#still not sure if this is the final version of it

[goldfades]

once i fix me, he's gonna miss me | joe burrow⁹ (part two)

part one!!! | here are the people who commented for a part two on part one @rd14

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⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 12.9k (oops... sorry)

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you and joe had spent months apart, each of you learning to live without the other.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | lots and lots of angst!!! joe finding a new gf, hoe joe 🤗🤗🤗 BUT A HAPPY ENDINGGGG!!! YIPEEEE!!!

Seven months.

It didn’t sound like a long time, not really. Less than a year. Barely two seasons. Just over half of what used to be a full calendar with him—training camps, game days, off-seasons that blurred together with vacations and quiet mornings in bed.

But in reality, it had been everything.

Seven months since you had packed up the life you built and left Cincinnati behind. Seven months of unlearning the habits of loving Joe Burrow, of waking up without him, of forcing yourself to stop expecting a text that never came. Seven months of figuring out who you were outside of being his.

And now, just when you had finally settled into this new version of yourself, life was pulling you back.

Back to Cincinnati. Back to the city that still had pieces of you scattered all over it. Back to him.

It wasn’t about Joe.

You had spent months proving that to yourself, and you weren’t about to start unraveling now. This was about you.

About the job offer that had landed in your inbox three weeks ago, the kind of offer people in sports media fought years for—an on-air analyst role with The Ringer, covering the NFL, sitting at the same table as some of the most respected voices in the industry.

It was the dream. Your dream.

And you weren’t about to say no just because it happened to be in the same city where the ghost of your old life still lingered.

So, for the first time in months, you packed your bags for yourself. Not for a man. Not for a relationship.

For you.

But still, as you stared at your suitcases lined up by the door, heart pounding just a little harder than you wanted to admit, one thought lingered in the back of your mind:

What happens when he sees you again?

--

Joe spent the summer in places that never felt like home.

Hotel rooms, penthouses, beach houses that weren’t his—always someone else’s space, someone else’s idea of a good time. The kind of places that smelled like overpriced perfume, spilled liquor, and bad decisions.

And for a while, that was the point.

His teammates told him this was what life was supposed to be like.

“You’re 27, bro. You should be living.” “You’re Joe fucking Burrow. Act like it.” “Man, you wasted all your good years locked down.”

That last one made his stomach twist. Because it didn’t feel wasted.

But he didn’t say that.

Instead, he let them drag him to Miami, to Vegas, to private clubs where the rules didn’t apply to men like them. He let women press into him, let them murmur in his ear, let them take his hand and lead him places he wasn’t sure he wanted to go.

Because that was the goal, wasn’t it?

To fill the silence. To drown out the memories. To stop thinking about you.

So, he drank.

Not recklessly—never sloppily—but just enough to take the edge off. Enough to let the vodka burn its way through his chest and dull the parts of him that still felt too raw.

He spent the nights doing what everyone told him he should—wrapped up in women he barely knew, letting them touch him, letting them call him baby in a voice that never sounded quite right.

Sometimes, in the blur of it all, he almost let himself believe he was having fun.

But then morning would come. And he’d wake up in a bed that wasn’t his own, sheets tangled, a warm body beside him that felt wrong.

She would still be asleep, breathing slow and even, and Joe would stare at the ceiling, feeling the weight of something he couldn’t name pressing down on his ribs. It was always the same.

He’d lie there, his head still heavy from the night before, and tell himself this was good for him.

This was healthy. He was moving on. He was living. He was making up for lost time.

But then she would shift beside him, mumble something sleepily, and for a split second, he would forget where he was. For a split second, his body would expect you.

His arm would twitch, muscle memory almost pulling him toward you—except it wasn’t you.

It never was. And in that moment, when the reality of it came crashing down, Joe had never felt more hollow.

So he would slip out of bed. Pull on his clothes. Leave before she woke up, before she could reach for him, before she could make him feel even emptier than he already did.

Then, like clockwork, his phone would light up with a text from one of the guys.

Round two tonight? Another night, another city, let’s run it. Burrow, we’re not letting you sit this one out.

And every time, he would hesitate. Every time, he would think about saying no. But then he’d think about what saying no meant.

Silence. Loneliness.

A bed that really felt empty. And worst of all—thoughts of you.

So instead, he would type out the same thing he always did. I’m in.

And just like that, another night would begin. Another night of pretending. Another night of trying to convince himself that this was good for him.

That this was better than thinking about the one person who used to make him feel whole.

And the beginning of the season was always theirs.

It had been for years.

It was the one time of year where the entire world faded into the background—where it was just the two of them, preparing for battle in the way only they knew how. Training camp, preseason, the long, grueling days where his body ached and his mind buzzed with too much information—none of it ever felt as heavy when you were there.

Because you had made it easier. You always knew what he needed before he even had to ask.

You knew how to blend his smoothies just right—protein-packed but never too thick, not too sweet, not too chalky, just enough banana to hide the bitterness of the greens he hated but needed. You knew how many calories he needed to maintain weight, which meals gave him the best energy, when he needed something light and when he needed something hearty. You knew when he was too sore to get off the couch, and you’d already have an ice pack in one hand and a heating pad in the other.

You knew him. And now, you were gone.

Preseason was hell. Not just because of the training, not just because every muscle in his body burned by the time he got home, not just because he was still trying to prove he was fully back from the injury—but because this was the first time he was doing it without you.

For the past seven years, the start of the season had always meant you.

It meant waking up to you shaking him gently, telling him his morning shake was ready, pressing a soft kiss to his temple before he even opened his eyes. It meant coming home to meals that were already planned, already balanced, already exactly what his body needed to recover. It meant you running through the nutrition plan with him, tweaking it when necessary, doing the math so he didn’t have to think about it.

It meant structure. It meant routine. It meant you making sure he was okay, even when he was too stubborn to admit when he wasn’t.

Now, none of it was there. And he felt it more than ever.

--

The moment he walked into his house after practice, exhaustion hit him like a brick wall. His body was done—his legs sore, his back aching, his head pounding. All he wanted was to throw his bag down, take a shower, eat, and crash.

But instead, he just stood there. Because for the first time, he realized how much there was to do.

You weren’t there to remind him to drink his recovery shake. You weren’t there to make sure the fridge was stocked with what he needed. You weren’t there to have a meal ready so he didn’t have to think about it.

And fuck, he had never thought about it. Not once. Because you had always done it.

Joe sighed, rolling his shoulders, heading into the kitchen. The fridge door swung open with an empty, lifeless hum, and his stomach sank at the sight.

Nothing was prepped.

There were random ingredients, sure. Leftover takeout. Some eggs, maybe. A couple of protein bars shoved in the back. But nothing was ready. Nothing was measured, planned, easy.

And that’s when it really hit him.

You weren’t just gone. You had been holding his life together.

He shut the fridge, pressing his hands against the counter, breathing heavily through his nose. His head felt too full and too empty at the same time.

For years, he had been able to come home, sit down, and just be.

Now? Now he had to do everything himself.

Now, he had to think about what to eat, had to plan it, had to cook it. He had to wash the dishes after instead of finding them already cleaned. He had to remind himself to stretch properly, to ice his ankle, to foam roll before bed.

And it wasn’t that he couldn’t do it.

It was just that he had never had to before.

Because you had done it all. Because you had loved him enough to do it all. And he—

Joe exhaled sharply, shaking his head like that could make the thoughts disappear. Like it could make the guilt settle.

But it didn’t. It never did.

So he grabbed a protein bar, ate it standing up, and stared at the empty kitchen like it was mocking him. Like it was reminding him of everything he lost.

--

The morning you left Columbus, the sky was overcast, the air thick with the kind of lingering summer heat that stuck to your skin. It felt heavy, suffocating, like the world itself knew this wasn’t an easy goodbye.

Your best friend stood by the trunk of your car, arms crossed, shifting her weight like she was trying not to say something sentimental that would make you both cry.

"You sure about this?" she asked, her voice softer than usual.

No. Not even a little.

But you nodded anyway, forcing a smile. “Yeah.”

It wasn’t a lie, not really. You were sure—about the job, about the opportunity, about the fact that moving back to Cincinnati was the next step for you.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t terrified.

Because Cincinnati wasn’t just another city. It wasn’t just a place on the map.

It was his city.

It was where you had built a life with Joe, where every street held memories, where every turn would remind you of something you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

You took a deep breath, reaching down to scratch behind Larry’s ears as she sat in her carrier, blinking up at you with wide, judgmental eyes. “Guess it’s just us now, huh?”

Your best friend let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, well, if she could talk, she’d probably tell you this is a terrible idea.”

“She doesn’t need to talk. She’s been staring at me like I ruined her life since I put her in there.”

“Because you did ruin her life. She was thriving here.”

You sighed dramatically, crouching to peer into the crate. “I get it, Larry. You’re a city girl now. But you’ll be fine.”

She flicked her tail. You took that as reluctant acceptance.

Your best friend leaned in, her voice dropping. “For real, though. If it gets to be too much—if you get there and you feel like you can’t do it, like it’s swallowing you whole—you call me.”

You looked at her, something tight forming in your throat.

You had spent the last seven months healing in this apartment, in this city, with her. She had seen the worst of you—the nights you couldn’t sleep, the mornings you barely got out of bed, the moments when you swore you would never go back to Cincinnati, to that life, to the person you used to be.

But here you were.

And you weren’t sure if you were proving yourself right or setting yourself up to fail.

“Promise me,” she pressed.

You swallowed hard and nodded. “I promise.”

She exhaled, reaching forward to wrap you in a tight hug. “Go be great.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, held on a little longer than necessary, and then let go.

It was time.

--

The first hour of the drive was quiet.

Larry had settled into the passenger seat, eyes half-lidded in irritation but otherwise calm, curled up on the blanket you had thrown there. The GPS said you had just over an hour to go, and the closer you got, the more your heart pounded.

It was happening.

You were actually doing this.

You were going back.

You were going back to Cincinnati, to a city that used to feel like home, but no longer did.

Going back to the restaurants you used to love, the streets you used to walk, the stadium that still felt like an extension of Joe himself.

Going back to a version of yourself you had spent seven months trying to bury.

Your hands gripped the wheel tighter.

This was a mistake.

Maybe you should turn around. Maybe this was too soon. Maybe you had done all this work just to unravel the second you saw him again—because you would see him again. That was inevitable.

You sucked in a breath, reaching for your phone, scrolling through your playlists with one hand until your thumb hovered over a title that made you pause.

"I Can Do It With a Broken Heart."

You hesitated.

Then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you hit play.

The first beat kicked in, and the song filled the car, the steady rhythm drowning out the anxious thoughts spiraling in your head.

“I’m so depressed, I act like it’s my birthday every day.”

You huffed out something that was half a laugh, half a scoff.

Yeah. That sounded about right.

You turned up the volume, tapping your fingers against the wheel as the song pulsed through the speakers.

You weren’t going to let this break you.

You weren’t going to let the fear win.

This was your life.

Not Joe’s.

Not the life you built for him.

Not the future you thought you had.

This was your fresh start.

So you sang along, let the music wash over you, let the lyrics be a reminder that you had already survived the worst part.

Now, you just had to keep going.

The first week passed in a haze.

It was the kind of week where you moved on autopilot, where you unpacked boxes without really thinking about it, where you got up early, dressed professionally, walked into work like you belonged there—even when people looked at you like you were some kind of open secret.

You knew what they were thinking.

Knew what they whispered when they thought you couldn’t hear.

That’s Joe Burrow’s ex. Didn’t she used to be at every Bengals event? Wonder if she got the job because of him…

You ignored it.

You ignored the careful glances, the way some of your co-workers hesitated before talking to you, like they weren’t sure whether to bring him up or pretend they didn’t know anything.

You weren’t Joe Burrow’s ex.

You were you.

And you belonged here.

You knew that.

So you held your head high, settled into the studio, studied film, took notes, prepared for your first on-air segment like your life depended on it. You threw yourself into your work, into the statistics, into the plays, into the debates about teams and formations and Super Bowl contenders.

And it helped.

For a little while.

But then you went home.

And that was when the silence hit you like a freight train.

Because this wasn’t Columbus, where your best friend was always there to fill the quiet. Where you could crash on the couch and vent about your day. Where you could talk about Joe without every conversation feeling like a weight pressing down on your chest.

This was alone.

For the first time since the breakup, you were truly alone.

And God, it was loud.

The absence of Joe wasn’t just in the city itself—it was in the routine, in the things you used to do without even realizing they were because of him.

Like how you still woke up too early, your body trained to match his schedule, expecting to hear him shuffling around in the kitchen, making coffee before heading to the facility.

Except now, the kitchen was silent.

Like how you caught yourself walking toward the fridge with the muscle memory of preparing his post-practice meal—only to stop halfway when you remembered he wasn’t coming home.

Like how you reached for your phone when the Bengals played their first preseason game, fingers hovering over Joe’s contact, because for years, your first instinct was to text him after every game.

But there was nothing to say.

And maybe the worst part?

You weren’t just missing Joe.

You were missing the you that existed when you were with him.

The version of yourself that felt certain—who knew her place in the world, who belonged somewhere, who mattered to someone.

You had spent months finding yourself again, carving out your own identity, telling yourself that you didn’t need him to be whole.

But now, back in Cincinnati, back in the place where he existed so loudly—

You weren’t sure if you believed it anymore.

So you curled up on the couch, pulling Larry onto your lap, listening to the faint echoes of the city outside your window, and let the loneliness settle in.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It wasn’t loud.

It was just… empty.

And that, somehow, was worse.

--

The first game of the season was electric.

The stadium roared with life, packed with thousands of fans wearing his jersey, screaming his name, riding the high of the first Sunday of football like it was a holiday. The air was thick with anticipation, the adrenaline thrumming in his veins like a drug, the kind of high that made everything else fade into the background.

It was the kind of game where Joe felt alive.

Where every snap, every pass, every perfectly executed play made him feel like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. Where he could silence the doubts, the guilt, the quiet gnawing ache that had followed him around since the summer.

By the time the final whistle blew, and the Bengals secured their first win of the season, he was buzzing.

His teammates clapped him on the back, Ja’Marr pulling him in with a grin, shouting something in his ear that was lost in the deafening noise of the stadium.

Joe was smiling. Laughing. Letting the moment consume him, letting it drown out everything else.

