#the last thing I need it for it to be six months from now and hitting the memorialist up like 'hey do you have spare paws over there?'

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 5 – The One About the Distorted Phone Screen that Sent Half the Fandom into the Ocean

I had no intention of writing about last week’s phone screen debacle, mainly because I found it obnoxious and a smidge infuriating. Not because I believed Jake to be on the phone screen but because people were SO QUICK TO BELIEVE it was Jake on the phone screen.

Honestly, I didn’t even need to see the “cleaned up” version of the picture because I would have sworn then – and would still swear now – it was Luke on the screen. White guy, dark hair, left hand touching his face (or, as it’s been suggested, removing sunglasses), signaling to me that the person in the photograph was left hand dominant. Add that in with all the information Luke and Nicola have laid out before us over the past three months (and, honestly, probably even before that) and there is no other answer: it’s Luke. The end, right? Nope, not even close. Like I mentioned in yesterday’s blog, we’re not allowed to have nice things.

The image comes from a video of Golda giving Nicola her WOTY award. People started taking screen grabs and dropping it into apps that claimed to clean up blurry images.

*Fun fact – I did this once to the picture of Nicola on the boat in Malta. I used three separate apps, in fact, and each time I got this frightening image of Nicola back. Do you remember the scene in Shrek where he picked up a frog and blew it into a balloon for Fiona? The frog’s eyes protruded out and his face was all puckered. That’s what I got back from these apps – a bulging-eyed monstrosity that looked nothing like Nicola. It was froggin’ weird (my Colin-Dad joke of the day), especially since, in the original image, you couldn’t even see her eyes as she appeared to be looking down at her phone.

Okay, back to what I was blabbing about…

People started adjusting the lighting on the screen grab of Nicola’s phone to extreme levels. And, there were even rumors flying around that people had superimposed Jake’s face on to the image and sent it out into the black abyss that is social media. I think I saw six different versions of the image within the first four hours of it dropping on X.

But, guess what, each time, I still saw Luke. Well, I take that back. One time, I swear I saw Johnny Bailey, which, if that had been true, I would have given Nicola a huge round of applause for being so hilariously catty about it all.

My advice, if you want to see the picture, pull it yourself. Go to YouTube, take a screen grab of it, and figure it out on your own. Do not put it through an app and don’t play with the lighting so much that it distorts the image. You may have noticed that I did not repost any of those images here. That was intentional. Form your own opinion about it.

Now that we have that out of the way – the part about me believing it was Luke on the phone screen and me suggesting you form your own opinion about it – I’ll move on to why I decided to write about this topic today.

It was because Luke did something yesterday that piqued my interest.

It wasn’t anything necessarily out of the ordinary. But, it also kind of was.

Simone Ashley posted to her grid yesterday a series of photographs. There’s nothing special here; she’s a beautiful woman putting her lovely image out into this world. It was the last picture in this slide deck that left me intrigued, though. It’s a picture of Simone – but, at the bottom left of the image, is a damn phone screen. Initially, I was a little confused by the image on the phone screen because it appeared to be Simone’s hands but also not Simone’s hands. What it was, is that the angle of the phone made the angle in which the image was depicted slightly different. Why not crop that phone out of it? Or, use a different image? Okay, whatever. I’m not sure I would have thought much of it – except Luke liked the post.

Why would this activate my little grey cells? Because it’s the first post of Simone’s in over a year that he has liked without Nicola also liking it. All throughout 2024, Luke has only liked the posts also liked by Nicola. Now, Nicola could very easily come back and like this post today or tomorrow or a week from now. She does like Simone’s posts frequently and, by Simone’s own words, Nicola and Simone are close. But, remember what I mentioned the other day. It’s the little changes that make people start giving the side eye. When taken collectively, Simone’s post, Luke’s like on the post, and the recent phone screen debacle seem, well, fucking connected in a damn funny way.

Kinda? Maybe?

I swear, I’m becoming one of those people who now plays Six Degrees to Lukola. What have I become?!

But, hey, let’s keep playing this game because, you have to admit, it IS kind of fun to speculate.

On November 10, Netflix UK dropped a post to its grid captioned “ME AND WHO???? [red heart]” The first slide in the deck is of Colin and Penelope’s wedding kiss – the one where Luke had his eyes open – and there is a red heart drawn between their chests (awe, their hearts). The remaining seven slides also include kissing couples but the red heart is drawn around their heads. The Luke and Nicola (like how I used Luke and Nicola, not Colin and Penelope this time?) picture stands out in this deck. It’s the first slide and the red heart is different than the others. And, what about that caption: “ME AND WHO????” Well, it's definitely NOT Nicola and Jake.

Is it a bit too far down the Delulu Rabbit Hole to believe Netflix would be in on a dig about “Who’s on Nicola’s phone screen?”

Perhaps.

But, remember this is also the same parent company that dropped “Nicola and Luke’s Cutest Moments” on August 28 (via Bridgerton Netflix IG), right smack dab in the middle of the Jake Festival Pap Disaster. Do you remember that? The fandom was bouncing all over the place. New festival pictures of Nicola and Jake had dropped the day before. Shondaland had also dropped a “Friends to Lovers” story that seemed oddly like Luke and Nicola. Melissa Dezarate dropped old Luke and Nicola pictures on her IG stories. Then, on August 28, Bridgerton Netflix dropped its “Cutest Moments,” and Melissa Dezarate shared more Luke and Nicola pictures on her IG stories. The “Cutest Moments,” pretty much entirely on its own (the rest was just extra frosting), turned our day right side up again. I salute you, Netflix.

Are we burrowing deeper into the Rabbit Hole? Meh. Let’s keep going.

Also on November 10, we had Dougie posting a mirror / elevator selfie to his grid with the caption, “I know it’s out of focus don’t tell me that.” Maybe he means something, maybe he doesn’t. Any ways, Jake liked this post. Now, I will admit, in the beginning of this Jake Side Story Extravaganza, I wasn’t keen on Dougie. He seemed aggressive on X – especially after those New York pap pictures dropped – but then I realized that his annoyance might be due to the narratives being spread about Jake, i.e., that he was being “hard launched” with Nicola. Recall that within a few hours of the Jake London Pap Disaster, Dougie posted to his stories an image of Jake looking at his phone with the “Mike/Sully Face Swap” meme superimposed over Jake’s face. If you research what this meme means, you’ll find that it is similar to a face-palm reaction or used for “overly ironic situations that leave you confused and perplexed.” Kind of funny, right? You’re welcome to take Dougie however you please, but over the past few weeks, I’ve become rather fond of him. He seems like a mischievous bloke, which is right up my alley.

I always have this feeling that the USS Lukola is surrounded by people who, after the ship hits a rogue wave, help to steer it back on course. The “people” come in the form of Nicola and Luke; cast, crew and friends; interviewers with their old edited-out snippets; and Netflix & Co. I’m sure I’m failing to name someone.

I shall wrap this post up with a quote from Jonathan Van Ness – who, by the way, is one of the most entertainingly funny and intelligent humans to watch. Earlier this week, JVN posted to his IG stories and Tiktok about “bobs.” With JVN, I never really know if he is being serious with what he puts out there or if we’re expected to read between the lines. Regardless, his comment was impactful to me:

“All this shit is just someone on Tiktok decided this was going to be the new name and tried to make that a trend. And that’s cool and that’s great and I love that. I just don’t want y’all getting confused. You know what I’m saying? This is just another variation of a bob.”

Take that as you please.

[seitmai]

He was also going to miss you desperately. The honeymoon stage was still going strong, and quitting you cold turkey right now was going to be rough. There wasn't a moment when you and he were together that you weren't touching each other.

That man had an addiction 🤭

"I'm going to have to wear all of my honeymoon goodies for my own entertainment for months," you whispered, tits spilling out of the lace as you arched your back. "No, no, no," he scolded softly, tossing his shirt aside and unzipping his jeans. "Don't be a tease, Baby."

He is begging

"I'm always thinking about you." Your words were an ego boost.

She just knows what her husband needs

You stopped taking birth control a few weeks ago. The two of you decided to go with the flow and see what happens next. It felt nice to keep that kind of pressure out of the bedroom, especially when Bradley knew he'd be just as content with six kids or none. It's not like he needed anything besides you, and he told you that every single day.

No risk no fun lol

I also missread it at first as "Bradley was content with six kids or MORE" hahah 😅

You eased yourself up and stood next to him, assessing the blankets and his open duffle sitting on the floor against the wall. "What if I told you this was all just a ploy to keep you here with me instead of getting you ready to leave?" "Then I would say I love you."

That's a ploy he would gladly fall for

Instead, you did the best you could to make it home to your computer where you could type paragraph after paragraph to him, letting him know what was going on back in California. You sent him a plethora of photos, some of which didn't include your face as a precaution. You even went into detail about how much you missed him at bedtime. And the best part was, you got just as much, if not more, in return. His days were largely repetitious, but there was always something new he was telling you about. His gym selfies never disappointed, and neither did the paragraphs where he told you in an abundance of detail how much he missed waking up next to you.

They just are a true match

Your students had been anticipating it for weeks, and you had some eager faces looking back at you on the Monday morning when you stood at the front of your classroom and said, "We're about to embark on a flight that will take us through our math, science and language arts classes for weeks to come. As we learn all about aviation, we'll be writing to a naval aviator on an aircraft carrier, and we'll even get to visit a local naval base for a field trip. Let's start out by learning the definitions of a few words that we'll be using frequently."

I feel like the aviation part of the curriculum is gonna become legendary really quick, the next year you can already hear the new fourth graders excitingly talk at recess or breaks: "I'm in Mrs Bradshaws class and my older sister told me around this last year they started with aviation. And a real aviator visited them! And a super cool mechanic!!" And another one adds, having heard the conversation topic from the younger students before then in the bus line: "It's all true! And you get to visit the base. And Mrs wasn't always called Mrs Bradshaw, she had a different name but she married the aviator we wrote letters!" And another one joins in: "And if you go to the library events Mr Marty is always there. He is also in the Navy and he is the best Mechanic that's what Mrs Bradshaws husband said. He is the best at fixing planes!"

