#<- and I couldn't get to choose...

[sigelfire]

Diego Luna presenting "Miss Bala" at the UC Berkeley campus, 2011

Photos by Jim Block & Megan Kang

x

pt.1

[batbabydamian]

*you opening the love letter* what does your damijon look like, pls pls pls pls pls pls pls, i know it would be so cute, i just know it 🙏🙏🙏

here you go! thank you for the ask, this was a lot of fun to do! they're working on a case together ^^

[inkskinned]

one of the things about being an educator is that you hear what parents want their kids to be able to do a lot. they want their kid to be an astronaut or a ballerina or a politician. they want them to get off that damn phone. be better about socializing. stop spending so much time indoors. learn to control their own temper. to just "fucking listen", which means to be obedient.

one of the things i learned in my pedagogy classes is that it's almost always easier to roleplay how you want someone to act. it's almost always easier to explain why a rule exists, rather than simply setting the rule and demanding adherence.

i want my kids to be kind. i want them to ask me what book they should read next, and i want to read that book with them so we can discuss it. i want my kid to be able to tell me hey that hurt my feelings without worrying i'll punish them. i want my kid to be proud of small things and come running up to me to tell me about them. i want them to say "nah, i get why this rule exists, but i get to hate it" and know that i don't need them to be grateful-for-the-roof-overhead while washing the dishes. i want them to teach me things. i want them to say - this isn't safe. i'm calling my mom and getting out of this. i want them to hear me apologize when i do fuck up; and i want them to want to come home.

the other day a parent was telling me she didn't understand why her kid "just got so angry." this woman had flown off the handle at me.

my dad - traditional catholic that he is - resents my sentiment of "gentle parenting". he says they'll grow up spoiled, horrible, pretentious. granola, he spits.

i am going to be kind to them. i am going to set the example, i think. and whatever they choose become in the meantime - i'm going to love them for it.

[acekindaneat]

rainy day ageswap au inspired by @choogoo except i can't choose between parent figure mob and serirei so i do both.

bonus uu-chan doodles bc i miss uu-chan everyday

[dianagj-art]

Pictures taken moments before disaster

guess who finally started reading Like Father Like Son!

I'm just on Chapter 3 and I'm already sold, I'll definitely do some angsty fanart for this fic later. @eternalglitch this is a warning shot

[captainhysunstuff]

Soichiro is worried about Light’s taste in men.  (Let’s assume that somehow Yotsuba was never involved with Kira junk in this reality, lol.)

[livetogether--diealone]

OSCAR, quali reaction - BRAZIL GP 23

[fleuraimer]

I saw your reblog and i couldn’t help it…

I’m begging on my knees… write a breeding blurb. Doesn’t have to be long cause i can’t wait. Like 100-500 words

PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

THIS IS MY FIRST BLURBY, SO I HOPE U LIKE IT :D pls excuse any typos, most of this was written on my phone 🧍🏽‍♀

wc: 1.7k

cw: smut, minors dni, 17+. breeding kink, and more. not proofread.

It really had started out as a joke.

Thanksgiving inspires spending time with family, and family means entertaining all the new cousins and little nieces and nephews that had joined the family in the past year.

So, Y/N naturally gravitated toward the children.

They’re irresistible! With their chubby cheeks and gummy smiles, innocent stutters and big wide eyes that are subject to tears at any moment.

It’s not as if they put up much of a fight either, Cole and Oliver practically fell over each other to claim the thorn that was her lap.

She was consumed by them; if they went somewhere, she was right behind them making sure their little heads didn’t knock, stubby legs wobbly like a newborn doe. She ate on the floor with them (“The carpet’s comfy, Titi!”), played games with them—if you could even call it playing, they just oohed and ahed and slobbered over a deck of cards—laughed with them, wiped their tears for them, held them close, cradled them into a dreamy state that had her cooing in their ear.

And he saw. From his personal spot on the couch, that he’d homed since the first thanksgiving he could remember, he saw his girl becoming his family, too. He saw the hearts in the eyes of his nephews, he saw her adoration for them (not that he’s much better, they’ve got him wrapped tight around their tiny fingers), saw the bond that began to blossom between them.

