place" you laugh, each time warming up to her as you reply under a pair of black shades that make you look so fucking attractive: her weed, the best. "good job, ellie."

awfully good price. outstanding for you, only loses for her.

the third time, you're meeting her outside class and her friends joke calling you her girlfriend as ellie quickly walks away hoping you didn't hear them: do you talk to her about dinosaurs too, williams? you're too polite to say you find it cute.

by the fifth time you're on her car and the silence is so damn loud as the music sound softly in the speakers, some song you say you like as ellie turns up the volume so you can hear it better. you're humming to the tune, a two-minute song as she pretends to be searching for the weed on her bag, taking more time on purpose.

"are you going to take the same three grams or you feel generous this time?"

"no, just three" you reply to her question. you've become quite aware of her consistent gaze on you now after weeks of selling you grass, personally giving you the best, making the moment linger without you noticing until you actually do catch on her subtle tactics— "that way i can text sooner and see you again this week."

ellie’s clueless most of the days but with that? anyone would notice you're flirting, blatantly as you look up to her and your dealer struggles to resist the need on her hands to pin you against the passenger seat and lean all over the console to go on and kiss you until you clearly state what you want. no playing around the bushes this time. demand, as her stomach turns, what do you mean by that.

do you want to see her more? that's why you buy three grams and talk to her every three or four days? are you, by any chance, not straight?

“if you want to see me during the week, you might just ask” ellie says mirroring your tone “like you ask to buy weed from me, s’not that hard.”

you’re the one who's nervous now, and she considers on giving you the weed as a gift before you’re paying. loses, you only mean loses in her economy at this point — and it's driving her hella mad when you get out the car and ellie’s left there with the need to have you as closer as you possibly agree to.

silk fabric slipping through her fingers.

the sixth time, ellie decides she's going to do something about it. about her needs. there’s no actual way you’re not flirting with her, the image of you in the passenger seat still sealed freshly on her mind even if it was a week ago, repeating it over and over again — you got her staring at your profile pic, debating if she can or cannot masturbate with the pictures you’ve shared on instagram from spring break in fucking california, liking your post cause it’s the only way she dares to interact, a way of saying she’s there.

in the middle of a saturday night, thinking about you. two in the morning and it’s all fucking you.

she should make up her mind. you’re a good buyer, and she wishes to keep it that way. you don’t ask for later payments, you constantly buy and don't share her number with weirdo friends like everyone else does, you're a reliable source surely: so why does her heart stops in her chest cavity when her phone's buzzing and ellie's reading the name she saved your contact with?

right. her pathetic crush on you.

her fingers move on their own before she considers to delay her response five minutes to seem busy.

she wont charge you double.

shit. it's two in the morning and she's selling you weed driven by the desire to see you again, using this gray hoodie to protects herself from the cold autumn breeze as she's pulling up to this party totally uninvited, passing the open door like it's her own house as zeta phi seems to be fully loaded now as the music sound loud and strident as all her hopes of catching you alone goes to the trash can.

no she’s not going to charge you double, she’s just guilty she’s so into you without you having any idea of it.

where you waiting for her arrival? fuck. her brain is acting up like a backstabbing bitch and ellie cannot help it as you appear radiant under a sea of people. you're not saying a word either when you're lacing your fingers with her's and you're pulling on your dealer upstairs, feet moving on their own as she don't make a single effort to resist your magnet-like influence in her very self.

ellie’s hand are sweaty cause she's so fucking nervous but you don't seem to care about it, looking back at her from over your shoulder only to offer a smile she cannot wrap her head around for a moment.

"can i ask where you're taking me?" she questions you, hoping her voice doesn't sound like that really, so strained and rough from just see you around — "or am i your hostage now?"

"we need a more private space to buy" you state like it's obvious "duh, the rooftop's empty. i stole the key."

ellie should've know you were a walking hazard.

cause it really seems like an achievement when you're opening the rooftop door, mischief grin as you look twice behind your back paranoid as ever someone can see what you're doing; and ellie chuckles at the sudden adventure, how you're closing the door when you invite her to step in with a subtle head movement, quickly shoving the key back to the pocket in your skirt.

cute. she thinks you’re cute.

it's empty like you said, and the knowledge makes every hair on her arms stand on their own even when she's wearing this thick hoodie that protects her from the cold.

"cannot risk my dealer of getting in trouble down there" you explain now that you can talk to her at a decent volume, and she fully eats it even when it's a clear lie and you're making up excuses to get her away from the noise.

"very kind, gonna name you my knight in shinning armor if you keep this up."

you're panting the spot right next to you as you take a seat in the over-used lounge chair with a tiny wooden table in front of it, and like a trained animal, ellie follows cause it's the perfect spot to leave her backpack as her brain keeps buzzing at the name you used to call her seconds before— my dealer.

she is, by all means, your dealer. it makes her chest fill out with a different kind of emotion, sound so fucking intimate, so nice.

"gonna buy the usual three grams, princess?" your knee brushes against her, and ellie's breathing hitches cause you're wearing this black-sheer stockings all the way to your upper thigh and she becomes aware of it when the material slips down as you're seated, skirt raising slightly upwards against the muscles of your legs: one movement and she swears she'd be able to see your underwear and ellie has to once again, remind herself how you quickly reduce her to this behavior; this state, shoved in a sea of pure filth — "or did you just call me because you wanted to see me tonight?"

she's feeling lucky tonight even when she never feels that way, a strike of confidence ellie feels as a rush on the blood: you give her a sight of your legs and now she's all over the damn place? loser behavior.

"is it that obvious?" you want her to kiss you. it's a need that installs deep down in your chest, and if you're not making it obvious by then you're definitely doing it now: you're not straight, you're not bulletproof to the holes her eyes make on your skin every time you have the pleasure to be left alone in her company, you're not giving up on this constant game of seduction you like to play "i'm buying weed too, so coming up here actually matters for you."

"haven't we state that already?" ellie asks, looking up to you as she drinks in the sight of you under the almost invisible light of the stars up in the sky "if you want to see me during the week-"

"might as well just ask" you completed for her as ellie grabs her bag so she can pull your weed from it. the best three grams she has in her power "i know that- thank you."

"it's a gift" she finally dares to say it now — "don't pay me this time."

has she ever felt this way before? never. the overwhelming pull, the reminder you're not her's? stings on ellie's skin like tiny needles. it's not a big deal, once again she's losing money all reckless, but fuck- it's worth it, worth it when ellie see you malfunction for a long moment, brain short-circuiting cause you don't expect it.

"that's not the deal."

"i don't care what our deal is, you're my best client, and i take care of my clients” it’s simple as she says it “sides. the weed does not matter, seeing you was payment already.”

"don't go yet," you add before she's making a movement to get up, hands cold wrapping around her arm as you pull her down to the lounge chair you're so comfortably seated — "smoke with me. let's talk for a while."

and she knows it's dangerous, but you're batting your eyelashes, looking at her with this sly smirk on your face she wants to kiss away and ellie has no option but to stay there buried in your side, your fingers still tight against her arm muscles as you make her stay.

"okay, but i need you to let go of me baby- i can't roll a joint with you all over."

liar.

she just want to see you get all flustered because of her as her fingers swiftly roll a joint without much effort, allowing the smoke to fill the air seconds after before you’re sneezing and she notices how you shiver on her side, turning her face to look back at your pretty face she’s been avoiding to stare so much.

"you cold?" she asks, and you do not want to admit it, but ellie's taking her hoodie off and it's a fucking sight when she's wearing this white tank top she does not care about until she can physically feel the shift of the air between you and her, caught up with your eyes checking her out as she lights up the joint.

"thank you," and for being a stoner, it's smells surprisingly nice as you relish on the warmth of it, comfortable now as you watch her smoke "i'll gave it to you downstairs."

"go home with it. you're going to catch a cold like this."

the silence it's imminent for a moment before she's passing you the joint an you're holding it between your fingers.

"i like your tattoo" is it also an excuse? not really, but ellie's bringing her arm closer to you as she's showing it under the flashlight of her phone cause she likes it too, showoff — "can i touch it?"

any other time she'd be denying it mumbling something stupid about hating random people to go on and touch her scarred arm but you're not a random girl. so she's whispering a barely audibly yes, and your fingertips are tracing the pattern etched on her skin, taking your time in doing so.

"it suits you," you praise as you touch, and she's fucking melting there under simple caresses, under something so simple as your fingers tracing her inked flesh, invisible shapes as you just want to keep your hand on her "did it hurt too much when you got it done?"

"yeah, sort of" it's not really like she's trying to sound cool, in all honest, she's just trying to be coherent now as you keep touching her skin as you smoke. invested in questions she's answering in full auto-pilot.

you're high after a while, and it's her weed that makes you look like that. half lidded, a lazy smile on your lips as you keep talking to her, red eyes, slower than ever: shit. she'd devour you all.

“have you ever shotgunned smoke into someone’s mouth?” you ask curiously, and the question comes out of nowhere as you stare at her blowing the smoke, a warmth creeping upon her neck as she notices the way you’re staring at her, ellie’s blushing.

selling you weed and not be able to get high with you every single time must be named one of the most horrible crimes in humanity.

“when i was like, 17?" ellie replies thinking for a moment "i dunno, thought it was the hottest thing ever- have you?”

“no, not really."

and to be fair, ellie's high too. she's testing a new strain with you and the words roll out of her tongue so easily she has no time to regret it, not when you're looking at her like you want her to get handsy there in a damn lounge chair, to hell if it’s in the middle of nowhere or not.

“want me to do it for you?” she asks, a gentleman as usual “i’ll gladly be the first.”

it takes a moment for you to consider it before your voice is all low and husky — "mhm."

“come here then miss,” ellie says using a finger to call you out, the joint already on her lips before she takes a long drag — “sit on my lap and open your mouth f’me.”

it's devastating.

your weight on top of her, your ass in her leg as she can see again, those transparent sheer stockings that must be damn useless against the cold, and her hand rest on your upper thigh there where she looked before.

you're so obedient. your skirt is a sinful invitation to touch further, and you're parting her mouth for her so she can get closer, and as she smokes, ellie does get closeto you. closer than she’s ever been — more than the car, the bathroom in the party she met you, mere inches before she's shotgunning the smoke in your parted lips and you're smoking from the same weed that was in her lungs.

"17-years-old ellie was right" you reply, not really moving to give her space as ellie's fingers squeeze your leg like a reminder you're there still, sated on your dealer's lap, her hands on you — "it is the hottest thing ever."

it's almost a chronicle of a death foretold, cause ellie's kiss does not surprise you at the slightest. it's demanding and sloppy cause she's high, you're high, and she's a victim of this force she cannot escape near you.

so she keeps on kissing you until your lips are swollen and you're simply there, slowly wanting more, squeezing your legs together cause you don't want to be a slut now — no. you don't want her to know you're soaking over a few kisses, at ellie's fingers pulling on your high stockings down till they are no longer there anymore.

"you're a fucking menace" she says between kisses, breathing heavier now by the seconds: ellie already noticed— "a menace to me, to my weed and my economy, you know that? how you make me sell out my stuff at half the price cause i want you as my secured client?"

despite her words, she's pushing you closer to her so you can feel her rib cage pressed against you, the goosebumps you produce just from being close to her, red lips and messy hair.

"it’s your loss ellie, cause i'd pay for the full price."

"mmhm well shit, you're really lucky cause you do give damn good kisses" she murmurs, fingers toying with the hem of your skirt now and she has the damn audacity to keep on smoking cause she's now confident on her effect, how you’re all affected by her touch — "and if you give damn good kisses, i'm betting all my money that you have an even better pussy for me."

the sounds you're making? fuck. she’s creaming her panties already when you're letting her touch you so freely and it’s not near enough.

"what is it going to be then, huh?" she asks curiously, her mouth already following the path down to your collarbone, your cleavage before she’s taking her time in leaving red-purplish hickeys there hidden beneath her own gray hoodie "should we make it to our seventh selling or you're going to let me play with your needy cunt as a much deserved reward?"

shit. shit. shit. you're so fucking wet when you're parting your legs further apart to give her a nice view of your underwear, a damp spot already there between your legs who’s enough to make her mouth water with the thought of burying her face between your thighs, intoxicate with the smell you're emanating and she feels already under her nose.

good fucking girl. she wants to praise you, let you know you're doing a great job there letting your skirt roll up to your stomach, so easy to get rid of it ellie's sure you did it on purpose now so she can let her hand slip between your legs to feel how soaked you are.

your cunt makes this sound when her finger’s taunting you she just happens to love, and your underwear clings to your pussy lips, hips buckling up to meet her fingers already wanting more.

greedy.

"shh-" she tries to reassure you — "you're comfortable there baby? want you to feel good when i touch you yeah? you'll let me know anything cause you're my well-behaved girl, aren't you? my best client here.”

ellie’s making you shake her head, coaxing you to say out loud you are comfortable there, ass in her lap, spread legs as her fingers push against the fabric right against your entrance, noticing how the cotton soaks at the motion.

"look at you all desperate" she chuckles — "have you been thinking about this a lot like i do?"

her fingers pull on your underwear to the side and there it is: glistening cunt, swollen lips and neglected clit that's just begging to be touched, filled, discovered by her hands, her mouth, tongue. nothing she fucking wants more.

who she is to ever deny anything to you? to stop selling you weed? the joint falls to the ground now as she's using her entire hand to touch you, fingers rubbing against your minor and mayor labia, circling against your engorged clit as you arch your back and she has to use force to keep you still, taking what she has to give like a champ.

"you're fucking soaked-" there's a slap sound that fills the air, and even when there's people in the garden they don't seem to hear your whimpers as her hand comes in contact with your pussy and she's slapping it once again, just enough to apply some pressure in your clit, just enough to make your legs shake "so responsive to me, gonna let me stuff this cunt full tonight? fucking finally huh? you've been haunting me like no one else."

and you giggle, giggle cause you cannot fucking believe it: fucking your dealer? are you so for real right now? you're deep under a cloud of haze you're unable to control, disheveled state when your skirt is all the way to up and your underwear being pulled to the side at her mercy and you can only answer:

"yes- ngh yes please ellie."

"shit- your clit is all puffy baby, all needy for me."

you're squeezing her already so hard when she’s working on you. a wet schlick that fills the air and combined with your incoherent words of praise and moans will send her to the grave.

ellie’s knuckles-deep and fuuuck. you're so tight she needs to ask if you're doing right, cunt engulfing her' fingers until there’s no more and she's curling them right to the spot so you don't care about the drunk fucks in the garden anymore, about anyone who can hear whats going on in an empty rooftop.

ellie’s using a hand to keep your legs spread when your free will collapses like paper cards, pulling them apart only to add a third finger in your used hole and reduce you to pieces now, clenching tight as she rubs on that special spot inside and you're mumbling something about feeling so full, so good with her inside.