It's just gonna turn in this whole legendary thing with more and more outlandish added stories after a few years hahga

He considered skipping dinner in favor of collapsing in his bunk, but he could tell he was already losing weight. You weren't around to keep him well fed, so when his stomach started to rumble, he made a point to head for the noisy mess hall.��

Give that poor man some good food!

When he went to the small window in front of the mail center and gave his name, a box was thrust into his hands. Bradley's heart leapt when he saw the return address was from Mira Mesa Elementary School. He should have been expecting this, but he was suddenly happy you kept it as a surprise. A smile curled along his lips.

What a great surprise 🥰🥹

To MY US Naval Aviator (Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw)

Oh I love them and I will miss these two 🥰

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 29 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: While Bradley thought it was unfair of the Navy to mess with him while he was still in his honeymoon phase, he certainly did love getting mail from you.

Warnings: fluff, adult language, smut, Bradley being husband material, 18+

Length: 1700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

That autumn....

As soon as you led Bradley inside after he drove the two of you home from Salvatore's, you ran your fingers along his cheek and looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "You had a lunch picnic with Thai food on the beach. And then you got pasta for dinner. Do you have any other requests?" you asked, using your strict classroom voice which made Bradley's mouth water. 

"I do, actually," he whispered, melting into your touch. "How about some of that lingerie you picked out in Paris?"

The honeymoon was almost three months ago, but not an hour went by where Bradley didn't reminisce about the days he got to enjoy the view of the Eiffel Tower and the view of your ass while he fucked you. It always left him with a smile on his face. But his smile started to falter when he remembered that he was shipping out tomorrow, and he wouldn't return until after the New Year. At least he would be allowed to communicate with you this time. That was the only thing saving him from almost certain despair.

"I think that can be arranged," you told him with a smile, unbuttoning your top as he stumbled along after you. "But you have to wait out here until I'm ready."

Bradley groaned and leaned on the wall in the hallway, watching you bounce along to the bedroom without him while you laughed. He didn't mind waiting a few minutes, because he was going to love whatever you were about to do. He was also going to miss you desperately. The honeymoon stage was still going strong, and quitting you cold turkey right now was going to be rough. There wasn't a moment when you and he were together that you weren't touching each other.

He hadn't even finished packing his duffle yet, because he didn't want this to feel real. He was planning on doing that tonight with your help, kissing you as you folded up his shirts and lined up his socks on the bed. But that was going to have to wait a few minutes. You opened the door to reveal the sheer nightie hugging your body as you pressed your thighs together and bit your lip.

Bradley was pushing away from the wall, heading right for you. "Gorgeous," he murmured, pulling you against him and walking you backwards to the bed. "Baby, I'm going to miss this too much."

His heart was pounding in his ears, hands full of your lace covered ass before you dropped to the bed on your back. "I'm going to have to wear all of my honeymoon goodies for my own entertainment for months," you whispered, tits spilling out of the lace as you arched your back.

"No, no, no," he scolded softly, tossing his shirt aside and unzipping his jeans. "Don't be a tease, Baby." You grinned as you turned your head to the side, and Bradley stepped out of his remaining clothing before he climbed in bed. He was hovering above you, lips pressed to your ear as he whispered, "You'll wear the goodies for me, too. And you'll email me every mouth watering photo that you take of your fingers shoved deep in your pussy."

"Bradley," you whined, bucking your hips up until he had to hold you in place with his big hands on your body.

"I want a little treat every time you touch yourself. And I want to know that you're thinking about me."

"I'm always thinking about you."

Your words were an ego boost. Just the kind of thing that would get him through this work assignment and back into your arms. "When you're alone and thinking about me, I want some pictures, pretty girl. A whole inbox full of them. Some sweet ones," he crooned, kissing his way along your jaw to your lips. "And some dirty ones," he added, mouth teasing your skin until your nipple was between his lips and you were whining. He sucked gently, tugging until his lips popped free, leaving you begging for more with your fingers in his hair.

You stopped taking birth control a few weeks ago. The two of you decided to go with the flow and see what happens next. It felt nice to keep that kind of pressure out of the bedroom, especially when Bradley knew he'd be just as content with six kids or none. It's not like he needed anything besides you, and he told you that every single day.

"I'm going to miss my wife," he crooned, guiding his cock inside your slick perfection as soon as you spread your legs. He rocked in and out of you slowly, enjoying the feel of your body and your voice and your sweet scent. Memorizing everything. Telling himself he could get through the time away from you as long as he could come back to this.

It was so late when Bradley finally left the bed. You and he were wrung out and fucked out. Fingers laced together, barely moving, unable to go for a fourth round. "That was wild," you laughed when he finally rolled away from you, dizzy as he stood and looked at the wrecked bedding around your naked body.

"Shit, Gorgeous." He was laughing, too as he said, "I still need to finish packing in the next five hours."

You eased yourself up and stood next to him, assessing the blankets and his open duffle sitting on the floor against the wall. "What if I told you this was all just a ploy to keep you here with me instead of getting you ready to leave?"

"Then I would say I love you."

----------------------------------

Waking up for work in a bed that was half cold was not your idea of a good time. You shivered every morning that Bradley was gone, especially when November brought with it a chilly bite to the air. The commute from Coronado to Mira Mesa and back each day felt like a punishment when you knew you weren't going to arrive home to a husband who was excited to see you and hear about your adventures in teaching.

Instead, you did the best you could to make it home to your computer where you could type paragraph after paragraph to him, letting him know what was going on back in California. You sent him a plethora of photos, some of which didn't include your face as a precaution. You even went into detail about how much you missed him at bedtime.

And the best part was, you got just as much, if not more, in return. His days were largely repetitious, but there was always something new he was telling you about. His gym selfies never disappointed, and neither did the paragraphs where he told you in an abundance of detail how much he missed waking up next to you.

While you made it a point to spend time with Natasha, Edith, Ruby and Marty, the loneliness was somehow worse now that you had rings on your finger. The best thing to happen was the arrival of the day when your new fourth grade class started their unit on aviation.

Your students had been anticipating it for weeks, and you had some eager faces looking back at you on the Monday morning when you stood at the front of your classroom and said, "We're about to embark on a flight that will take us through our math, science and language arts classes for weeks to come. As we learn all about aviation, we'll be writing to a naval aviator on an aircraft carrier, and we'll even get to visit a local naval base for a field trip. Let's start out by learning the definitions of a few words that we'll be using frequently."

Later that week, you had a sizable cardboard box packed up with letters and snacks for your husband. Instead of telling him exactly when the first package would arrive, you left it as a surprise for him to stumble upon.

-------------------------------

Bradley was exhausted. The mechanical crew on this deployment was nowhere near as kind or competent as Marty, and he found himself constantly visiting their shop to work through issues with his aircraft. He missed his friends and his home and his wife. He missed you so fucking much. All of the letters and emails you sent him were fantastic, but he even missed having a bunch of pen pals to converse with at the end of the day.

Every happy thought that entered his mind seemed to be pushed aside when he realized he was still a long way from returning to San Diego. He considered skipping dinner in favor of collapsing in his bunk, but he could tell he was already losing weight. You weren't around to keep him well fed, so when his stomach started to rumble, he made a point to head for the noisy mess hall. 

The cabbage rolls were disgusting, but at least the aircraft carriers were consistent. He picked at his meal and then ate two plates of dessert to make himself feel a little bit better. When he was sorting his dirty dishes and tray into the appropriate place, he was surprised to hear his name being called amongst some others.

"Bradshaw! You've got unclaimed mail!"

He perked up immediately. How did he have something else to claim? He picked up an enormous envelope from you the other day along with a card from Edith. Did you send him a handwritten note again already?

When he went to the small window in front of the mail center and gave his name, a box was thrust into his hands. Bradley's heart leapt when he saw the return address was from Mira Mesa Elementary School. He should have been expecting this, but he was suddenly happy you kept it as a surprise. A smile curled along his lips. He could have some regular pen pals to correspond with again. His smile grew wider when he looked at the way you addressed the box to him in your tidy handwriting.

To MY US Naval Aviator (Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw)

---------------------------------

Bradley has the ultimate pen pal in his wife. Thanks for reading this series which ended up being so much longer than originally intended! Thanks for all of the love and feedback along the way! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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[typicalopposite]

wip wednesday <3

so I have been tagged by quite a few people (thank you all 🫶 @desert--moonchild @bidisasterevankinard @onthewaytosomewhere @lavenderleahy -- got bamboozled by @sunnywithachanceofbi -- @judymarch15 @marvelousbuckley @tailsbeth-writes @cafe-con-letty & @theotherbuckley ... and that's going back a month) over the span of... a time for different things... lol I have not been keeping up with the games I have been tagged in like I use to... its been a messy life! BUT I'm finally catching up by sharing (quite a bit of) not an already established wip... but a new one! you know, now that we are all collectively in our grieving/fix-it era <3 so consider yourselves -- eyes Chrissy -- tagged back!

take me back - tommy amnesia fic

Tommy cracks his eyes open, fully expecting to be met with that damned water stain on his ceiling he keeps meaning to get looked at — when the spot caves in on him he’s going to regret it — but for the past six months his mind has been on… other things. Regardless, this is not the sight he is met with, and he looks up in confusion at the garage ceiling instead. He blinks a few times before realizing that he’s laying on the cold concrete floor. It takes just a moment longer before he is overcome by a splitting headache and his vision blurs. 

“What the fuck…” he groans, forcing himself to sit up. He reaches for his head, unable to pinpoint where exactly the pain is radiating from; he feels it throughout his entire skull... it’s in his eyes, his temples, all the way down into his neck. He’s not even sure what happened. If he passed out; if he tripped… Why was he even in the garage when he was supposed to be getting ready. The room feels like it’s spinning, and he feels waves of nausea wash over him. He doubts he’ll be able to stand up unassisted, so he crawls over to his workout bench and uses it for support. 