And then, out of instinct—out of years of routine—he turned to the stands.

He looked for you.

Because that’s what he always did.

After every win, his eyes found you first. No matter how crazy the stadium was, no matter how many cameras were flashing, no matter how loud the world got—he always, always found you.

You, standing there in the family section, wearing his jersey, waiting for him with that soft, knowing smile. You, with your hands cupped around your mouth, cheering louder than anyone else. You, who had been there since before all of this, since before the world knew his name, since before he was anything more than a college quarterback with big dreams.

You, who always made the wins feel real.

But tonight?

You weren’t there.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from his lungs.

The stands blurred, the celebration around him suddenly too loud, too suffocating.

Because of course you weren’t there.

You hadn’t been there for months.

And still, somehow, some way, he had forgotten.

For the first time in seven months, he had let himself exist in a space where you were still his. Where you were still waiting for him, still there at the end of it all, still his person.

But you weren’t.

You were gone.

And in your place, in the section where you used to stand, where you used to belong—

Was Katie.

His girlfriend.

She was standing there, blonde hair perfect, wearing a Bengals hoodie that was probably brand new, clapping politely as she smiled down at him.

Nice. Sweet. Pretty.

Not you.

His stomach twisted.

Because Katie wasn’t bad. She wasn’t anything, really. Just another part of the life he had built in your absence. Something easy, something light, something that should have made him feel better but didn’t.

Because she didn’t know him.

Not really.

Not like you did.

She didn’t know what to say to him after a loss. Didn’t know how he liked his breakfast in the mornings. Didn’t know the exact way he liked his shoulder massaged when the soreness became unbearable.

Didn’t know him like you did.

And for the first time since convincing himself this was what moving on looked like, he wondered if he had made a mistake.

A very, very big mistake.

His hands clenched into fists.

The celebration around him felt like static, like background noise in a life he wasn’t sure belonged to him anymore.

Because winning used to mean everything.

But tonight, standing in the middle of the field, looking up at the stands and seeing her instead of you—

He had never felt more hollow.

--

For the first couple of months back in Cincinnati, you told yourself you were thriving.

You said it like a mantra, like if you repeated it enough times, it would become real. You made new friends—real friends, not people who only saw you as Joe Burrow’s ex, not WAGs who looked at you with thinly veiled pity, not reporters who were too polite to ask what really happened.

They were normal. Kind. Fun. The kind of girls who made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt, who invited you to wine nights and didn’t bring up Joe once. With them, you could pretend that Cincinnati wasn’t laced with ghosts of your old life. You could breathe.

You picked up new hobbies.

You took a pilates class, went to farmer’s markets on Sundays, tried baking even though you burned half the things you made. You started running again—not because Joe had told you once that he liked how focused you looked when you ran, but because you liked the way it made you feel.

You tried to redefine football as yours.

Not Joe’s.

Yours.

You threw yourself into your job, memorized rosters, studied plays, made sure you knew everything about the game so that when you sat in that studio, behind that microphone, no one could say you got this job because of him.

And for a while, it worked.

For a while, you really did feel like you were thriving.

But then, one afternoon, it all came crashing down.

—

It was a normal day at work. Normal segment. Normal conversation.

Until it wasn’t.

You were on air, talking through some Week 4 analysis, debating quarterback performances with your co-host, when he said it.

Casual. Offhand. Like it wasn’t about to shatter you completely.

"Well, I guess we can trust your take on Joe Burrow—you did have a front-row seat for a long time."

The words landed like a gut punch.

Your stomach clenched, a prickle of heat rising at the back of your neck.

You forced a laugh. A quick, easy, I'm completely unbothered laugh.

"Guess so," you said, brushing it off, moving on like it was nothing.

But inside, you were shaking.

Your hands under the desk. Your breath. Your entire body.

You spent the rest of the segment in autopilot, nodding at the right moments, forcing yourself to focus on the words, on the script, on anything but the feeling of your past creeping into a space that was supposed to be yours.

And the second the cameras cut, you were gone.

You barely made it to your car before it hit you.

The unraveling.

You collapsed into the driver’s seat, fingers gripping the steering wheel so tight they ached, and then—

You broke.

It wasn’t quiet.

It wasn’t controlled.

It was months of holding it together, of telling yourself you were fine, of pretending you had rebuilt yourself from the ground up—only to realize you had been balancing on a fault line the entire time.

The sobs came fast, chest-heaving, breathless.

You had spent so long trying to reclaim Cincinnati, trying to convince yourself that you weren’t just a remnant of Joe Burrow’s life—that you could exist here, in this city, in this job, as your own person.

But the truth was, he was everywhere.

And right now, in this moment, you weren’t sure if you were anything without him.

Because Joe was the only person who had ever truly known you.

He knew the way your nose scrunched when you concentrated, the way you got irrationally angry when you lost at board games, the way you never finished a drink, always leaving the last sip untouched.

He knew your moods before you did.

He knew how you got quiet when you were sad, how you hated crying in front of people, how you avoided confrontation until you couldn’t anymore—until it bubbled over in sharp words and slammed doors.

He knew things about you that you didn’t even know about yourself.

Like how you sometimes clenched your jaw in your sleep when you were anxious. Like how you had a habit of counting your steps when you walked, not even realizing it.

Like how, right now, you would be breaking down in your car, gripping the steering wheel, feeling completely and utterly lost—and the only person who could make it better was him.

But he wasn’t here.

And that was the worst part of all.

--

December used to be your favorite month.

The lights, the music, the warmth of it all. The way the whole world seemed to slow down, wrapped in twinkling lights and the soft hum of Christmas songs playing in the background.

But mostly, December meant him. It meant Joe.

His birthday, tucked right in the start of the holiday season, had always been something sacred to you. It was your thing—the one time of year where you could spoil him without him complaining, where you could go all out, where you could make sure he felt as loved as he made you feel every other day of the year.

You had never held back.

You would spend months planning—picking out the perfect gifts, arranging surprise dinners, making sure every little detail was right. One year, you got him that limited-edition Rolex he had been eyeing but never pulled the trigger on. Another year, you rented out a private cabin in the mountains for just the two of you, knowing he needed to escape the chaos of football for a few days.

Last year—God, last year—you had thrown him a surprise party with all of his friends and family. He had kissed you at the end of the night, hands cupping your face, murmuring against your lips, How do you always know exactly what I want?

Because you knew him. Because you had loved him.

And now, here you were.

A year later. A year without him.

And December didn’t feel magical anymore.

You tried. You really tried.

You put up the tree in your apartment, even though it was smaller than the one you used to decorate with him. You bought yourself Christmas candles, filled your space with the smell of cinnamon and pine, played holiday music when you cooked.

But it all felt wrong.

Because December had always been his month, too. It wasn’t just the holiday season—it was the anniversary of the last time you had ever been his.

The breakup had happened right after his birthday.

It had been cold, the city wrapped in the kind of sharp, biting winter that made everything feel harsher. And in a way, it had been fitting—because that night, when Joe had walked out, when the door had shut behind him, the warmth had left your life, too.

And now, a full year later, it was still gone.

His birthday came and went. You didn’t text him. Didn’t even let yourself think about what he might be doing, whether he was happy, whether he even thought about you at all.

But your body knew.

You woke up that morning feeling it like a weight in your chest, like something pressing down on your ribs. You didn’t check your phone, didn’t open Instagram, didn’t give yourself the chance to see what the world was saying about him.

Because it wasn’t your place anymore. Because you weren’t the person celebrating with him.

Because no matter how much time passed, no matter how many times you told yourself that you were okay, December would always be the cruelest reminder that you weren’t.

That you had once been his world. And now, you were nothing.

You spent Christmas with your best friend, and it should have been nice. It was nice. Warm. Cozy. The kind of Christmas you had always loved.

But it wasn’t his family.

It wasn’t his mom, who had always pulled you into a hug the second you walked through the door. It wasn’t his dad, who would slip you a knowing smile when Joe snuck a hand around your waist at dinner. It wasn’t his brothers, teasing you like you were already part of the family.

And it wasn’t him.

It wasn’t Joe, pulling you against him on the couch, wrapping you in one of his hoodies, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. It wasn’t his voice murmuring, Merry Christmas, baby, in the quiet, sleepy warmth of the morning.

It wasn’t your life. Not anymore.

So, you smiled. You opened presents. You drank hot chocolate and laughed at dumb Christmas movies and let yourself pretend that this was enough.

But when you got home that night, alone in your apartment, staring at your Christmas tree that suddenly felt too big, you let the truth sink in.

December without him was unbearable. And you weren’t sure if it would ever get easier.

--

You had almost convinced yourself that you were fine.

Almost.

The past year had been a cycle—of loss, of healing, of learning how to be you again. But tonight? Tonight, you felt like you had finally gotten there.

You had put effort into your outfit, just because you wanted to. You weren’t dressing for anyone but yourself, weren’t trying to impress Joe or prove something to anyone. You had slipped into a sleek, fitted black dress, let your new friends style your hair in soft waves, even wore that deep red lipstick that had always made you feel untouchable.

And when you stepped out of your car in front of the restaurant, that new Chanel bag resting effortlessly on your shoulder, you felt good.

Not just okay. Good. Like yourself.

Or at least, the version of you that wasn’t still haunted by him.

--

Joe had seen you first.

And it hit him like a fucking freight train.

It wasn’t just the shock of seeing you—it was how he saw you. It was the way you walked into the restaurant, laughing at something one of your coworkers had said, your smile easy, effortless, real. It was the way you carried yourself, exuding that same quiet confidence that had once made him fall for you in the first place.

And God, you looked good. Not just good. Stunning.

Like you had stepped right out of a dream, wearing that black dress like it had been made for you, your hair falling in perfect waves, that red lipstick making his mouth go dry.

For a second, Joe forgot how to breathe. Because this was the first time he had seen you in a year. And somehow, you looked okay.

Without him.

The nausea hit immediately.

Because the last time he had seen you—really seen you—you had been crying. You had been begging him to fight for you, to stay, to want you enough to make it work. And now, a year later, you weren’t the woman who had walked away from him, heartbroken and lost.

You were this. Whole. Beautiful. Radiant.

Like he had never even existed in your world.

You didn’t see Joe right away.

Your coworkers were leading the way to your table, your heels clicking against the polished floors, your heart light in a way it hadn’t been in a long time. You were okay. You were doing this. You were thriving.

Until your stomach dropped. Because suddenly, you felt it.

That indescribable feeling—the one that came when someone was watching you. And when you turned your head, your breath caught in your throat.

Because he was there.

Joe.

Sitting at a table near the back of the restaurant, not alone. You blinked. Your heart lurched. Your ears started ringing. He had a girlfriend.

You didn’t even know he had moved on.

And yet, here he was, sitting across from some blonde—long hair, perfect makeup, the kind of effortless beauty that made your stomach twist in a way you hated.

Because Joe wasn’t supposed to move on.

Not when you were still here. Not when you had spent the past year rebuilding yourself just to survive the loss of him. And now, in a single second, everything inside you cracked.

You felt sick.

Not because you wanted him back. But because, for the first time, you were faced with the reality that he had built a life that no longer included you.

That the man you had once known better than anyone—the man you had loved with everything you had—was now sitting across from another woman.

That you weren’t his anymore.

Joe watched the realization hit you.

Watched the way your face fell, your eyes widening slightly, your body stiffening like you had just been punched in the stomach. And suddenly, he hated himself.

Because you looked like you—strong, composed, pulled together—but in that brief second, he saw it. That crack in the armor. That hurt.

And fuck, fuck, he wanted to fix it.

Because the truth was, he hadn’t moved on.

Not really. Not in the way that mattered.

Yeah, Katie was nice. Yeah, she looked good on his arm. But she didn’t know him. She didn’t know what he needed after a bad game, didn’t know the songs that made him think of home, didn’t know that he couldn’t sleep with the TV on because the noise made his brain race.

She wasn’t you.

And as much as he had tried to convince himself that this was right—that you were the past, that this was his future—he couldn’t lie to himself anymore.

Because seeing you here, standing across the room, looking like this, feeling like this, made him realize something.

He didn’t want this life without you. And for the first time in a year, Joe felt something worse than heartbreak.

He felt regret. And Joe could feel Katie watching him.

She had been talking—something about how the steak wasn’t as good as the place she went to in LA—but he hadn’t heard a word. His eyes were locked on you.

On the way your body tensed, on the flicker of hurt that flashed across your face before you smoothed it over like it was nothing. On the way your fingers twitched at your side like you didn’t know what to do with them.

Like you wanted to run. And fuck, he hated that.

Hated that he was the reason you looked like that. Hated that even after a year, he could still hurt you just by existing. Then he felt it.

Katie’s hand sliding up his arm, curling around his bicep, nails digging in slightly as she pressed herself closer. She knew.

Of course she knew.

He hadn’t talked about you much—at least, not in detail—but she wasn’t stupid. She knew you had been important. That you had been in his life for longer than most people had even known his name.

And now, here you were. The ghost she had probably been waiting to meet.

"Joe," she said, sweet but pointed, her voice breaking through his haze. "You okay?"

Her fingers squeezed his arm. He barely resisted the urge to shake her off. He was so close to losing it.

He could feel his patience hanging on by a thread, could feel the way his body was coiled tight, his chest aching with something he didn’t want to feel.

Because it was his late birthday dinner. His friends were here. He was supposed to be happy. But all he could think about was you. And how you were standing there, looking like that, looking like everything he had ever wanted and everything he had already lost.

He pulled his arm from Katie’s grip as casually as he could, pretending to adjust his watch.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered.

But he wasn’t. Not even close.

Because every second that passed, the more wrong this felt. The more suffocating the entire situation became.

The dinner had already been irritating—his friends were drunk, the restaurant was too loud, and Katie had spent half the night making passive comments about how he never posted her, about how she just wanted to feel special.

And now, this? Now, you were here?

It was like some kind of cruel joke.

Joe felt like the room was closing in on him.

The sounds of the restaurant—the chatter, the clinking glasses, the faint hum of music in the background—blurred into nothing, white noise against the sharp, singular reality of you.

Standing there. Looking like that. And worse—looking like you didn’t need him anymore.

That realization settled deep, lodged somewhere between his ribs, pressing down like a weight he couldn’t shake.