He saw how calm Y/N looked as she cared for them, saw how natural she was.

And so maybe, on the car ride back he made a few teasing remarks about her motherly tendencies. And perhaps he mindlessly let it slip that he’d thought about her, pregnant, with his child.

But it was all in good fun, right? She’d scoffed in her seat—though the flush of her cheeks did not go unnoticed—slapping his shoulder to halfheartedly reprimand his crude comments. Sure, it sent a yummy tingle up her spine. And, yeah, okay, her panties got, admittedly, a little more uncomfortable after hearing his confession.

But that didn’t matter, because it was just teasing. Just words that he said to get a reaction, like always.

…Right?

———

Y/N now understands that he was not joking.

Not one fucking bit.

It’s kind of difficult to find miscommunication in any of his words now. She understands him, she gets him—Holy fuck, she gets him.

“Prancin’ around with babies on your hips, an’ you think m’not gonna wanna get you pregnant with my child?”

She gets him, with his fat cock stuffed in her snug, tiny pussy, filling her up, up to her fucking stomach. Literally. With the way he’s got her bent into herself—ankles up to her ears, thighs squishing her arms in, which in turn pushes her tits together, shiny with spit and quite bruised—his cock molds to her, pressing at her tummy, glaring at her. It scares her.

And it’s fucking everything.

She gets him, but she doesn’t fucking get how he has the ability to tease, mock, and degrade her so thoroughly, after so much time spent doing nothing but abusing her poor, helpless cunt. He stretches her out to the point of pain—unsurprisingly, there was little to no prep in the build up to their current state, though, at the time, it didn’t feel needed, she’d been dripping down her thighs as soon as the first button of his dress shirt popped. His cockhead shoves into her cervix relentlessly, viciously. He bullies his way through her, her essence soaking his prick to the base, a sticky mess between their crashing hips.

“Wan’ you stuffed full by the time m’threw with you,” he grunts against her lips, his hot breath fanning over her face, grounding her to this moment. She gasps with every plunge of his hips, the lack of activity in her brain clear as day from the cute, stupid look on her pretty face.

Eyes crossed in the middle every other second, glossy from past and reoccurring tears. Her cheeks puffy and rosy, glistening in the lamp-light from drool and salty droplets of tears. Her hands push fruitlessly against his hard, sweaty abs, chocking out spineless protests.

“S’big, too big— too deep, Daddy!” She cries sweetly, hiding in the puff of his pillows cushioning her head.

“Shhh, Baby, lemme fuck you, plug you up with my cum…” His hands move from the headboard, one pushing down on the back of her thigh, keeping her spread open for him, and the other to her ruined face, three fingers shoving between her kiss-swollen lips. She slobbers over them immediately, brows furrowed in devoted concentration, desperately aiming to please him. “Tha’s a good girl, Puppy, jus’ suck on Daddy’s fingers while he uses your cute, slutty little pussy.”

She whimpers through her gag, nodding dumbly, drooling all over again, the sparkly, moony glow in her eyes letting him know that her head is empty.

“You wan’ my babies, Pup?” His thrusts slow, working himself into her with a heightened calculation, forcing her to feel every vein and ridge of his big cock. She squeezes around him, whining. “Yeah? Tell me, were y’thinkin’ ‘bout it when you were takin’ care of the little ones?” His fingers slide farther into her mouth, his cock hitting places brutishly and delicately at the same time. “Were y’thinkin’ ‘bout bein’ my pretty baby mama?”

“D—addy,” She chokes pathetically over his fingers, tensing up in every way.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “you wan’ my babies, Puppy.” He picks up the pace again, pistoning his hips so her special spot, oversensitive from so much use, gets completely smooshed by his prick every single time he grinds back inside of her weepy pussy. His hand on the back of her thigh moves to the crease between her leg and her slippery cunt, his thumb poking her puffy clit.

“Oh, ma goo—ness!” she bleats, huffy, wiggling away from his assault.

“Cut it out, Sugar,” he tuts, the hand on her thigh coming down to smack against her cunt, strings of her silky cum stuck on his palm when his fingers move to fuss over her achy button meanly. “Fuckin’ take my cock,” he strikes her again, her hips jumping in response, tears sprouting and spilling from her bleary eyes. “Keep still before Daddy gets sick’a your squirmin’ and ties you to the fuckin’ bed.