"this pussy must be made for me baby, fits me like a fucking glove," ellie’s doubling her efforts, her palm colliding against your clit, fingers thrusting against the right spot over and over — "gonna let me see your pretty face when you cum? i know you're close."

you are. fuck you so are. your movements are erratic, your legs shake, and ellie's kissing on your shoulder, leaving a path of wet kisses on the exposed skin on your neck, biting on your earlobe, anywhere she can get.

"i can't-" you cry out, moving yourself in quick, sharp movements, it’s overwhelming — "fuck i can't hold no more-"

"let go" she replies, holding you tightly against her body — "let go. i got you."

it's hot. messes up ellie's jeans with a damp mark on them, turning the fabric darker when you finally cum and you're gushing on her fingers, leaking through trembling legs.

"fuck yes. drench me like that," your dealer moans, stealing a kiss from your parted lips, keeping the last glimpses of air in your lungs for her benefit "use me, baby, don't stop."

ah. ellie's in trouble after all, cause it don't seem she’ll be selling weed to you now. not when she's mixing business with pleasure and she's making you bend against the top rail of the old lounge chair cause she's not able to wait any longer to lick you clean until you have no other choice but to cum again.

truth be told she once heard cupid's cruel, but she didn't believe it fully, not until now since ellie knows, first hand — the little fucker shoots to kill.

[alchemistc]

Post finale crack treated seriously. Ravi "Who's Tommy" Panikkar stirring shit up for his new friend.

red string

"You know you guys are like, weirdly interconnected, right?" Ravi asks, like Buck hasn't spent the last ten minutes admitting he doesn't know how to reach out to Tommy.

"How would you know?"

Ravi has the grace to look a little squirrelly for half a second. "Okay so I know a lot of people at the LAFD. Because of the Academy stint. And - well, a lot of them know I own rentals."

"Thanks for letting me do month to month, by the way."

"Yeah you sure did remind me that you saved my life a bunch of times before I agreed to that. I had to send in a special request with the company that runs that apartment building."

"Your life is way more important than a special request, Ravi."

Ravi looks like he has something else to say about that, but.

"You're veering off the point. I'm trying to tell you you two have like, a weird red string thing going on and it's kind of driving me crazy that you won't just figure it out and go live in his house month to month until you figure out your crap and like, elope like the crazy people you are."

Buck takes a second to let that sink in. "Have you been asking all your LAFD buddies about Tommy and me?" His narrowed eyes don't seem to have the same effect as Hen's. Ravi stares back at him like he's making a stupid face.

"In my defense, I did try to ask you but you spent weeks trying to find a way to pull his pigtails."

He's not touching that with a ten foot pole. Nice ammo for when he gets home, though. "So you, what, put together an itemized list of reasons we should be together?"

"Gross. No. I gossiped, like a normal person."

"Lists are important, Ravi."

"If you don't do something on your own I'll get his number from one of the guys at Harbor I know and tell him about all the baked goods you foisted on me for two solid months after he dumped you. And about all the pining I've had to put up with since -."

"Evan. Hey."

Buck is the sort of person who always wants to play it cool and never quite manages. The table jumps when he cracks his knee against it.

And there he is, in all his glory. Date night chic, four buttons undone, hair perfectly tousled, probably that aftershave that always made Buck want to live in the junction between his neck and shoulder.

"And that's my cue," Ravi says, and does a terrible approximation of a wink as he scoots out of the booth. "This is a setup. I set you both up. Tommy, this beer is yours, please sit. Don't make me do this a third time."

And then he's gone.

Tommy slides in, and it's familiar in a way that Buck doesn't enjoy.

Ravi reappears. "I already had his number, that was a decoy because I saw him walking in. Please, for the love of God, talk this time."

They stare at each other for a long, long time. Tommy has this way of looking at him that always makes Buck feel like he could run through a brick wall. Like Tommy would take care of him after even though it was a dumb thing to do. Like Tommy would thank him for the opportunity to take care of him.

"So Ravi has a theory," Tommy says, after they've taken their fill of staring in silence.

"I kept interrupting him but it kinda sounded like he's been spending way too much time dissecting our lives."

Tommy's smile lights up this dingy sports bar like nothing else. "Kinda reminds me of you, if I'm honest."

"He doesn't even like spreadsheets, Tommy."

"God, I love you."

It's a terrible place to start.

It's an excellent way to keep going.

[alohajix]

𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐦

Description: [Y/N] signed her son up for soccer to help him feel a little braver. She didn’t expect it to feel like she was the one learning how to start over. And she definitely didn’t expect the coach to start feeling like home.

Warnings: single parenthood, child anxiety, parental guilt, emotional vulnerability, fear of abandonment, slow-burn romance, eventual consensual smut (soft to intense).

Word count: TBD.

author’s note: this little mini-story is actually part of something a bit bigger! if you enjoyed part one, i’m planning to share the four other parts exclusively on my patreon as i write them. there’s zero pressure, of course—just knowing you’re here reading already means the world to me. but if you’d like to support my work even more and follow this story as it continues, you’ll be able to find the rest over there when they’re ready. thank you so much for reading. i appreciate you more than you know! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Main Masterlist

Marked by Midnight’s Masterlist

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Warnings: child nervousness, social overwhelm, parental self-doubt, references to past social exclusion, emotional tension, fear of letting someone in.

Word count: 3,748.

The field is busier than I expected. Parents already staking their claims with fold-out chairs along the sidelines, sipping from oversized thermoses, shouting to each other over the hum of kids in matching jerseys sprinting across the grass like it's the World Cup. My stomach pulls tight as I kill the engine, my hands still wrapped around the steering wheel like I'm not entirely sure if we should even be here.

I glance into the rearview mirror, catching Archie in the back seat, small hands fidgeting with the hem of his jersey again. He's been doing that since we left the apartment—rolling the fabric between his fingers like it might unravel if he stops. It's bright red, way too big on him. He'd wanted it that way. Said the bigger one felt safer. Like armor, he told me, with the kind of serious little face only a six-year-old could pull off. But looking at him now, all I can think is how small he really looks in it.

I let out a slow breath and glance toward the field again, already feeling the weight of every other parent who looks like they've done this a hundred times before. Like they belong here. Like they belong together.

I climb out of the car, shut my door gently, and walk around to his side. He doesn't move when I open it, just looks up at me with those wide, worried eyes I know too well. The same eyes I've seen every time we try something new. I crouch down so we're level, resting my elbows on my knees.

"Alright, champ... you ready?"

His feet swing nervously over the edge of the seat. His voice is so soft I almost miss it.

"Do I have to go with them by myself?"

God, how many times have I heard that question in one form or another? First days of school, new babysitters, birthday parties where he doesn't know anyone but me. The same fear, every time. The same knot in my stomach when I have to lie just a little to make him believe this time will be different.

I reach for his hand, curling my fingers around his.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to," I tell him quietly, brushing a piece of hair off his forehead. "But remember what we said? About trying? About being brave enough to see if it feels a little better once you get started?"

He bites his lip hard enough to leave a mark, glancing toward the field. I follow his gaze, taking in the kids already spread out in messy clusters, parents shouting encouragement like this is the most important thing in the world. My throat feels tight just looking at it.

"I'll be right here," I add softly. "The whole time. You can look for me whenever you want."

His chin wobbles just a little, but after a second, he nods. It's barely there, but it's enough. I press a quick kiss to his temple, breathing him in like it might settle something in me, too. That familiar scent of shampoo and syrup and him. My safe place, even when I'm the one who's supposed to be his.

I hold out my hand.

"Come on. Let's go check it out."

He slips his hand into mine without saying another word, holding on tight. Tighter than usual. We start walking toward the noise. And even though I've already promised him it's going to be okay, I'm not sure I believe it yet.

The closer we get, the more it feels like my skin's been pulled too tight. Like every step drags me further into a place I'm not convinced we belong. Archie's fingers are sweaty in mine, small and tense, and I can feel the tiny tremble in them with every squeeze. He's walking slower now, half a step behind, like if he keeps dragging his feet long enough, maybe I'll turn us around and call the whole thing off.

I want to. God, I want to. But I don't.

We stop at the edge of the field, just shy of the first line of folding chairs. I shift my weight, standing tall enough to look like I know what I'm doing, even though the truth feels like it's unraveling by the second.

Parents are everywhere—chatting over the hum of thermoses being popped open, stretching their legs out toward the grass like they've claimed this territory a dozen times before. Some of them are wearing team hoodies. Some already know each other's kids by name. You can tell by the way they laugh like it's nothing new.

I tuck Archie in a little closer to my side, scanning the field until I find the group in red jerseys forming near the far goalpost. A man's standing in front of them, clipboard tucked under one arm, whistle hanging loose from his neck. His sleeves are already shoved up to his elbows, hands gesturing casually as he calls the group to attention.

"All right, Red Rockets, let's bring it in!"

The way he says it catches me off guard—not sharp, not impatient, not the way I expected someone to rally a group of six-year-olds on a cold Saturday morning. It's... soft. Confident, but not loud. Like he already knows they'll listen without needing to shout.

I feel Archie flinch just a little beside me, his body shrinking closer to mine like the sound spooked him. I glance down, smoothing my thumb across the back of his hand.

"It's okay," I whisper, even though I have no idea if that's true.

When I look back up, the man's moving. Walking toward the group of kids gathering into a loose circle in front of him. I catch the edge of his voice again—lower this time, more focused on the ones who haven't settled yet.

Archie stiffens all over again, frozen like he's deciding whether to bolt or hide. And all I can think is please don't shut down. Not yet.

I'm already running through my backup plan in my head—how to peel him off the sidelines gently if he refuses to move, how to keep my voice from cracking when I tell him it's okay, we can try again another week—when I catch movement from the corner of my eye. He's walking toward us. Steady. Unbothered. No clipboard this time, no whistle in his hand. Just easy steps like he's done this before. Like he's not in a rush to fix anything.

Archie stiffens even more, his little body locking up next to mine like he's bracing for impact. I lean down toward his ear, lowering my voice to that quiet, steady hum I've learned works better than anything else.

"It's okay, baby. Just breathe. I'm right here."

He stops a couple of steps away, leaving space like he knows better than to crowd us. His hands are loose in his jacket pockets, his mouth tipping into the kind of smile that feels... patient. The kind that makes it look like this isn't a problem to solve—it's just a moment to walk through.

"Hey there," he says, nodding once like it's the most normal thing in the world to approach strangers this way. "First day nerves?"

I shift my weight, pulling Archie a little closer to my side.

"Yeah," I answer softly, my voice rougher than I mean for it to sound. "We just moved here. Still trying to find our place."

He nods like that makes perfect sense. Like he's heard it before.

"'S a lot, isn't it?" he murmurs, glancing toward the field again like he remembers exactly what it feels like to stand on the outside of something. "Is that your little one, then? Number five?"

I look down at Archie, who's still clinging to me, eyes wide but curious now.

"Yeah. Archer. We... we call him Archie."

Harry crouches down slowly, resting his elbows on his knees. He doesn't reach for Archie. Doesn't try to pull him out of hiding. He just lowers himself to his level and lets his voice drop even softer.

"Hiya, Archie. I'm Harry. Coach Harry, technically, but that feels a bit too serious for six-year-olds, don't you think?"

Archie doesn't answer, but his grip on my sweater loosens just a little. His eyes flick to Harry's shoes, then to his face, then back to me like he's checking if I'm still here. Harry keeps going, easy as anything.

"Y'know, we've got a job open today," he adds with a quiet grin. "Someone needs to help me set up all those cones over there before the team comes in. Think you might be able to help me with that?"

Archie shifts his weight, biting his lip, and for a second I'm sure he's going to shut down again. But then—so small I almost miss it—he nods. Just once. Harry doesn't make a big deal out of it. Doesn't whoop or cheer or make it a moment bigger than it needs to be. He just leans back on his heels, pushes to his feet, and tips his head toward the pile of cones on the grass.

"We'll just be over here," he says to me softly. "Promise I'll bring him right back."

I stay frozen where I am, arms wrapped tight around myself like I might actually fall apart if I move too fast.

Archie follows him. Slowly, yeah—but he follows. Two tiny steps at first. Then one more. He's a full body length behind, but he's moving. Moving toward something without me. My throat feels like it's closing up just watching it happen.

I hover at the edge of the chairs, not daring to sit down. My eyes flick to the other parents spread out along the sidelines, already swapping stories about school pickups and carpool schedules like this is just another weekend. Some of them aren't even watching the field. Some are already halfway through their second cup of coffee, shouting out names like they've done this a hundred times.

It's strange, standing here alone. My arms wrapped around myself like I'm bracing for something, like I'm waiting for a punch that never comes. I glance up at the sky for no reason at all, noting the gray clouds stretching low and heavy over the trees at the far end of the field. One gust of wind, and it'll probably rain.

Of course, I didn't bring an umbrella. I didn't think that far ahead. I'd been too busy worrying about Archie. About whether or not I could even get him this far.

I shift again, pressing my tongue to the back of my teeth to stop myself from calling Archie back. My fingers itch to reach for him, to pull him out of the spotlight and hide him somewhere safer. Somewhere smaller. Somewhere where he doesn't have to try so hard. But I don't. I stay planted. I watch Harry kneel beside the pile of cones, picking them up one by one and laying them out on the grass like he's got all the time in the world. He doesn't even glance back to see if Archie's still following. He just... waits.

Archie shifts his weight from foot to foot, looking back toward me like he's asking permission without saying it out loud. My chest tightens, but I nod once, small and steady, like I'm not terrified he's about to fall apart in front of everyone. And then he moves again. Steps right up to the pile and crouches awkwardly, his little fingers fumbling to grab a cone. Harry leans in a little, points to a spot on the field, and Archie starts walking toward it, arms stiff like he's afraid to drop it.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My throat stings with it. Like I've been holding that breath for longer than just today. It's small. So small. But it's more than I expected. I've seen people give up on him before. I've watched them get impatient when he freezes or takes too long to answer or hides behind me when they try to pull him out of his shell too fast. I've heard the tight, strained "it's okay, some kids just aren't social" more times than I can count. Always laced with that disappointed edge like they've already decided he's too much work.

I've seen the way they check their watches. The way they glance toward me with that half-frown, half-smile that really means "he's slowing us down." I've walked Archie back to the car more times than I can count with his head on my shoulder, whispering it's not his fault even when I know he doesn't believe me.