His fingers twitched in his lap. His knee bounced once before he forced it to stop. He was trying, really fucking trying, to play it cool, to keep his face neutral, to ignore the way his body had tensed the second he saw you walk in.

Because this wasn’t supposed to happen.

He wasn’t supposed to see you like this—unexpectedly, in a crowded restaurant, after a year of living separate lives. He had told himself that when it happened, it wouldn’t matter. That by the time he saw you again, he’d be fine. That whatever you two had been, whatever had been left unsaid, whatever this was, it wouldn’t affect him anymore.

But he had been wrong.

Because seeing you now—standing there in that black dress, your hair falling over your shoulders in that soft, effortless way he used to push his fingers through when you were tired, your lips painted that deep shade of red that had always driven him insane—he felt like his entire body was betraying him.

His stomach clenched. His throat went dry.

Because for a split second, before his brain caught up, before reality sunk its teeth into him, he had expected you to walk toward him.

Like you always had. Like you were supposed to. Like this was still your moment, your ritual, your life together.

And then, just as quickly, he saw it—the way your shoulders stiffened, the way your fingers curled slightly at your sides, the way your lips parted just barely before pressing into a tight line.

The way your hands shook.

No one else would have noticed. But he did.

Because he had spent years learning you, memorizing you, knowing every single tell, every little habit, every reaction before you even knew you were having one.

And that? That fucked him up the most. Because it meant this hurt you, too.

It meant you weren’t indifferent. It meant that even after a full year, he still affected you. And that should have made him feel better.

But it didn’t.

Because the way you had reacted wasn’t the way you used to. There was no fond exasperation, no teasing smirk, no warmth in your expression.

It was shock. Discomfort.

Like you didn’t want to be here. Like he was the thing making you feel sick.

And the worst part? He knew he had no right to be hurt by that. Because he had done this. He was the one who had walked away first. He was the one who had let you go.

And yet, even knowing that, even with the weight of that truth pressing down on him, he still felt something ugly coil in his chest at the thought of you not caring at all.

At the thought of you moving on without him, just as much as he had tried—and failed—to move on without you. He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face. His skin felt too tight, his pulse hammering in his ears, and then—Katie.

Katie, who was still gripping his arm, nails pressing into his sleeve like a silent claim, like she knew. Like she could feel the shift in his body, the way all of his attention, all of his focus, had zeroed in on you.

And then, as if to confirm it, she pulled herself closer, her chin tilting up, her lips curling into something sweet but firm.

"Joe," she murmured, her voice just loud enough for him to hear over the hum of the restaurant, "you’re all tense. Relax, baby."

Joe clenched his jaw. Because now? Now, it wasn’t just about you being here. Now, it was about this.

About the fact that he had spent the last year convincing himself that this—Katie, this relationship, this new life—was what he needed. That this was how he moved forward. That this was the best thing for him.

But the second you walked into the room, it had all come crashing down.

And when Katie pressed even closer, her hand sliding down his arm, her fingers curling into his, something in him snapped. Not visibly. Not obviously.

But he felt it.

Because for the first time in months, maybe even the first time since the breakup, he wanted out.

Out of this night. Out of this restaurant. Out of this version of his life where you weren’t in it.

But his friends were here. His teammates. People were watching. So instead, he inhaled sharply through his nose, casually slipping his fingers from Katie’s grip under the guise of adjusting his watch.

"Yeah," he muttered, voice tight. "I’m fine."

But he wasn’t. Not even close.

Because when he glanced up again, when his eyes found you across the restaurant, he saw the moment you turned to your coworkers and muttered something under your breath, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Saw the way you inhaled deeply, steeling yourself, before turning on your heel and walking toward your table like he wasn’t even there.

Like he didn’t exist. And that?

That hurt worse than anything.

--

You had spent a year healing.

A year rebuilding yourself, re-learning how to exist outside of him, re-training your mind to stop associating every little thing with Joe Burrow. A year convincing yourself that you were okay, that you were better, that you had made it through the worst of it.

And then, in a single moment, it all shattered.

Because he was here. Not just here—here with her.

You felt it before you even saw him. That undeniable shift in the air, the creeping sensation of familiarity that made your breath catch in your throat. And then, when your eyes finally landed on him—on Joe—it felt like something inside you cracked open, raw and bleeding.

Because he wasn’t alone. He had a girlfriend. And it wasn’t just that. It was how he looked.

Relaxed. Unbothered. Like the past year hadn’t touched him the way it had ruined you. Like he had moved on so seamlessly, so effortlessly, while you had spent sleepless nights trying to pick up the pieces of yourself that he had left behind.

And maybe the worst part?

He looked happy.

Not the kind of happiness you had memorized—the quiet, real, content kind that came when he let himself breathe around you. Not the kind of happiness that was soft and easy, that came from forehead kisses in the morning and whispered inside jokes.

No, this was performative.

This was the kind of happiness you pretended to have when you were trying to convince everyone—including yourself—that you were fine.

And yet, even knowing that, even recognizing that this wasn’t real, it still hit you like a knife between the ribs. Because while you had spent the last year trying to be better, trying to move forward, Joe had spent it trying to erase you.

Like you never existed. Like the seven years you had spent together were just some forgettable chapter in his life, one he could close and move on from without looking back.

And that? That was unbearable.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, your palms damp as you curled your fingers into fists under the table. You felt like you were spiraling, like you were seconds away from breaking right here, in the middle of this crowded restaurant, in front of everyone.

No. No, no, no.

You refused. You had spent too long putting yourself back together just to fall apart now. So you inhaled sharply, forcing a small, tight smile as you pushed your chair back.

Your coworkers looked up, brows furrowed.

“You okay?” one of them asked.

You nodded, already reaching for your bag, voice light, too casual. “Yeah, I just—ugh, I think something I ate earlier isn’t sitting right. I’m gonna head out.”

They nodded, accepting the excuse easily, offering quick well wishes as you grabbed your things and turned for the door. And you didn’t look back.

Not once. Not even when you felt the weight of his gaze burning into your back. Not even when every single step felt like it was dragging you further away from the life you had once lived with him.

Not even when, for the first time in a long time, you realized that no matter how much you had tried to heal, there were some wounds that time just couldn’t fix.

Joe watched you leave, and something inside him snapped.

It happened fast. One second, you were there, and the next, you were gone, slipping through the restaurant like you couldn’t get out fast enough. And fuck—fuck, he hated that.

Hated that you looked right at him and then turned away. Hated that you had left, just like that, without even acknowledging him.

Like he was nothing. Like he had never existed in your life, either.

It made his hands twitch, made his jaw tighten, made his stomach coil with something sharp and awful and unbearable.

It made him move.

He barely heard Katie calling his name. Barely registered the way his friends were still laughing, still drinking, still living in a reality where everything was normal.

Because nothing was normal. Nothing had been normal since you had walked out of his life. And for the first time in a year, Joe didn’t fight it.

Didn’t push it down. Didn’t try to convince himself that he was fine. Instead, he stood up, threw some cash on the table, and went after you.

Joe pushed through the restaurant doors just in time to see your taillights disappear into the night.

Gone.

Just like that.

And it felt like he was right back there again—standing in the middle of your living room, hands shaking, heart in his throat, watching as you begged him to just say something. Just fight for you. Just be the man you needed him to be.

But he hadn’t. He had let you go. And now, a year later, he had done it all over again.

His chest ached, his ribs felt too tight, his pulse was hammering so loud in his ears that he barely heard Katie calling his name behind him.

But then she touched him—her fingers curling around his wrist, her voice dripping with confusion and irritation.

"Joe, what the hell was that?"

He ripped his arm away so fast that she stumbled back a step.

"Are you serious right now?" His voice was rough, raw, his body vibrating with something he couldn’t contain anymore.

Katie scoffed, crossing her arms. "Yeah, I am serious. You just humiliated me in there! You followed your ex-girlfriend out of a restaurant when I was right there—on your birthday dinner, Joe."

She said it like it mattered. Like any of this fucking mattered. Like this wasn’t the single worst night of his life. Like he cared.

Joe let out a sharp, humorless laugh, dragging a hand down his face, feeling like he could burst out of his own skin.

"Jesus Christ, Katie," he muttered. "You knew. You always fucking knew."

Her eyes narrowed. "Knew what?"

"That this—us—was nothing." His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care. His hands were shaking, his chest felt too fucking tight, and suddenly, everything came out. "You knew I was never over her. You knew you were never—never fucking her."

Katie flinched like he had slapped her. And maybe, in a way, he had.

Because he never said it. Never admitted it. Never acknowledged the fact that he had spent the past year trying to force himself to be okay, to be normal, to be the guy who could move on.

But it had always been bullshit. It had always been a lie. Because he had been living in a fucking delusion thinking that he could be with someone who wasn’t you.

And now? Now, he was standing outside a restaurant, watching the only woman he had ever truly loved drive away from him again, and he felt like he was being ripped in half.

Katie’s eyes were burning. She was angry, but worse—she looked humiliated.

"You are such a fucking asshole," she spat. "You let me think—" She cut herself off, shaking her head, biting the inside of her cheek before exhaling sharply. "You know what? Fuck you, Joe."

He barely reacted. Because nothing she said, nothing she could say, would make him feel worse than he already did.

He was a fucking mess.

A fucking idiot. A fucking coward.

"You need to go," he muttered, voice hoarse.

Katie huffed out a bitter laugh. "Gladly."

He pulled out his phone, tapped the Uber app with shaking fingers, ordered her a ride, and barely looked at her as he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away.

She scoffed. "Seriously? You’re not even gonna drive me home?"

Joe clenched his jaw, staring down at the pavement. "I can’t."

And that was the truth. Because if he got in his car right now, he knew where he was going.

He didn’t remember the drive. Didn’t remember putting the car in gear, didn’t remember making the turns, didn’t remember how his foot even got on the gas.

One second, he was standing in the cold outside the restaurant, and the next—

He was here.

In front of your apartment complex.

The one he only knew about because of some casual conversation in the locker room, when one of his teammates had mentioned running into you near downtown.

He hadn’t meant to come here. Hadn’t thought about coming here. But his hands were gripping the steering wheel, his breath was uneven, and he was here.

His knuckles were white. His mind was blank. His heart was breaking all over again.

And for the first time in his life, Joe Burrow didn’t know what the fuck to do.

--

Joe stood outside your door, heart hammering against his ribs, hands curled into fists at his sides, and for the first time in his entire life, he felt like he understood.

All of it.

The songs, the poems, the movies that had once felt dramatic, exaggerated, over the top. The grand gestures, the desperate pleas, the kind of heartbreak that knocked a man to his knees.

Because this—this—was the lowest he had ever been.

Worse than losing a game. Worse than getting injured. Worse than anything he had ever experienced. Because he had lost you. And he couldn't live like this anymore.

Couldn’t keep pretending that he was fine, that he had moved on, that he didn’t miss you every single second of every single day. Because the truth was, he did.

He missed everything.

Missed the way your voice sounded in the morning, still laced with sleep, soft and warm and home. Missed the smell of your shampoo when you curled against his chest. Missed your laugh, your stupid little quirks, the way you always knew exactly what he needed before he even said a word.

He missed loving you. And he missed being loved by you.

Because no one—not Katie, not any of the women who had tried to take your place, not a single person in the past year—had ever come close to what you were to him.

And maybe it had taken him too long to realize it. Maybe he had been too fucking stupid, too proud, too scared to fight for you when he should have.

But he wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

So before he could talk himself out of it, before the fear could win, before he could convince himself that he had already ruined everything beyond repair—

He knocked.

The sound echoed in the quiet of the night, and for a second, all he could hear was the deafening thud of his own heartbeat.

Then—

The lock clicked, the door creaked open.

And there you were.

Standing in front of him, still in that black dress, your hair a little messier now, your eyes red-rimmed, like you had spent the last hour doing exactly what he had been doing—falling apart.

Joe felt something crack inside him.

Because you looked just as broken as he felt.

And before you could say anything, before you could slam the door in his face, before you could tell him to leave—

He broke.

“I—” His voice cracked, and suddenly, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. It all came out—rushed, jumbled, messy, barely coherent, but real.

“I can’t—fuck, I don’t even know where to start. I—I don’t know how to make this right, I don’t even know if I can, but I have to try because I can’t—” His breath hitched, his hands shaking at his sides, tears burning his eyes as he forced the words out. “I can’t fucking do this anymore. I can’t keep waking up without you. I can’t keep pretending that I’m okay when I’m not. When I haven’t been since the second you walked away.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. Just stared at him, wide-eyed, lips parted slightly, like you weren’t sure if this was real.

But Joe couldn’t stop. Because if he did, if he gave himself a second to think, he might break down completely.

So he just kept going.

“I was a fucking idiot,” he choked out. “I—I should have fought for you. I should have been the man you needed. I should have—fuck—I should have never let you think for a second that you weren’t the most important thing in my life. Because you were. You still are.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, and he didn’t even try to stop it.

“I miss you,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I miss you so much that I don’t know how to—how to breathe without you. I don’t even know who I am without you.”

His throat was closing up, his chest heaving, his heart fucking shattering, and all he wanted—all he wanted—was to reach out, to touch you, to hold you, to show you how sorry he was.

But he couldn’t.

Not yet. Because this was your decision now. So he just stood there, completely open, completely raw, completely yours, and waited.

Waited for you to slam the door in his face. Waited for you to tell him that he was too late. Waited for you to break his heart all over again.

But there it was again—that ache.

That deep, unbearable, all-consuming ache that only Joe Burrow had ever been able to pull from you. That had always been the problem, hadn’t it? That no matter how much he had hurt you, no matter how much you had tried to move on, he was still Joe.

He was still your Joe.

And now, he was standing in front of you, breaking apart at the seams, giving you everything he should have given you a year ago. His eyes were glassy, his breath uneven, his entire body taut like he was waiting for you to destroy him.

And you could have.

You could have slammed the door in his face. You could have walked away, left him out in the cold, given him a taste of his own medicine.

But you didn’t.

Because the truth was, you had never stopped loving him.

And before you could second-guess yourself, before your mind could catch up with your heart, you stepped forward and pulled him in.

The second your arms wrapped around him, Joe broke.