When his palm makes rough contact with her swollen clit for the third time, Y/N comes instantly.

She squirts, everywhere, as a matter of fact.

“Oh, fuck, Puppy,” he groans, hips stuttering as his cock twitches, and before he can stop himself, he’s being flooded with an overwhelming warmth, his cum spurting in thick, white ropes that paint her insides.

There’s a lot. More than usual, probably. It fills her up to the hilt and then some, dripping from her cunt and smearing down her sloppy pussy lips, over her mound and his faintly hairy pelvis. He fucks her through their simultaneous orgasms, through the crippling, divine sensations that somehow fatten his prick even more, urging on his insatiable desire.

Y/N shakes beneath him, still crying over his finger, chomping mindlessly on them as the pleasure continues to roll over her in waves.

Eventually, his cock slips out of her, too soaked for his thrusts to remain precise. She gasps at the sudden, jarring emptiness, and he grunts, animalistically, at the loss of familiar, snug, wet heat.

He doesn’t immediately push back in, however. His eyes get distracted on the view of his milky cum gushing out of her stretched, abused hole. His hand drops from her mouth to join the other, smearing their mess into her flesh and spreading her puffy pussy apart. Inspecting.

His head tilts curiously while he collects his cum on his middle and ring finger that’d dripped down to her puckered entrance, scooping it up before tentatively pushing it back inside.

It does more bad than good, honestly; more cum spills from around his finger, leaving them right back where they’d left off. But, that doesn’t stop him from repeating the action. Once, twice, hushing her screechy crying when her massages it into her silken walls the third time, smearing it onto her special spot when he pushes it back in the fourth. He jams his fingers into her cunt until he loses count, and the sound of her messy, stuffed pussy is louder than both their moans combined. He adds a third finger and picks up speed when her hand wraps around his wrist, when her voice grows hoarse and she screams bloody murder.

“Too much, too—I can't, please!” she screams, eyes clamped shut, body trembling.

“Shut up, Puppy, ain’t shit too much,” he dismisses, standing to his knees and using his free hand to keep her pinned to the mattress. “M’gonna fuck my cum back into this slutty, precious cunt ‘til you fuckin’ squirt f’me again.”

His gruff voice, his big, veiny hands trapping her to the bed, the incessant press of his fingers into the perfect spot that makes her toes curl and her stomach coil tighter and tighter. The sweat that drips from his face—from the tip of his nose, across his forehead and temples, glazed along his cupid’s bow—his beefy biceps, straining as he fights against her involuntary shudders. His chest, massive and buff, firm and slick with sweat under her palm.

It doesn’t take long for Y/N to oblige his demand.

“Just like that, Sugar, wet the fuckin’ bed, keep fucking coming.”

She keeps fucking coming. When his fingers are gone and his pretty, fat, perfect cock is reintroduced, she comes then, too. Like, as soon as he starts to push in.

It’s embarrassing, pitiful; pathetic.

But she can’t help it. She can’t help anything that she does or says when her cunt is stuffed with cum and cock, her sore pearl rubbed and swatted cruelly, her tits fondled demeaningly. She just lies there and cries, and takes his lovely cock. She lets him dump load after load of his spunk into her, claiming her, marking her as his. Making it stick.

“You’re my little cumdump, Pup,” he grumbles harshly, squeezing her pert nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re fuckin’ mine to kiss, love on, take care of,” she whimpers below, crying for his mercy, “my dumb slut to use, fuck, breed,” he plunges into her as deep as he can go, leaning in close and whispering, “you’re my fucking girl; my pathetic, needy fucking puppy that’s obsessed with my cock.” Y/N nods, gargling agreement.

He smirks, “Yeah, my little breeding bitch.”