And every time it happens, I feel that weight in my chest. That bitter little voice in the back of my head that says see? This is why you keep your circle small. This is why you don't expect people to stay.

But Harry doesn't flinch. Doesn't push. He just lets Archie take his time, moving one cone at a time like there's nothing else to do today but wait for him to figure it out.

I glance down at the ground by my feet, kicking at the grass with the tip of my shoe like that might ground me somehow. It doesn't. All I can do is watch. All I can do is hope. I feel my heart catch in my throat because I already know I shouldn't let myself get used to that. He's just doing his job. And it's nothing. But the way it feels settling in my chest tells me I'm lying to myself already.

The rest of practice passes in a blur. I barely register what the other kids are doing. I don't hear a single word the parents around me say. I'm too locked in on Archie. On the way he stays close to Harry, watching every move like he's afraid he might miss something important.

And somehow, somehow, he stays. He doesn't run back to me. He doesn't shut down. He doesn't quit.

By the time Harry claps his hands together and calls the team in one last time, Archie's cheeks are flushed, curls sticking to his forehead, his little hands tugging on the bottom of his jersey again—but his shoulders aren't hunched the way they were when we got here. He's tired, but he's still standing.

I push off the fence and start toward the edge of the field, hugging my arms around myself again like it's going to hold me together for the next thirty seconds.

Harry crouches down to Archie's level again, says something low that makes Archie nod. Then he stands, turns toward me, and starts walking over with that same easy pace like we aren't two strangers standing on opposite sides of a life we haven't figured out yet.

"He did great," Harry says when he reaches us, nodding toward Archie like he means it. "Took a little warming up, but he stuck it out."

I swallow the knot in my throat, brushing Archie's hair off his forehead again.

"Thanks for being patient with him. I know he's... a lot sometimes."

Harry frowns a little—just for a second—like he doesn't like hearing that.

"He's not a lot," he says quietly, like it's a fact. "He's a kid. Kids move at their own pace."

And just like that, something in my chest pulls tight again. Because no one ever says it like that. Not without sounding like they're trying to convince themselves. But Harry says it like he actually believes it.

I shift my weight, blinking hard to keep my expression neutral. My mouth opens to thank him again, but nothing comes out. I chew the inside of my cheek instead, heat creeping up the back of my neck.

Before I can embarrass myself further, he clears his throat, rocking back on his heels.

"Listen, uh—would it be alright if I grabbed your number? Just in case we have to reschedule or... if Archie forgets anything?"

I freeze for a second longer than I probably should. I shouldn't. I shouldn't. That little voice in my head kicks in fast, warning me not to blur the lines. Not to give anyone even an inch closer than they need to be. But he's looking at me with that same steady patience I've watched him give to Archie all morning. Like I have a choice. Like he'll back off if I say no.

I nod. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, already unlocked to a blank contact screen. I take it carefully, fingers brushing his. His skin is warm. Calloused, like he works with his hands for real. I feel it all the way down to my wrist, like something I shouldn't notice but do anyway.

I stare at the screen longer than I need to. I could fake it. I could type a number off by one digit and let this stay exactly what it is. Professional. Detached. Easy to forget.

But my thumb moves before I can stop it. I type my real name—[Y/N]. My real number.

When I hand it back, Harry glances at the screen, then up at me again with that easy, unreadable smile.

"Perfect. Thanks [Y/N]." God help me, I don't trust myself not to read too much into it.

Archie shifts beside me, tugging lightly on the hem of my sleeve like he's working up to something. He's got that scrunched-up little look on his face—the one he gets when he's thinking too hard. His cheeks are still flushed from running around, curls sticking to his damp forehead, but his eyes are darting between me and Harry like he's trying to figure something out.

Harry tucks his phone back into his jacket pocket and gives Archie one last ruffle of his hair, starting to turn back toward the rest of the kids when Archie blurts it out—loud enough for half the field to hear.

"Mama... can Coach Harry come to dinner sometime?"

The words hit me like a slap to the chest. Quick. Sharp. Immediate. My stomach drops. My throat closes. I freeze.

Harry doesn't. He doesn't laugh. He doesn't flinch. He doesn't even blink, really. His smile doesn't falter for a second. He just crouches down to Archie's level again, his voice dropping low and soft, like it's just for him.

"Maybe one day, little man," Harry says, reaching out to tap two fingers lightly against Archie's tiny fist. "Gotta keep practicin' those kicks first, yeah? That's the deal."

Archie beams like he's just been promised Disneyland. I, on the other hand, feel like my face is on fire. My heart slams so hard I swear I can hear it in my ears. I glance around like I'm half-expecting someone to be standing there listening, but no one is. No one's paying attention to us at all.

Except me. Except Harry. Except Archie, who's already moved on like it's the most normal thing in the world to invite a complete stranger to dinner.

I clear my throat, tightening my grip on the strap of my bag.

"Alright, bud... let's grab your stuff."

Harry stands again, brushing his palms against his thighs like he's shaking off the grass. His eyes meet mine for one last second, and there's something there I can't quite name. Not teasing. Not pity. Just... something steady. Something that feels like he already knows I'm going to overthink this all night.

"See you next week?" I ask before I can stop myself, my voice tighter than I mean for it to be.

Harry nods, rocking back on his heels again.

"Wouldn't miss it."

And just like that, he's gone—turning back toward the pile of equipment like the last five minutes didn't knock the air clean out of my lungs.

Archie talks the whole walk back to the car. Little bursts of excitement tumbling over each other—how he kicked the ball once, how Coach Harry let him carry the cones, how next week he's going to run even faster. He's out of breath before we even make it across the parking lot, his tiny hand swinging in mine like all the fear from earlier never happened.

I keep nodding, making all the right noises, but it feels like my head is full of static. Like I can't get my feet back under me, no matter how many steps I take.

I get him buckled into his booster seat, double-check the straps even though I know they're fine. I lean in, pressing a kiss to his temple like I always do, breathing him in for just a second longer than necessary. He giggles, pushing at my face with one small hand.

"Mamaaa," he laughs, like I'm embarrassing him. Like it's funny. Like his heart isn't still tangled up in my hands the way mine is in his.

I shut the door quietly and lean back against the car, staring out at the emptying parking lot. Most of the families are gone already. The folding chairs are packed up, the chatter's faded, and the breeze is colder now than it was an hour ago. I wrap my arms around myself, digging my nails into my sleeves like that might stop the way my chest feels like it's caving in.

I don't know what I expected today to be. But it wasn't this. It wasn't the way Archie actually stayed. The way he looked—pink-cheeked and almost proud—for the first time in God knows how long. And it sure as hell wasn't the way Harry spoke to him. Or to me. Like we weren't some charity case. Like he wasn't performing patience for points. Like he actually... saw us. Both of us.

I shove my hand into my pocket, pulling out my phone before I can stop myself. My thumb hovers over the screen for half a breath too long before I swipe it open and scroll to my contacts.

Harry.

I lock the screen again and stuff it deep into my jacket like I can hide from it if I don't look too long.

"Okay," I whisper to myself, pushing off the car and moving toward the driver's side.

I'm already overthinking it.

***

@cloudyluun @gem1712 @dipmeinhoneyh @idk1990 @harrrrystylesslut @sparxx27 @likea-silhouette @fangirl509east @starryhaze-crystal @mads3502 @run-for-the-hills @twinklaei @belgianblondee @pbandnutella @maudie-duan @cat-loves-music @harrysgirl2003 @harrystyleshotwife @secretands-blog @dutchtheatrelore @angeldavis777 @idkidcfuboh @maddiesalvatore1839

[girlfromflor]

kyle garrick feeds you every time he feels like he can.

it's not uncommon for him to feel self-councious about his desires – maybe thinking he's a bit weird for it, or whatever. but when he sees the opportunity to deep dive in them he's done for.

so seeing you busy writing something down like your life depends on it, he can't help but say "hey, baby? food's ready," knowing damn well you'll say you're going to eat later.

"sorry, but i'm busy right now. just let me finish this real quick..." you mumble, not even paying him a glance. he smiles at the notion because, considering your headspace, you'll either brush him off or agree blindly to whatever he has to say.

"can i feed you, then? you don't have to move, i'll bring our food for us to eat here." he offers, and you answer with "okay, thanks, love" like you usually do after he says he'd be waiting for you, automatically, not even registering the fact that he didn’t say that.

once you realize it, it’s is too late. he's sitting by your side, a plate twice as big as you usually have in his hands – because he'll eat out of the same plate he'll feed you – as he pushes a fork filled with your favorite salty food to your lips.

you don't brush him off immediately like he expected you to, you simply glance over a him before taking a bite. he hums in appreciation as you chew – like he's the one eating – and takes a bite himself. and that goes until the food is all gone, you keep your task until you feel sleepy from eating so much and he kisses your lips before getting up to leave the dishes in the sink – you'll do them later.

he watches silently as you gather your things and put them away before going over at him, kissing him once again. "thank you for feeding me..." you say honestly, mumbling into his neck as you hug him by the waist.

"i love to do it, baby," he answers, kissing your temple. then, he adds: "what do tou think we lay down for a bit now, eh?"

and you gladly comply, the both of you cuddling under the covers until you're both asleep and dreaming of each other.

[kaiserboom]

౨ৎ boyfriend! eren: the type to slap himself if you told him you had a dream of him cheating on you. "eren I just saw you kissing someone in my dream." "BABE NO!"

౨ৎ boyfriend! eren: when he cold he likes to slip his hands underneath your shirt.

౨ৎ boyfriend! armin: he a huge nerd. once you were simply talking to someone else. and he suddenly butted in to correct something you apparently said "wrong". "is a cereal a soup?" and out of nowhere he correcting you for twelve hour straight. "actually not a soup because- blah blah"

౨ৎ boyfriend! armin: he the type to do this trend with you.

౨ৎ boyfriend! connie: he the type to play pranks on you. "hey take this Oreo" and you look at him suspiciously but you take a bite. suddenly you gag when you realized the Oreo cream is toothpaste. he burst out laughing "GAHHH!! AHAHA"

౨ৎ boyfriend! connie: he talks about you to everyone. even if the topic had nothing to do with you. "ok Connie lets start cleaning" Eren glances at Connie and then adds "go pick that box" and when he reaches to pick a box. he suddenly exclaims "oh my gosh! this box is the same one in y/n's room! talking about y/n did I tell you-" and everyone groans, knowing what's coming next.

౨ৎ boyfriend! jean: he loves trying to rage bait you. even if it doesn't work all of the time. but he figures it doesn't hurt to at least try. "I put the muffins in the freezer by the way" and you stare at him blankly "ok.. this your house.. why would I care?"

౨ৎ boyfriend! jean: you once caught him watching those ai short movies on tiktok that never have an part two. "what you doing?-" he stares at you. raising a finger to his lips. "shhh! I'm trying watch a princess find her soulmate!"

౨ৎ boyfriend! macro: every time you feel slightly upset, he knows exactly how to make you feel better. "hey it's fine. lets sit down and watch a movie!"

౨ৎ boyfriend! macro: he the type to sometimes not like what you like, but agrees to it anyways- "oh lets get these chips" and you sigh "aw? really ?..I wanted ice cream.." he turns towards where the ice-cream is. with a smile. "sure! then ice-cream it is!'

౨ৎ boyfriend! Reiner: doesn't understand simple slangs AT ALL. "hey Reiner srry idek when I'll be home sorry!" and he texts you back "huh? what is "srry and idek?" and you would response with "sorry and I don't even know" he quickly sends a "I don't know as well? that's why I'm asking you." you try to explain "Reiner no-" and he just keeps scratching his head clearly still lost.

౨ৎ boyfriend! Reiner: he tries to be romantic but ends up being corny "I like your eyes" and you smile at him "Aww thanks" and he opens he mouth to say something else. but ends up saying the most dumbest thing you ever heard. "they remind me of a car" and you look at him dumbfounded "what?" and he grins and shrugs "it's cause I like cars!"

౨ৎ boyfriend! bertolt: one time you two were sharing a bed, dozing off peacefully. suddenly he stretches his tall legs and kicks you off the bed- and has the guts to say "y/n... why are you on the floor?" while looking at you calmy.

౨ৎ boyfriend! bertolt: when you can't reach something from a high shelf, he eagerly steps in to help. he reaches up confidently, flexing his height but in his haste. he accidentally drops what he was trying grab on your head. you shoot him a look "watch it!" and he looks at you sheepishly "oops.."

౨ৎ boyfriend! levi: if your not clean. he quick to kick you out of his house- no questions asked, He doesn't care if you, Sasha and Connie were playing in the rain. your still not coming in his house. "stay out" and you just shiver "levi?!" slams the door in your face.

౨ৎ boyfriend! levi: his ears turn pink when he blushes. "are you blushing lev?" and he shoots a simple glare in your direction. "no, piss off" and you just giggle "your ears are pink!"

౨ৎ boyfriend! erwin: conversation with him are so plain or either super random. "hii erwin! missed you" and he replies back with a "ok. miss you to," "*sent 3 attachments*" and your so confused why he sent attachments of him eating bread with butter.

౨ৎ boyfriend! erwin: is an "ok" "bye" "I love you" kind of guy, straightforward and bold, not an "okay!" "goodbye!" "ily/love you" kind of guy- who gets really hyper and bubbly.

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

I have to agree with Otakuvampyre on this. Fact is I understand why the pictures had the effect they did. And I can explain in detail why. And it's not, "Men can't get women because they are terrible people with bad personalities", like suggested. It's because of the "Before and After" effect that a lot of people make the mistake of doing in pictures. Companies are especially guilty of this. Look the first picture look mellow and or sullen (this can also be accomplished with lighting failures)

So thoughts:

The first image has a large issue with it in general. The lighting on his face is actually brighter than that of the rest of his body, oddly making him look sickly.

The second image has a lot of "Other" types of issues. The lighting of this picture is well lit, but unbalanced. His hair looks more thin in this picture, and the outfit he chose to show off more of his gains, very much show off too much. Making the picture look awkward. This ignoring the MORE obvious bulge in this photo vs the first one.

Now. Let me explain this as I was raised by a family made of 80% women. And by no less than 3 generations of them. The first image is the "Teddy Bear" women like after they done fucking around and want a husband. Proof of this could be seen if you put both of the before and after into suits that fit them within reason. Version one looks like a youth pastor with love handles, version two looks like a lifer and an athlete. At least to people at face value. However, every single time I have watched a movie with women present, and a man takes off his shirt and is ripped, I've heard this inevitable, "Ugh he's so hot". Meanwhile in movies where some of these same men are less shredded, or alternatively one of the main characters is a parody of the "Hero" archetype, when he takes off his shirt, everyone laughs. No one serious, "Mhmm he's hot".