A sharp breath shuddered out of him as he buried his face into your hair, his body sinking against yours like he had been waiting for this moment for so long—like he had been starving for this.

His arms circled you, strong and desperate, his hands gripping your waist like he was afraid to let go, like he needed to hold onto you to keep himself standing.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into your hair, his voice cracked and raw. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your face into his chest, your fingers digging into the fabric of his hoodie as your tears finally spilled over.

Because fuck.

This was the first time in a year that you had felt this. The warmth. The safety. The rightness of being in his arms.

You hated how good it still felt. How much you still wanted it.

Joe tightened his grip, his arms pressing you closer, his body trembling slightly as he mumbled more apologies, more I should have fought for you, I should have never let you go, I should have never—

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him.

And for the first time in a year, you really looked at him.

His face was different. A little more tired, a little more worn, his jaw sharper, his cheekbones more defined, but his eyes—his eyes—were still the same. Still that impossible shade of blue, still holding that same intensity, that same Joe-ness that had always made you weak.

And suddenly, that was all you needed.

All the months of heartbreak, all the lonely nights, all the pain—it all blurred for just a moment. Because the only thing that mattered was him.

And then, you let him inside.

Joe looked around, taking in your apartment, the newness of it, the little things that weren’t his, that weren’t yours and his.

And then, finally, you both sat on the couch.

There was no space between you—his thigh pressed against yours, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he was allowed to.

You exhaled shakily, forcing yourself to sit up straighter, forcing yourself to speak.

Because if he was here, if he was really going to do this, he needed to hear everything. He needed to understand what he had done.

So you told him. You told him everything.

“You broke me, Joe.” Your voice was quiet, but firm. “You really, really broke me.”

Joe inhaled sharply, like the words physically hurt him.

“I spent months—months—trying to figure out what I did wrong,” you continued, your throat tightening. “Trying to understand why I wasn’t enough for you. Why you couldn’t just try. Why you let me walk away when I was begging you to fight for me.”

Joe’s head dropped into his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. His breathing was uneven, like he was barely holding it together.

You swallowed hard, wiping at your cheek. “I had to learn how to exist without you. And it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Joe let out a slow, ragged breath. “I know.”

“No, you don’t.” Your voice cracked, your hands gripping your knees. “Because while I was trying to survive losing you, you were out there—” You hesitated, shaking your head, trying to keep yourself from spiraling. “You were living. You were drinking, partying, fucking around with people who weren’t me. You had a girlfriend.”

Joe flinched, his jaw tightening. “She was nothing.”

“That’s not the point, Joe.”

His shoulders slumped, defeated. “I know.”

You blinked, breathing through the sharp ache in your chest. “I’m not gonna sit here and pretend like I haven’t thought about this moment a million times,” you admitted, voice softer now. “Because I have. But if you think I’m just gonna let you back in, like none of it ever happened, you’re wrong.”

Joe sat up, nodding, his hands clasped together tightly. “I don’t expect that,” he said, voice low but steady. “I don’t expect anything. But I—” He let out a heavy exhale, running a hand through his hair. “I need you to know that I never stopped loving you.”

Your heart clenched.

Joe turned to face you fully, his knee bumping yours, his expression desperate and real and so fucking raw.

“I never stopped, not for a second,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought I could live without you. I thought I could move on, that I could distract myself, that I could convince myself that I made the right choice. But I didn’t.” His hands curled into fists. “I ruined the best fucking thing that ever happened to me.”

Your chest felt like it was being squeezed, your body so tired of carrying all this pain.

Joe swallowed hard. “I will do anything to make this right. Anything.” His eyes were pleading now, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach for you. “But you have to tell me how.”

You hesitated, inhaling deeply, your fingers twisting in your lap. And then, finally, you said it.

“You have to try.”

Joe nodded instantly, like there was no hesitation, no doubt, no fear left in him. “I will.”

But you weren’t finished.

“I’m not just gonna let you back in.” You met his gaze, steady despite the storm inside you. “I need you to prove that you mean it. That this isn’t just guilt, or nostalgia, or regret.”

Joe didn’t blink. “I know.”

“I’m serious, Joe. I’m not gonna be your safety net. I’m not just something you can come back to because you’re lonely. I need you to prove that this time, you’re not gonna leave when things get hard.”

Joe shifted forward, his voice so sure, so certain.

“I won’t.”

And for the first time in a year, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—there was still something left to fight for.

The next few weeks felt new.

Not in the way falling in love for the first time does—full of naive excitement, full of the rush of this is forever without ever questioning what forever actually means.

This was different.

This was love with edges, love with history, love that had been broken down to its very foundation and rebuilt with hands that knew how fragile it was.

You and Joe didn’t fall back into old habits, didn’t slip into the comfort of what once was. Because what you had before hadn’t worked, and maybe that was the point.

Maybe this was how it was supposed to be.

You weren’t together every second of every day. You weren’t just Joe’s girlfriend anymore. And maybe that was exactly what you had needed all along.

Joe never stopped trying.

He took you on real dates again, ones that weren’t just convenient dinners after practice, but ones he planned—a private table at your favorite restaurant, a weekend getaway, tickets to that concert you had mentioned in passing months ago.

He brought you presents—not extravagant, expensive gifts, but things that showed he listened to you. The signed first edition of that book you’d been searching for, the rare vintage jersey you casually mentioned once, the perfume you used to wear back in college but stopped because you thought it was discontinued.

He gave you space when you needed it. And when you talked, he listened.

Really listened.

And that gave you hope. Because this? This was the old Joe.

The one who had loved you before the fame, before the pressure, before the weight of the world had sat heavy on his shoulders. The one who had once promised you the world and had meant every word.

And maybe—just maybe—this time, he would keep that promise.

And Joe had never been happier.

He hadn’t realized what he had until he lost it. Until he spent a year trying to pretend like life without you was still life at all. And now that he had you back, he would never, ever lose you again.

So he did what he should have done the first time.

He showed up for you. For everything.

For your job, which he saw now wasn’t just something you did, but something you loved, something you were good at. He watched every segment, sent you texts after each one, grinned when you debated your co-hosts on-air like you were born for this.

For your hobbies, the ones you had picked up when he wasn’t around—reading late at night, running at sunrise, perfecting your French braiding skills just because you could. He watched you bloom into a version of yourself he hadn’t seen in years.

And he realized—this was you.

The you that had existed before the NFL, before the noise, before the expectations. And fuck, he had missed you.

Not the girlfriend who had once made his life so seamless, so easy, so comfortable.

But you.

The woman who never let anyone take her for granted. The woman who had built a life outside of him. The woman who had once loved him enough to let him go when she realized he wasn’t ready to love her the way she deserved.

Joe had spent years thinking he wanted someone who fit perfectly into his life. But the truth was, he didn’t want a trophy wife.

And you had never wanted to be one.

He wanted this. You, with your own ambitions, your own life, your own dreams.

And now, he had you back. Not because you needed him.

But because you had chosen him.

And he would spend the rest of his life proving that he was worth that choice.

--

Three months had passed, and somehow, this felt normal again.

Not in the way it once had—not in the suffocating, all-consuming way where your life revolved around Joe and his schedule.

This was better.

This was right.

And tonight, for the first time in over a year, you were his date to an NFL event. The NFL Honors, to be exact. The kind of night that used to feel like pressure, like you had to be perfect, like you were a reflection of him rather than your own person.

But not this time.

This time, it was just a date. A night out. A moment to celebrate him and everything he had fought to reclaim this season.

You would have been excited, had it not been for the fact that you were currently doing your makeup in a moving vehicle.

“You’re gonna stab yourself in the eye with that thing,” Joe mused, eyes flicking to you in the passenger seat as you struggled to apply mascara.

“I wouldn’t have to if someone had given me more time to get ready,” you muttered, carefully swiping the wand through your lashes.

Joe scoffed, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “Are you kidding me? You literally had hours. I was ready thirty minutes before I even came to get you.”

You rolled your eyes, tilting your head back for another coat. “Yeah, well, some of us have more to do than just put on a suit and fix our precious curls.”

Joe smirked, barely holding back a laugh. “You love my curls.”

You ignored him, reaching for your lip liner, only to fumble and drop it between your seat and the center console.

“Fuck,” you hissed, shifting to try and reach it.

Joe took the opportunity immediately. “Damn, you that excited for tonight?”

You groaned, pressing your head back against the seat in defeat. “Joe, shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” he mused, one hand on the wheel, the other casually adjusting his watch, looking way too pleased with himself. “All dressed up, sitting next to me, getting flustered… You sure it’s the event you’re excited for?”

You turned to glare at him, your face already burning, and the second he saw it—that blush—he grinned.

Like he had just won the fucking Super Bowl.

Like making you blush had been his goal all along.

And honestly? Knowing Joe, it probably had been.

“God, you’re so annoying,” you muttered, arms crossed.

Joe reached over and gave your thigh a small squeeze before returning his hand to the wheel, still grinning. “Yeah, but you love it.”

And the worst part?

You did.

You knew he was going to win before they even announced it.

There had been a lot of speculation, sure, but there was no doubt in your mind.

No one had fought harder than Joe. No one had come back from a worse season to prove himself the way he had.

So when they called his name—Joe Burrow, Comeback Player of the Year—you barely heard the crowd over the sound of your own excitement.

You were on your feet in an instant, clapping, beaming, so proud.

And when he turned toward you before heading to the stage, his hand brushing against yours in a silent moment of acknowledgment, your heart clenched in the best way.

This was his moment.

But you were his person.

—

Joe took the stage, adjusting the mic, the gold trophy shining under the lights.

“Uh—wow,” he started, shaking his head slightly, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip, the way he always did when he was trying to gather his thoughts.

The crowd laughed, and he let out a small exhale, gripping the trophy a little tighter.

“I’m not gonna stand up here and act like this season was easy,” he admitted, his voice steady but raw, real. “It wasn’t. At all. I went through a lot—personally, professionally, mentally. And honestly? There were times when I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be back up here again.”

Your chest ached a little at that.

Because you knew.

You knew how much it had taken for him to get here.

Joe’s lips twitched into a small smile. “But I had a lot of people in my corner. My teammates, my coaches, my family. And—” He paused, just for a second, and then his eyes found yours.

“And someone who reminded me what I was fighting for.”

Your breath hitched.

It wasn’t a grand declaration.

It wasn’t over the top.

It was just a moment—a split second where it was just you and him in a room full of people.

Joe cleared his throat, shifting his weight, nodding once. “This is for all the people who never stopped believing in me. And to anyone going through something they don’t think they’ll come back from—keep going. You never know what’s waiting for you on the other side.”

The crowd erupted into applause.

Joe gave a small nod, turned, and walked off the stage.

And when he got back to your table, the first thing he did was lean down and press a soft kiss to your temple, murmuring, “Told you I’d make it worth your time.”

And yeah.

He really, really had.

--

The night felt easy.

The way it always had, before everything got complicated. Before the pressure, before the expectations, before you had to fight for something that should have been effortless.

Now, it was effortless.

Joe was next to you, sleeves pushed up, stirring a pot of pasta while he rambled about the upcoming Super Bowl, going on about the defensive schemes and how the media was making too big of a deal about certain matchups.

Larry sat perched on the counter, her tail flicking every now and then, eyes trained on Joe like she actually cared about football, which was something Joe found endlessly amusing. He had already started referring to her as his cat, despite the fact that she had only tolerated him in the beginning.

“She loves me more than you now,” he had said just last week, smirking as Larry curled up next to him on the couch.

And you had just rolled your eyes. "Not a chance."

Now, standing here, making dinner in your quiet apartment, it felt like you had never left each other’s orbit. Like no time had passed at all.

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t thinking about the past.

You were just here. With him.

You turned toward the fridge, reaching to grab the parmesan, when you felt it.

A tap on your shoulder. Instinctively, you turned back. And everything stopped.

Joe was on one knee.

Your breath caught, your heart leaping into your throat as you stared down at him, frozen.

His hands were slightly unsteady, his fingers wrapped around a small, velvet box. His face was flushed, his breathing uneven, his lips parted like even he couldn’t believe he was doing this right now.

But his eyes—his eyes—were sure. There was no doubt. No hesitation.

Only love.

Joe exhaled sharply, running his free hand over his face before letting out a small, breathless laugh.

“Okay,” he started, shaking his head slightly. “I had this whole plan. I was gonna wait until after the summer, do some big, romantic thing, maybe take you on a trip, make it perfect.” He swallowed hard, looking up at you. “But, uh—yeah. Clearly, that didn’t happen.”

Your hands flew to your mouth, your heart pounding so loudly you could barely hear anything else.

Joe’s fingers tightened around the ring box. “Because the truth is, I can’t wait. I don’t want to wait. I’ve been thinking about this since the second you took me back, and I—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I bought this ring the week we got back together. I didn’t even fucking hesitate. Just walked into the store, told them exactly what I wanted, and bought it right there. Because I knew.”

Your chest ached.

Joe let out a small, nervous laugh, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “I knew the second I lost you that I had made the biggest fucking mistake of my life. I knew that I couldn’t do life without you, that I didn’t want to do life without you. And I know—I know—I have spent the last year proving that to you. But let me prove it for the rest of my life.”

Your vision blurred, tears spilling over as you let out a soft, choked breath.

Joe’s voice wavered slightly, his own eyes looking glassy. “I don’t want to marry you because it’s what we always planned. I don’t want to marry you because it’s what we should do. I want to marry you because I choose you. Every single fucking day. Over and over again. For the rest of my life.”

Your hands were trembling now, your lips parting as you tried to breathe.

Joe swallowed hard, shaking his head. “You are the love of my life. You always have been. And I am done wasting time.” His jaw clenched slightly, his fingers tightening around the box. “So, please, for the love of God, put me out of my misery and say yes.”

A breathless laugh bubbled out of you, your whole body trembling, your face wet with tears.

“Yes,” you whispered.

Joe’s face broke into the biggest, purest smile you had ever seen.

And then you were falling to your knees in front of him, your hands grabbing his face, pulling him in for a kiss that was everything—every promise, every ounce of love, every second of waiting for this moment.

Joe kissed you back instantly, his hands shaking as they wrapped around your waist, pulling you as close as possible, like he could never get enough.

When you finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours, his breath uneven, his thumbs swiping at the tears on your cheeks.

“I love you,” he whispered.