[qiankunnies]

Qian Kun in Every Era 01.01.2024 🐻 HAPPY KUN DAY!! 💚

sm rookies ��� nct 2018 empathy ✦ regular ✦ dream launch ✦ take off ✦ moonwalk ✦ love talk ✦ turn back time ✦ bad alive ✦ nct 2020 resonance pt. 1 ✦ from home ✦ nct 2020 resonance pt. 2 ✦ kick back ✦ back to you ✦ nct 2021 universe ✦ miracle ✦ rain day ✦ diamonds only ✦ phantom ✦ nct 2023 golden age ✦ nct nation ✦ no one but you + invincible ✦ on my youth ✦ poppin love ✦ marine turtle

[dr3comebackera]

"When forever was a sentence, sentence to death Oh, when you were a running tear, I was a drop of sweat And the edges of your soul, I haven't seen yet Now I'm glad I get forever to see where you end" forever - noah kahan

(1) Dan Istitene (2) (left) Peter Fox // (right) Andy Hone (3) @SkySportsF1 (4) Reuters (Photographer Unknown) (5) Charles Coates (6) Mark Thompson (7) Mark Thompson (8) Dean Mouhtaropoulos (9) (left) Peter Fox // (right) Reuters (Photographer Unknown) (10) @daniel3.jpg (11) Motorsport Images

[zelkam]

— the untamed (2019), episode 27

[uncanny-tranny]

Your life isn't a to-do list. You're allowed to exist, to take life as slow as you'd like. The dreams you have won't suddenly disappear. It's okay to stop and smell the roses, or to engage with "childish" things, or to recover, or do what you need to.

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

the ultimate babygirl /silly /goofy, even

the guy the man ever y'all<3333

[possamble]

What are your headcanons about Marcille's mom if you have any? It's interesting that what drew Donato to her was cause she lived the history he studied, or that was said somewhere at least. She must've had an interesting life.

so this was going to be just a normal answer but then I realized I have a Lot of Things To Say. so here goes, a compilation of what we know for a fact from the canon, what I've extrapolated from the visual cues and details, and my theories based on all of that.

Things we know for a fact about Marcille's mother because they were explicitly stated in the manga and supplemental materials:

She was a court mage for a Tall-man kingdom at the southern part of the Northern Continent

Donato, a court historian, fell in love with her because she had lived through the history he was studying, and he courted her for 17 years (age 15 to 32) before getting married

She was a cheerful person who rarely showed extreme emotion and took things as they came

She always cooked a huge meal for Marcille on her birthdays

She remarried a gnome after Donato's death and a short distance away from Marcille's childhood home

Pipi, Marcille's pet bird, was actually older than Marcille and originally belonged to her mother (bird died at 62)

She was extremely heartbroken when Donato died and ultimately ended up instilling a deep fear of mortality in Marcille with her words

the only time she showed extreme emotion in front of her family was when Donato could no longer eat his favourite dish near the end of his life.

She scolded Marcille for being cruel to ants (implying she can have a stern side when needed)

Things that are explicitly shown but mostly through visual cues

She has a very distinctive style of dress always involving a ribbon choker (mirroring Marcille's habit of always wearing a matching choker with any of her outfits that don't cover her neck)

She was almost stereotypically good at housekeeping and traditionally "wifely" things (very frequently depicted wearing an apron or doing some domestic chore when not at work, seems to have been an avid cook).

She knits? (also, note the affectionate smile as she's looking at Donato and Marcille reading a book together in the full panel)

She was as excited for Marcille's milestones as Donato was.

She didn't tell Marcille much about elven food

(there are a couple things that this panel in particular implies:

She lived a good deal of her life (if not being born and raised) in a mainly elven country in the West, implied by her knowing enough of an elven region's cuisine to prefer Tall-man food over it

seems to have a pretty carefree and casual demeanour overall, if this is how she replied to Marcille asking her about it (sounds like she never gave her culinary preferences that much thought to begin with)

slightly related to number 2, it seems like she and Marcille had a fairly casual parent-child dynamic (especially in comparison to the Toudens' memory of their father)

(local elf tastes Italian food once and never goes back))

However, she seems a lot more... serious in most of the other times we see her? Almost like the very stereotypical archetype of a graceful elf.

Subsequent conclusions about her personality:

Usually pretty carefree and cheerful at home, has been a loving and attentive parent throughout Marcille's childhood (while not being so doting that she didn't discipline Marcille).

Slightly more conjectural theories on her personality:

Had a much more graceful and professional personality at work, which would explain the more serious portraits we see of her.