Men are pretty much trained to catch on to this stuff because every single time a shredded man comes on screen or a very LEAN character takes off their shirt, it's swoons across the board.

Long story short? The first picture is the type women "Settle for" the first is the type they fuck. Men see that. Men know that. And pretending it's not real because a few women are exceptions to this rule doesn't make it less true. Trends might well be changing, but if you were to ask most women (18-38) who is hotter between these guys, not much of a contest:

Just bodies alone, most women would simp over the first one. And let me make this very clear. The above ARE considered dad bods. What's more, actions and words speak drastically different.

Example: Woman and her husband, (my buddy) and me all go to the movies. I'm quite literally DRAGGED to this movie. This lad comes on the screen and like fucking clock work, from a lot of women in the theater I hear all the different sounds. Including from my buddies wife.

My buddy talked to me about it later and the one thing he said I remember well is that she always calls him handsome or cute, never hot. And it bothered him. Granted, I'll give a small pass to the post. Generally speaking, unless the face is very attractive, women don't prefer "SHREDDED" men. They prefer fit men. Similar to the look of soccer players:

I love hearing the whole, "Lived Experience" from people on this site who then pretend that men haven't lived their own lives and seen what women swoon over. I myself have only been called hot a handful of times by a handful of women. And those women very much did the same BS of, "Well I love you not them, I just think they are hot", To which my response is, "Ok, looks alone, what exactly is it that makes him hot that disallows me from being called such". A few of them were actually honest and said it was because I was less fit than the men on screen. Others just played if off like no big deal.

Men pay more attention than people think. And we see how rare it is in general for women to go for larger men, unless they are planning to settle. Which men take as, "You are attractive enough to be with, but not attractive enough to fuck for recreation". And realistically? That's not only how we take it. That's what it looks like to anyone not making excuses.

And for the record, before my own personal lunatics come post on this, I have for a long time had a similar body type to the last image I posted above. Prior to that I was muscularly skinny with not enough mass to show abs.

i think the reason a lot of men are screaming, puking, and crying about this is bc it forces them to acknowledge that the reason they can’t get women to like them is not actually bc of their physique but bc of their shitty personality

[elysiality]

DÉJÀ VU —

shauna shipman.

"Do you remember this, Shipman?"

ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 synopsis — Shauna wakes up to a cold bedroll, no girlfriend beside her and the ramifications of unwelcomed weather, the looming threat of starving through another winter— this time, with her in charge. what a great time to relive the worst moments of her life.

ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 cw — Shauna Shipman being Shauna Shipman, yj S3 spoilers, fem reader, graphic descriptions of violence, you're Lottie's most loyal cuckoo acolyte yipee !, tagging this like it's an A03 story, angst w a happy ending, yellowjackets typical antics (requested !)

from the start, something about you drew Shauna to you. she wasn't sure why— as far as you were concerned, you seemed like a perfectly average girl on the outside. normal grades, good at soccer, a perfectly humdrum life, a face that blends into the crowd. if Jackie heard her voice any of that, she'd probably never hear the end of it.

“Uhm— no?” an annoying voice rings out from beside her. Shauna can practically hear the smirk in her voice.

she sighs in exasperation, slamming her diary shut and looking up to see fake Jackie grinning at her like a damn shark.

“I can't say anything, remember? Cuz— y'know-” Jackie tilts her head and suddenly, her face is blue and cold, there's snow in her hair, her eyes are glazed over— Shauna shakes her head hard. It's not real, she tells herself firmly.

when she looks up, Jackie is back to her normal, ghosty, bitchy self, grinning self-assuredly with a confidence Shauna once wished she had.

“Can't believe I'm still haunting you, Shipman.” Jackie snorts. she leans against the flimsy stick walls of the hut, looking down at Shauna with a sneer. “You'd think you would've gotten over me once you found your girl saviour.”

Shauna bites back a snarl— those seem to be escaping her every other day now. she sets her diary down next to her with shaking hands, looking up at Jackie from her seated position.

“One, don't call her that and two, there was nothing to get over. We were just friends, Jackie.” the words sound like a bald-faced lie to her own ears. she ignores Jackie’s knowing smirk.

“Suuuure.” fake Jackie drawls. “Whatever floats your boat, Shipman.”

“When will you fucking get over yourself?” Shauna snaps at her, standing up abruptly. Jackie stays surprisingly calm. she squints her eyes at Shauna with that scrutinizing gaze— that look she got when she was trying to figure out which dress looked better on her, or if she was trying to lie.

Shauna shifts uncomfortable on the balls of her feet. Jackie finally hums, cupping Shauna’s sharp jaw. “I'll get over myself when you stop thinking of my memory like I was a self-centred bitch.”

she steps back, gesturing to her snow-crusted outfit, the blueness of her face. “I'm dead, remember? Even if I was like this….you took any chance I had of getting redemption. So yeah—”, Jackie’s voice cracks on the last syllable, “thanks a lot, Shauna.”

Shauna deflates like a balloon pricked. she stares at the ground, drawing patterns in the dirt with the toe of her boot. “I'm sorry.” she says quietly after a beat of silence. “I didn't want you to die.”

she hears Jackie sigh deeply. “I know.”

Shauna finally looks up at Jackie. she looks like normal Jackie again. the same Jackie she slept next to, giggled with, picked out pretty little dresses with, the same Jackie she kissed during slumber parties because being drunk was the only excuse she had to do so. the only excuse they both had.

Jackie looks around the cramped hut nonchalantly, her face completely passive though her eyes reflect a certain something that Shauna can't put a name to. “Where is your girl saviour anyway?”

Shauna grits her teeth to stop herself from snapping at Jackie again and telling her to stop using that dumb nickname. instead, she goes, “Why do you even care?”

Jackie looks at her like she just told her that she wanted to take her pet rock for a walk. She scrunches up her face and runs a hand through her frosty hair. Shauna flinches at the crackle. “Well, cuz she brought me back, y'know? To you, I mean. Not- literally, that would be insane.”

now it's Shauna’s turn to pucker up her face like she bit into a lemon. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that she brought me back to you. Don't you remember the first time I came back after the whole….ear thing?”

well yes, Shauna remembers, of course she does. it happened the first night you moved into her hut. you had just started dating, she had just asked you to be her girl.

she asked if you were fine with moving in with her and you gave your approval. she moved you in without further ado (god, she was just the living stereotype of a u-haul lesbian, huh?). it's not like you had many possessions to move anyway.

she couldn't sleep that first night unlike you, who passed out immediately. she just sat and stared down at you next to her. your slow breaths filled the room, you twitched every now and then, letting out the cutest little snores.

she wasn't sure what it was, but there was an unease in her gut. butterflies, perhaps. you were her first girlfriend, after all— her first actual relationship, as a matter of fact. and she liked you. really liked you. even if you were a bit too devoted to the Wilderness and it's trashy opinion.

but she knew it wasn't that, not really. it was fear. everything she had worth living for was taken from her, time and time again.

her life. her early acceptance to Brown. that nationals win, though it was more for Jackie than for herself. Jackie. her baby. hell, she had finally gotten attached to that ramshackled cabin and then it had to go and burn down. even Coach Scott had run off, though she was never all that affectionate towards him.

it only made sense that her shitty luck would continue with you too, right?

just as she was coming to this highly depressing realisation, she heard a familiar, raspy laugh. she froze, her eyes locking in on the gold necklace glinting around your neck. she had given it to you for safekeeping, a spur of the moment thing with no further thoughts.

she didn't have to look up to know who it was, she didn't want to look up. but against her better judgement, she did anyway. because her heart ached to see her again, even if her brain told her that it was the stink fumes from the village making her hallucinate.

Jackie stood just beside your head, her arms crossed tightly like that habit of hers, looking as freezing cold as the day she died, a warm grin on her face.

“Hiya, Shipman.”

and then it had all basically been downhill from there. y'know, as it is when you start seeing the ‘ghost’ of your dead, soccer captain bestfriend who you posthumously cannibalised with the rest of your teammates.

Jackie followed her around everywhere. like a….well, a ghost. and she seemed interested in you. Shauna didn't like that.

Jackie always had to have whatever Shauna wanted. always. she couldn't even give herself to Shauna when she wanted her the most. what a selfish bitch.

she noticed. how Jackie looked at you when you would tell Shauna about your day, the visions you saw. how she grimaced, just like Shauna did, whenever you would excitedly bring up Lottie with that sparkle in your eye.

sometimes, when you said something particularly kooky, Shauna would pull a face when you turned away and look over to see Jackie, with her own expression reflected back at her.

Shauna hated it. but she couldn't say it was far from reality. she was always so like Jackie.

they spent so much time together that sometimes, Shauna would find herself standing in the mirror, desperately trying to change something about herself— a new hair colour, a different set of earrings, a new style, just to distinguish herself from Jackie.

as a way to assure herself that she wasn't just another head attached to Jackie, a less popular, less loved version of her that followed her around like a shadow.

so Shauna keeps her mouth shut. she looks up at Jackie, who's looking down at her expectantly, with that all-knowing look she used to get when she knew exactly what Shauna was thinking. in this case, she does.

Shauna slumps, her shoulders drooping sullenly. “She's with Lottie.”, she mumbles out finally, fidgeting with the strap of her gun.

she hears Jackie scoff at the revelation. just like how she held herself back from reacting when you told her. but it makes sense. after all, this Jackie is just a manifestation of Shauna's inner thoughts.

“And you let her? You let your girlfriend go off with that psycho who thinks god sent her down to share her looney prophecies?” Shauna prickles at the disbelief in her tone but can't deny that it's a valid response. Jackie's just verbalising what she thought after you walked off with Lottie into the woods.

“I wasn't thinking-” Shauna starts off but Jackie cuts through her words. “Oh please! Get it together, Shipman. That's your girl. Grow a pair already.”

Shauna starts, standing up, ready to tear her a new one without fear of sounding like she's completely lost her marbles, yelling at a non-existent ghost when your voice rings in her ears.

she immediately grows alert, her head snapping in your direction like a guard dog. her senses detect your voice coming from beyond the doorway of her hut and sure enough, you're charging towards her at full speed, a massive grin etched on your face.

she does a quick check around the hut— Jackie has disappeared. so she returns your grin as you barrel towards her at full speed, knocking the wind out of her as you fall to the ground.

she matches your verve, caging you in her arms as you giggle on top of her, sounding just a bit too intoxicated for her liking. it's nice to have someone who doesn't show her animosity every second of the day.

she will have to talk to Lottie about this getting high on mushrooms business however. she's not sure if she wants you drugged up and gushing like a middle school girl with a crush all the time. there's only so much a girl can take, really.

“Have a good day?”, she asks, her voice soft— a tone you recognise from before the crash. you nod, rolling over onto your threadbare bed and relieving her chest of your weight.

this is your cue to launch into long winded tangents about your visions and detailed explanations on what you saw with Lottie and what Lottie thought as well as Shauna’s cue to check out of these conversations.

she's found that she likes the cadence of your voice during these rambles a lot more than she actually likes the subject topic.

she likes to stare at your face when you're talking, to see that excited, almost manic gleam in your eyes, how your eyebrows furrow together when you struggle to remember the day's events (given that you were high as a kite for most of them), the scrunch of your nose, the movement of your lips.

she thinks that you know that she's not really listening, that you're just relieved to have someone to unload the information you're brimming with on, like an erudite.

you finally finish your rant with a full description on how you made your way back to Shauna after your long day. you shoot her a goofy grin, and her lips twitch upwards into a smile against her will.

she feels strangely bashful, like she used to feel when Jackie did— basically anything. she hasn't felt anything so juvenile in ages. you're not a filler to replace the Jackie-shaped hole in her heart, but you're healing it anyway.

you snuggle under the bedrolls, pulling up your patchy blanket and making grabby hands at Shauna. she rolls her eyes playfully, but scoots over to your little palette of the hut and curls up against you, soaking in your body heat in the frosty air whipping her hair around loosely.

“I love you, Shauna.” you mumble to her, rubbing your eye with your free hand. you're already drifting, drained from the arduous task of shirking your duties and seeing divine visions with the local shrink instead.

Shauna stiffens under your chilly hands— you run cold at night, and then quickly shakes it off.

she mumbles some gibberish under her breath— it could've been anything from “love you too” or “tie your shoes” and she winces, painfully self aware of how embarrassing that was.

you accept the mumbled nonsense with a wry smile, cuddling closer to her. Shauna feels the murky pit of guilt that lies dormant in her stomach expand but she can't help herself.

she rests her chin on your head cautiously, as though afraid you're gonna explode at her for not returning the sentiment.

admitting that she loves you means admitting that she still has something left to lose.

but it doesn't matter. she has time, a lot of time. she'll keep you safe till she's ready to say it back. it's not like anyone in the village would dare to spit on your name with her as your guard dog/girlfriend.

“g’night, angel.” she whispers into your hair. but you're already snoring quietly, completely tuckered out. slowly but surely, Shauna drifts off into a deep slumber too.

only, the others aren't the problem, it seems, because she jolts awake to Jackie’s voice calling her. her breathing is heavy, she can't even remember what she was dreaming about. she wipes the beads of sweat from her forehead, sighing heavily. the nightmares get more frequent the closer winter comes.

she frowns as her breath mists up in front of her. Jackie whistles to get her attention. her eyes snap back up to her, miffed. only, Jackie nods to the spot next to you, a small, sorrowful smile playing on her blue lips. wait— blue?

dread clouding in her stomach for a reason she can't comprehend, Shauna slowly turns her head to the side— and immediately feels like she's been punched in the gut. the wind is knocked clean out of her. like the weather— the bedroll next to hers is cold.

she kicks off her sheets blindly, struggling to pull on a loose flannel that offers no protection against the cold. getting up on her shaking feet is an arduous task that nearly causes her to collapse.

when her vision clears, she's staring straight into the village— the white, cold expanse of land stretching for miles, coating trees and covering hills she can barely see.

she doesn't realise that she's frozen in her place until a cold, ghostly finger prods her in the side of her stomach.

Jackie stands next to her, in her full posthumous glory, arms crossed and looking far too pissed for someone supposedly reaching out from beyond the grave. “Well? Are you not even gonna try to find her?"

her words kickstart something in Shauna, like a shot of adrenaline administered straight to her pumping heart.

she stumbles out of the hut on two feet that feel like they've been attached to the completely wrong body. two left feet— or differently sized limbs.