He almost crumples back to the floor from the vertigo he gets from rising to his feet, but he holds tight to the pull bar and takes a few deep breaths until it finally subsides. He opens his eyes again, relieved his vision has cleared, and tries to take a step. His legs are wobbly but he manages to remain stable and upright as he crosses the garage and walks back into his house. 

That’s when he realizes it’s already getting dark. Shit. He was supposed to be getting ready! He goes for his phone but it’s not in his pocket, so he slowly makes his way to his room, except it’s not on the charger either— 

And his bed spread is different… 

His bed spread is—

Tommy squeezes his eyes shut as the headache continues to get worse. “Fuuuck…” he drawls out, once again reaching for his head. He needs to get medicine, to find his phone, and to get out the door or he is going to be late. He can’t be late tonight. Tonight is special.

Another deep breath and he takes another step, towards the bathroom this time. He pulls the medicine cabinet door open, eyes going to the middle shelf where he keeps his ibuprofen… and finds a prescription— two prescriptions actually. He stares at the little orange bottles, both made out to him… one is acetaminophen-- and since he doesn’t have time to figure out why they are there-- he ignores the second and just takes the prescribed dose of the pain medicine and recloses the door. 

All he has to do now is to find his damn phone. 

It’s not in the kitchen, or on the coffee table, or out in his truck, or buried in the couch cushions… The last place he goes is back into the garage; lo and behold it’s there. The problem? It’s shattered. How it got shattered he doesn’t know. Possibly from his fall. 

He tries the side button and the screen lights up. It’s five thirty; he needs to go. He tries to carefully input his passcode: 5724. It doesn’t work. He tries it again. Still nothing. One more time and then another… he assumes the problem is the broken screen, but the phone disables for one minute and he doesn't have time to keep trying. Oh well, he can just leave now, and be there a little early. It’s not like it actually matters if he’s early, anyway. 

He goes back into the bathroom, looks at himself in the mirror— reels at the images looking back because, damn. His eyes are bloodshot with dark circles and his face is puffy and drained of all color as if he’s been crying. Has he been crying? He pushes the thought aside and takes out his eye drops, dropping a couple into each eye and wincing from the pain tilting his head back causes. The medicine will kick in soon, the headache will subside. He will be early… but when is extra time with his boyfriend a bad thing?

*

He parks and climbs out of his truck, the remnants of his headache finally starting to fade away. He takes the stairs two at a time once he’s inside the building, getting that giddy little pep in his step he always gets the moment he reaches Evan’s floor. He strides down the hallway, feeling light on his feet— like he’s floating on air. He reaches the door, lifts his hand and raps against the wood… once, twice, and three times. 

There’s a quiet commotion from inside, accompanied by the sounds of voices— plural, so someone else is here. Tommy tries to think about whether Evan said he had any plans prior to their date… he can’t remember. It doesn’t matter. He bounces on the balls of his feet, feeling his heart pick up in speed as footsteps get closer to the door. The lock turns, the knob twists and the door opens. 

Tommy can feel the tug of his smile spreading high up onto his cheeks. “Hey—”

“Uhm… Hi?” A voice that’s not Evan’s replies— Tommy stares at a face that is not Evan’s… A man he doesn’t recognize; dressed in comfortable clothes-- practically sleep clothes-- with tousled hair and a sated look that instantly has Tommy feeling some type of way. He tilts his head to see the number on the door, thinking maybe he came to the wrong apartment. He didn’t, and so he’s left thoroughly confused at who this stranger is and why he looks so… comfortable in his boyfriend’s home. “Tommy, right?” The guy continues. He lets his eyes travel over Tommy, like he’s studying him, keeping a careful and friendly enough smile on his face. 

“Wha- uh, I’m… sorry. Do I know you?” 

“Doubt it. But I have heard plenty about you…” The voice is suave; his tone is flat but not necessarily cold. Who the fuck even is—

“Dylan?” That is Evan’s voice… Tommy peers around this guy— around Dylan to see his boyfriend come bopping off the stairs. “Who is it— oh… T- Tommy?!” Evan’s face blanks, and his arms stall just as he was starting to slip them around this— this— Dylan’s waist. Tommy thinks he might actually be sick. Evan looks just as debauched, in his gray sweatpants and no shirt— sweat glistening over his bare chest leaves very little to be imagined of what the two were up to before he knocked. He finally truly looks at Dylan and the shirt is Evan’s… his oversized faded Nirvana band tee. Tommy has had to quickly slip it on when they have been disturbed time and time before. “What are you doing here?” Evan asks.

A sarcastic laugh bubbles its way out of Tommy and he has to take a step back from the door— from them. “W- What am I doing here?” He asks.  “What am I doing here…” he repeats. His face is starting to flush and there are tears filling his eyes no amount of blinking speed would be able to push away. He dares a look back at Evan. Wants to see if he even looks guilty; does he even look sorry? He just looks shocked, and that pisses Tommy off more. “I can't believe this...” he mutters under his breath and turns on his heels, willing his feet to get him out of this nightmare as fast as possible. 

“Tommy?” 

Ignore him. 

“T- Tommy!”

Ignore him. Forget him.

The steps are easier to get down than up; he is practically jumping the whole way down each flight. He should have known… he should have prepared better… he should have never given him that second chance… Tommy knew this thing with Evan was only going to be temporary— Evan was figuring himself out, and Tommy was more than willing to be the kind, caring, and supportive hand through the journey. But Tommy knew one day he would reach the end, he wouldn’t need the security of Tommy anymore, and Tommy was prepared to bow out gracefully. He just thought they had more time. 

But this…

This hurts so much more than he had anticipated that that would. 

“Tommy…” 

A hand grabs his shoulder and he realizes he has stopped just outside the apartment building. The cool night air is drying out the tears that have already streaked down his face. His chest feels like it’s caving in… and great, his headache is back. He shrugs Evan’s hand off of him, and starts moving towards his truck again. 

“What— Dammit Tommy! Are you seriously going to be this stubborn right now…”

That stops him. He turns and glares at Evan, taking a step towards him with seemingly enough fury Evan stops in his tracks, keeping distance between them. “Stubborn…?” Tommy chokes out. “Are you really calling me stubborn right now?”

“I- I mean… yeah! That’s how you’re acting right now!” Evan crosses his arms, having the audacity to appear angry. “You come to my apartment, had a stare down with my boyfriend, then just stormed off with no explanation!” 

Tommy feels his heart sink— hell it does more than that… it falls all the way to the floor and shatters. “B- Boyfriend…” he repeats. This has to be some kind of a prank. It has to be. “How can you stand there and look so calm about this… You—” You asshole… You lying, manipulative— “Cheater…” 

The look on Evan’s face at that word almost— not fully, but almost— surprises Tommy. So stunned; his eyes bouncing around from Tommy’s, to the ground, to the cars around them, up to the sky… before finally coming back to Tommy’s. “Ch- Cheater? Tommy.. wh- what are you talking about.” Tommy huffs out another sarcastic laugh and turns to angrily storm the rest of the way to his truck, all the while knowing Evan isn’t going to just let him. Maybe there’s even a part of him hoping Evan stops him with a viable explanation, because this… this can't be how it ends— this is going to do more than just crush him… it’s going to annihilate him. “Oh my god…” Evan groans and as Tommy suspected he would, starts after him again. “Tommy! Can you please— just this once— stop running and talk to me?” 

“Talk about what, Evan…” Tommy all but screams and, oddly enough, that seems to stop Evan in his tracks. “What do you want me to say? That I should have seen this coming… That I should have known it was too good to be true. Or maybe admit that I always knew I wouldn't be your forever, no matter how bad I wanted to be… but I sure as hell didn’t see this—” he gestures frantically at Evan then up at the apartment building. “—being how it ended.” The more he let the words spill out, the more confused Evan looked. “Or should I just come out and address the elephant in the room— the man up in your apartment you’re cheating on your boyfriend with.” 

Evan’s brows pull together, hardening his stare into something Tommy has never been on the receiving end of; it hurts to see, instead of angering him like it probably should. “I don’t know if you’re drunk… or if this is some kind of joke… but it’s not funny— it’s not fair! You— You don’t get to barge back into my life unannounced— today of all days. Then— then you accuse me of— That man up in my apartment is my boyfriend, Tommy… he has been for eight months now.” 

Tommy feels like a bomb was shoved down his throat and detonated. His entire body trembles and goes through after shocks of what Evan said. Partially from the unexpected sting of jealousy at the thought of someone being with Evan longer than he has… but mostly because of the absurdity of it all; does Evan really expect him to buy into the nonsense he’s spewing; claiming he has been in this other relationship for this long— and on their anniversary. Except Evan looks serious. 

Tommy tries to find his voice; he tries to string some words together in his head to say something back. “W- What?” is all he manages to come up with; his voice betrays him, coming out small and broken. 

Evan steps closer to him, cracks clearly forming in the cold and serious look he was just giving Tommy, making way for looks of concern, or confusion… or maybe even of sadness. “Tommy,” he says the name for the upteenth time, and Tommy feels himself flinching at his own name like it assaulted him. “Are you— Are you okay? What’s going on? Why— why are you here?” He steps closer, Tommy steps back. 

Just like that the medicine’s effect dissipates and his headache comes rushing back with a vengeance. Tommy’s vision blurs and he gasps at the return of the pain, now with a spot to single the bulk of it to. He brings his hand up to the back of his head, fingers instantly touching something wet. 

“Will you stop— dammit Tommy, stop running away from me,” Evan continues, almost in front of him now, although his voice sounds muffled and far away. Tommy stops backing up and lets his hand fall down from his head, revealing bright red blood coating his fingers. “Oh my god…” Evan gasps just as a wave of dizziness sways Tommy backwards. Two strong arms grab him, steady him… but don’t exactly hold him, and that hurts as bad as this headache. Evan is so close Tommy wouldn’t have to lean in far to capture his lips… but he can’t. Not like this. Not while everything feels so off and confusing. 

He allows Evan to help him over to his truck, but shies away from his touch the moment he is able to lean on its bed for stability. Evan pulls out his phone and dials 9-1-1. “What are you doing?” Tommy asks when his jaw is grabbed, gently but firmly, and Evan is guiding him to turn his head. He is ignored as Evan talks to the dispatcher, giving the location and a short gist of what happened, before he stops talking abruptly.

