#grad bash

[colinstrange2]

THE FINAL SHOW BEFORE GRAD BASH!!!

[softodettes]

officially started writing a year ago today after years of wanting to but not knowing how to get the words out of my mind and onto paper! that also means three (!!!) of my fic babies are turning a year old soon, including after resurrection, which i love dearly. i rarely post snippets anymore lol, but sharing one from AR today feels very full circle <3

“Calla,” he said, his voice colored with disbelief, “you can’t tell me I’m not allowed to care about you.” “Well, I wish you wouldn’t.” Her breath was visible in the cold winter air, like clouds of fine smoke. “I know what you’re trying to do.” “Oh,” she said with a bitter laugh, “I’m sure you do.”

[lloydgaymerdyke]

i NEED to rsnt sbt this

people who complain about llorumi bcs of them "being siblings" r so SUTPID oh my god garmadon did not care harumi did not care

neither of them genuinely cared for eachother and were just using eachother to get what they wanted. garmadon had no sense of ANYTHING other than evil, why would he adopt some rando who ressurected him? why would rumi care? she just wants to get back lmao

ALSO why would rhe writers introduce INSECT. they wouldn't! they wouldn't have lloyd love harumi if they were genuinely supposed to be siblings!

point is lloyd and harumi are NOT siblings, they're gay people in love fr !!

also harumi totally deserved that redemption arc the merge fucked it UP 💔 petition for her to be back in dr sign here fr

YES YES YES!!!!

it actually annoys me so much bc at the end of hunted harumi licherally gave up on garmadon thinking abt her yk REAL PARENTS and ppl still act like she’s his daughter?

and the other proof being the scene where garmadon says “she was like a daughter to me” as if the point of that scene wasn’t to show how off the mark garmadon in crystalized is to his fatherhood. like the plant, not real. harumi, never cared abt her and also is his sons love interest. and it’s also funny bc he describes harumi as the exact opposite of how lloyd knows her, so all around it’s just IRONY 😭

llorumi are not siblings FREE US FROM THIS TORMENT!!!!

[akuasucc]

the best thing about college are the free food events

[mylordshesacactus]

Okay, I didn't want to clog up the notes of someone else's post with something tonally different because that's rude, but. I Need to elaborate some more about no-kill vs open-intake shelters because I feel like some people still don't get it.

I'm gonna use an example here: My cat, Nepenthe, came from a small municipal open-intake shelter (I don't use the term "kill shelter" because I think it's obscene and cedes ground to ARA fuckwits for no reason) in an area with a NOTORIOUSLY awful stray cat problem.

She was on the euthanasia list. She was next in line on the euthanasia list.

They would never have been cruel or manipulative enough to say it that baldly, of course, but...I can read. Status was "at rsk", with two days' grace before ticking over into "extreme risk", the red zone. The ones who have had the most time, the most chance, if the shelter ever runs out of cage space.

I have gone the fuck off on people who hear that and immediately assume I will tolerate them bashing or insulting that shelter.

Because here's the thing about Penny. She is my baby, my darling, light of my life, and if I hadn't come along, euthanizing her would have been not only necessary but an ethical obligation.

She was neurotic, traumatized, and unpredictably aggressive--not "I'm bad at feline body language and ignoring her subtle back-off signals" unpredictable, I mean "we showed footage to a professional feline behaviorist and their immediate reaction was 'oh that is NOT normal'" unpredictable. "Actual legitimate psychological problems" unpredictable. The previous three times she had met with potential adopters, she attacked them unprovoked and had to be recaptured by a vet tech wearing a bite sleeve designed for aggressive dogs. She was the textbook definition of unadoptable.

She could not be fostered. There was absolutely no way she could live in a home with small children, or older children, or an elderly person with thin skin, or anyone who would get upset if they were clawed in the face without warning every few days.