And for the first time in forever, you said it back without hesitation.

“I love you too.”

Joe grinned, slipping the ring onto your finger before he could drop it, and then exhaled dramatically.

“Thank God,” he muttered. “That would’ve been awkward as hell.”

You laughed, shoving his shoulder. “Shut up.”

But as Joe pulled you into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, Larry watching in the background like she knew exactly what had just happened—

You realized something.

This was exactly how it was meant to be.

[differenteagletragedy]

Price who gets a little older and finally retires but is BORED OUT OF HIS MIND.

He's right around 50, give or take a few years, and years of active duty plus a shot to the leg made it so that he can't do his job the way he used to, and damned if he's going to ride a desk and watch the rest of his team flit in and out doing what he should be doing. So he takes the pension and leaves.

It's less than a month of trying (and failing miserably) to sleep in, starting (and failing miserably) to grow a garden, reading and smoking cigars on his porch (that part goes all right) before he's about to rip his hair out. He ends up takin a job as an adjunct professor at the local university, teaching history.

And he ADORES it, so much more than he thought he would. He gets paid to run his mouth about World War II, something he would most definitely do for free, and he finds it surprisingly rewarding to interact with the students. He always loved taking care of those under him, and this is another version of that. He's a natural born leader, and while teaching is less regimented, it still fulfills something in him.

Another unexpected perk? You.

One of his more attentive students, always sitting in the front row, eyes wide and focused on him -- always on him. You hang on his every word during lectures, jotting down notes and asking questions, offering observations. You're bright, funny when the opportunity arises, and the way you just listen to him so well ... you're young enough to be his daughter, but beautiful enough for him not to be too bothered about it.

Not that it matters anyway. Nothing will ever happen, he knows that. He's your professor, he's sure you see him as an old man, if you even see him as a man at all.

What he doesn't know, however, is that you don't only listen because you're a good student. You listen because he's got the hottest voice you've ever heard, you pay attention because sometimes the dress shirts he wears stretch a little too tightly over his broad, well-muscled shoulders. You hover at his desk after class and ask him questions because you're genuinely curious, sure, but also because that close, you can smell him -- a rich tobacco scent that you're pretty sure you could become addicted to.

"Excellent work, as always," he tells you in that low, gruff voice one day during his office hours. You'd stopped by to get him to take a look at a rough draft of an essay you were writing for him. "You've definitely got an interesting point of view, sweetheart."

He glances up at you, a small, tight grin on his face, and you positively beam at him.

It was a slip of the tongue on his part, the pet name, and he was just about to smooth over it, a quick apology, but when he saw how your eyes lit up at the tiny bit of affection, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

After all, it doesn't really matter, does it? He tells himself again that nothing will ever happen. And if more little names slip out, if maybe he hovers a little too close over your desk when you have a question in class, or if his shoulder brushes against yours when you're reading something in his office? Well, then that won't matter either, will it?

[thegroundhogdidit]

honestly this whole thing makes me want to put my head through a brick wall because yeah! people treat feminine men like shit! and at the same time i have to watch every single fandom ever do their own version of "the bigger one is the top."

i also keep thinking about this one episode of will & grace that is the most on the nose criticism of this i've ever seen. the whole episode is about will (a masculine gay man) not wanting to be seen in public with jack (a feminine gay man). and jack keeps pestering him about why that is until will finally admits that it's because he doesn't want to be perceived as a fag. and i bring this up because that's what it is! that's it! it's good old fashioned homophobia, same as it ever was!

and it sucks because i can know all this and still want to fall into criticizing the uwu softboi trope because i still have to see people bend over backwards to make sure that the more feminine character is the bottom even if it means ignoring all canon characterization. or i have to see people hypermasculinize a character because they can't possibly consider that multiple things can exist at once.

all this to say. people be normal about trans and gnc people challenge, level: impossible

I'm being so understanding and gentle when I say this

but if what you Want to do is complain about or criticize people stripping queer men (or gnc men) of their agency and infantilizing them, the short hand for that Cannot just be a synonym for a queer man.

"they make being a twink his whole personality" "they all just make him into an uwu softboi"

and what do those words actually Mean? they mean being a gay person, they mean being feminine. using those words to Imply the infantilization or the degradation or the fetishization Is Itself applying those negative connotations to those words and identities and presentations.

we can't conflate men being visibly gay or feminine or queer with these negative tropes without, you know, Conflating The Two. using being visibly feminine (or soft, or cute, or whatever) as a shorthand for being dehumanized actively hurts other queer people and how they're seen and treated in the community.

[heaven-s-black-box]

Notes- Blabber Mouth; Anemo Men

x gn!Reader

Return to File

Recovery date: February 9th, 2025

Description: Anemo version of Blabber Mouth

Notes: CW a few suprise pregnancies I put Wanderer in here, but I personally subscribe to trans-man Wanderer because why would Raiden give him a male body? Also, this series is slowly separating from the original prompt and I feel like I'm just making these kids psychic but shhh, babies

Hydro Dendro Cryo Pyro Anemo Electro Geo

Back to directory

Aether

Kids , he likes them but never really thought they were in his future

I mean, he’s always traveling with his sister, it’s not until Teyvat that he kind of settles down

Abyss!Aether or Traveler!Aether, they meet you and staying here doesn’t sound too bad

Your first is an accident, they make the decision for him

Not that he wanted to leave you anyways

Your second is planned, but your first born beats you to tell him

Aether comes back from wherever he was, helping Khaenri’ah, a commission, ruling the Abyssal Khaeri’ans, and your kid tackles him in a hug

Then, without you saying anything, they talk about reading a story to the baby

And you play mock offense thinking they were reading to you and Aether is trying to figure out what baby

You send your kid off to clean up their toys so you can talk

Aether drops to his knees and hugs your waist

Xiao

It’s not that he doesn’t want kids, he just doesn’t think about it because he doesn’t want another thing he can’t have

He can’t be around people normally, being around an infant? Bad idea

So, you’d have to be anything but a mortal, someone who can be around him despite his debt

Then, he gives it some thought and he’s still really not sure

It takes many conversations for him to see your side of things

Cries the first time he holds your baby

As your first grows up, he tries to figure out how to broach the subject of having another

You laugh when he finally gets it out, face red, and quickly apologize before saying another sounds nice

Your kid is very defensive, and they try defending you from one of the dogs around Wangshuu inn one day

When you ask what’s wrong, because normally the dogs aren't a problem, your kid says they saw the dog scare a baby the other day

Takes you both a second to figure out how that correlates and then it’s a trip to Baizhu

He cries, the first time it wasn’t real to him until he held the baby but this time it’s real from the start

Venti

You guys start talking about having kids, and he’s not even sure he can have them

Like, he’s a windspirit and sure he’s in human form but how far does that extend

So your first born is a bit of a surprise

But he’s so happy, sings to them all the time while your pregnant

He drinks less too, can’t be drinking at Angel’s share when he’s trying to wrangle the little whirlwind into bed

It’s one such night when your little one runs out of their room and into yours

They curl up with you in your bed, and Venti’s trying to convince them to sleep in their bed

They declare they want to sleep with their sibling

You stop reading/pretending to sleep, confused, and Venti just gives in

They make a good point, how could he pull such a protective big sibling away from their little sibling

Venti’s been around enough to know that children can just tell these things

So he just wraps you all up in his wings and you go to Barbara in the morning

If either of your kids are boys, he’s naming him after the nameless bard

Kazuha

Kids… he wants them, he doesn’t want his family line to end with him

But, it’s not really an option when he’s on the run

Once he returns to Inazuma though, he gives it more serious thought

Spending time in the forge, he sees kids run by a lot and watches their awe as they watch him

He brings it up to you, and you have your first born

We don’t know what his friend’s name is, but your first born is getting named after him

Even if he has to alter it a little bit

He likes to write poetry with your kid, it helps their vocabulary, creativity, and fine motor skills

You two also use it to encourage their self expression

So they express their excitement about the friend in your belly

That poem is getting framed, it makes you both laugh

Heizou

Likes playing with the kids in the city and around Ritou

Hasn’t really considered kids of his own

It’s not until he sees you with the kids that he starts thinking about it

I think your first is an accident, but his excitement even surprises him a bit

Not that he thought he wouldn’t be happy/excited

And your kid takes after their father’s investigative curiosity

So you start acting off and they’re running their own investigation

This one is less of a “little kid sixth sense” and more like “mini detective”

They even get Heizou to join in the investigation

But there’s definitely a bit of weird sibling psychic-ness, your first born predicts baby's gender later on

Everyone’s excited, you first born is already planning investigations to do with them

Extra note, but Heizou definitely takes your infants on easy investigations strapped to his chest in a baby harness

Wanderer

I… don’t think he can have kids, I personally think he was not modeled with the required hardware (fully believe his original model was at least a ken doll and and at most fem)

But, between handling the electro gnosis and being around Dottore, I could see him getting the hardware and systems

I do not think he knows he has these systems, mostly because he’s never tried

So your kid is an accident

And Wanderer has a lot of thoughts but, I think he holds the baby and decides that he can do this

First baby’s name is Niwa

This kid has him wrapped around their finger, and he’s happy with one

And now that you two know he can get you pregnant you two are more careful

Your kid asks for a sibling and he’s not one to deny them if you’re okay with it

They’re also the one to tell you, one day they just press a kiss to your tummy before Wanderer puts them to bed for the night

Tighnari’s in the city, so you check in with him before he leaves

I think Wanderer surprises himself with the love he feels for his kids

[pukefactory]

can i req a low battery/hungry vee x reader 🫶

⊹⊱•••《 FLICKERING MONITORS 》•••⊰⊹

⍟ Summary: A compilation of headcanons featuring the reader helping Vee with a low battery charge

⍟ Character(s): Vee Version 1 (Dandy’s World)

⍟ Genre: Headcanons, Fluff, SFW

⍟ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

☇ Vee rarely shows weakness, but when her battery is low, she has no choice but to slow down. Her usual confident demeanor falters, her movements become sluggish, and her screen flickers between dim green hues. At first, she tries to brush it off, refusing to acknowledge that she’s running on empty. It isn’t until you step in—placing a hand on her arm and telling her, point-blank, to sit down—that she finally listens.

☇ Her usual sharp wit is dulled when she’s low on power. If she tries to throw out a sarcastic remark, it often trails off before she can finish, leaving her blinking at the empty space in front of her. You can’t help but find it amusing, but you also know better than to tease her about it—unless you want to be on the receiving end of her unimpressed glare once she recharges.

☇ When she’s on the verge of shutting down, Vee becomes more honest than usual. She lacks the energy to filter herself, so you’ll occasionally catch her mumbling absentminded thoughts. Once, after you guided her to sit against the Gardenview tree, she muttered, “You’re… good at this. Taking care of me.” You were about to ask her to repeat that, but by the time you turned to her, her screen had already faded to black.

☇ She hates feeling vulnerable, but she trusts you enough to let you see her like this. Even in her exhausted state, she makes sure you don’t worry too much. “It’s just a power save mode,” she insists, waving a sluggish hand. “Nothing to get all emotional about.” But you notice the way she leans into your touch, seeking comfort despite her words.

☇ Her tail, usually animated and twitching with energy, goes completely still when her battery is critically low. If you try to nudge it or lift it slightly, it flops back down with zero resistance. The first time this happened, you half-jokingly told her it was kind of cute. She immediately fixed you with a half-lidded stare and deadpanned, “I’m moments from collapsing, and this is what you focus on?”

☇ When her battery dips too low, her voice starts glitching. The confident, smooth tone she usually carries stutters and distorts into robotic fragments. She loathes it, which is why she starts speaking less when she’s running on fumes. You quickly catch on and start filling the silence yourself, telling her about your day or rambling about something you know she enjoys. Even if she doesn’t respond, you can tell she’s listening.

☇ If she shuts down completely, you stay beside her the entire time. Whether she’s leaned against your shoulder or lying still with her tail curled beside her, you refuse to leave until she powers back on. The first time she woke up to see you still sitting there, half-asleep but keeping watch, she was silent for a long moment before muttering, “You really are something else.”

☇ Despite her exhaustion, she’s still as stubborn as ever. If you try to carry her somewhere more comfortable, she will protest. “I can walk,” she grumbles, even as her limbs threaten to give out. You ignore her complaints and continue supporting her weight, much to her exasperation. Secretly, though, she appreciates it more than she’ll ever admit.

☇ Once she’s fully recharged, she acts as if nothing ever happened. If you bring up how worried you were, she just shrugs and says, “See? I told you I’d be fine.” But later, when she thinks you’re not paying attention, she shoots you a brief, grateful glance before quickly looking away.

☇ After her battery incident, she begrudgingly lets you keep track of her power levels. “It’s not like I need you to do this all the time,” she insists, arms crossed. “But since you’re so insistent on hovering, I guess I’ll allow it.” Of course, she doesn’t stop you when you check on her throughout the day. And if you ever gently remind her to recharge before it gets bad again, she just sighs and mutters, “Fine, fine. Don’t worry so much.”

[crtakespropogandist]

It's buck wild to me that it's so popular to imagine a Bren-who-didn't-break in a romance with Essek, or in a version of the Blumentrio where Astrid is the worst influence.

When Liam said Shadowgast Killing Eve AU, he wasn't talking about Villanelle and Eve parallels, and he definitely wasn't talking about Darth Bren. When Liam explained Caleb's instinct to manipulate Essek, people somehow took said explanation to mean that Bren was specialized in honeypotting/seduction, which, no. Bren the Volstrucker would be way more inclined towards a different kind of heat.

In the "Waldhexe" narrative, which Liam confirmed was analogous to Trent and the Blumentrio, Astrid lost one eye, whereas Eadwulf lost "much of" his brain, and Bren lost his whole heart. Astrid shared a final meal with her parents, whereas Eadwulf gave his a confrontation, and Bren killed his parents without entering the house, no thought spared for the family cat. Astrid defied Trent during the final battle, whereas Eadwulf had to be neutralized, and Bren would have killed Trent in his sleep for not abdicating to him soon enough. Every bit of content screams that Astrid is the best influence on Volstrucker Blumentrio, ambition and all. Without Caleb's new perspective, Astrid's view of the world is the most nuanced, and she is the most open to change.