“T- Tommy… were— were you in an accident?” 

Tommy can’t help the sarcasm heavy laugh at the ridiculous question. “Don’t you think you would know if I had been,” he says coolly. 

Evan sighs. “He has a pretty big wound on the back of his head,” he tells the dispatcher, and Tommy stares at him in shock. “There are staples but it’s been reopened.” Tommy feels his skin prickling. He feels this strong sense of unease, like the floors about to fall out from under him. “Hey… look at me,” Evan says, resting his hand on Tommy’s shoulder and looking in his eyes, he turns his phone’s flashlight on and scans it over each eye. “His pupils are receptive. Do— Do you know what day it is?” 

Of course that’s a logical question but given everything it is like a stab into his already ripped open chest. “It’s… November 7.” 

“Okay, good. And the year?”

“2024…”

“Okay— wait. Wh- What did you say?” Once again Evan is staring at him confused. “You said it’s 2024?” Tommy breaks his eyes away; Evan is getting that kicked puppy look and he doesn’t get to do that. He doesn’t get to make Tommy feel bad right now. “Tommy…” Evan pries. “You— You said 2024?” 

“Yes Evan, yes! It’s November 7, 2024! It’s our six month anniversary! But I guess that means nothing to—” His voice cracks. He covers his trembling lip with the back of his hand and tries to calm himself down. 

Sirens break through the deafening silence, and an Ambulance turns into the parking lot. Evan flags it over and it comes to a stop behind Tommy’s truck. Thankfully it’s not the 118, and Tommy doesn’t recognize the paramedics that get out to help him. They check over the apparent wound on the back of his head, and start asking him questions. Questions he mostly ignores because he is focused on Evan talking to the one of them off to the side. “He— he thinks it’s 2024…” he whispers but Tommy catches it anyway. 

“What do you mean ‘I think’,” he asks past the mountain of questions the paramedic accessing him is still piling on. Evan’s mouth clamps shut and he looks over at Tommy. “You said I think it’s 2024… what the hell does that mean Evan.” 

“I- I don’t— uhm…” Evan looks helplessly at the paramedics, avoiding looking at Tommy. 

“Sir, please, just calm down. Take a deep breath. We can get everything figured out at the hospital.”

“To hell with that,” Tommy snaps— which surprises even himself, because he is usually compliant with first responders, being that he is one. “I want everything figured out now. What do you mean?” 

“Tommy…” Evan begins, takes a deep breath and sighs it out. “It’s 2025.” 

“What?”