Given that both she and Donato had positions at the royal court, it seems a little odd that she'd go out of her way to do all the housework herself, so maybe she just enjoyed doing it?

Now taping all the evidence together and toeing the line between analysis and fanfiction:

It's clear that she loved Donato very much and was utterly devastated by losing him. But there's one thing that really stuck out to me in what little we see of her:

Doesn't she seem... angry? The way she's gritting her teeth, clutching the tablecloth, and how this is the first and only time we see her eyes opened that wide. In the following panel, you see her being quiet and dejected after her initial outburst. She's still crying very intensely, but her brows are furrowed, and she's not really responding to Donato's affection in her body language.

We're not told the details of how she felt about losing Donato other than that it upset her. But this, to me, implies that she was angry and resented that he was aging, that the end of his life was approaching. An "it's not fair" type of preemptive grief. And if this was the first and last time she cried like this in front of her family, she was either very good at coping in private... or very bad at letting herself feel unpleasant emotions until they become unavoidable and end up overwhelming her.

It's not too remarkable a detail on the surface. It's even reminiscent of what the audience has seen of Marcille. But... when it comes to the big picture, you'd think an elf who voluntarily chose to marry a tall-man and have a half-elf child would have been better prepared for this.

It kind of recontextualizes her cheerfulness to me.

"I'm sure everything's gonna be okay!" (or some variation thereof, depending on what translation you have).

And this is stated to contrast her extreme grief when finally confronting Donato's failing body and eventual death. But I'm wondering if... maybe this optimism was why she was so upset. What if she went into all of it thinking "everything's gonna be okay"? What if she was a little young by elven standards, and just followed her heart thinking that her own resilience would get her through anything?

Of course, only to get completely overwhelmed when she actually loses Donato. She turns into a completely different person. And that's heartbreaking on its own-- but what the audience sees is the effect it had on Marcille. Can you imagine being her, watching your invincible and upbeat mother suddenly lose all the light in her eyes in one go?

I've already made a huge post about how I think Marcille models her "work persona" off her mother, but another thing that stuck with me as I was looking for more details in the manga was this:

copy pasting from the other post i made about it lmao it's like... the second she resigns herself to lifelong pain and terror, there's another portrait of her mother facing her like this. with their heads bowed, in mirrored body language of resignation and despair and sorrow. Except it's posed like Marcille is still looking at her mother but her mother is looking away.

It took me a second to realize, but I think that it's a visual metaphor for the fact that Marcille's mother was the only long-lived role model she had-- and she failed to model healthy grief for her daughter. I don't say this as an accusation or to disparage her as a character, but just as a matter of fact. In her, Marcille was seeing herself older and losing a short-lived spouse or loved one of her own, and all she saw was hopelessness.

But her mother didn't mean to instill hopelessness and terror in her. She wasn't really thinking of how it would truly affect Marcille at all (at least, that's how I'm interpreting her looking down and away from Marcille in the metaphor), she was just sad. And she, in her own way, was trying to protect her daughter and help her prepare for future losses.

What she meant was "loss is inevitable, and you have to learn how to be in pain but live on anyway." What Marcille heard was "loss is inevitable, and you will be scared and hurt for the rest of your life."

Again. Marcille's mother doesn't feature explicitly in the story the way her father does -- but in so many ways, her shadow, her silhouette, her reflection is always hanging over Marcille.

All that to say... headcanon-wise (everything from here on is 100% without evidence lmao), I'd like to think that she matured and realized that she failed Marcille. I imagine her being regretful about it, wanting a chance to fix it but never finding a way to insert herself back into Marcille's life when Marcille is so so so busy becoming the most accomplished mage possible. I imagine her being herself again, now, so many years after her loss and after remarrying -- but with her cheerfulness tempered with a lot more wisdom and the pain of having gone through loss like that. I think the second Marcille actually tells her what happened in the dungeon, she'd want to go running to her daughter again -- if Marcille tells her the full truth instead of just being embarrassed she let things get that far. (oh, the tragedy of her wanting to be more like her mother and an accomplished adult who doesn't need to be babied... being embarrassed to actually tell her mother how much she fucked up...)