“Angel?” she calls out. her voice is small, frail, crackly. Jackie's followed her out on quiet feet, now just looking at her with rue.

“Try being louder.” Jackie reprimands quietly.

Shauna does. she screams your name, loud as her raspy voice box will allow her to go. the single-voiced scream of her throat echoes, cacophonous, waking up nearly everyone in the village.

one by one, they start emerging from different huts. Tai, Van, Robin, Mari— but not hide or hair of you is in sight.

she's shrieking now. calling your name over and over, hoping by whichever deity’s listening’s grace that perhaps you've passed out in someone's hut— or maybe that you're scouting at the edge of the village for any thatches of edible plants that may have survived the snowstorm.

gods above, she'd be pissed if you were lying piss-drunk in Mari’s hut, alcohol-poisoned by berry wine, convalescent— but so relieved.

she's vaguely aware of everyone gathering around her. their questions echo in her ears— she's listening, but she's not.

she cranes her head to her right, looking at Jackie for answers instinctively, as she always has. but Jackie just shrugs at her, mournful, her eyes reflective like a cat’s.

“Do you remember this, Shipman?”

that hits like a kick to the teeth. she nearly staggers backwards. yeah she remembers. of course she does. waking up to snow and a cold bedroll. peering out the window, feeling her stomach shrivel into a little ball, wrenching open the door of the cabin and nearly ripping it off its hinges, digging in the snow for a girl too far gone to save.

“No….” she mumbles, tears blurring her vision. hands are grasping at her, feeble attempts to comfort her, but she shoves them off.

“No!” she lunges forward, scrabbling at the nearest snow-covered lump in the ground, praying to everyone, anyone who will listen, that she won't find your freezing body in the cold, won't lose another love to the wilderness, won't have to be left alone with the weight of unspoken words on her shoulders, words that aren't fit to be said over someone's cold body.

a warm, firm pair of hands grip her shoulders, grounding her against the flood of frigid hostility and judgement around her. she looks up through teary eyes at Tai, who's face is pale but stern. “Shauna. We can't help if we don't know what's happened.”

the support in her voice is a welcome change among the glacial treatment Shauna’s been receiving since she lost her baby. the promise of a friend among people who she knows hate her, chips at the last bits of her armour and Shauna shatters.

she clambers into Tai’s steady arms, sobbing into her shoulder. “She's gone, Tai. She's gone! She- she left in the middle of the night, or- or maybe at dawn— I don't- she's gone!”

she feels Tai stiffen in her arms. the air shifts in tone, the surprised whispers shifting to concerned murmurs. the subtext is practically unspoken. everyone remembers that day crystal clear, far better than they remember anything else that's happened out here.

Tai rubs her back before pushing her a little ways away. she turns back to the group, looking haggard but determined. the group may not care much for Shauna, but you're well-respected among them.

“Get the lanterns. Take the horn and stay together in packs of two or three. Don't get lost. Cover her usual pastime spots. Use our signal if you find her.” her words ring out clear and commanding amongst the chaos, bringing the stability everyone needs.

if she wasn't wrecked mentally, Shauna would find the reaction to Tai’s commands threatening— and just the slightest bit lonely.

the group didn't respond well to her. they never did. she wasn't half the natural leader Jackie was, let alone quarter the person.

she doesn't fit in. she never has. even before the crash, she stuck out like a sore thumb among the team, masked by Jackie's brilliance.

they hated her, despised her for the path she chose to take after her grief. she couldn't exactly say she blamed them. if she was anyone else, she'd loathe her too. she already did.

Tai takes her by the forearm and propels her after her. She's in a group of three, Shauna— her, Tai and Jackie, who's tailing behind them quietly, one hand clutched to the chain around her neck, her eyes seeing far, far away, visible to only Shauna.

the frost cuts her nose with each stinging breath. she's aware of the crunch of trampled branches underneath her heavy boots— Tai had forced warmer clothes on her, despite her insistence that she needed to go look for you now.

Tai's basically acting as her limbs for her, since she feels detached from her own body. like she's watching the entire thing play out from Jackie’s point of view.

they make their way through the woods together, Tai’s hand clasped firmly in hers, a warm press that squeezes and brings her back down to earth when she's too far gone to work her body.

she finds that it's easier to keep her head out of the clouds when she's counting her steps. one, two, three…

she's struggling for air, her breath coming in sharp, jagged gasps through her mouth as her body continuously rejects the life-saving oxygen— already halfway there with you, with her baby, with Jackie.

she turns to Jackie occasionally, silently pleading with the girl to tell her something, anything. Jackie only replies in one sentence, over and over, in that infuriatingly pitiful tone— “You can't save her."

just when she thinks she might actually stop breathing, Shauna runs right into what seems to her to be a hard, cold wall. she's knocked back on her back, struggling to breathe.

she massages the back of her head slowly, looking up to find Tai sliding in and out of vision. she seems to have cut herself on something— a stray branch laying in her path, perhaps, because when she pulls her hand away from her head, it's soaked in blood.

only, as her gaze slides around the area, her sight lands on another stirring figure. a figure she didn't see when everyone had convened to start the search for you. the figure who she knew had been a bad influence on you all along.

it all clicks into place.

“You…!”

Shauna gasps out, jumping to her feet. she lunges at the feeble figure, knocking Lottie Matthews right back on her back.

she lands a solid couple of punches, right on Lottie's austere face before Tai drags her off, yelling imprecations that would make a sailor blush.

“I- should've- known!” Shauna snarls, writhing against Tai’s headlock, hissing and spitting like a scorned cat.

her shrivelled stomach curls in on itself in fury, the little monster that sits inside her at all times bashing itself against her ribs, begging to be set loose on Lottie. to peel the skin off each limb till she's separated from her body, till she can't spout her foul visions anymore.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO HER?” Shauna wails, her fists flailing, hitting Tai’s gloved hands over and over again.

Lottie stands up again slowly, not even wincing at being knocked flat on her ass twice. she pushes her blood-streaked hair away from her face, those deep eyes of hers locking onto Shauna. “I didn't do anything. She was chosen…”

“FUCK THAT!” Shauna howls, cutting through her words. she wants to strangle her, rip her apart, limb from limb…

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO MY GIRLFRIEND, YOU FUCKING PSYCHO?!” her voice cracks as she screams, her throat sore and raw from yelling but she keeps going.

Lottie holds her hands up placatingly, trying to mollify Shauna, contributing to Tai’s strenuous efforts. “Shauna, please. You have to understand….”

it's Tai who cuts her off this time. her sharp eyes, unamused and commanding, bore into Lottie. “Lot. Where is she?”

Lottie sighs, as if she's doing them some great favour by telling them how to prevent your imminent death.

“She's at the caves—” she starts, but Shauna is already wrenching herself out of Tai’s grips with no further qualms, barrelling towards the caves on pure, animalistic instinct.

Jackie suddenly breaks into a run besides her, flanking her closely. like at regionals, a little voice whispers inside her head. the company makes something flare inside her and she finds herself at the cracks leading into those damn caves in no time.

she doesn't need to go far to find you. you're right there— lying in a heap on the ground, trembling in your springtime attire.

“Angel?” Shauna's voice breaks as she lurches forwards, turning you over. your eyes are closed and your nose is red from the cold. your face is just the slightest tinge of blue, almost unnoticeable to the untrained eye— but she spent months in that shed with dead, frozen Jackie.

your lips are parted, curved upwards just slightly, like you're smiling.

one of your hands is splayed under you, twitching and coated in dried blood from a deep gash that stretches across your palm. the other is clenched around Jackie’s necklace, sitting on your collarbones.

when she prises your frigid hand open, she sees the imprint of the heart on your cold palm and nearly splits open at the seams.

she looks up, blindsided and sees something drawn on the stone altar in front of her. it makes her blood boil. the symbol is drawn near perfectly on the granite, red— clearly your blood.

just as she's about to lose her mind and break down completely, begging you to wake up like she did at 17, Jackie takes a small step forward towards you.

but she's not as corporeal as she usually is. she's almost flickering, wisps of smoke emerging from the edges of her silhouette that could've been passed off as a trick of the lights.

she's coated in snow, blue and pale. she drops to her knees next to you and silently curls up next to you, mirroring your position perfectly.

Shauna watches, a complete basket case, too stunned to speak as Jackie's free hand clutches yours. she can practically see the tremor of the universe as living flesh comes in contact with ghostly flesh.

“Don't.” her voice is meek and small to herself as she begs, pleads with Jackie not to take you with her. because she won't survive without you. she knows she won't.

Jackie looks up, seemingly surprised at her presence. she looks irked suddenly, rolling her eyes as she sits up, glaring at Shauna. “Jeez, Shipman. I'm not the fricking Grim Reaper or something.”

her piercing eyes flicker to you and then soften. she reaches out and brushes a strand of hair away from your closed eyes. “But she doesn't have much left in her. You have to get her out like- now.”

Shauna makes a move to get you, but finds that her body won't move. she starts to cough, suddenly remembering why no one else except for Lottie and her gaggle of acolytes ever came her. Jackie eyes her up in pitiful disgust. “You should get out too.”

‘No shit!’ Shauna wants to snap at her, but she can't even find it in herself to move her eyelids. they flutter shut against her will as Jackie takes your head in her lap. the last thing she hears is Tai calling her name and then the sound of frantic footsteps.

when she comes to, she's in Misty’s hut. her head is reeling from the effects of the fumes— but she didn't have any visions this time— thankfully and concerningly. because if she didn't have any visions, neither did you. you risked your life for nothing.

she looks up, rubbing her red eyes, and sees Jackie. she winks at her, that sly smirk on her lips, before her features morph into a concerned Misty’s.

Shauna jerks upright, nearly avoiding knocking Misty’s jaw clean off. she throws the heap of blankets off herself. “Where- where is she?” she chokes out to the group of girls around her— the designated healers; Misty, Gen, Mari and Melissa.

“Shauna, you need to rest-” Misty starts but Shauna holds up her hand, feeling a rush of unbridled fury and horrified grief shake her body.

Gen points silently across the village, to Shauna’s hut. Shauna ducks under the entrance of the hut on trembling legs, practically sprinting across the village, trudging through the snow.

she nearly sobs in relief when she sees you, huddled up in multiple layers of blankets, sitting isolated in the small silence your hut grants.

she does sob, in fact. she crashes into your arms, completely ignoring that you nearly suffered hypothermia just— well, she's not sure exactly how long ago. but she doesn't care.

her arms loop around you and squeeze, wandering your body as if re-familiarizing herself with you, even if she saw you not too long ago. she takes in every curve, every dip, committing it to memory.

she doesn't want to let you go again, scared that you'll meet the same fate as Jackie, who left her on a cold, dark night like this one.

“I'm sorry.” she weeps into your neck, over and over again. she's not sure what she's apologising for. something, she's sure. she's guilty of so much, she could fill a journal with her wrongdoings.

she pulls away and looks into your eyes, her voice strangled— “I love you. I love you, I love you so much.”

ah. she's finally saying it. her hands are cupping your face, the calloused pads of her thumbs rubbing over your cheeks over and over again. out of the corner of her eye, she sees Jackie giving her a wide grin and two thumbs ups.

you just smile calmly, your eyes sparkling and radiant. your face is serene as you gently grasp her wrists and set them down on her lap, looking at her with utter admiration and devotion, like she hung the stars in the sky. it makes her squirm in her spot.

you kiss her, softly, but it's heady and intoxicating, becoming fervid in intensity quickly. perhaps it's the adrenaline rush boosting her need for you, the overwhelming emotions. it's different from all the other ones you've shared countless times, in this same spot.

she's panting when you pull away. she scans your face, trying to figure out what changed in you after your stint at the au natural asylum.

“It's okay.” you tell her, your voice a soothing mutter that makes all the tension leave her shoulders. you cup her face in your hands, squishing lightly. “You have a much, much bigger part in our community than you could ever know.”

your voice is so convincing, that Shauna has to admit— she almost believes you.

————————————————————

a/n: this is lazy and rushed and I'm so sorry to the anon who requested this but it's like 2 am and I was struck by sudden inspiration to finish this in four hours so here, have this low effort thing !

requests are open for all the Yellowjackets girlies, dead or alive !

taglist : @silkchiffoner

[lc-birdie]

What if nurse!reader likes Dennis but is scared to tell him until she overhears him asking Robby for advice on how to ask her out

For once it was an almost slow day. Holidays always were. Small issues could wait another day and besides some burns from first time holiday cooks there wasn't much for everyone to do. Thanksgiving was just one of those holidays.

It left everyone to try and fill the time as the day dragged along with no patients to distract them. Which led to the current situation, small groups congregating around the Pitt.

You were catching up on charting the last patient, an unfortunate soul who didn't fully defrost their turkey and led to some second and third degree burns up his arms. It wasn't the most entertaining way to pass the time, much preferring to hear the latest updates of the ED from Princess and Perlah. However, it did give you an excuse to avoid a certain Med Student.

Dennis Whitaker. A slow growing friendship that had begun to morph in the last couple of weeks of working together into something more. The flutters of an almost school-age crush that made words unobtainable in those brief moments, heart racing to unhealthy paces, and an inescapable heat up your neck and ears.

The way his eyes always seemed to shine with this glint of anticipation and positivity. The way his face seemed to never show the hard lines of negativity or anger. The small quirk of his lips that would turn into an occasional smile. The little face he would pull when-

"Hey," your train of thought was cut off as your name was called. Donnie walked up to you. "Can you help me clean up this patient real quick?"

"Yea I gotcha." You follow him into the room.

"Alright sir we're all done just hit that light if you need anything." You pull off your gloves as you exit the room, swinging the door behind you. Reaching your hand out to get hand sanitizer you freeze mid motion as you catch the tail end of a sentence.

"-and if you're sure that this is the person for you, take the chance. You only have so much longer in this rotation. Don't hold out and miss your opportunity." It was Robby.

"Yea I just-what if they don't feel the same? I don't want to mess this up..." Almost on cue you crane your head around the corner as Dennis continues, "they're just so cool and like good at what they do. They're just incredible and I'm out of my depth here."

You make eye contact with Robby as he begins to fight back a smile. "Well I think the best thing that you can do is just tell them," he states as he slightly nods his head towards you, over Dennis' shoulder.

His head whips back as his face flushes a bright red. "umm-I-uh..."

"I'll leave you two to it." Robby jokes as he pats Whitaker on the shoulder before making his exit.

"I'm sorry-I didn't umm know you were going to hear that." Dennis admitted as he rubbed the back of his neck.