I know it's not comfortable to imagine one moment capable of consigning Caleb's character to heartlessness, especially when that moment was sprung on him as an abused child. Especially when Astrid and Eadwulf's experience of that moment didn't define their respective capacities for redemption. Especially when Essek, having committed worse sins under less extenuating circumstances, is easily saved.

But the reality of a disordered mind is far from comfortable, and Caleb's struggle, as per Liam's comments, is one I know well. Caleb's OCD is much milder than mine given how he's now plenty functional and happy ohne Drogen (idk German), but one of the hallmarks of the diagnosis places Caleb "Magical Thinking" Widogast amongst the multiple CR PCs who are also puns*.

"I was so sure, and then I wasn't." OCD made it impossible for Bren to tolerate that whisper of doubt the way Astrid and Eadwulf could. The implications were universal to Bren, all encompassing. He had to embrace that doubt as valid, or reject it as impossible. His mind failed to do either right then and there, and it broke him. When he was restored, that whisper of doubt was confirmed, and an OCD spiral of rumination entrenched in soon-to-be-Caleb the conviction that he is Bad and he deserves Bad. Nothing he does can ever reflect well on his true self, but cognitive dissonance sure rears its head when he joins the Nein, because Caleb is very smart despite OCD not caring about that.

OCD, like the Sith, only deals in absolutes. Bren the Volstrucker would not be among the jaded-but-resigned, morally grey operatives Astrid and Eadwulf became. Bren, having rejected that whisper of doubt, would rationalize away anything incongruent with the conviction that he is Good and he deserves Good. Nothing he does can ever reflect poorly on his true self, and cognitive dissonance would be kept at bay by well-articulated justifications that seamlessly build off of Trent's core teachings, because Bren is still very smart. Essek isn't still that hot, though. Cricks are enemies, and enemies are disgusting. The OCD, however mild, is stronger than the peen.

*Fjord "Texblade" Stone, Ashton "Punk Rock" Greymoore, Fresh "One" Cut "Eyed" Grass "Monster", Imogen "Imagine Tumult" Temult

[kosmicthen]

i gotta tell you the thought process of the creation AND the Funny Haha Struggle story (not that funny but it is funny to me now) during the time i was working on this (2nd week of december 2024)

the inspiration/thought process notes:

obviously demonyawa’s jake and maria official illustrations for the spotify single versions of memories and titua

i was binging blue period at the time

listening to bawat piyesa by munimuni on loop — an opm song about grief and not knowing what to do without the person who is gone

and i thought of this famous art trope where character paints their loved one? i’m not sure where it originated but it could also be character carves a statue of loved one too— a bunch of the cool cn/jpn/kr artists keep cooking that prompt up but atm i CANNOT think of the specific i can share

so painting side is different soft coloring style than the foreground (mark/nicole) who are lined and more refined yay yippee cool im insane like that

now to tell you what happened to me during the creation of these:

when i finished sketches for both parts and jake’s coloring, i got really dizzy and nauseous!!! not a good sign!! i was talking to a friend in the ph but i said im hopping off call bc of dizziness

i thought that i was staring at the screen too long cause i was working with really saturated colors so i stepped away till i was yk better. i struggle with motion sickness too btw so i assumed this was my brain making me motion sick

guys. i. didnt feel better. APPARENTLY I WAS STRUCK BY THE ILLNESS. like i was physically sick the next 48 hrs. i find out ive got some stomach virus bc the ppl i lived with had it too. IT WAS SO BAD. i couldn’t eat bc it would immediately get out of my system (trying not to describe it grossly), but i couldn’t sleep bc i was so hungry…!! it was so bad its sooo laughable!! i only had like 2 hrs of sleep bc of my hunger meter was KILLING ME

and the funniest thing to me. listen.. i… i had another until then idea on the works before i worked on this “bawat piyesa” mark and nic pieces— and you know what that was? MARK BORJA SICK FIC/COMIC 😭😭😭 i make this LOSER SICK WITH THE HORROR OF A FEVER AND HE TRANSFERRED IT TO MEEEEEEEE WITH HIS MIND?!?!?

AND I HAD COLLEGE FINALS THE NEXT DAY?!?!?? IT WAS SOOO OVER!?!?!

there was nothing i could do abt it except take meds, sleep a bit, and eat nothing but soup and white bread and apples,, but i also had to be on this waiting period for the final online exam for my class to unlock 😭😭 so in the middle of all of that, i just started working on the bawat piyesa pieces when i didnt feel dizzy.

so yeah I HAVE NOOOO IDEA how i powered through all that. but i hope that you guys know now that these pieces were made through resilience. i am just so happy these artworks were so well received, and i still made it the vision that i wanted

i cooked at A Cost, but at least, I Made Peak

but also don’t neglect your health!! i could have never made it through if i just ignored the sickness. i never want to be that hungry ever again 😭😭

anong gagawin kung wala ka? dito ka na lang habambuhay.

version that only has maria and jake

[fortunekookie07]

Dance with Me - Caleb

Finally the day had arrived. You walked to the den and found Caleb sitting at the table working quietly. His back is bent over his current project. You never really understood his fascination with putting together these models when he flew the real thing. But it made him happy to assemble the tiny versions.

Sometimes, you loved to sit and watch him work. The concentrated look on his face was so cute. His eyes would be narrowed, and his brow would be furrowed as he carefully put the small pieces together.

You call his name softly and wait until he turns around before presenting him with the box you were holding.

Placing the small box in Caleb's hand with a grin, you sit next to him. "Didn't we agree, no gifts this year?" He asks, setting down the wrench. The pieces of his model are scattered across the table.

You kiss his cheek. "This is one gift you don't want to miss." He eyes you and then the box before grasping the ribbon and tugging. The simple bow knot comes undone. Pulling the lid up, he stares down at a black and white picture.

Confusion furrows his brows as he picks it up and stares at the image. Slowly, a smile stretches across his face. "You mean?" He asks, looking at you with pure joy. "Mhh hmmm." You nod vigorously.

He pulls you up with him and starts dancing around the kitchen and into the living room. You laugh as he spins you around in a crazy rhythm.

"Caleb, what are you doing?" He brings you in close, and you can hear the thumping of his heart. "Dance with me!" He can't contain his enthusiasm. Finally, you collapse on the couch, but it seems he still has energy to spend.

"I'm going to be a farher!" He shouts and then runs to the door and throws it open before shouting the same sentence from the open door.

You shake your head at your childish husband. Eventually, he comes back to where you're seated and sits down before laying his head in your lap. Turning to face your still flat stomach and wrapping his arms around your waist. "How far along are you?" He mumbles into your stomach. Whether he is asking you or the growing baby, you're not sure.

"Almost ten weeks." You brush your fingers through his hair. You can feel his smile against your stomach. Is this why you've been weird with food lately." You know it's a rhetorical question.

Having grown up together your whole life, Caleb is more than familiar with your eating habits. "Yeah, Tara went with me to the doctor for a checkup last week. She was almost as excited as you were. Don't worry, you are the first to find out."

Caleb gets up and then pulls you up and into his arms. "Ca-Caleb! Where are we going!" You laugh as he waltzes over to the bedroom and throws the door open with his evol.

"There's still time! We might be able to make them twins!" You laugh at this man, with his vast understanding of sciences, saying something so absurd. But he won't hear of it and so you end up spending the rest of the day in your bedroom. He hardly let you up to eat or use the bathroom.

You stroke his bare back, listening to him snore softly as you lay tucked into his arms.

The path to your current relationship had been incredibly difficult. With all the secrets he'd tried to keep from you on his desperate and somewhat deranged path to keeping you safe. Then there was the aftermath when those secrets had come to life.

His mental health had hit an all-time low, and he'd come close to calling these life quits. It was honestly a miracle that you'd made it to today.

"This life isn't easy, but I hope you'll help me take care of your daddy." You say softly stroking your stomach.

Being with Caleb wasn't easy. Despite having known him your whole life, he felt like a stranger when he came back. A strange pretending to be the protector you'd always known.

When everything came to light and all his secrets, pain, and suffering were laid bare, it had been brutal.

Caleb was willing to end it all. If he couldn't have you, he didn't want anything anymore.

You still remembered the desperate look on his face that day. The raw fear in his eyes as he thought you were going to walk away from him. You hadn't been sure of what you wanted until that point.

But when you sank to your knees in front of him and hugged him, all had seemed right, like you just knew it was all going to be ok. You knew you didn't want to lose your best friend, and you found the strength and courage in your heart to save him.

Caleb had stood trial, and people were ready to throw the book at him. It was only when evidence came to light that he hadn't been acting of his own free will that changed everything.

He'd gone from the monster seeking to destroy the city to a victim. Forced to act against his will and better nature. The looks of pity they gave him had been almost as bad as their anger.

He still suffered from that time. His nightmares were terrible. Sometimes, he would cry in his sleep. Only holding onto him and assuring him he was not alone helped.

So, to say it had been a difficult year was an understatement. It has taken months to get Caleb reinstated in the DAA. His friends and fellow pilots had welcomed him back with open arms. Ready to have him at their side once more. Some friends really would stand with you through hell and high water.

Picking up pieces of a broken life was worth it in the end. When you got the news, the first person you wanted to tell was Caleb. You'd even sworn Tara to secrecy until you could break the news

Unconsciously, Caleb holds you closer, and you drift off to sleep.

****************************************************

Here we go with story 2!

Caleb was difficult for me to write, in that I struggle with adding depth to this story for him. I knew I wanted to have a theme for all five guys and I started with a thought, making very sure no story is the same and I believe I have succeeded, a you'll find out in thevdays to come.

I know Caleb was introduced near the beginning of MCs story, but his character is still very unknown to me. Hence my great struggle with keeping to what I do know.

So please don't come for me! I did put my best effort into this.

[midnight1nk]

So, this week's episode...

[spoilers below cut]

y'know, i've taken the time to calm down from what happened minutes ago and this might be the distraction i need. hey, the Karen and Swag dynamic is back (for real this time) and i got myself some instant ramen :)

(the following is my life reaction:)

hey luke, oh that's right the murder drones merch ofc

ah yes, just innocent child imagination. very nice :)

dude, it's good to see Karen and her kids again

THEY BROUGHT IT BACK LET'S GOOOOOO

and the corporation is at it again. OMG seriously leave Karen alone bruh

well, ig she didn't technically finish the job of killing Marty (nope i'm still not over that btw)

well we at least know what Karen has them under in her contacts, "Hitman inc"

YES YES YESSSSSSSS THE SMG4 KIDS ARE BACK BABYYYYYY

i have been WAITING for this to happen, i can check this off the bucket list

can they be friends PLEASE?????

oh hang on i gotta pull a Pitch Meeting (TM) here, give me a second...

Writer!Ink: "..And Frankie said that Beeg4 claimed the playground right before they did." Producer!Ink: "Wow, it's going to be hard to go against Beeg. I mean, this is the kid known to start fights with other kids to get what he wants, like that one time with the ice cream." Writer!Ink: "Actually, it's going to be super easy. Barely an inconvenience." Producer!Ink: "Oh, really?" Writer!Ink: "Yeah, because Zach is just going to poke Beeg with a stick and that should pretty much do it."

Producer!Ink: "If only we could do that irl... but wait, if they're in their imaginary world, could the stick be a stand-in for a sword or weapon in general? I mean, it was the same stick they used to execute that guy." Writer!Ink: "Well, sir, we're already pushing boundaries on what YouTube is allowing Glitch Productions to do. We're already doing the Knights of Guinevere and, with Dana Terrace and TOH team onboard, there's not enough in the budget to show a kid getting stabbed even though it's pretend." Producer!Ink: "Oh yeah, YouTube will definitely going to kick our ass for that. We got away with it last time with Terrence." Writer!Ink: "Also, death is sometimes not real." Producer!Ink: "...What?"

...let's just move on

sad moment for Beeg for sure, but I just like how he rolls around like that

Swag, my dude, no....

that was cute for Swag to call Beeg little buddy

EGGDOG NOOO (well, they are kids, they probably didn't realize how much it's affecting Beeg, even if it's pretend)

SWAG FLASHBACK? i did not see that coming

also these grown-ass men clowning on a kid, bruh how about you mind your damn business

this really sweet though and very on brand for Swag to go against a bunch of kids

*holding out for a hero shrek 2 version mp3 plays in bg*

yep, everyone in SMG4 has trauma 😀👍

"OMG IT'S SPIDER-MAN" *look at the camera* how did I get in this show? am i cory this whole time?

guess who's back from that call?

Swag, you're so dead. RIP already to you dude

(also weird how in the same week, the fandom found out that Kevin was going to be in a boxing tournament, huh...)

that R roll though, hold onnnnn

i really do love the switch between their game of pretend and irl

using a HIGHLY EXPERIMENTAL GOVERNMENT DEVICE on CHILDREN in a PLAYGROUND....

huh *sweats nervously* this isn't new, very on-brand for Swag to do, but... oh god they read my episode concepts /silly

honestly that's a good question Karen, finally someone says it

SWAG

This is giving "The Incredibles" vibes and i'm somehow here for that, hell yeah

PFFT HAHAHA YEAH KAREN FUCK THIS GET THEIR ASS

well Swag you did dare them to "stomp out" your spell

OH BEEG HE'S JUST A BABY 😭

YES YES THIS IS WHAT I WANT YESSSS

WAITER WAITER I WOULD LIKE SOME MORE 💳💥💳💥💳💥💳💥

*LE GASP* WE CAN HAVE SMG4 CREW MINI WITH ALL THE KIDS

...huh *to self, don't think about goop!4 don't think about goop!4 don't think about goop!4*

i'm going to point at whoever wrote this scene intentionally. you, yes YOU, if i'm thinking exactly what you are putting down, touché

OH SHIT GET THE KIDS KAREN

F in the chat for Swag o7 (ik he's not dead)

WOAH WOAH WOAH HOLD UP NONONONONO TEAM YOU CAN'T JUST DROP THAT ON US! ON ME!

oh fuck dude, that just slapped me across the face. "Reckless and chaotic", huh? WHO THE HELL IS THE KIDS' BIO FATHER? For all we know, this guy might be dead. divorce is an option, sure, but the way Swag's sacrifice caused a lot of destruction...

the implications, guys... i can't believe this...