“It— It’s 2025,” Evan reiterates.

~~~~~~~~

Sooooo 😀 trying to actually get this fix rolling because I am not going to post the whole first chapter until it’s done! Fingers crossed I don’t lose inspiration before then 🤞🏼🤞🏼🤞🏼

Throwing out a couple more tags just incase you wanna share something fixing this mess thrown on our poor sad boys or just to heal yourself, or something entirely new! 🫶

@nine-one-wanton @herrmannhalsteadproduction @30somethingautisticteacher @bangpop91 @racerchix21 @rdng1230

@somethingaboutfirefly @kinardsevan @bucksxkinard @unhingedangstaddict and anyone else who wants to share their stuff or just follow along 🫶

[beardedjoel]

omg! could you do 13 please? either for young joel (tho ik you don’t right much for him) or closer joel or neither lol but 13 sounds so romantic omggg

thank you so much for the request! i decided to do it for closer joel and i had fun getting back into his headspace. i was feeling a little rusty after all this time 😆 i imagined this is their first getaway together the following winter after they started dating. i tried to balance sexy and romantic, since you said it sounds romantic, which it totally does!

snowed in — joel x f!reader

request: "being snowed in together and fucking in front of the fireplace". sent in as part of my 5k celebration! can be read as a standalone or with closer joel in mind.

wc: 2.5k words.

warnings: smut (pussy eating + piv), dirty talk, creampie, alcohol, soft dom! joel.

You chew your lip for the umpteenth time, staring out into the layers upon layers of frosty white blanketing the outside. Your own reflection stares back at you in the oversized picture window as you squint past it into the dark, watching fat snowflakes flurrying by. 

“Starin’ ain’t gonna make it go away any faster, angel,” a deep voice rumbles in your ear. Joel slides his arm around your waist as he presses up against your back. It does wonders to ease your growing anxiety, and when he places a full glass of wine into your hand, you feel it nearly dissipate. 

“But what about the rental? What if we can’t get out when we need to check out in a few days?” you ask, that little anxious squeak in your voice grating on your ears. You silently apologize to Joel, even though he’s heard it plenty of times before when your anxiety rears its ugly head.

“Already talked to the owner. She says it happens sometimes, it’s no big deal. Risk comes with the territory, I guess.” It makes sense, the cabin being way up in the mountains, and it truly was the romantic and peaceful getaway with your boyfriend you’d hoped for before the looming anxiety set in of being trapped by the snow.

“Now, can we enjoy our first time goin’ away together, or do you need more convincin’?” You knew that Joel’s version of convincing might involve the plush bed you’d seen in the loft upstairs and your favorite satin restraints packed away in your suitcase, so you keep it in the back of your mind.

You feel a small smile creep onto your lips, the two of you still facing the window together as you take a large sip from the glass of wine. “It is kind of pretty when you’re not outside in it. Peaceful…” you concede, trying to shake it off. The forecast had shown that tonight was the worst of it, so you might as well try to relax and enjoy this rare evening of complete solitude with Joel.

“Attagirl,” Joel murmurs, planting a kiss on your head. You shudder at the contact, suddenly overly aware of everywhere that his body touches yours. Joel notices - of course he notices - and presses closer, hugging you tight. “I got a fire goin’ in the other room, and more where this came from,” he tells you, tapping a finger to your glass. “So c’mon.”

You follow him wordlessly, his hand enveloping yours, and all is right in the world again. One thing you’ve learned with Joel is that if he isn’t worried about something, then you definitely don’t need to be. Half a bottle of wine later, lounged on the floor in front of the fireplace, you smile dazedly at Joel, who is walking back into the room after heating up a frozen pizza you two had gotten when you stocked up at the grocery store in town. You’d spent the last hour cuddled up on the couch, music playing softly through the speakers as you two reminisced about the last six months together and what was beyond. You couldn’t believe that finally after all this time, Joel had managed to get time away from his company to treat the two of you to the romantic getaway he'd been promising. It was already shaping up to be everything you’d imagined and more. 

Your eyes widen at the sight of the pizza, your stomach craving something to soak up the alcohol, and when the smell hits you, you’re a goner. “Shit, Joel, that smells incredible,” you say, sitting up. He sets the pizza on a nearby coffee table, putting a hand up for you to stop.

“Nuh-uh. Back down. You looked prettier than a picture like you were.” Joel’s eyes rake over you as you pause for a beat before laying back again, pulling your lip between your teeth in a shy yet mischievous smile, one you know drives him crazy. Your outfit leaves little to be desired - a fuzzy, comfortable shorts and tank top set, and with the way you’re sprawled out, you know your tits are probably spilling out the top. 

Joel stands above you, and your heart races at the imposing figure of him, the mystery of what he’ll choose to do to you next. Joel has always liked to take the reins, and you’ve always been happy to let him. He toes your legs further apart, moving them until you’re spread wide for him. You tease him, snapping them back shut immediately, eyes sparkling devilishly up at him.

“No, no, sweet girl,” Joel says, shaking his head. He grins coyly, sinking down to your level and pressing your legs all the way open, knees to the plush carpet beneath you. “Unless you didn’t want me to fuck you senseless… have you drippin… ” he drawls, watching you squirm, your gaze darkening with need. “...takin’ my cock ‘till you’re makin’ all those pretty sounds I like…”

One of said pretty sounds slips right past your lips without any thought, a small whimper as you glance down to where Joel kneels between your legs. Damn him for using his mouth so well before it’s even on you.

“N-no, I do, I do,” you blurt out breathlessly, eyes flicking to where he’s tenting in his sweatpants. He grins.

“Y’always make it too easy for me, baby.” His fingers hook into both your shorts and underwear, pulling them off and tossing them to the side. “So wet already, angel…” he muses, slipping his fingers through your folds, making your hips buck at the sensation. You want more, you need more. The stress of the day had a way of making you more needy, more desperate for a release, and you knew you’d find it right between Joel’s legs. “What was it you were thinkin’ about that got you so messy for me already, sweetheart?”

“N-nothing, just…”

He kisses your thigh on each side, letting his fingers continue to wander through your slick folds before asking, “Just what?”

You breathe out slowly, trying to contain yourself as he prods at your entrance, dipping a knuckle inside. “The restraints. I - I thought about you tying me up to the bed upstairs.”

Joel tilts his head, smiling. “I’m sure we can manage that. We got a long weekend ahead of us,” he coos, pulling his finger out, making you immediately miss even the tiniest bit of fullness from it. When he brings it to his lips, savoring your taste, it makes you feel feral.

“Need you, Joel…” you whine, watching him sink his head between your thighs. “N-no, your cock,” you say, watching him light up, smirking as he stares up at you, his face only inches from your bare pussy.

“What, and skip all the fun of hearin’ you beg me, beautiful girl?” He huffs out a chuckle, the air breezing over your swollen, sensitive cunt, making your hips twitch. That only seems to satisfy him more, now burying himself between your legs, his tongue quickly working in flicks over your clit. You gasp, pressing your hips into his face, unable to stop yourself from grinding down into his tongue. You’re already close - the wine running through your veins and relaxing you, the romantic setting giving you a head start on arousal the entire day, and the fact that your sexy boyfriend was so eager to be between your legs was a lethal combination. 

“Fuck. Please, Joel,” you beg him, your pussy fluttering, feeling devastatingly empty. “I’m - I’m gonna - Joel!” Your climax crashes into you, sneaking up quickly and coming on strong, making your hips buck and shake as Joel laps at your cunt all the way through, until you’re trembling and limp again.

His entire body smoothly glides upwards until he’s on top of you, his nose pressed against yours as he goes in for a kiss, letting you taste yourself on his lips. His beard is wet with your arousal, and the sight of him - one you have seen your fair share of -manages to take your breath away. The flickering light of the fire reflects in his dark eyes, his hair messy and his smile lopsided and boyish, yet sexy at the same time. 

It slowly drops into a more serious expression, one hand coming to curl your hair behind your ear. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. You feel your cheeks grow hot under his attention and genuine compliment, even if you have lost count on the number of times Joel has said those exact words to you. A heart clenching, sentimental feeling grips you, making you feel like the luckiest girl alive to be here with him.

You reach up to touch his cheek, the air suddenly charged with something deeper, more romantic. It’s a tender kiss, one that turns heated quickly, but it’s full of reverence for the other, for the history you share together. A warmth grows inside of you, moving towards a fever pitch of need as you wrap your legs around Joel’s waist. 

“Joel,” you breathe out, eyes fluttering shut as he kisses your cheek, then your neck, tasting the salt of your skin, soaking up your desperation for him. “Please…”

He chuckles into your neck. “Drivin’ me crazy, angel. Makin’ the prettiest little sounds, bein’ such a good, patient girl for me.” When he grinds his hard cock against your center, you feel every ounce of patience you had completely vanish into thin air. All you can think about is getting closer, of feeling full of the man you love, letting him work your body in the way only he knows how to do. 

“You need it, sweet girl?” he asks cruelly as your hands grasp at the waistband of his sweats, and you nod furiously, panting. 

“I’ll do anything, j-just… Need you to fuck me.”

You know for as vocal as Joel is, he likes to hear you too, and your desperation sets him off. His cock is out the next second and your legs, already wrapped around him, draw him in deeper. When he pushes in, every inch right from the get go, you both look into each other’s eyes as you gasp and hiss through your teeth at the pleasure. 

“Never get tired of this,” Joel mumbles, quickly finding himself a rhythm, each movement guided by your legs matching his thrusts, hips bucking upwards to pull him deeper. “Already squeezin’ my cock so tight, babygirl, you gonna come already?”

You can only whine out a moan, nodding for him. You really were insanely close to coming again, Joel doing all the right things with his cock as his fingers skim over your skin, pushing up your tank top. He squeezes one of your tits as soon as they’re free of the fabric, and when his finger brushes over the stiff peak of your nipple, your eyes roll back.

“M-my god… f-fuck…” 

“So cock hungry, angel, so needy,” Joel grits out, pistoning his hips a little faster and sloppier, caught up in the moment. He groans when the change in pace makes lewd, squelching sounds ring out through the room. "So wet..." he mumbles, his eyes closing as he basks in his pleasure.

“Y-yes, fuck Joel, you feel so - so good.” Your back arches slightly, legs tense and trembling around him, the heat flickering in your belly now a roaring fire, pulsing through you. Right on the edge, so close to jumping off into that bliss, you cry out. “Don’t stop! Fuck - don’t stop!”

Joel, not missing a beat, hauls your legs from around his waist, placing your ankles on his shoulders, folding you inwards. He then pounds his hips quickly as he grabs onto yours, fingers digging into your flesh with a satisfying pain.

“You want to not be able to walk the rest of the weekend? Th-that it, baby? Want me to make it so you can’t do anythin’ but lay here and let me fuck you for days?” Joel huffs out, and you let out a strangled cry, your hands clawing at his thighs, trying to find purchase on something as you feel yourself about to lose control.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” you scream as Joel thrusts into you harshly at a pace that boggles your mind even after seeing everything this man was capable of in the bedroom. Your release sweeps you away, your vision turning to a blinding white bliss as your eyes squeeze shut and your hips lift off the ground, your entire body spasming. Joel is relentless, making sure to squeeze every last bit of pleasure as you moan so loud you’re surprised the roof hasn’t caved in.

You nearly sob as the tight grip of your climax suddenly lets go, your body completely drained. Joel quickly pulls out, his movements clunky and frenzied as he flips your limp body like you’re a doll. “Hands and knees, baby,” he commands.

You make a small noise of protest, your eyes heavy and limbs shaky. “I know. You gonna be a good girl and trust me to do what’s best for you?” You finally nod, holding yourself up by the elbows, your ass popped high up in the air for him. “That’s it,” Joel says smugly before plunging himself back into your sensitive cunt in one swift motion. You squeak out a sound as your pussy pulses around him, the lingering pleasure from your last high already flourishing into something new.

“One more,” Joel says, leaning a little closer, his hand skating up and down your spine as he pumps into you, landing his hand on the back of your neck. 

“C-can’t…” you whimper weakly, but Joel squeezes your neck slightest bit.

“You can. I know y’can. You’re doin’ so good, angel.” He reaches around to your swollen clit, rubbing circles that make you keen and pop your ass out further, getting him deep at this angle. You feel him hitting that perfect spot deep inside of you that makes you dizzy, makes you crazy every single time. Nearly crying at the oversensitivity, Joel somehow starts pulling another orgasm out of you, your moans quieter this time as your body shakes. You hear Joel’s pleased sounds, gruff little noises that tell you he’s close too as he praises you through your high.