You smiled at him, grin splitting your face. Reaching forward, you brushed your hand up his arm to where it landed on his bicep. "Well if you really mean it, I'm free after work tomorrow..."

"Yea absolutely I'd love to-its-um-its a date then", he stammered out as he smiled.

[badassbutterfly1987]

(ID: Pic 1: Words on a white background next to an analog clock. "'It will get better', they say. I've been waiting for years for it to get better."

Pic 2: "Cause everyone's growing and everyone's healthy. I'm terrified that I might never have met me."

Pic 3: "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. This may be me at my best."

Pic 4: "The buttons of my coat were tangled in my hair. In doctor's office lighting, I didn't tell you I was scared. That was the first time that we were there."

Pic 5: "All of this turbulence wasn't forecasted, apologies from the intercom, and I am relieved I'd left my room tidy. They'll think of me kindly when they come for my things."

Pic 6: "I burn for what's no longer mine."

Pic 7: "Do you miss it? Can you feel it? How do you cope? Where do you put the pain? Where do you leave it when you lie down to sleep? Do you sleep? Have you been sleeping? Or is everything too much? Have you considered taking a step back? Have you looked at your choices lately? Are you still you?"

Pic 8: "You can never go back! You can never go back! You can bite and scratch and beg but you can never go back!"

Pic 9: Words laid over the siloughette of a person walking along a beach. "I feel trapped in a body that doesn't want me to be truly happy."

Pic 10: "I'll let Him take accountability for everything that's wrong with me. Can't hold myself responsible so I blame the metaphysical. If Jesus died for all our sins, He left one behind, the body I'm in. Same hands that made the moon and the stars got carpal tunnel and forgot some parts. I don't know what I believe, but it's easier to think He made a mistake with me."

Pic 11: "It is overwhelming that I will carry this for the rest of my life."

Pic 12: "Somebody get me a hammer. Wanna break all the clocks and the mirrors, and go back to a time that was different. A time when I didn't feel like something was missing, now my body and mind are so distant."

Pic 13: "Tell me where to put the anger. Tell me where to put the anger. Tell me where to put the anger."

Pic 14: "Most days I don't recognize me."

Pic 15: "Holy orange bottles, each night, I pray to you. Desperate people find faith, so now I pray to Jesus too." End ID.)

Was I made from a broken mold?

@camaceall/growing sideways, noah kahan/calling a wolf a wolf, kaveh akbar/soon you'll get better, taylor swift/the last words of a shooting star, mitski/unknown/unknown/ @ryebreadgf/@/geloyconcepcion on instagram/god must hate me, catie turner/words from @/simply.simoney on instagram/I can't breath, bea miller/@holyaches on twitter/she used to be mine, sara bareilles/soon you'll get better, taylor swift/idontwannabeyouanymore, billie eilish

[cintasvel]

i am trying to process my feelings about vel, cinta and velcinta because for a long time i didn't even think we'd get featured queer characters in star wars. i remember feeling completely disillusioned by the rise of skywalker same-sex kiss because it felt so out of touch to celebrate the bare minimum, or as i like to put it, crumbs. it didn't bring me joy.

when andor s1 happened, i was so overwhelmingly surprised to see vel and cinta as an actual couple. i genuinely could not believe it. the 'blanket' line really threw me and, after not expecting anything from star wars when it came to queerness, i was so flabbergasted to see genuine love and yearning between vel and cinta. like, it's bonkers to me that some people thought that relationship was remotely one-sided, but i've learned that many people will not give a sapphic couple the time and attention they deserve so i move past that.

throughout the wait for s2, i was so excited to see how vel and cinta's relationship would develop. how cinta's way of thinking would be challenged majorly, and what that would mean for the both of them. i think it's this waiting and hoping for better, for seeing how well conveyed vel and cinta's relationship was in s1, was ultimately what led me to feeling so betrayed with what happened instead. i don't think i'll ever forgive or not resent the writing decisions that led to cinta not being considered a character worth exploring. or, worse, only used as a tool to bring vel pain. i think, personally, cinta deserved to be more than just a lesson for vel to learn from. but that's neither here nor there.

ultimately, i'm so happy vel and cinta even exist. and i realize, even as i'm writing this, that to some velcinta will always be crumbs and i get it to a certain extent. because at the moment the wound feels so incredibly fresh and so undeserved and senseless and downright cruel. but for me, velcinta was not crumbs and their relationship will always mean the absolute world to me. the love story between a stone cold warrior who chooses love in the end and a rich girl who abandoned her life of privilege to become a rebel will always matter to me. i didn't think we've ever get it. i wish it hadn't been taken away and effectively shot out back by creators who, to be frank, simply don't get the intersection between gender, sexuality and revolution. but just because it's effectively 'ended', doesn't mean it stops mattering.

as an aside: it is also a very humble reminder for me that i should seek intersectional media from non-white male creators far more often than i already do. it won't always stop disappointment as big as this from happening, but i at least know i won't feel incredibly punked by it as i have with andor season 2.

anyway. velcinta forever i love my space lesbians <3

[lifeafterpsychiatry]

Friendship as an autistic person is so hard because I'll set a boundary and say "if you do x, I'll leave," and then the NTs walk away from that conversation thinking "what did she mean by that? It couldn't have been 'don't do x,' she must have meant something else and I'll keep doing it anyway," only for us to keep having the same issue over and over because no matter how many times I have to call them out and reset the same boundary or reasonable friendship expectation, they're literally incapable of understanding direct communication. They kept swearing they'll do better and apologising but never do because they literally always have to read between lines that aren't there and overcomplicate things or continue to make wrong assumptions.

I don't speak NT. I don't know what magical combination of words to pick to get them to hear me.

Anyway, in hindsight I'm sure me being autistic is why I had an impossible time making and maintaining friends throughout my entire life. I think I need to just give up on making NT friends altogether because we clearly aren't compatible. There aren't a lot of other autistic people around to try to befriend either so idk maybe I don't get to have friends.

Honestly what you're describing here isn't a regular "silly neurotypicals" thing. I'm not saying that there isn't a tendency among allistics to try to read between lines when they aren't supposed to, but if someone repeatedly reacts to you expressing a direct specific "don't do this to me" boundary by deliberately crossing it and playing mind games, then that goes far beyond communication style differences. That's an abuser, or at least a very toxic individual, not just some stupid neurotypical who doesn't get it. Most people aren't actually incapable of understanding direct communication, neurotypical or not

[soulsforsales]

"You died and I stayed."

Part 2 Here's the link to Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/soulsforsales/783518452290912256/you-dont-remember-what-turn-you-took-to-end-up?source=share (Sorryyy about the link being shown like this, I am dumb with computers!)

"For the first time in what feels like forever, you laugh. And he’s there to see it."

(Warnings/Possible Triggers: Attempted harassment, nothing else really, angst, grief??)

You aren't sure how you woke up in your bed that night, but you did.

Honestly, you barely remember what happened after Red Hood stepped in. You remember him whispering reassurances that sounded too intimate.

You remember strong arms wrapping around you.

You remember letting go because it felt safe. Like finding calm in the middle of a storm.

You shake those thoughts from your head quickly as you down another tequila shot, though. The last person you needed to feel calm around was the freaking Red Hood.

But you remember the way he brushed your hair back, the way he looked at you like you mattered, like he cared. Like he could.

You haven't seen Red Hood since then. And you don't expect to. You've seen the vigilante game close enough to know that they appear and disappear like shadows. Like ghosts.

The last few days melted—just like they always do—into the same five things: the ache behind your eyes, your medication bottle that’s somehow always either full or empty, flickering static from the TV, and shadows that move even when you don’t.

You dreamt of Jason again. His sea-foam eyes, the barely there moon-shaped dimple on his right cheek, the curve of his smile when he winked at you before disappearing into the night.

But it doesn't matter. It shouldn't matter. You're not supposed to be this broken.

You're not supposed to still miss him.

But you do.

So, you came to the only place in Gotham where the void in your chest ached less and no one looked at you with pity in their eyes.

A shitty bar with sticky floors, drinks that burn just right, and neon lights that feel like judgment and terrible maintenance.

You drink until the music becomes a blur and the corner of your eyes burn with tears you won't let out. You drink until the heaviness in your stomach dulls enough that you can breathe again.

Maybe tonight you'll be too gone to hear his laugh in your sleep. Maybe tonight you'll forget that you're more than everyone and everything you've lost.

You're halfway down your fourth drink when a man appears beside you. Too close, too loud, and way too confident for someone with that face.

"Hey, there. All by yourself, sweetheart?" He grins, showing a set of yellowing teeth.

You grimace, too tired to care about being nice, "not interested," you tell him before grabbing your coat and walking out.

The cold Gotham wind, always carrying that hint of dampness like it just wept, hits your face.

You wrap your coat around yourself and begin walking. But soon, you hear footsteps that match your own.

The fucker followed you, of course he did.

"You need help getting home, sweetheart?" He asks, a chuckle joining his words, like this is amusing.

You don't turn. "I already said I'm not interested, asshole."

He grabs your wrist. The audacity.

You barely move when your elbow meets his ribs.

Everything inside you - the grief, the fury, the way the world cracked open and never healed - snaps.

Your body remembers what your soul keeps trying to forget.

The man doubles over, gasping, clutching his side, and staring at you like this is all your fault.

You kick his knee, unyielding, hard, and he falls to the ground.

Even through the alcohol still pulsing through your veins, your voice carries, "Touch me again and I'll break more than just ribs."

He scrambles away, cursing.

You're breathing heavily from adrenaline when a low whistle from the shadows grabs your attention.

"Not bad," That voice-gruff, and low, and just right, comes before he does.

Red Hood steps onto the pavement, hood drawn, domino mask glinting under the dying streetlight.

"Were you watching me?" You ask, sharper than you mean to, chest still heaving, but your hands don't shake. Not this time.

He crosses his arms. His sleeves stretch around his muscles like they're barely holding on. You try not to look.

He shrugs, "Was gonna step in. But then you turned into a one-woman SWAT team. Didn't want to get in the way."

You blink at him. And then, against all reason, all logic, you snort.

He tilts his head, and even through the mask covering his eyes, something about his gaze is intense. You shiver and blame it on the wind.

"But, honestly," He continues, "Your form's a little rusty. What's it been? A few years?" He asks as if he already knows the answer. You don't care.

"A lifetime," you slur, giving him a drunken half-smile, then add, "You always stalk drunk women at the bar?"

He scoffs, "Only the ones who kick ass."

That gets a laugh out of you. An actual one, the kind that hits your lungs. You startle yourself, you didn't think you were capable of that anymore.

Red Hood notices. You see it in the way he raises a brow, the shift in his posture, like he released a breath he was holding in for too long.

You two stand there for a quiet moment before you add, unsure of why, maybe it's the alcohol making you bolder.

"Want a drink?"

He gives you a skeptical look, like you just asked him to wear a pink sweater and parade around Gotham.

You shake your head, but before you can say "never mind, that was stupid," he's nodding.

"One drink," he agrees, "so you can tell your friends about it."

You can't see it but you know he's grinning behind that mask and despite yourself, you roll your eyes.

"How kind," you mock, and he falls in step beside you.

You end up at a corner table in the same shitty bar. Two drinks between you. He takes off the mask that covers his lower face. It's too dark for you to see him, but you catch a glimpse of a scar that runs across his upper lip.

It should feel awkward, maybe even scary - having drinks with a murderous vigilante in a dimly lit bar.

But it doesn't. If anything, it feels intimate, and you mentally slap yourself for thinking that. Again.

But it's hard not to notice how his lips curve up, how the scar stretches, when you two start trading barbs about Gotham's worst dive bars and petty criminals.

When he jokes about jumping off a rooftop and into a garbage truck on purpose, and you call him "gross."

And when you smile and laugh, it doesn't feel like a betrayal.

Later that night, Red Hood walks you home again. You're too drunk. He tucks you in bed, only this time, you remember it.

But you don't remember the way his hand lingers when he brushes his knuckles against your cheekbone, how he stays until your breathing evens out and your eyes droop close, how he wishes he could say more.

You don't dream of Jason that night. You don't hear that boyish, careless laugh echoing in the edges of your brain.

But you hear him. A laugh that sounds more like a strangled chuckle, like he will have to pay the price of laughing too loud, too fully. You feel his fingers, calloused, and rough, and slender, on your face.

You wake up with tears in your eyes.

A/N: Since you guys read (and liked?) the first part, here's a continuation, and yes, I am making this into a series.

Tagging: @emerald187 @awaywiththe @dinolily123 @peachymmk98 <3

Thank you for reading!! Love you all!!

[itseasytoremember]

[[For ease of reading, and so don't annoy everyone with more excessively long posts, I've posted the entirety of the story under the cut]]

Day 2

I feel like I'm going to want to start logging these posts. If for nothing else than a log of Things I Tried that DID NOT work. We will call this day 2 because I started writing this log yesterday. Or not yesterday, but like, last today. Yestertoday. Yestoday. This is dumb. Anyways.

My plan did not go to... Plan.

Let me explain the problem first, and then I'll explain my "plan."

A few loops ago, before I knew it was a loop, I figured I would skip my morning workout in the hopes of getting to work early, because "there was a lot of traffic on First st. these last few days" I hadn't yet realized it was always the SAME traffic.

Anyways I left early and sure enough there was no traffic. I was actually at the red when I saw the guy for the first time, he seemed distracted, he kept looking at his phone and then whipping his head around, clearly he was looking for something and, by the amount of sweat on his forehead, he had been for a while. I only really noticed the guy because every other person I could see was looking at him too. The crossing guard, the kids, their parents, the people at the cafe, everyone was looking at the dude having a really bad day. He wasn't exactly being subtle is what I'm getting at.

All of a sudden he looks across the street and gets this big relieved look, seemed to find whatever it was he was looking around for, and headed toward it. It's just unfortunate that the light had changed while he looked at his phone.

No one had time to react, to even say anything. One second twe were all watching some guy act out the 5 stages of grief at 7:35 am, the next a Ford F-150 turned him into paint.

So, my plan was this; to stop that from happening.

I'll admit it's not the most thorough plan but I figure what it lacks in steps, it makes up for in adaptability.

Today, I made it there just as the man was looking up from his phone, maybe 45 seconds later than the day before, which meant I was still early enough to get out of my car, run into the road and yell "HEY STOP" but decidedly not early enough to then avoid the fucking truck myself. Oh also, the guy still got hit. He ran onto the road, I guess to try to help me, and a BMW took his legs out. The bastard. What was he going to do? Reattach my spine?

Well I'm back in bed at home so I'll take that as suspicions: confirmed re:timeloop.