ANYWAY Beeg4's little hops 💙 like father, like son

andddd Swag's not dead, i knew it. and in the sky just like Old Man who's also not dead btw :)

Congrats to choripandia for your art being featured in the credit 🎉 love the art, dude

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

omg... what an episode! This has been fantastic, honestly!!! Everything from the plot to the animation, all of it was SOOOO GOOD. It's crazy and wacky and I love it! It featured side characters the whole time, love those kinds of changes! and we got character backstories which WOAH that was a nice surprise :D

AND AND i get a dose of the Mini Crew? HELL YEAH

this has been phenomenal and I truly think this might lead to something. Aside from the imagery the Team likes to tease me and goop!4 theory with, this could lead to an arc, likely on Karen. A non-Mr.Puzzles arc, I'm all for it.

(and y'know me I would've called it the most non-Puzzles Puzzles arc potential of all times, that doesn't seem that it's linked to Puzzles in any way but it could be brought back bc character development. after all, Karen is linked to Marty, Puzzle Park, and the corporation and Swag to episodes related to IGBP. but for our sakes, let's not have Puzzles this time, it'll be a very creative challenge for the Team)

If there's no arc, that is totally fine! I am more than happy to just have more episodes like this without it being in an arc. not necessarily non-plot relevant bc of the corporation and Karen's mystery husband. it's still insane that the Team dropped that in for us and Swag's backstory like that. Amazing job, truly.

Now I know some people might've been confused about Mario being in the thumbnail and not in the episode. I get it really. According to Ben, he didn't see the episode itself until after its release and this thumbnail was what the Team sent him to do. It's crazy ik, but do understand that they're working on a tight schedule.

Take it from me: I work as a major editor for a publishing group (that i'm not going to specify) and we have to release a new thing every two weeks. It's not of "one team works on this and then passes it on to the next" like a factory production line. All teams are working at the same time and have to deliver at the same time, regardless of the amount they were given in the first place. And there are times when something's missing, we have to improvise (but still maintain good quality) just so we could meet the deadline. Even if we have good communication with each other.

Obviously for the SMG4 Team, they have a lot of things going on in their lives, other projects to work on, timezones to get through, and yet they still have the moment for this show. Perhaps when Ben was sent the request, they planned to have Mario in the episode but the writers (Aaron, Paul, and Wiz) decided to write him out. Who knows? Just imagine doing a thumbnail and then the group chat tells you to make a different one quickly before they release it. Plus, his computer is holding on by a thread from all the rendering, poor Ben

i know how that feels, man 😔 there goes my program crashing

For what it's worth, it's okay, the episode was still great. Thanks as always, Team. Anyway guys, that's all I have to say for now, really enjoyed nice little distraction. And remember: numbers go first!

I'll see you all next time!!! 💙

[slytherinlives]

I Feel Nothing For You - Sebastian Sallow

Rating: G

Tags: Hurt, break-ups, denial, angst.

Words: ~700

Summary: Sebastian tries to rid himself of the lingering presence post break-up.

(This is written with a gender-neutral "ex partner" that could be considered x reader if you squint. It could also be anyone else you want to use as a stand in. I didn't go into this with a ship in mind, just wanted to write a drabble of angst.)

[Read on ao3 or below the cut]

The water pouring from the tap was cold enough to cut off Sebastian's blood flow. His breaths coming in heaving gasps as he diligently scrubbed his skin, desperate to remove the lingering touches and their scent. As if he could get underneath and wash away their memory. 

He moved on to his hair next, then his face, before grabbing a nail brush he pilfered from his sister and started scrubbing away all traces of them from his hands. 

Sebastian wanted to be a version of himself that was never tainted by the heartache he felt. A layer of chill bumps formed on his flesh, causing all hair to stand on end and a shiver to wrack through him. It made him scrub faster, harder. Diligent and harsh, whatever it took to remove fingerprints. 

After what was surely an hour Sebastian turned the water off, wrapping a towel around himself before heading over to the sink. He turned the cold water on, then started brushing his teeth just as vigorously. The taste of them had to be removed just as effectively. 

Never existed. 

He repeated in his head for hours now, thinking the more he said it the more it would be true.

Sebastian already tossed and burned every trace of them in his dorm. Every piece of clothing, gift, letter. All of it turned to ashes in the furnace that sat in the middle of the room. It was especially difficult to cast a charm to make any future correspondence from them unable to reach him, but he managed. Hopefully if they tried to send a letter, the post would be sent off to the void. 

Most people probably treated a breakup or heartache much differently than Sebastian is currently. He was probably expected to wallow in bed for days or seem more broken up than he appears. But Sebastian isn't most people. 

Never existed. 

He rinsed his mouth out and wiped away the remnants of water and toothpaste from his lips before tossing the dirty towel into the bin and headed back to his dorm. 

Everything in his wardrobe was now brand new. Sale tags still hanging on the sleeves of the new uniforms, he ripped them off as he got dressed. The bag holding his books was also new, everything that became tainted now replaced. 

Sebastian ran his fingers through his still damp hair, taking one last look in the mirror before heading out the door. Hushed whispers surrounded him as he walked past, the news spreading throughout the castle like wildfire already. He didn't care though, as far as Sebastian was concerned, the gossip was about a ghost.

Before he could enter the great hall, someone stopped him. Sebastian hesitated slightly, before turning.

"Can we pretend like this never happened?" They spoke sullenly, looking at him with tear filled eyes. A mix of regret and longing on their face. Now standing before him and begging for a second chance, to get back together.

They probably meant the argument between them earlier. The shouting, the anger, words hurled at each other so harshly they struck physical blows. Likely referring to the inevitable calling it quits. 

Sebastian swallowed at the words, thinking them over briefly before settling on what he needed. For the first time in years not choosing what he wanted. He regarded them with a blank stare. The same one he would give any stranger he didn't know. "Never happened." He finally spoke, a half-hearted smirk crossing his lips. Then he pushed past them and into the hall, walking over to take his place at the Slytherin table.

This is where the request differed. 

For Sebastian, they never met. Never shared secrets or dreams. Never stayed up late mapping the stars or talking about their futures. Never shared themselves with each other. Never explored around the castle together. Never shared jokes or laughs. 

Perhaps he was being too cruel, acting too unbothered. 

But Sebastian learned a long time ago that when something hurts, it's easier to pretend it didn't happen. Shut yourself off and turn yourself numb. Get rid of everything that reminds you of it. If there's no trace, there's no proof. If you don't feel the burn, then you're already healing.

If you don't want to feel the pain, it's easier to act like it never existed. 

[seumyo]

TOKOYAMI FUMIKAGE ⭑.ᐟ RECENT BAKING NEWS: GINGERBREAD MAN MURDERED BY ICING

Tokoyami stood near the oven, his eyes scanning the latest batch cooling on the tray. “This one survived,” he said, lifting a gingerbread man with only a minor crack in its leg.

“Fumi, look!”

It was a gingerbread man covered in neon pink icing, its buttons slightly askew, and its face looking more mischievous than festive. Like an evil version of Gingy from Shrek.

“It’s... unique,” he said diplomatically.

You giggled, clearly proud of your work. “He’s special! I call him Sir Gingy of Sprinkleland!”

Tokoyami hummed, setting the rest of the intact gingerbread men on a cooling rack. “Sir Gingy seems to have taken significant damage to his arm,” he pointed out.

You gasped, inspecting the cookie again. “Oh no! I didn’t even notice! Poor Sir Gingy! He’s been through so much.” You gave it a dramatic, sorrowful look. “You think icing can save him?”

“No amount of icing will repair that arm. It’s a lost cause.”

“Fine. He’ll just be a war hero. I’ll make a new one!”

As you grabbed another gingerbread man, you accidentally squeezed your piping bag too hard, sending a short yet thick stream of icing splattering onto the counter. “Oops,” you said with a sheepish grin, quickly grabbing a spoon to scrape it up.

“[Name], you’re making more of a mess than anything.”

“Hey, I’m making art!” you retorted, playfully sticking your tongue out at him. “You’re just jealous because my gingerbread men are cooler than yours.”

“Mine are intact. That alone makes them superior.”

Your rebuttals continued as you two worked, though “worked” might have been a generous term. You had an almost endless supply of energy, attacking each gingerbread man with new ideas, while Tokoyami methodically piped clean, precise lines onto his.

At one point, you leaned in close to inspect one of his cookies. What kind of sorcery did he perform to do such a thing?

“How do you make the lines so straight?”

“Practice,” Tokoyami replied simply, though his feathers ruffled slightly at your proximity.

“I think it’s because you’re just naturally good at everything,” you said with a smile, not noticing how your compliment made his gaze soften.

The process to create the “perfect” gingerbread man was more complicated than it had to be. One batch was slightly overbaked, leading to you dramatically declaring them “burnt sacrifices to the oven gods.” Another batch could barely hold out on their own, way too soft—Tokoyami couldn’t bring himself to even step in and stop your experimentation with the recipe with how happy you looked.

Luckily, not that much ingredients went to waste as he made do of the rest to salvage them.

“Aw, I think this one got sentenced to weak, floppy arms.”

“I’m not sure he could’ve survived the icing flood anyway.”

By the time you finally managed to create a properly decorated gingerbread man, you were a complete mess. Flour streaked your cheeks, and your hands were sticky with icing. Tokoyami, who had somehow remained relatively clean, couldn’t help but stare at you in disbelief.

He shook his head and reached for a clean cloth. “Hold still.”

Tokoyami gently dabbed at the icing on your arm, then turned his attention to your face. “There’s flour on your cheek,” he said, his voice softening as he used the cloth to wipe it away.

“And on your nose.”

“And… here too.”

You held perfectly still, your eyes wide as you felt his fingers gently brush a stray sprinkle out of your chin. Your heart skipped a beat.

“Thanks, Fumi. But, uh… you’ve got a little something too.”

Tokoyami tilted his head to the side. “Where?”

You smirked mischievously, swiping your finger through a dollop of icing on the counter and booping it onto his beak. “There!”

He froze, his feathers ruffling in surprise as you burst into laughter. “[Name]…”

“Come on, you can’t stay mad at me during Christmas!” you teased cheekily.

With a sigh that was more amused than annoyed, Tokoyami grabbed another cloth to wipe his beak clean. “How childish,” he muttered, but the fondness in his tone was unmistakable.

Despite the countless casualties—burnt cookies, cracked gingerbread men, and icing floods—they eventually managed to create a perfectly decorated, cutesy gingerbread man. You held it up triumphantly, your now neatly cleaned hands bringing out the baked goods beauty.

All thanks to your boyfriend who had the patience of a saint. Nevertheless, Tokoyami couldn’t help but think that this was the kind of Christmas memory he would treasure forever.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[unsuitablepet]

i've noticed you're Canadian, and as an incredibly terrified american, are you guys getting news that war is actually likely? our news and search engines are being heavily censored, i actually cannot find anything past 2024 about possible war. i'm reeling that it's possible, but i wouldn't put it past the orange fuck. i am so sincerely sorry for that cockalorum.

Hey! First of all, thanks for reaching out, and I'm sorry to hear you're terrified. We are also terrified to hear that your news is being censored. As I'm sure you can imagine, now more than ever, we want Americans to be aware of our situation and what's going on up north.

In terms of whether our news is saying war is likely... that's hard to answer. Truthfully, our news sources take a bit of a different tone than yours, for the most part. We're very avoidant of absolutes until things are certain, and our journalists (the respectable ones) tend to avoid alarmist rhetoric - at least compared to the kind of reporting and headlines we often see from many (still very respectable!) publications in the States.

So, what I'll say is this: in short, no. I have not seen any explicit reporting that war is imminent. However, there have been a lot of signals that a Big Bad is coming, and that's what a lot of us have been deducing from that. Here are some examples:

PM Justin Trudeau called a summit with most of our major industry leaders, informing them that Trump's annexation threats were very real and that we needed to start preparing.

Following that meeting, he flew to Europe to meet with several EU leaders to strengthen alliances and met with the Secretary-General of NATO for apparently similar discussions.

On a potentially related note, CSIS (our version of the CIA) released a foreign interference intelligence report to Parliament on Jan 28, most of which has not been made available to the public. However, I’ve seen some reporting that the United States was one of the countries mentioned as trying to interfere in our elections, and that the government’s response could be read as a silent invocation of NATO Article 4.

Perhaps most telling of something bad to come: our leaders are reaching across the aisle more than I've ever seen. Trudeau has been meeting with our premiers often, and outside of the numbnut in Alberta, they’ve unanimously come together to work on plans that prioritize Canada. We're hearing some of our most despicable, power-hungry conservatives advocate for Country Over Party and Country Over Province, willingly working with Trudeau—whom not even a month ago they treated like the most egregiously offensive man who ever lived—in supporting his plans to push back on Trump.

Our most conservative, openly pro-Trump candidate for the next election (Pierre Poilievre) is adding the establishment of a new military base and an Arctic defense strategy to his platform.

All candidates have been talking about increasing military spending.

Finally, all of our economic conversations have been focused on trade diversification and expanding internal manufacturing capabilities. We just signed a massive trade deal with China—something we had been refusing to do primarily because of our allegiance to the United States as our ally, which has now clearly been broken.

So yeah. Nothing overt, but it's not looking good.

On the ground, regular people (at least where I live) have been talking about war as if it's a real possibility and discussing what they'd do. Overwhelmingly, people are willing to stand up to this if it comes to it.

War aside, I've never seen anti-American sentiment run so high in this country. It's truly terrifying. People—on the right and left—are buying Canadian and boycotting American products. People are selling their American vacation homes, canceling travel to the U.S. (and those still taking their American vacations are being called traitors in some circles). Companies are ripping up American contracts. Stores are pulling American products off the shelves. And then, of course, there's the booing.

I know this seems grim, but I want to be honest with you. Our nations' relationship has been irrevocably harmed. There is no world where we go back to how it was before—whether or not Trump is gone—because we simply can't trust we won’t be put in this position again. And honestly—no offense to you, your ask was very polite, and I truly sympathize with every American who is as appalled by this as we are—I don’t think Canadians would feel this strongly about “never going back” if it weren’t for the response we’re seeing from American people online and American media.