“Oh, so good, pretty girl, s-so good…” he strains out, slamming his hips into yours once more, coming hard with a groan. He pulses inside of you and you keep your ass pressed back onto his hips, taking every bit of him. Feeling him like this is always such a rush, that tiny bit of power you get to take from Joel, making him fall apart for you even if just for a moment.

You collapse to the floor, giggling tiredly as your body gives out on you. Joel sidles up next to you, laying to face you with his head propped up on his hand, rubbing lazy circles on your skin. “Told ya you could do it,” he says smugly.

“Ass,” you say breathlessly, laughing as you roll over to your back, clutching at your stomach. “I’m starving. Now can we have some pizza?”

“Knock yourself out,” Joel replies, watching you crawl to the coffee table, not even seeming to care about the mess dripping out of you and down your thighs - food was your primary mission right now. It makes Joel feel his dick twitch all over again as he tucks it away, knowing he won’t be able to keep his hands off of you for long. “Wanted to work up an appetite for ya.” You shoot him a playful glare from where you kneel at the coffee table, ravenously biting into a slice, then making a face.

“Cold pizza it is, then.”

[margridarnauds]

A few days ago I got a DM about like. Academia and what it's like. And...it's hard when like. Things are so monumentally shitty right now and I'm in the middle of my own dark night of the soul here, but here goes the part that doesn't show up on a thousand advice blog posts to grad students, because it's so variable based on your situation:

Don't ever think that your love for the field will ever be returned.

And I don't mean the job market, because everyone talks about the job market, but rather in terms of the fact that most advice is geared towards when things are running as normally, but don't discuss when things go haywire. And the truth is that academia is not built, in general, for crisis. Something bad happens, and people offer their condolences, but it's supposed to be back to work, because that's what's important, isn't it? Turning out papers.

...nearly every single person who I have depended on in the last six months, in academia, has disappointed me. (And if you're reading this, congratulations, you're one of the lucky ones.) Because like. It's easy to say "anything we can do, we'll be there to help," it's another to help your colleague or your student or your mentee actually have the time they need to grieve, or to be lax with them on deadlines and to send reminders to them because, hey, there are times I barely have enough energy to remember my own first name, let alone a dozen deadlines. And, ironically, the people who have been most understanding and tolerant have been people I barely know from a continent away.Because like. It's easy to be tolerant of grief until it's personally inconvenient, and then they're just a lazy student or colleague who should just know better.

There isn't a particular broader point to this beyond self pity, but like. Yeah. Grieving in a system that puts on a human face but is ultimately powered by ~capitalism~ and a sense of mindlessly producing a product instead of research.

[darkmaga-returns]

by Tyler Durden

Former Wall Street money manager Ed Dowd is a skillful financial analyst who said in May the economy was skidding. Now, Dowd predicts the economy is poised to “roll over” and soon.

Why is the Fed cutting rates with a record high DOW? Maybe they see the same thing he does. Dowd explains, “Real weekly wage growth was minus 2% going into the election. It is also interesting to know that minus 2% number of wage growth was also in 1980 when Ronald Reagan won in a landslide and also in 1992 when Bill Clinton won in a landslide…"

"I have never seen such blatant manipulation of government statistics.

There is government spending and government hiring to paper over what is truly a bad economy for the average man. When I was asked prior to the election who do you think will win the election, I said Trump has already won, according to the economic statistics. That’s why he won. Bobby Kennedy helped along with Elon Musk, Joe Rogan, lots of people switching and what have you. What really got Trump in was the economy, the real economy, not the stock market.

It was not the ‘everything is hunky-dory’ pablum from the mainstream media.

The real economy has been rolling over, and we are just waiting for the financial markets to figure this out.

When they do, Trump is going to inherit a turd of a financial market crisis.

Government statistics will be updated, and it will show we started a recession sometime this year…

The incoming Trump Administration has to get out in front of the narrative. This was already baked into the cake. They just got handed fraudulent books. So, they are basically going to get blamed for what is coming.

They have to get in front of the narrative and talk about what they were handed. They need to talk about how the stock market is not a real indicator of economic health like it was before the days of raw manipulation.”

[ZH: We have been endlessly reminding readers for the last six months that the 'always positive' macro headlines that appear every day after almost ubiquitously revised down in later months, hiding the reality that set the scene for Trump's almost unprecedented victory in the election - despite the endless charade promoted by legacy media that 'everything was awesome', it clearly wasn't (and isn't) and the rug-pull is coming.]

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

im at the part of the unemployment/health chores where i am continually (politely!) harassing four different entities. why isn’t my shit done. why did you lose it. hello are you alive

[rosesradio]

hmm someone put a rude bookmark on one of my fics in spanish thinking i wouldn’t translate…

[theskywaslookingback]

My dad: *texts my mom the day after Father’s Day to see if I was mad at him because I didn’t call him*

Also my dad: *sends me a text on Easter and then radio silence for months* *does not call to ask if I have plans for my birthday* *does not text to check in on me* *does not invite me over to his house for anything ever* *allows my stepmom to use his money to prioritize her kids over me* *literally doesn’t ever act like he wants anything to do with me actually* *cancels or changes plans at the last minute because he decides he wants to drink instead* *offers to help my mom pay my car payments and then never does* *gets us gym memberships and then cancels them without warning because he didn’t have the money and just doesn’t tell me* *cannot hold a thirty second conversation without mentioning ‘the Chinese threat’ or ‘Covid was invented by democrats to replace Trump in office’*

My dad: Why doesn’t my child call me? I am the specialist most important person in the whole wide world. What could she have to be mad about?

[answrs]

they're finally home. i haven't opened the packages yet but after four years my girls are finally home.

[exopelagic]

yeah I have more to say

[mare-the-silly-scroingle]

i think the worst thing about losing old friends is when the friends you lose are the exact kind of people who simultaneously understand the impulse to want to grow away and can’t understand why you would cave in. because it’s like. i never really know how to explain what went wrong because i already know that they know in theory the kinds of things that can happen but how to actually explain it is impossible. it’s. very hard to be friends with me i guess 

[phagodyke]

I have to be up for work in 3 hours and I'm gonna be real I think ive hit the point where I might not be getting any sleep at all. for fucks sake.

[sceletaflores]

I COULD PLAY THE DOCTOR (I CAN CURE YOUR DISEASE)

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, established relationship, logan's pov, written with origins!logan in mind, nat veering dangerously closer to a/b/o territory with every passing day, rut cycles, oral sex (fem!receiving), fingering (fem!receiving), multiple orgasms, gratuitous amounts of dirty talk, p in v, rough sex, biting, hair pulling, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, one (1) single use of the word daddy, scent kink, pain kink, breeding kink ofc, knotting (don’t look at me…), squirting, porn w/ plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: don’t look at me…i don’t know how many times i swore up and down i’d never write something like this but i’m a confirmed liar apparently so…here. i mean i just figured i'm in a rut artistically so therefore the only answer is writing logan in a rut physically...i can do what i want and i don't need to explain myself or my horny thoughts. also, i debated posting this in the wake of everything that's gone down over the past two days that is still escalating and will continue to escalate in the coming weeks, but i think everyone could use a little escape from how scary things may seem right now. take a break from all the terrifying news sites and read about logan wanting to breed you :) kisses!

divider by angel @saradika-graphics!

it's been another six months, and logan needs your help...

The burn starts on the walk home from work, a pulse of heat deep in Logan's gut that grows with every step.

It spreads slowly, sinking into his muscles and seeping up his spine as he rounds the last corner, your place less than a block away now.

It caught him off guard this time, an itch burying itself under his skin earlier in the day only to get worse and worse as he worked.

He usually knew the signs well enough to feel them start creeping in, and he was dead sure it wasn't for another few weeks.

Apparently, he was wrong.

Logan’s jaw clenches as he picks up his pace, every nerve ending in his body straining to break into a full blown sprint at the thought of you, all alone and waiting for him.

His fingers curl into tight fists, nails pressing into his palms to ground himself, though it’s hardly enough. The faint scent of you drifts up from his shirt, not even a long day at the lumberyard enough to drown it out.

By the time he reaches your door, his heartbeat is a heavy thud in his ears, syncing with the building ache of desire wracking through his body like the earth rattling boom of a raging thunder storm.

He fumbles through getting his key into the lock, hands unsteady as he tugs the door open with a little more force than necessary and finally steps inside.

The second he closes the door behind him, the heat surges, thrumming through his veins and flooding his chest. Your scent fills the air completely, stronger now, wrapping around him so thick and sweet.

"Darlin'?" His voice comes out rougher than he intends, but he's beyond caring.

Your voice floats from the other room, casual, warm enough to send a jolt through him. Logan drops his axe from his shoulder, leaning it against the door as he starts down the familiar path to your bedroom.

You're spread out on his side of the bed—oblivious, curled up with a book, wrapped in one of the flannels he must have left the last time he stayed over.

Just the sight of you does something to him, like a match dragged against a strike pad, damned on setting everything ablaze.

You glance up, and the soft smile on your lips falters as you catch sight of him.

Logan knows what he must look like, his eyes all dark and predatory, chest heaving as he rakes his hungry gaze over you like a wolf watches a lamb grazing too close to its den.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stalks toward you with a purpose that’s as undeniable as the heat pouring off him in waves.

The book slips from your fingers, forgotten, as you lean back, the small sound of your breath hitching under the weight of his gaze is music to his ears.

Logan pauses at the edge of the bed, towering over you, letting himself drink in the way you look. So soft and serene, like some kind of invitation that begs him closer. His flannel draped loosely over your shoulders–shrouding you in his scent. 

The urge to pounce on you fights against his normal instinct to savor every second, to draw it out until the heat pooling in his gut becomes downright unbearable.

“Been thinkin’ about you all damn day,” he mutters, voice thick and dark as molasses, rough from restraint he’s quickly losing. His knuckles brush against your thigh, then tighten, holding you in place as he leans down, his breath hot against your neck. “Thinkin’ about what I was gonna when I finally got my hands on you.”

Your skin blooms with warmth beneath his touch, and he grins against your neck, the edge of his teeth grazing you just enough to make you squirm. He growls low in his throat, that itch he’s been fighting nearly all day clawing its way up to the surface with a vengeance.

The primal urge inside of him screaming to claim claim claim take take take mate mate mate breed breed breed.

You tilt your head to the side with a soft sigh, freeing up more space for him to nose along your skin. “Is it time?”

Logan's breath catches as your question hangs in the air, thick with anticipation. The soft simplicity of it ignites the wildfire burning in his gut, every ounce of restraint slipping away like sand through his fingers.

“Yeah, baby,” he growls, slipping his fingers under the worn cotton of your shorts, feeling the bare skin beneath. “It’s time.”

You shift, hands going to the buttons of his flannel like you’re going to take it off. Logan stops you, taking your wrists in his free hand.

“Don’t,” he breathes, shaking his head hard enough that his hair flows with it. “Leave it on.”

The thought of you covered in his scent, of his scent mixing with yours to claim you on a level only he can discern sends his mind buzzing.

You look up at him with those wide, trusting eyes, and something in him cracks wide open. The tenderness of your gaze pulls at him, like a tether pulling him back from the edge, but that heat still smolders in his blood, fierce and unyielding.

Logan runs his thumb along the racing pulse of your wrist before he drops them. His hands venture lower, fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh, tracing a deliberate path that makes your body tremble under his touch.

You let out a shuddering breath, the scent of your arousal swirling through the air is enough to make him crave more.