I'm going to go to work now, after that I'll figure out a plan to get to the intersection earlier.

Day 3: I'm stupid

Why the fuck was I still going to work. Yesterday I TRIED to warn my boss about his paper coffee cup having a bad seam, and when he rolled his eyes and took a sip, thus spilling coffee on himself YET again, he tried to make it MY fault. He said I somehow distracted him? I went back to my office thinking one day I should find a better way to spend my life once I'm out of this loop when it hit me, and man do I feel dumb. 9-5 for the last I don't even know how many actual days. I could have been planning. I could have been doing anything other than finance. So I quit. I mean it won't matter tomorrow but I've decided to stop going in regardless.

I'm going to spend the next few days experimenting. Currently I wake up with my alarm at 6:30, which gives me one hour to put into action my plan, my first goal is to try and extend that time as much as I can.

The morning after my brush with a pickup's grill, my neck and back were achy for about an hour, which leads me to believe that my body remembers something of the last days events, even if after a while they fade. I'm going to first try staying up all night, to see if I can just start the day at midnight, and failing that, I'm going to try the exciting plan of going to bed early and drinking loads of water, because changing my phone's alarm won't do anything as it will reset every morning anyways.

I'll make sure to keep note of anything interesting over the next few loops, but I doubt I'll make much actual progress. Still, this log ensures I remember what happened, every detail, so I can change it. why? Why not spend eternity trying to save a life.

Day 7

Okay staying up doesn't work. The second I pass midnight I pass out, waking up at my usual time, just a little more tired and sluggish than usual. I run the risk of actually sleeping through my alarm and losing precious minutes. Lacey's alarm actually woke me up the first time I tried it.

Chugging water just meant I had to rush to the bathroom when I woke up, but it was still my alarm waking me.

Weirdly, going to bed early was the the thing that did the trick. I didn't have much hope in this working, but Lacey has been going to bed early for the last 20 years of our marriage and she's always up well before her alarm, so I figured it couldn't hurt to try.

Now it's not like I'm gaining hours, but yesterday I went to bed at 9:00 pm and I'm currently writing this at 6:25 am. Is going to bed 2.5 hours early worth it for 5 extra minutes in the morning? Usually I'd say no, but this isn't a usual situation. 5 extra minutes might be the difference I need.

5 minutes does, unfortunately seem to be the max I can get though, two days ago I tried going to bed at 8:30 and all I got for it was a weird look from Lacey. If anything, It took me longer to fall asleep than at 9, and so I ended up actually sleeping in a few minutes before I realized what I was doing.

The guy steps into the path of the truck at exactly 7:35am, meaning I have 1 hour and 10 minutes to stop that from happening every day. That means prep, getting there, and execution of my plan must require a maximum of 70 minutes, including the 34 minutes it take for me to drive there.

Actually I wonder if there is a better route. I'm going to try a few different paths over the next couple loops, and keep note of which one is fastest.

Okay, my alarm just went off, I'm gonna try getting there early and just tackling the guy. Maybe I'm overthinking it and it's just that simple.

Day 8: it was NOT that simple.

So I tried just running up and tackling the guy. Apparently some people don't appreciate being, in bystanders words, "chased by a guy who ran out of his car."

So, when the guy RAN AWAY FROM THE MAN TRYING TO SAVE HIS LIFE, and INTO TRAFFIC, everyone made it seem like it was somehow MY fault, and I spent the rest of the day in a holding cell. I called Lacey to bail me out, but I couldn't reach her at work and they only allowed me one phone call. I suppose I could have sped up the wait by hanging myself in my cell or something dramatic like that but that just doesn't feel right to me.

Maybe if I keep getting arrested, sure, but it wasn't actually all that bad once the processing was done. I did what I imagine you are supposed to do in jail; I thought about what landed me in that position and how to prevent it from happening again. That left me with a few things I'm going to have to consider moving forward if I want to save this guy and also continue on with my life as normal.

Which, is still a time loop, but, again, I'm fine with routine. I'm also finding that I'm perfectly content with this situation now that I've found something interesting to do with my days. "Day". That's still annoying.

Okay here's my list of Things I Considered In Jail:

- I shouldn't resort to anything that can get me arrested, injured (or killed) or otherwise caught up in unnecessary shenanigans.

- If I get caught in a lie, remember what the person said, I can try again next time round. confidence works wonders.

- I should figure out the guys name, what he does, where he is headed etc, you are more likely to look and listen, rather than RUN INTO TRAFFIC, if the guy yelling at you is not yelling but instead calling your name, smiling and waving.

- On that note, be friendly and get there early. I was over thinking my prep and under thinking my follow through. Get up and out of bed, I can speed a little as long as I don't get pulled over, and get there and PARK your car.

Okay writing this out has given me more confidence in my next attempt. I probably won't update this log until I've made some progress.

Day 13

YES! PROGRESS!

First is that the guys name is Ben. The second, and indisputably bigger discovery, is that Ben does something different every day! Different! Meaning not looping! Or not perfectly looping at least. He’s still dying every day, which I’m not crazy about, but he definitely feels like he’s connected to the loop. It’s not anything big, but I’ve noticed he will have his phone in a different pocket from one loop to another, or he will arrive from a different direction. Recently he’s started to have this look of familiarity to me, even though before this he was a complete stranger to me.

I’ve optimised my morning routine and route to the intersection as much as possible, but Ben coming from different directions every loop means I have no way of preemptively stopping him. Just that he shows up on the south east corner looking frantic, checking his phone, he sees something, and walks across the street as the light changes. Honk boom splat and the day resets.

Actually now that I write that down it feels correct to me. I have no idea why I’m looping this one day over and over, maybe I’m not the only one. Maybe this is connected, maybe it isn’t. It doesn’t actually change anything if they are, because I still have no idea what caused this, or is saving Ben will actually do anything at all.

I’m not super proud of how I got his name to be honest. I tried to get Ben’s attention with the, “don’t I know you from somewhere?” line, but he politely excused himself from the conversation right into the path of an oncoming bus.

I was about to just run and call the cycle a bust, but I noticed that, the way the guys jacket fell, I could actually see his wallet in the breast pocket.

So… I pickpocketed a dying guy. TO SAVE HIS LIFE, still didn’t feel great. At least I didn’t get caught and end up in jail again.

Ben Morriston. He has a driver’s license and a student ID. Huh, he’s in med school. Ok doctor Ben. Nice to meet you. How do I keep you alive?

Day 21

I haven't made a log in a while because I haven't really made any progress, that is, until today. made an assumption about this that was absolutely screwing me over, but I figured out what it was and I've fixed the problem;

My mistake was being overly familiar with Ben. My first attempt at calling his name out worked to stop him, but once he asked me how I knew him he immediately sussed out that I didn't actually have an answer to that. That led him to getting really freaked out, he tried to run, he ran onto the street, and a car hit him again.

I realize now that I assumed Ben would be more receptive to someone he knew, which may be true, but I also assumed I had the ability to convince him I am someone he knows, which I don't.

So going forward I'm going to keep lying to an absolute minimum, not only because I'm bad at it, but it's unnecessary. “Hi, you look lost, can I help you?” I should also try to figure out where he's actually headed...

Day 27

Ben is going to the hospital! Not currently, I'll get to that, but that is where he is headed when I encounter him.

Ben is currently very much dead. Turns out traffic is not the only thing I need to worry about.

I had managed to both stop him from wandering into traffic and figure out his desired location, but unfortunately for both of us, we had hardly made half a block when a rogue AC unit fell out a window, filling an area of space previously occupied by poor Ben's head.

The loop before the AC unit, it was a tire that had rolled out of a mechanics shop that took him out. Before that, a falling hammer from a construction site.

The guy has fallen into the sewer because of improperly placed manhole covers, he's tripped on a rolling skateboard and broken his neck, he's been pushed into a pane of glass, and had a pane of glass fall on him. If we are both stuck in a loop he has the much worse deal. I've seen so much blood and death at this point I'm not even reacting anymore. But if I get it right even one time and he lives maybe it'll all be worth it.

Tomorrow I'm going to start wearing an ID badge I got from a conference years ago. The badge is expired but that doesn't matter, what matters is it's on a lanyard from St Joseph's hospital. The same hospital Ben is headed to.

What benefit? No one questions someone 1. With what looks like a hospital ID badge and 2. Calling them by their full legal name.

I'm not fucking around with this any more. Ben is getting in my car and I'll drive him myself to the hospital.

Day 29

Yesterday I got Ben to the hospital. He listened to me, got into the car, and I drove him there without a hitch.

He thanked me repeatedly and ran inside, and I followed him in just to make sure the whole building didn't explode or something.

Turns out Ben needed to get to the hospital because his wife was in labor. He made it just in time. Him, his wife, the baby, everyone was safe and sound.

I was in the waiting room, i didn't want to be in anyone's way but it didn't feel right leaving, so I was just sitting there when Ben ran into the hallway to get me.

Ben thanked me again, he hugged me and told me he was so happy I could be there with him. He looked at me and it was like I had known him his entire life. I told him truthfully that I was so happy I could help get where he was going, and that he should go be with his family. He insisted that he was, and asked if I wanted to meet his son.

It was an odd but beautiful moment, and I'm happy I was allowed to experience it. Afterwards, I went home to Lacey, and we went to bed.

The loop didn't end. I woke up with my alarm to find that everything was back as it was yesterday. That's fine with me. I'm going to go pick Ben up now, and I think after that I'll surprise Lacey with lunch at work. You, the thing they don't tell you about being stuck in a time loop is it's really not all that bad.

---

A newspaper obituary:

Joseph Duncan Morriston, Toronto, age 89, died peacefully at St Joseph's hospital, surrounded by his family and friends. Joe was always a kind soul who, after witnessing a catastrophic car accident, left a lucrative career on finance to become an EMT, where he saved countless lives and developed several procedures himself that are now considered best practices in care and ambulance driving.

Joe is survived by his son, Dr. Ben Morriston, and his grandson, Duncan Morrison, who was delivered at St Josephs just two days before Joe's passing.

Joe will interred at St James cemetery beside his wife, Lacey Morriston (1935-2023).

A public celebration of life will be held at the Etobicoke community centre, with anyone whose life was touched by Joe being welcome to come and share a story with the family.

Joe's family has kindly requested that, in lieu of flowers, those inclined may donate to the Alzheimer's Association of Canada.

---

UPDATE FOR OBITUARY POSTED YESTERDAY JOSEPH MORRISTON:

DUE TO AN OUTPOURING OF FEEDBACK BY THOSE JOE HAS HELPED, THE CELEBRATION OF LIFE HAS BEEN MOVED TO THE HARBORFRONT CENTRE, WHICH HAS BEEN KINDLY DONATED BY THE CITY, TO ACCOMMODATE THE LARGER CROWD EXPECTED.

The Thing They Don't Tell You About Being Stuck in a Time Loop

The first time round the time loop was honestly fine. Same with the second and the third. Honestly I didn't even realize i was in a time loop until day 7 or 8, and that was because the statistical chances of my boss spilling his coffee on himself, while in and of itself is not low, became exceedingly strained as the days went on.

But if it weren't for that, I probably would have never realised I was looping. Mock me all you like, I enjoy routine, I thrive with it, and so, yes, it may have taken me a little longer to realize my day was looping, but I would also argue that I am much less likely to succumb to some sort of mental break due to this situation. To some, I could imagine being stuck in a loop of one day would get boring, or even horrifying, I am not one of those people. Not only that, I was lucky enough to be stuck in a loop of a day in mid May, with decent weather, in my home city, with the woman I love. If it weren't for the fact that it's a work day, It would be perfect.

That and the man who keeps getting hit by cars.

The first time it happened I didn't notice. I feel terrible saying that but the first few days I was still going through things as though it was a normal day, and normally I take about 60 minutes from wakeup to leaving the house for work, which meant that by the time I would make it to the intersection where it happened, the car had been moved to the side of the road, and all I dealt with was a bit of traffic.

It wasn't until I started testing the parameters of the loop, breaking my routine, that I figured out what even caused the accident, but more on that later. For now, I have a plan to try and save this guy. I don't know why, but I feel like that's important. That he's important.

And I mean, what do I have to lose? Some time?

[ditzybeee]

❥・Jason Todd — bartender (nsfw)

❥・tags: nsfw, jason todd blurb, prince of gotham era, crushing!jason, bartender!reader, fem!compliments (pretty), gn!nicknames (angel, sweetheart), gn!reader, no use of y/n, brief mention of spiking drinks (joke, neither characters are drugged), praise, dry humping, cum eating, fingers in mouth, face fucking, cum swallowing

❥・word count: 1045

❥・─────────────────────

Jason Todd didn't like to drink on the job. He wasn't one to allow alcohol to impair his judgment when he's on a mission or managing the Iceberg Lounge.

So, when his bartender—who he'd been harboring feelings for—invites him for a drink as they're closing up the club, he doesn't refuse.

"Any preferences, boss? I can make a mean marg," you joke, wiping down the counter.

"Beer. Whatever's on tap," he mumbles, watching as you grab a pint glass and fill it.

He watches the way your arm flexes ever so slightly as you pull the tap.

The way your hand tilts the glass.

The way you look so focused—unnecessarily focused—on pouring his pint.

He glances away.

You place the glass onto a coaster and push it in front of him, returning to your closing duties.

"So, why'd you sit down for a drink today, boss?" You ask, eyeing as he sips the beer.

"Why'd you invite me?" He speaks into the glass.

You shrug, taking a pause in your cleaning. "You looked like you needed someone to talk to."

"I don't."

"Look, since I'm technically off the clock, I'll say it. You seem lonely, boss. I never see you talking to anyone. Not your family, no friends, not even us."

"I don't see how that's your concern, angel."

The corner of your lip quirks at the nickname.

"Angel?" You echo.

"Sorry, I- Sorry," he mumbles, embarrassed. He downs the last bit of the beer before fishing out his wallet.

You shake your head. "Don't say sorry. And the boss doesn't pay. Go home."

"Please, angel, let me pay," he mumbles softly.

"No, sir. Go home. Iceberg Lounge is closed," you hum, cleaning up his glass and coaster.

He huffs, hopping off the barstool. But he doesn't go home. No, he waits until you're entirely done, waiting at the door.

"I thought I told you to go home," you tilt your head, walking over with your bag slung over your shoulder.

"Well, I thought I told you I'd pay. We're not getting what we want tonight," he replies, slipping your bag off your shoulder easily, slinging it over his own.

A real gentleman.

He knows your apartment is within walking distance—you walk to work every day—so he walks you back.