There's also the tension of her having remarried -- I know that there's at least a little bit of resentment that Marcille harbours about that, because she's childish like that at heart even if she makes an effort not to externalize it. I think that her mother would be aware of that, potentially adding to her sense of guilt and apprehension at trying to reappear/intrude on Marcille's life. I honestly don't think Marcille has met her stepfather -- or even considers him a stepfather rather than "mama's new husband" and kind of a total stranger. I think she and her mother actively don't talk about it in their correspondence, like an elephant in the room.

but, ultimately, I think her mother is on her side no matter what. Ancient magic? Dark necromancy? Sure, she'll feel guilty and like she was partially responsible for setting Marcille down such a painful path, but she wouldn't care. that's her daughter!! she would've moved back west and been petitioning for her at the court, buying a house right next to the Canaries barracks and visiting her every day that she wasn't on a mission. And if her husband had opinions on Marcille becoming a "dark arts user," he either gets over it or it's divorce with him. Yes, she might have had her optimism completely humbled by losing Donato like that -- but she's still headstrong and self-assured and she doesn't care what people think of her. It's her way or the highway and she's always going to be in Marcille's corner.

(She also needs a name lol. I went with Juno, just to be cute about "Marcille"s closest real life equivalent being Marcella, which is the female version of Marcellus, which in turn is a diminutive of Marcus, which was derived from Mars. Absolutely in love with Marcille potentially being named after Ares/Mars the fucking god of war btw)

[toaster-fire-art]

There is evil in this world. But there will always be good and kindness.

[livesincerely]

squirming outta my skin (i'm in love with you) ch.1 - prologue: one helluva first meeting

AKA, the cheerleading fic. Also on Ao3

00000

The team hasn’t even gotten through their first set of ladders before Albert sidles up to him, scowling darkly.

“Heads up,” he says, jerking his chin over towards the sidelines. “DeLancey’s fucking with the cheer team again.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Jack groans, turning away from the field to look. 

Sure enough, Oscar’s making a complete ass of himself as usual, leering creepily at the cheer squad while they try to warm up. Even as Jack watches, he lets out an obnoxious wolf whistle, reaching out to tug at one girl’s skirt, then laughing meanly when she darts away.

“Where’s Coach?” Jack asks, already exhausted.

“Hell if I know,” Albert grunts. “Enrichment meeting or some shit, probably.”

“Of course he is,” Jack sighs. He tears off his helmet, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Keep an eye on everyone, will ya?” he tells Albert. “I’ll handle Oscar.”

“Yeah, sure,” Albert says, clapping him on the back. “Good fucking luck, man.”

One of the other cheerleaders—a male cheerleader, who ushers his teammate behind him with a protective arm—is already chewing DeLancey out before Jack’s even made it halfway across the field, clearly furious. 

“—picking on freshman now?” Jack hears as he jogs over, the cheerleader’s tone utterly frigid. “That’s pretty pathetic, even for you, DeLancey.”

“Aw, don’t get your panties in such a twist, Jacobs. It’s just a joke, no harm done—“

“Oh, there’s gonna be some harm done when I kick your fucking teeth in you piece of shit⁠—”

“Hey!” Jack shouts as he approaches. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, DeLancey? You’re supposed to be running drills, not harassing the cheer team. Get back on the field.”

“This is your last warning, DeLancey,” the cheerleader—Jacobs—continues, not paying Jack a single whit of attention. “Keep your filthy hands to yourself and leave us alone.”

“Or, what, Jacobs?” DeLancey sneers, the prick, crossing his arms over his chest. “You gonna shake your pom poms at me?”

“Hey!” Jack cuts in firmly, because if he doesn’t, this Jacobs guy might actually tear DeLancey a new asshole. “Oscar, get back on the field. Now.” 

Jacobs glances towards him then, and for a split second, all Jack can think is blue. He’s got eyes like the summer sky, vivid and vibrant and vicious, made all the more striking by the dark curls that fall across his forehead and the angry flush blooming high in his cheeks. But his gaze only lingers for a moment, those piercing eyes swinging back towards DeLancey, who’s proving that he’s just as stupid as he looks by lingering instead of beating a hasty retreat.