In one rough tug, Logan yanks you towards the edge of the bed as he falls to his knees. Your hips held tight in his hands as he lurches forward, burying his nose in the soft junction where your leg and inner thigh meet.

He inhales deep, greedy lungfuls of your scent. A guttural growl rumbles through his chest, his eyes screwing shut at the sheer amount of too much that courses through him. He feels dizzy with it, high on the pheromones pumping from you in waves.

You’re soaked already, the wet fabric of your shorts melded to the shape of your cunt. He can’t help but run his nose along the slick seam of you, reveling in the way your legs twitch on either side of his head, in the short gasp you let out.

“Logan.” Your voice is nothing but a mewl, pleading and desperate.

“Missed you,” he rasps, his voice rough, almost unrecognizable. The edge of need in him makes his hands shake, sliding up your thighs, urging them even further apart as he settles between them.

Logan’s fingers dig into your skin, he lets his thumbs brush up, hooking them into the waistband of your shorts to tug them down your legs in one sharp yank. He groans at the sight of you completely bare, no underwear.

“Fuck, look at you,” he grates, his thumb coming down to slip through your dripping cunt. Your hole flutters desperately around him, needy little clenches like it’s trying to suck him in. “She’s all ready for me, huh? Been waiting for me to come home and give her some attention?”

“Please,” you whimper, your voice thick with longing, the sound going straight to his head, clouding his thoughts. 

Logan’s pulse races as he watches your body arch instinctively toward his touch, the desperate need in your eyes igniting the raw urges coursing through him.

He can’t deny you; he never could. You’re a feast laid out before him, and he’s starving.

Logan leans closer, letting his tongue flick out to taste you like he’s wanted to since he left for work this morning. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, closing his eyes and losing himself in the moment. He licks a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring the way your body responds, the way your legs tremble and your hips twitch against his mouth, seeking more. “Tastes like fuckin’ heaven, sweetheart.”

The taste of you is intoxicating—sweet and tangy, flooding his senses with every drag and swirl of his tongue.

Logan can’t help but moan against you, the sound vibrating through your body as he dives deeper, his nose nudging against your slick entrance as he shakes his head back and forth like an animal—rubbing the plush skin of your inner thighs red and raw with each rough drag of his coarse beard.

Every flick of his tongue sends a shockwave through you, and he revels in the sounds you make—each whimper, each moan, a siren’s call urging him deeper. He laves his tongue around your clit, sucking it gently, pulling at it with his lips as you writhe beneath him, begging for more. 

He keeps your thighs spread wide, two strong hands pinning them to the mattress so he can devour you just the way you deserve, the sharp dig of your heels into his shoulders only spurs him on.

Your hands bury themselves in his hair, tugging him closer, and he groans into you, letting his tongue delve deeper, seeking out every bit of sweetness he can coax from you. 

It’s pure sin, each sound you make, each shiver that runs through you as he takes his time, drinking you down like a man starved. 

The ache in him intensifies, his own need growing, pulsing. He’s hard, has been hard since he walked through the front door.

His cock strains against the zipper of his jeans, need pulsing in time with each pump of his blood through his shaft, circling around the base, threatening to expand even without the tight grip of your pussy surrounding him. His hips jerk up on their own volition, desperate for any friction.

“Just like that, Logan,” you gasp, voice breathy and trembling with pleasure. 

The way you say his name—raw, desperate—makes his blood run hotter. He grips your thighs tighter, anchoring you to the bed as he drinks you in, wanting to lose himself in you completely.

Logan pulls away just long enough to catch his breath, looking up at you with lust-drunk eyes, drinking in the sight of your sweaty cheeks, your heavy-lidded gaze, the way your chest rises and falls with each shuddering breath.

The pulse of his cock intensifies, urging him to speed things along. The base desire of his own instincts is getting harder and harder to ignore under your adoring stare.

He feeds his fingers into your clenching hole with no warning, a satisfied smirk tugging his lips up at your sharp gasp. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, the entire lower half of his face still shining with your essence.

Your cunt swallows him, two thick fingers sinking into the velvety heat like it’s nothing.

Logan groans as he feels you clench around him, your walls fluttering and drawing him in deeper. “That’s it, baby,” he mutters, his voice hoarse with need. “So fuckin’ ready for me, so ready for daddy’s fingers in your pussy.”

Your mouth drops open in another devastatingly desperate noise, your hands twist his hair roughly, soft breasts rising and falling each time you gasp for air. The dim light of the sunset filters in through the blinds, highlighting the curves of your body, slick and shining with a thin sheen of sweat.

Every clench of your walls around his fingers shoots a thrill straight to his cock, making him ache with the urge to bury himself inside you. The overwhelming need to take you completely, to mark you and fill you, pulses through his veins until he feels like he might explode.

But he’s not done tasting you yet. Not until you’re practically dripping onto the sheets.

He lowers his mouth back to your core, sucking your clit into his mouth as his fingers pump faster. The sudden intensity makes your thighs shake around his head, and he grins against you. He wants to see you fall apart—wants to feel it.

“Logan—please, I…” You can barely get the words out, voice breaking as your whole body strains against him, desperate and needy.

The wet slap of his palm against your spit soaked cunt is loud in the quiet of your bedroom, blending with the loud keens that fall from your parted lips. He crooks his fingers, rubbing at that soft, spongy spot inside of you.

“Come on,” he mutters, slick lips brushing against your clit as he speaks. “Give it to me, baby. Show me you're ready for my cock."

He drags the sharp edge of his canine against your pulsing clit with barely any pressure, and you're coming.

Your whole body tenses, back bowing off the mattress as you let out a broken cry of his name. The bite of your nails digging into his scalp feels harsh enough to draw blood, a feeble attempt at grounding yourself against the onslaught of pleasure. 

Your trembling thighs tighten around his shoulders, gripping him like a vice as your shaking cunt gushes around his fingers. Logan groans at the feeling, eyes slipping shut as you drench his wrist and chin in your juices.

Even then, he doesn’t let up, fingers pumping relentlessly as he draws out every pulse, every aftershock of your climax, every tiny spray of your release splashing against his wrist. 

He’s lost in the feel of you—slick and trembling under his hands, the scent of your release filling his lungs, thick and intoxicating.

You slump back against the bed, body limp and spent. His own need is a driving, aching force now, clawing at his insides, demanding more.

He slips his fingers free from your dripping heat, dragging them through the wetness coating his chin as he licks them clean with a growl, savoring every taste.

“Good girl,” he purrs, voice thick with pride and satisfaction as he pulls back, leaving your thighs twitching in the wake of his touch. But he still isn’t finished. Not even close.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Logan crawls up the bed, his eyes locked on you, pupils blown with need. He looms over you, hands planting on either side of your head. His cock grinds against you through the rough denim, and you can feel just how thick and hard he is, throbbing through the fabric, demanding to be freed.

With a low groan, he shifts his hips, dragging his bulge along your soaked cunt, sending another jolt of pleasure racing through you. His hands are all over you, gripping your waist, hot and possessive.

“Feel that?” he asks, pressing his lips the wild flutter of your pulse, the need to sink his teeth in the soft skin of your neck raises the hair on the back of his neck. “That’s what you do to me baby. Got me hard as a fuckin’ rock, just aching to be inside you.”

Your arms circle his shoulders, clawing at the fabric off his shirt. “Need you inside me, Logan. Please, want it so bad.”

The pure need lacing your words, your scent calling out to him, the way he can feel the front of his jeans getting soaked through with the slick pouring from your cunt all pull him deeper into the recesses of his hind-brain. 

The mounting desperation to stuff you full of his cock finally reaches a fever pitch.

With a deep growl, Logan rears back as far as he can bear, just enough to tear his shirt over his head before he fumbles with the heavy buckle of his belt to free his aching cock.

He shoves his jeans down, boxers quickly following until there’s nothing separating him from the cool air of your bedroom. His cock springs free, hot and flushed an angry red color, drooling from the tip enough that it drips down to stain the pretty floral sheets of your bed.

Your eyes zero in on him, mouth dropping open at the sight. His cock so heavy it doesn’t curve upward to slap against his stomach, instead it hangs down to sway between his thighs as he moves closer. 

Your legs spread as he nears, slick covered thighs parting to make room for him to slot between them. So obedient, so good, so well trained.

Logan takes himself in his hand, nearly wincing at the blazing temperature of his skin. He secures his hand around the base, squeezing where his knot threatens to pop before he’s even got in you.

He slips the angry head through the folds of your cunt, slapping it against your clit with a wet ‘thwack’ sound. He can feel the way it twitches and shakes, just as desperate as him.

“Look at that,” he mutters darkly, eyes glued to where he’s laid his cock flat against your stomach, leaking pre-come all over your soft skin. “How’s it gonna fit, baby?” He shifts his hips, sawing his length back and forth to see just how deep in you he’ll be.

Your glassy eyes drop, a broken moan passing through your slack lips when you take in the sight. Your hips rise off the bed, grinding your cunt along the seam of his heavy balls, along the prominent vein trailing up the underside.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Logan grits out, eyes hooded and dark as he watches you grind against him. “You’re gonna take it all. Gonna make you feel every last fuckin’ bit of me.”

He groans, gritting his teeth as he presses in further, each inch a battle against the tight, molten heat that grips him like a vice. Your body shudders as he fills you, your slick warmth pulling him deeper and deeper, and he sinks down until he’s fully seated, his hips flush with yours. 

The pressure is mind-numbing, your walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that make his vision blur. He stills for just a second, savoring the way your body stretches around him, hugging him in a way that feels like it was made for him alone.

Logan watches your face as you adjust to the stretch, your brows pinched together, each breath coming fast and shallow, your eyes glazed with pleasure.

Then, your hands come to his shoulders, nails digging little crescent moons into his skin as you nod your head, ready.

It’s all the confirmation he needs. His hips pull back before he slams in again, the force of it jolting your whole body. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, teeth bared as he muffles a snarl against your skin.

Logan thrusts again, and again, and again, hips setting a merciless pace as he watches the way your breasts bounce with each thrust, each little shudder.

His mouth waters with the need to taste, to sink his teeth into your supple skin hard enough to pierce clean through, hard enough to scar.

Sweat drips down the length of his spine, across his brow. It mats down the hair scattered over his chest, his dog tags slick with it when they bounce off his skin with each thrust. The grip of his hands tightens on your hips, it’s taking everything in him to hold back and yet he knows you’ll still bruise tomorrow. 

Pretty hues of dark purples and yellows in the shape of his fingers, ones he’ll catch you admiring in the bathroom mirror, pressing your own fingertips into them to feel the dull ache—to remember this moment.

“Made for this, aren’t you?” he rasps, his voice dark and possessive. “Made to take me, to be mine.”

The words barely leave his mouth before he’s bending down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries as he drives into you, pushing you both closer to that sweet edge.

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp, breaking the kiss as your body trembles under him. “Can–ah!–can feel you in my stomach…”

Your hand drops from his shoulder, slipping between your bodies to rest over the sweaty expanse of your belly. Logan’s eyes follow your path, a feral growl bursting from his chest before he can stop it.

He’s transfixed by it, sure that if he pressed his hand to the soft skin of your lower stomach right over your own, that he’d feel it. Feel the way his cock punches up against your insides, so deep it's like he’s rearranging your guts to make room.

“Fuck.” His voice is nothing but a gravelly rumble, hoarse and dark as midnight. His hips speed up impossibly faster, chasing the feeling of your clenching walls choking the length of his cock so tight he thinks it might snap off at the base.

The flimsy headboard of your bed slams against the wall, creaky mattress springs screaming under his ministrations.

You feel like salvation, like the first rays of light after too many years spent in the dark.

He feels it with each kiss of his cock against your cervix, in the way your lips fit in the junction of his neck, in the red welts your nails leave on the skin of his back. He feels alive, truly alive, for the first time in decades.