What Jason didn't account for, was how long the walk was. Who in their right mind walks 2 hours to work and back?

So, 2 hours walking home with your boss—your hot boss—who pays you a fair wage, who gives you all possible benefits, who covers all insurance and medical.

Jason cares about you and about his employees—but mostly about you.

2 hours walking home with your boss revealed things. Lots of things that Jason wishes remained secrets.

Things like his concern for your safety—you'd hear him lecture you about 5 times during the walk.

Things like his displeasure at your refusing his money.

Things like how he lights up when you come into work.

Things like how he panics when you're a minute late—in a concerned boyfriend way, and not in an overbearing boss way.

And oh, kill him now, because he let it slip that he had feelings for you.

Sure, you two were around the same age, but it was weird to him.

Weird the way Jason was your boss and you were his employee.

Weird the way you suddenly fell silent after his confession.

Weird the way you allowed him into your apartment.

Weird the way he allowed himself to follow.

Jason thinks it's the pint of beer, the buzzing in his ear. Maybe he's dreaming.

Maybe someone snuck into the Lounge and spiked his drink.

Maybe he liked the way your voice was low and raspy when you talked dirty to him.

"Are you sure you want to do this, sweetheart?" He whispers, lips ghosting your collarbone of your already bare chest.

"Please," you whine.

He takes it and runs.

He slots his leg between yours, allowing you to grind yourself against his thigh. You whine at the friction of his jeans.

"So fucking pretty," he mumbles, staring at the way the moonlight from between the blinds shine on your skin.

His finger traces the band of your pants, pulling a bit.

"Can I remove these, angel?" he mumbles, and you nod.

He does so, pulling his jeans off as well.

He shifts on the bed, thrusting slowly and deep into you, watching as your eyes squeeze shut and you take him.

He peppers kisses against your skin, whispering praise and encourgement as you fuck yourself on his thick cock.

"You look so pretty when you're filled with my cock, angel," he mumbles against your neck, thrusting into you as your hips begin to stutter.

He hums contently when your cum spurts out, pulling out, and leaning down to lick it up. He enjoys the way you shiver when his tongue trails on your skin.

He pushes his thumb into your mouth when you start to whine.

"Quiet, yeah? I'll get to you soon," he mumbles as he finishes licking you clean.

His hand shifts, index and middle pressing hard on your tongue, lubing up your mouth with saliva as he eases you onto your knees.

"You're gonna take this dick in your mouth, and I'm gonna cum in this pretty mouth, yeah?"

You nod, blinking up at him.

He removes his fingers, pressing a kiss on your temple before he slides himself into your mouth.

Gripping the back of your head, his cock thrusts into your mouth, pounding unapologetically until he—as promised—unloads his cum down your throat.

"Swallow," he hums, pushing your lips together when he slides his dick out.

He watches as you swallow his cum, stray drops trailing out of the corners of your cheeks.

"You did amazing, angel," he whispers, pressing a long kiss on your lips, his tongue slipping between your lips. He hums at the taste of his cum still present on your tongue.

He quickly and quietly assists you to the bathroom, wiping you down and helping you get dressed before knocking out on your couch.

He thinks he'll stay until closing time more often.

You're Jason Todd's favorite bartender.

❥・─────────────────────

❥・a/n: i feel like this is lwk a copy paste of my virgin!jason but whateves

❥・masterlist

[trainer-from-unova]

gladiator

english ao3 Ⓢ spanish ao3 Ⓢ masterlist Ⓢ 𝄞

ship: bob reynolds aka sentry x viscountess y/n ross

summary: welcome to the party, say hi to everybody. you're valentina's daughter and you're late to the party in honour of her new puppet.

au: you're a viscountess/cia agent/daughter of valentina and everett, valentina was the mastermind behind project sentry and bob obeys her

c/w: fluff, unresolved romantic tension, just a scene of a long ass fanfic I have in mind and that I'll never write because I can't write long stories

a/n: english isn't my first language

word count: 994

She knew she was late, and she felt bad. She wanted to arrive earlier and be at his first press conference, but she had to work. Nor would she have wanted to go with her mother and her secretary, even if it had been possible. She had always been more of a daddy's girl than a mummy's girl, and her relationship with her mother had gone from bad to worse since she arrested her father and soon after he magically disappeared.

She entered the gala trying not to be noticed, especially by the latter two. She had only one target in mind, the only reason she had truly made her presence there. She searched for him with her eyes as she glided through the crowd. She recognised several people and several people recognised her, but they didn't approach her to greet her because they were busy talking to other people or weren't close enough to greet each other, and she was grateful for that.

She thought it would be an easy task, but there was no sign of him. And then she realised that she probably wasn't looking in the right place. She looked up, looking at the first floor of the place, and there he was, leaning on the railing and looking down at her. Surprisingly he wasn't wearing his uniform, but he was wearing a light blue suit, which stood out against the suits of the other men present, all in black. When their gazes connected he smiled shyly, raising his hand in greeting.

"It took you a while to find me," he dared to joke as she approached him, already up the stairs and not leaning on the railing. The atmosphere on the first floor was much calmer, which he needed because it had been too stressful a day and despite being invincible his social battery had run out.

"I thought you'd get more attention," she said playing along as she moved in to give him two kisses, or rather, bump his cheeks.

"I did," he reported as they parted referring to his appearance at the congress, his introduction to the cameras, "this morning."

"I know, I saw you on the news, on my break. I'm sorry I'm late."

"Don't worry about it."

She had always wanted to excel at her job, not just to protect her country but to make her parents proud and show others that she wasn't a nepo-baby placed in the CIA by them. Moreover, even though years had passed, she was still trying to find her father. He couldn't imagine being that close to his father, but he could empathise with her, and he respected and admired her for the pain she had gone through and her efforts to find him, dead or alive.

"You look like a princess," he said as he scanned her from top to bottom.

"More like a viscountess," she joked.

"Right, sorry," he laughed shyly.

"You do look like a prince, though you lack the shining armour."

"I persuaded your mother to let me come without it because it's impossible to go to the bathroom with it... But apart from that I'm not convinced," he said slightly annoyed, even a little embarrassed, "it's too... shining, yeah."

"That's what you symbolise, Bob," she now said softly and sweetly as she took his hands, knowing that it would calm him down. "Light, hope, security."

"That's Sentry, not me," he said warm and shy at the same time. It wasn't a particularly bad day, but it wasn't a particularly good day either. At the moment his mood wasn't low, but it wasn't high either — he was just on the first floor, present with her.

"Suit or not, superhero or not..." she said subtly shaking her head as she shrugged his shoulders, bare shoulders he'd never witnessed her in CIA uniform or more casual clothes before. "In my opinion you light up the room you walk into."

And unlike her mother she wasn't lying. She respected and admired him too, as he was an example of self-improvement in many ways. And even if it wasn't physically necessary, she felt the need to protect him emotionally, especially since he was now working too close to her mother.

She knew better than anyone how perverse, manipulative and controlling Valentina could be, so from the very first moment she made sure she made him understand that she was not to be trusted. He knew Valentina more and more each day and therefore liked her less, but he wanted to help by being a hero and was aware that he needed to partner with the CIA or the government to do so, and he couldn't avoid being a famous public figure, with a whole marketing campaign centred around him. He couldn't be a vigilante for several reasons, but mostly because a hero with his power needed to be in battlefields and not in the streets.

He looked at her lips, and she did the same with his as they smiled at each other, still holding hands. He didn't know if it was his delusions, but he felt there was something between them, something more than friendship. And he wasn't wrong, she felt the same way about him. But it was neither the time nor the place for a declaration of love or a kiss, even if they were dating — being a public figure, who was likely to make a lot of enemies soon, it was better that nothing was known about his private life and his emotional ties. And similar in her case — besides, she was already under too much pressure being a nepo-baby in the CIA to also be known as the nepo-girlfriend of the new all-powerful superhero, who was her mother's puppet. And she didn't want to give her mother the joy of knowing she was dating him, she knew she would try to interfere both because she was her mother and because she was his boss.

[cinnamon7girl7]

"THROUGH THE SILENCE, I WILL RETURN TO YOU – PART 3."

♡ — Summary: I thought I had it all — Satoru’s love, Megumi’s warmth, and Suguru’s trust. But even the strongest love can break when truth hides behind silence. One betrayal changes everything; pain drives them apart, yet memories and a love still alive won’t let them go. Now, Satoru fights for a second chance, and she must decide if, after all the hurt, love is still worth it. ♡ — Author's note: This is the third part of this story. I recommend reading the first two chapters (one and two) so it makes more sense. I've already started writing the second epilogue, which I’ll post once the main story is finished. Without further ado, here’s the next one. Enjoy!

Chapter 3: The Truth on Your Lips

The sky was covered with clouds when you went out to look for Megumi. You didn't know why, but everything felt different. The wind blew with a sadness that seemed to reflect what you had inside. Something told you that today was going to hurt.

For days, Megumi's words had been spinning in your mind:

"Why don’t Satoru and Suguru look at you when you talk to them?"

At first, you didn't pay much attention. You thought it was just his imagination or a child’s joke... but you were wrong.

That same day, you saw Satoru talking to Suguru in a low voice. When you approached, both of them fell silent. They smiled at you, yes, but it wasn't the warm smile you were used to. It was forced, uncomfortable.

It hurt.

—"Is everything okay?" you asked.

—"Yes, love," Satoru answered quickly. Too quickly.

Suguru didn't even look at you. He just mumbled something about needing to leave and disappeared.

That night, when you lay down, he hugged you like always. But you couldn't sleep. You remembered so many beautiful moments with him.

When they first took care of Megumi together when he was sick.

When Megumi found you both asleep on the couch and snuggled up with you.

The afternoons when Satoru cooked with you, flour on his face and love in his eyes.

His voice when he would say, "My home is you."

But now... now you felt out of place in your own home.

The next morning, you confronted him.

—"Satoru," you said firmly. "We need to talk about something I've been feeling for a long time."

He blinked, nervous.

—"What do you mean, love? Did something happen to Megumi?" he said, trying to change the subject.

—"You know exactly what I mean, Satoru. What's going on with you and Suguru? Why is it that every time I ask you something, you don't look me in the eyes? What are you hiding from me?"

Satoru lowered his gaze. He never did that. He always looked you in the eyes. Always.

That silence shouted everything.

—"I can't tell you," he murmured.

—"Why?" you raised your voice a little.

—"It's better if you don't know," he said in a desperate tone. "But everything will be fine, don’t worry, love. How about you go shopping? Take the card, buy whatever you want, have fun." He extended his American Express card.

And then, you saw red.

—"Are you seriously trying to buy me with your money?" you shouted, offended. "I just want you to tell me what's going on with you. You've been acting so strange for months. I tried not to say anything for the sake of our family, but I can't anymore. Tell me the truth."

—"Love, please don't complicate things more. Just accept it," he said, giving you his best convincing look.

He came closer, but you took a step back.

—"I can't trust you if you don’t trust me, Satoru."

And then, his voice broke.

—"It's complicated... I can't... tell you."

—"It's fine, I see you don't trust me," you said, turning to go to your shared bedroom. "I think I need some space... I'm going to a hotel to think things through. Don't worry, I'll take Megumi with me so you don't have to lie to him either," you said, walking away.

—"...The Gojo clan is forcing me to marry someone," he whispered. "I've been attending their meetings to get them off our backs, but I promise I wasn’t going to do it. I just wanted them to leave us alone, and that was the only way I could think of to make them stop,"—he said, trying to justify himself.—"But please don’t leave. Don’t leave me. I know what I did was wrong. I shouldn’t have hidden it from you."

When he said all that, you stopped walking. It felt like a punch to the stomach. You realized that all the meetings where he came back tired or upset were because of that. It hurt that he hadn't trusted you. For all these years, you had trusted him blindly, and you thought it was the same for him.

You felt like a stranger with Satoru. You didn’t know what was true or a lie anymore. You felt the crack between you and him growing wider. You didn’t want this to happen. Satoru was one of your reasons for living, along with Megumi, and you didn’t want something so hard to build to be destroyed so easily.

But it was already too late.

—"I can’t... do this right now," you said, trying to stifle a sob. "I need time to think things through."

—"No... please, don’t leave... forgive me, please."

—"Understand that I can’t trust you."

Satoru fell to his knees.

—"Please... don’t leave me. I can't imagine my life without you... without us... without Megumi."

But you were already in your room, your soul shattered and your heart in pieces.

The sound of the door closing resonated like thunder inside the house.

Satoru didn’t move. He stayed on his knees, hands covering his face, as if he could erase the pain. As if he could change what had just happened

The house was silent. All that could be heard was the echo of your heavy breathing as you walked down the stairs, suitcase in hand. Every step hurt. Every step felt like a betrayal to yourself, but you knew there was no other option.

As you walked, memories crashed into your mind with force.

The time Satoru took you to the lake just to watch the stars and tell you that in another life, he would choose you again.

The times when he listened to you in silence, complicit, knowing what you felt without you saying a word.

The time Megumi ran to you shouting, "Mom!" for the first time, and Satoru cried more than you.

It was all falling apart.

Satoru got up, stumbling, and went after you.

—"Love, wait! Please, just listen to me! Give me a chance to explain everything!"

You didn’t turn around.

—"Explain? Now? After lying to me for so long?"

You turned, finally, and looked him straight in the eyes. His were red, broken.

—"It's not just about what you did..." —you said, your voice low, broken—. "It's about what you chose not to tell me."

—"It was to protect you... you know better than anyone what they would do just to force me..." he repeated, almost in a whisper.

—"You weren’t protecting me, Satoru! You didn’t love me enough to trust me!"

Your voice cracked. The tears were already running, unstoppable.

He tried to hug you, but you took a step back.

—"No," you murmured. "I can’t keep going like this. I can’t love with fear. I can’t live waiting for the next lie. I don’t know if I can keep trusting you."

Satoru stood still.

—"Is this the end?" he whispered.

—"This…" —you took a breath, swallowing your sob—. "This is a pause. For me. Because if I stay... we’ll end up hating each other."

And without saying another word, you turned around and left.

The door slammed behind you. And in that instant, Satoru collapsed once again on the floor, his face covered in tears, not knowing how to fix the situation, whispering your name over and over. He remembered every moment when you asked if he was okay or if he needed help.

Suddenly, his phone started ringing. Reluctantly, he answered.

—"Good afternoon, Mr. Gojo, we are calling to inform you that the jewel you requested is ready."

Satoru felt worse when he saw the contact name on the call. It was from the jewelry store, where he had ordered a beautiful ring with which he was going to propose to you.