“I’m not going to tell you again,” Jacobs says, his voice hard. “Because I can and will kick your ass up and down the fifty yard line if I have to, but I’d hate to embarrass you in front of your teammates.” He pins DeLancey with a look of incredible disdain, then amends, “Not that you need any help in that department.”

“Oh, yeah?” DeLancey says, taking an angry step forward, his face starting to turn an ugly shade of red. “I’d like to see you try.”

“No,” Jacobs says, with a smile that’s all teeth. “You really wouldn’t.”

“DeLancey!” Jack barks, absolutely fed up with Oscar’s bullshit. “I swear ta god, if you aren’t back on the field in the next twenty seconds, you’re gonna be warmin’ the bench during tomorrow’s game!”

It’s this threat that finally lands.

“What? You can’t do that!” DeLancey blusters. “You need me!”

“Because who doesn’t need a wide receiver that couldn’t catch a pass if it literally hit him in the back of the head,” Jacobs mutters pointedly.

“Shut the fuck up, Jacobs!” DeLancey snarls at him. “Prissy fucking bitch, getting all huffy over nothing! Why don’t you go back to your cartwheels and toe touches before I have to teach you a lesson—“

Jacobs’ expression goes flat. Then he hauls his arm back and drives his fist directly into DeLancey’s face. 

Oscar never even sees the hit coming—he falls flat on his ass, eyes watering as he cradles his nose.

“What was that, DeLancey?” Jacobs asks cooly, shaking out his hand. “The prissy fucking bitch didn’t quite hear you.”

“Holy shit,” Jack breathes, mouth agape.

“You⁠—! You stupid fucking⁠—!” DeLancey can’t even get the words out. Blood is trickling out one of his nostrils, the skin around it already starting to turn splotchy. “I’m gonna⁠—”

He staggers to his feet, fists up, ready to charge. 

“DeLancey.” Jack’s between the two of them in an instant, stopping Oscar in his tracks with a single, scathing look. “I said to get back on the fucking field.”

DeLancey gapes at him stupidly for a few seconds—Jacobs has clearly knocked a few brain cells out of him with that punch, and it’s not like he had that many to spare to begin with.

“You can’t just let him do this to me!” he finally sputters, like he ain’t the one that started all this shit in the first place. “What, just ‘cause some skirts got pissy over nothing? He’s just a cheerleader and I’m—“

“—already on thin fucking ice,” Jack says, voice hard. “I’m getting pretty tired of puttin’ up with your bullshit, Oscar, and once I tell him ‘bout this latest stunt, I’m pretty sure Coach will agree with me. So, you’re gonna wipe your face, stow the attitude, and get back on the green or I’m gonna drag you out there by the roots of your fuckin’ hair. Go.”

DeLancey throws him a sour, mutinous look, but finally, finally, does as he’s told, stomping off to locker rooms like the overgrown toddler he is.

“Asshole,” he mutters under his breath.

He turns to Jacobs, who stares back at him steadily, chin lifted. He’s still flexing his hand a little, the skin around his knuckles split in a couple places.

“So, uh,” Jack starts, hesitant in the face of Jacobs’ stony expression. “I’m real sorry ‘bout all that.”

“Uh huh,” Jacobs says, arching an unimpressed eyebrow. “Sure.”

“No, honest,” Jack insists. “It was about time someone knocked that smug look off his face… but it shouldn’t’ve had to come to that. Do you, uh,” he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, not sure what to do with himself. “Do you want some ice for your hand? That was one helluva left hook⁠— or, I could, um⁠—”

“I am just fine,” Jacobs interrupts, his tone biting. “So, please feel free to save the All-American, Boy Scout routine for someone who cares. If you really want to help⁠—” the look on his face makes his opinion on the quality of Jack’s help crystal clear, “—then you can make sure shitheads like Oscar DeLancey stay the hell away from my squad. And if he comes within spitting distance of one of my girls again, I’ll have his fucking dick in a vice.” 

A razor sharp smile. “So glad we had this talk.”

And with that, he marches away.

“Oh, fuck me,” Jack murmurs to himself, utterly enraptured as he watches him go. He’s real, real pretty and he’s real, real mean: Jack’s heart is already doing loop-de-loops around his chest, his skin buzzing with static. “‘M so fucked.”