“Say my name,” he grates, his hand cupping the back of your neck, coaxing you to look up at him, lips close enough to taste the heat radiating from his skin. “Tell me who you belong to.”

"Logan," you gasp, your voice breathy, edged with desperation as he pushes you closer to the brink. "Yours. Only yours."

A broken, shaky noise falls from his lips as he buries his face in your neck. He mouths at your skin desperately, presses his nose to where your scent is the strongest. 

Flashes of his release spraying your insides play behind his closed eyes, thoughts of drenching you so thoroughly that it has to take only forcing his hips to slam against the rippling muscle of your ass like you have your own magnetic pull. He feels it building, the slow swell of his knot presses against your folds, ready to burst.

“Come on, honey,” he begs, thumb coming down to rub slow circles over your slick clit. “Come with me, soak my cock. Show me how much you love it, how much you love me.”

Pathetic little uh uh uh’s fall from you with every thrust, broken up only by the breathy whines of his name as he pounds into you hard enough to push your body higher up the mattress. Finally, with a loud roar, he stuffs his growing knot inside of your cunt. 

Logan’s teeth sink into your neck before he can even think twice about it, the thick spray of his come filling you as his hands pull your hips down even further over his cock. He needs to be as deep in you as possible, to press forward until he can’t anymore, until his aching balls are flush with your gushing cunt.

He watches with rapt attention as you come with a loud wail, just from the feeling of his knot slotting into place. The clamp of your thighs over his hips is nearly as tight as the way your cunt seizes around him like it’s scared he’ll leave.

He groans at the over stimulation of your cunt milking his cock. Your slick leaks around the base of him, your shaking hole plugged so full it can only slip along the creamy ring to splash weakly against his thighs and hips.

Logan licks along the spot where his teeth pierced your skin, planting one last kiss before he’s taking you in his arms and rolling onto his back atop the mattress. The plush comforter sticks to his skin, your own sweaty body slipping against his as he tries his best to not jostle you too much while keeping you stuffed full of his cock.

He holds you to his chest until your breathing evens out, until your body stops trembling on top of his, until you’re nosing along the column of his neck.

“Logan?” Your voice is tiny, hoarse and scratchy. He feels your hand drawing absent minded shapes along the skin of his stomach. A circle, a star, a figure eight, a heart.

“Yeah baby?” he says, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, eyes slipping shut at the content feeling that spreads through him.

“Love you,” you murmur, voice soft but sure, the words slipping out without hesitation.

It’s the first time you’ve said it today, and hearing those three words from you sends warmth flooding through him.

Logan shifts slightly, pulling you even closer, his hand moving to the back of your head, cradling you with a kind of tenderness he used to think he’d never be capable of. “I love you too, darlin’. More than you know.”

Your body relaxes against him, the lingering effects of your shared intimacy still buzzing through your limbs, but now there’s a sense of peace, of safety, and a deeper connection.

He can feel the way your fingers curl lightly against his skin, the quiet smile that must be tugging at your lips as you press a kiss to the side of his neck.

And in that moment, with everything settled around him, Logan knows that this, right here, is everything.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[darkmaga-returns]

Via Greg Hunter’s USAWatchdog.com,

Former Wall Street money manager Ed Dowd is a skillful financial analyst who said in May the economy was skidding. Now, Dowd predicts the economy is poised to “roll over” and soon.

Why is the Fed cutting rates with a record high DOW? Maybe they see the same thing he does. Dowd explains, “Real weekly wage growth was minus 2% going into the election. It is also interesting to know that minus 2% number of wage growth was also in 1980 when Ronald Reagan won in a landslide and also in 1992 when Bill Clinton won in a landslide…"

"I have never seen such blatant manipulation of government statistics.

There is government spending and government hiring to paper over what is truly a bad economy for the average man. When I was asked prior to the election who do you think will win the election, I said Trump has already won, according to the economic statistics. That’s why he won. Bobby Kennedy helped along with Elon Musk, Joe Rogan, lots of people switching and what have you. What really got Trump in was the economy, the real economy, not the stock market.

It was not the ‘everything is hunky-dory’ pablum from the mainstream media.

The real economy has been rolling over, and we are just waiting for the financial markets to figure this out.

When they do, Trump is going to inherit a turd of a financial market crisis.

Government statistics will be updated, and it will show we started a recession sometime this year…

The incoming Trump Administration has to get out in front of the narrative. This was already baked into the cake. They just got handed fraudulent books. So, they are basically going to get blamed for what is coming.

They have to get in front of the narrative and talk about what they were handed. They need to talk about how the stock market is not a real indicator of economic health like it was before the days of raw manipulation.”

[ZH: We have been endlessly reminding readers for the last six months that the 'always positive' macro headlines that appear every day after almost ubiquitously revised down in later months, hiding the reality that set the scene for Trump's almost unprecedented victory in the election - despite the endless charade promoted by legacy media that 'everything was awesome', it clearly wasn't (and isn't) and the rug-pull is coming.]

The other big problem that Trump needs to get in front of is the CV19 bioweapon vax disaster. Dowd says, “We have been monitoring and tracking excess deaths, disabilities and injuries such as heart attacks, neurological problems, cancers and liver issues…"

[shoyudon]

𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐈 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 .ᐟ

them forgetting a date night.

starring. gojo, sukuna, toji x fem! reader

heads up. cursing, no fluff, sukuna can use a phone (bcs u taught him lol /j), sukuna calling u "woman"

note. haiii, how are you guys doing? make sure to take care of yourself!! i'm feeling a bit angsty today, so i'm gonna write a bit of angst. i miss gojo, like so much u guys :( i might make a part two for this btw hehe

──────〃★ 𝐆𝐎��𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

the one thing you hated more than people being late was people who don't keep their promises — your boyfriend wasn't an exception to it. gojo's a busy man, you get it. for months you haven't been able to see him because he was so caught up in the jujutsu world; he saves people dan and night from lingering curses that it broke you a bit.

the jujutsu world treats him like a weapon; and you never liked it. despite your constant battering on him, trying to get him to quit and just settled in for a quiet life, he tells you that he can't. that people needed him, and you felt selfish.

but isn't it fine to be selfish sometimes?

clutching onto your phone, you'd tried dialing gojo's number at least six times before he answers. his voice groggy and slow, as if he had just woken up from a deep sleep, "huh . . . hello?"

you wanted to yell at him, especially because he was the one who has been reminding you about this particular date night — and he was the one to forget about it, "good sleep?" you ended up asking him, voice hard.

"y/n . . . why did you—"

"why did i call? oh, i don't know. maybe because my boyfriend stood me up for an hour and a half. i look like an idiot sitting here, satoru," you mutter out in embarrassment, avoiding the lingering gazes from both waiters and waitresses around you.

for the past hour, you've lost count of how many times you'd ask them to refill your glass of tea — embarrassing. then telling them you were waiting for someone when they tried to ask you if you were going to order anything since there were people waiting for a table, just for the said person not showing up.

"what time is— oh, fuck. baby, i'm so sorry, i fell asleep when i was work—"

before he could finish his words, you finished it for him, "working. i get it, you're always working. clearly, you don't have time for anything else, right?" you ask him, signaling the waiter nearby for the bill.

"baby, i know. i'm so sorry, i'm on my way, okay? please," he whispers. you could hear a few shuffling on the background; along with a few curses he muttered under his breath as he stumble over his feet, mind hazy from all the sudden movements he was doing despite just waking up.

"no need. i'm leaving the place," you mutter, walking out of the restaurant — heels clacking on the pavement, "and 'm leaving you, because clearly you're not ready for a relationship, so bye."

gojo yells out, "what? no, baby. i swear — i'll make it up to you, please. don't leave me . . ." he rambled on the same words over and over again, "where are you? i'm picking you up. please, can we talk about this? i'm sorry, i know i should've—"

"bye, satoru," and with that you ended the call.

──────〃★ 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍

you fiddled the hem of your dress as you sat inside the almost closed restaurant, the last speck of hope you had on your boyfriend —sukuna— dissipating into hopelessness. standing up you walked over to the cashier, taking out your card to pay for the one glass of shrimp cocktail and one glass of white wine.

the cashier shot you a sympathetic look, and you didn't dare to look her into her eyes. face hard from embarrassment and shame, "thank you for coming, come again next time, ma'am . . ." she bids you goodbye as she returns your card.

walking out of the restaurant that now had the 'closed' sign flipped made your stomach churn in mixed feelings: anger, embarrassment, shame, sadness, everything all at once.

sinking your nails onto the palm of your hand, you muttered out strings of curses. you knew being in a relationship with someone who had no understanding to the concept of love was a hard thing — but honestly, you thought you got a hang of it. all this time you had been nothing but patient with sukuna, but maybe even that wasn't enough for him.

three hours. you sat alone inside the restaurant you booked for the both of you for three hours — each hour depleting your hope even more. and sukuna just managed to fuck it up even after he said he'd try. well, you should've underlined the keyword there: he said he'd try not that he'd come.

maybe you saw it coming yet it still disappointed you anyways.

your phone rang. even before you see who it was — you knew it's none other than sukuna. your heart screamed at you to answer his phone call, but your mind told you to leave it ringing because you were in no mood to talk to him. yet, at the end — you still pressed the answer button.

"what?"

"where are you?" his rough voice echoed through the line as you walked down the nearly empty street, holding onto your purse, "place's closed."

scoffing, you answered, "'f course it's closed, it's almost ten. i've been waiting for three hours, ryo. three hours."

you could hear him inhale sharply, "i was caught up with something, woman. where are you now?" he questioned. hearing a few car honking behind on the background, "where are you? answer me."

"doesn't matter, i left. and i'm leaving you, i was wrong thinking maybe i could've changed you — turns out, i couldn't. good luck to you," you mutter out sternly.

sukuna raised a brow, "y're kidding."

you weren't, and all he could hear next was the loud dial tune of the other line hanging up — now did he realize that this was all serious and you were actually leaving him for good.

──────〃★ 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

you sighed, dialing toji for the first time of the night when he said that he was going to pick you up for a date, the phone rung for a while before going into voicemail. grumbling under your breath, you tried dialing him again for the second time, which ended up the same way.

all these time spent on makeup and picking out the best outfit — all for nothing as your boyfriend, toji failed to show up on time. angry, you tried calling him again for the third time, only for it to end up in voicemail yet again. this time you decided to leave a message for him.

"hey, you forgot. didn't you? hope you're happy with yourself, cause 'm not."

dating toji wasn't the easiest — but you love him, no matter what he was like. and it was stupid of you to do so, all this time you've defended his name against your friends' malice towards him, saying how he wasn't treating you well enough and that you deserved so much better.

despite all that, you love him. disregarding their words, retorting back to how toji treats you well, which he does — except for the times he tended to forget about everything, even you. maybe it was time to open your eyes and actually break up; because you did deserve better than this.

it would be a shame to let all this makeup go to waste, and so you hailed a cab and decided to go out for a treat. and made the best out of everything, that is until toji decided it would be the most convenient time to call you back amidst your little "me time".

wiping your hand on the napkin, you answered him, "huh, you're alive," you muttered out, huffing.

he sighs, "i forgot, sorry." you couldn't see him, but toji actually looked remorseful, already on his way out of his apartment to yours, "i'm on my way."

you chuckled, "doesn't matter. i left my house," you informed, taking a bite out of the crab meat, "so don't bother coming — and i don't think i don't deserve this kind of treatment from anyone, even you, toji. i'm breaking up with you because clearly you don't take this relationship as seriously as i am."

toji furrowed his brows, "i forgot, i fucked up, i can make it up. where are you right now?" he asks, his voice still as calm as cucumber. but the look on his face contradicted the tone of his voice.

"bye, toji. good luck."

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