Initial reactions to these threats were outright dismissal... of a threat to our sovereignty. Then, it was met with jokes and condescension, with late-night hosts chalking it up to picking a fight with your lapdog ally (literally, Jon Stewart called us golden retrievers), and people online treating it like just another crazy Trump-ism. Which is, again, a) not an appropriate reaction to a threat to a country’s sovereignty, and b) a complete dismissal of the real-time effects we're already feeling from this. The Canadian dollar dropped CONSIDERABLY in value the day the tariffs were announced. Just look at the USD:CAD forex charts and see how fucking stupid it looks since Trump took office.

And then, finally, we keep being met with either MAGA idiots who double down on the threat and tell us about how they can't wait to annex us/invade us and how we don't stand a chance against your military, or we're met by well-meaning but ultimately self-centered Americans who didn't vote for Trump and seem to be looking for us to absolve them and confirm we know they, in particular, didn’t do this. Which, like, okay, but how does that help anything? And really, should you be turning to us for comfort in this moment? This might sound dramatic, but literally go to the comment section of any Canadian creator, and you'll see this playing out there. It's aggressive and overwhelming, and you can’t blame Canadians for feeling like we can't count on you (again, en masse—not you specifically) to have our backs.

That said, the Canadian people and the Canadian government still truly sympathize with Americans—and immigrants in America (documented or not)—who did not choose this and are being impacted. We really, truly, and deeply appreciate Americans like you who are seeking out our voices, seeing through the noise, and trying to stay informed.

So, with that in mind, to help with the root of your question regarding news sources... first, I would recommend getting a VPN. I think your online experience would greatly improve. Second, there are a few Canadian sources you can go directly to, like our national broadcaster, the CBC.

Personally, I also enjoy following some left-leaning creators on TikTok, most of whom are journalists. I just try to be careful to keep their biases in mind and do my own follow-up research/think critically about what I hear. Here are a few of my favourites: Kat Arnett - she's a photographer but she used to be a political journalist. She's been pretty great at talking about how Canadians have experienced all of this.

KnittyKnits - she's a progressive (I'd say left but not far left) creator based in Alberta and she covers a lot of Canadian news.

Contra Tenore - He's a left-wing creator who I personally feel has a fairly pragmatic approach to analysis. He's VERY supportive of our left wing party (The New Democratic Party or 'NDP') and he's been talking a lot about this situation with the U.S. He doesn't mince words, though, and sometimes his videos are a little hard to take.

Cole.NotCole - He's probably my favourite starting point for a lot of my research right now. He gives short summaries of the day's news. He's sort of our Aaron Parnas but less problematic and less priviledged. He has a Liberal (center-left) leaning lens, but I don't personally feel he editorializes too much.

JB|Canadian Politics - Overtly progressive, but great political updates in my opinion - bias or no bias. He's been engaging Americans a lot during this whole thing in really interesting ways.

Unlearn16 - They're an extremely progressive high school history teacher (or maybe social studies?). I've really enjoyed their content covering all of this. They do a great job of breaking down the impact of political maneuvering and spelling out historical contexts.

Anyway... I hope this helps! And thank you again for asking. It really does mean a lot to see people seeking out Canadian perspectives at this time.

[fr3akshow-d4rlin]

Cho sangwoo x reader

Warnings: none, a little angsty but thats it!

A/n: sorry about another ex-boyfriend-ish? trope, its all that's coming to mind rn!😔

Word count:653

You stand at the entrance of the gallery, your fingers wrapped around the strap of your bag, nervous energy swirling in your chest. The opening night of the exhibit you’ve been planning for months is finally here. The crowd buzzes with anticipation, a mix of art enthusiasts and critics, but you can’t shake the feeling that your mind keeps returning to one person: him

It’s been nearly a year since you last saw him, yet his presence still lingers in your thoughts like a shadow. Cho sangwoo—your former colleague, the one you thought you had a connection with, the one you let slip away. You used to think you understood him, thought you knew the unspoken tension between the two of you. But then, one day, he walked out of your life without a word of explanation.

Tonight, you can feel the pull of curiosity more than anything. You hadn’t expected him to come to this event, not after everything that happened, but when you spotted him in the corner of the room, dressed in black as usual, your heart stilled.

His eyes meet yours from across the room, but there’s no recognition in them, only a casual glance before he looks away, his focus returning to the conversation he's having with someone else. He’s colder now, more distant. But then again, maybe he always was.

You swallow the lump in your throat and force your legs to move toward him. The crowd parts around you, and before you even realize it, you’re standing in front of him. The air between you feels tight, heavy with unspoken words.

“You came,” you say, your voice steady, but you’re not sure if you’re speaking to him or to the memory of what you once thought you had.

Sangwoo doesn’t immediately respond. He’s looking at you now, but his expression is flat, unreadable. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t seem surprised by your presence. “It’s an art opening,” he says simply. “I like art.”

You feel a pang, the sharpness of his indifference settling in your chest. This isn’t the Sangwoo you remember—the one who would joke with you over coffee, who once shared your dreams and frustrations. This version of him feels almost like a stranger.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here,” you say, trying to break the silence, but the words come out weaker than you intended.

He shifts his weight, his gaze flickering over the paintings on the wall, as if he’s trying to avoid you. “Didn’t think you’d be here either,” he replies coolly, his voice distant.

The chill in his tone stings more than you expect. There’s no warmth in his eyes, no recognition of the bond you once shared. And it hurts. More than it should. But you stand your ground.

“You’ve changed,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

For a moment, his eyes flicker to you, but there’s nothing there, no emotion, no hint of the warmth you once knew. “People change,” he says, his voice flat. “You should know that.”

You feel a mix of frustration and sadness bubble up inside you. You never expected him to be like this, to be so cold, but this version of Sangwoo—this stranger in front of you—feels like a betrayal. You want to reach out, to remind him of the connection you once had, but you can tell, deep down, that he’s already moved on, and whatever you had between you is gone.

You take a deep breath, fighting the urge to say something, anything, to make this moment different. But instead, you turn away, taking one last glance at him before walking toward the back of the gallery. The night continues around you, but something inside you has shifted. You’re no longer looking for him in the crowd, no longer waiting for him to come back. You know now that there’s nothing left to hold on.

A/n: should i make a part 2?

[cerenemuxse]

so i finally filled up my sketchbook that i started back in may of 2022 💥

since most of the doodles were TTTE related, i thought i'd share mine, starting from the very first one from july of 2022. it was the summer before my senior year of high school when i got into ttte. however, i didn't join the fandom until months later, around november. i say around because my first ttte post i deleted (it was a 2d model sheet i drew up of Edward but someone reblogged it so its definitely out there somewhere lul)

now, about 2.5 years later, im still in the fandom, enjoying ttte. i've met some amazing artists and writers, and while i dont speak as often with you as i would like, do know that im glad ive met every single one of you. i haven't had such a positive experience since my Sonic days and (somewhat left the fandom) Hermitcraft days, let alone a fixation stick around for so long like my Sonic fixation (2013 - 2020). we'll see how long ttte sticks as my fixation for but i have a feeling it will be for a long time, considering the people i've found myself with.

so as a bit of a commemoration and for the sake of seeing improvement, i'm sharing some sketches of the engines i've drawn over the years from that sketchbook, from the very first sketch to last page i just finished. :)

personal art notes below. feel free to skip! these are just observations of mine that i made from looking at these!

what was consistent: the recognizable art style. you can still tell that its my artwork, and i think it comes down to the eyes, depite the style of those changing the most.

i've gotten better at faces, especially different designs, but i still need to keep them consistent.

i still suck at perspective. this is why we use reference images.

say if i had joined the fandom just now, and this is my first post. i think you'd assume that edward is clearly the favorite lul.

there's some spoilers so i wont be commenting on anything about the designs, save for a few!

for images 7 and 8, i used highlighters and a red pen for coloring :D

i did rebecca early on and i hate that it happened. also the notes for her aren't relevant anymore! They're now based on 34102 Lapford.

character design notes:

image 6: Lexi is the LSWR T7 class. Theodore is the LSWR F9. For anyone curious, Merlin stays the same. Im not sure if I ever changed the specific engine he is. I remember talking about it but i can't find any info anywhere ;-;

image 7: Whiff is a GWR 3571 class. (not visual) Stanley was built by NWR in Crovan's Gate.

image 8: (not visual but affects his accent) Based on his number, Ryan was built in Scotland by the North British Company.

image 9: Rebecca is the rebuilt version of SR West Country class. Belle is a GWR 6100 (as originally planned for the TVS). Hank is a USATC S160.

[cowboyidiot]

ok my thoughts on this aren't fully formed but to me it’s like yeah markhelly infidelity lol i love to joke but i think boiling it down to that doesn't really do the situation justice to me. mark didn’t want to sit with his own sadness so he quite literally created an entirely separate person who was born so he could both live a life without this crushing emotion and memory of his wife and turn himself off for 8 hours a day. 

and the thing is, it worked. yes, mark s experiences secondhand grief from his outie, but he doesn't remember gemma. that's not his wife. he already didn't want anything to happen to ms. casey, and he wants his outie to be happy, so he wants to help both of them once he finds out the truth, but he also feels something for helly that is entirely his own, not lumon's, and not his outie's. he was born to serve the agenda of both a company holding him hostage for labor, and an outie who is using him as means to an emotional end and he finally finds someone of his own. yes, of course there are similarities between him and outie mark but mark s doesn't have any memory of gemma and was quite literally created so mark could have a chance of escaping and moving on. he does. 

here's the thing though. outie mark reintegrated solely to see his wife. what a surprise it’s going to be for mark to have to live on with all the grief for gemma he was trying to hide from and suddenly be also drowning in grief from another life, another love, another betrayal. 

he has no idea mark s is reeling from helena's betrayal, not recognizing helly was missing, irving's death due to his blinding first love, and the anger helly is sure to direct at him for a situation he also feels horribly about. milchick even told him his innie found love! mark still viewed reintegration as his decision to make on a whim, not considering his innie's life and experience as something to seriously consider in his decision even though he was fully ready to leave mark s with "who is alive" burned on his eyelids and let him figure out how to get the answer to the outside with no help. the innies lives and emotions are inherently considered inferior. 

what happens, then, when suddenly the love that was a direct repercussion of his severance feels just as real as the grief he still hasn't managed to escape? i wouldn't categorize his relationship with helly/helena as infedelity, not only because regeneration seems to be a slow process mark s is only just starting to experience when he and helena have sex, but because mark s is not and was never married to gemma. his experience doesn't deserve to be relegated as purely an affair because his outie's emotional and personal life is validated and his is not. that isn't his wife. mark got exactly what he wanted from severing, he forgot gemma, and now he has to live with the consequence of emotional contradiction. 

this also paralells irving and helena's experience with their own innies, both of whom went into lumon with a specific agenda that blew up in their face (again, because they did not and do not consider their innies as fundamentally autonomous). the things outies believe are intrinsic to their personhood and lived experience, in mark's case his overwhelming devotion and love for his wife, are all turned on their head because this show is inherently about exploring the contradictions within personal identity and how those might manifest physically if these contradictions were housed in a single person's body.

you can't both create and destroy different choices, different versions of yourself, because you wish things were different and experience no consequences. the consequences are in direct response to his wish to forget gemma. in the end, it really is a double edged sword to reintegrate because mark is about to understand that every single thing he wanted out of severing he got, and he can’t turn his brain off again to avoid it. he wanted to forget gemma, and he did. he wanted to be happy and move on, even if it was as a different version of himself, and he did. he wants to see his wife? well now he has two of them. 

[avocado-writing]

I just had a really cute idea for a steamer reader. Since steamers have whistles and most other engines don't, they use their whistles to communicate with one another like a second language. What if steamer reader was using the whistle version of "I love you" whenever they where around Electra, Greaseball, and the Components (reader and said characterare already together) ( you obviously don't have to do all of them. I just wish there were more things with the components.) But said partner dosent know that reader is saying "I love you" with the whistle, they just know reader uses this whistle for them and they think it's cute. They ask Moma about the whistle reader (aka Moma's other child) uses for them, and Moma tells them what it means. How does everyone react to this newfound knowledge?

Love your writing, DTW❣️❣️❣️😍

aww Ty! what an absolutely adorable rq! I hope you enjoy ✨ still open for Stex x reader rqs! (She/her greaseball; they/them electra)

Greaseball pretends to hide how flustered she is and fails (poorly). Momma laughs at the big tough diesel suddenly come over all love struck to tells her to go and find you, because if Greaseball feels the same way she oughta say something. Greaseball immediately speeds off and finds you off on one of your rounds - you’re surprised to see her but not as surprised as when she sweeps you up in an embrace. “Greaseball…?” “Whistle at me again! Do that whistle! I… I love it!” she’s blabbering but she doesn’t care. You know she must have caught on and you end up laughing and pulling her in for a kiss, she’s bright red the whole time 💕

Electra is kinda pouty they had to ask for help in the first place… but when they realise what your whistle means they��re overcome with emotion. They try to stay chill and give Momma their thanks before heading off. The next time they’re with you and you make that whistle, they mention - without even turning to look at you - “I love you too. You don’t have to keep whistling it if you’d rather use words. But I suppose I don’t mind either way.” It’s a very laid-back confession but you can’t hide your smile for the rest of the day!

Joule almost explodes with excitement, so much that the freights have to calm her down otherwise she just might faint. That’s where you find her, in the freighter yard, surrounded by your friends. You’re obviously worried about her but she just leaps up into your arms and peppers you with kisses, and in between each one - “I love you too! I love you too!” you give Momma a look of shock and she just grins at you. It’s a pretty happy resolution!

Wrench tucks away this knowledge for later, and begins to study how you whistle, practising it every day until she can make it sound as similar as possible. Then one day when you let out the little confession she sings it right back. You pause in your tracks and stare at her. “Do you know what… what that means, Wrench?” “Yes, I do.” “And you mean it?” “I wouldn’t have whistled if I didn’t.” She’s coupled onto you so she can’t see your reaction, but she can’t stop hearing your giggles for the rest of the journey 💕

Killerwatt pretends he hasn’t been bowled over by this news. He remains calm and stoic, professional, but the next time you whistle he straight up says “I love you too.” A simple fact, no arguing about it. He’s honestly not sure why you ‘hid’ it for so long, he’s been head over heels for you for ages now… but he’s glad he can finally understand what you mean so you can know it’s requited.