Now, here's some math for you, keyboard warrior writing up a condescending screed about how there's Never Any Excuse for euthanizing a healthy animal:

The average length of stay in that shelter, for a healthy cat, was roughly two weeks. Which means, on average, assuming fast turnover, a single cage space in that shelter can save the lives of 24 cats every year.

Penny, when I met her, had been there for 43 days. A month and a half. Three times the average length of stay.

I love her. She has improved my life immeasurably and there is nothing I wouldn't do for her. Her life is not more valuable than the lives of the other 23 cats who might have been saved by the slot she was taking up. Euthanasia, if space had run out, would have been the only ethical option.

(Yes, obviously I DID show up and I DID choose her. But frankly? I was a grad student with a psychology degree, studying to be a therapist, living alone, no plans to have kids, a private room where she wouldn't have to interact with other people or animals, de-facto engaged to a professional animal behaviorist; I was ACTIVELY LOOKING for an edge-case project cat, and could calmly and intelligently articulate my understanding of the seriousness of her behavior and my plan for helping her. You can't count on that happening. I was a fucking unicorn.)

No-kill shelters have the INCREDIBLE luxury of deciding who to save. They have the luxury of having all the time in the world to wait. And in the meantime, what exactly do you think is happening to the other animals? The ones they DON'T pick? The ones there's no room for? Do you think they magically don't need to be surrendered anymore? Does Santa Claus find them a home, perhaps?

You can't reduce the life of an animal to math. Good, ethical no-kill shelters can be wonderful resources--either taking highly-adoptable animals from open-intake shelters to free up space as efficiently as possible, or else taking in behaviorally or medically complicated dogs who need more time to find their perfect match than open-intake shelters can give.

But if you're going to shit on open-intake shelters, you don't get to be a fucking coward about it. So here. Prove how much smarter you are.

You've run out of space. Every cage is full. The cat cannot be fostered. You've filled all your available foster slots with other cats, to buy her time. The "no-kill" shelters are full--they pulled the cats they thought they could save, and the scruffy, psychologically-unsound, adult black domestic shorthair with chronic herpes? Nobody wants her. In this world her unicorn's not coming.

She's had three times as long as every other cat here. You have given her every chance, wrote her a lovely bio, moved other cats to other shelters to keep space open so you didn't have to make this choice; but she mauled someone else today and there's a sweet, cuddly, highly-adoptable tabby with no problem behaviors being checked in right now. If you can't put that new cat somewhere it's going to be euthanized without even being given a chance, even though it is extremely adoptable and would likely find a new home within a week.

You don't have a magic wand. You can't wish a conveniently empty second shelter into existence. Every option has been exhausted.

Look me in the eye, and tell me which one dies.

[catboybiologist]

*inhales*

YOU ARE THE FUCKING PACKAGE THAT GENERATED THIS FILE, IN THE FILE FORMAT THAT IS ONLY USED BY YOUR SPECIFIC APPLICATIONS

I HAVE NOT TOUCHED THE FUCKING METADATA

WHY THE EVERLASTING GOD ON FUCK ARE YOU CLAIMING THAT YOU CAN'T PARSE THE FUCKING HEADER

YOU MADE THIS

*exhales*

Oh my fucking GOD these stupid fucking bioinformatics packages that are put out by a grad student 10 fucking years ago and then just fucking sit there are fucking WILD and it's MY fucking job to chain them together like a stupid fucking duct taped together human centipede of bash, python, and R

[honeydippedfiction]

Joe x Angel Angst Prompt #42 “You Promised” with #14 “Don’t you dare walk away from me” with fluff prompt #35 “ I just want to be there for you.”

Whew this one is a lot… prepare your heartstrings (also takes place when they’re still engaged so pre-Zariyah era)

1k & Birthday Bash nav | main navigation | reqs | table of contents

#42 “You Promised”, #14 “Don’t you dare walk away from me” & #35 “ I just want to be there for you.”

Joe Burrow x Angel

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

Angel adjusted the gold necklace resting just above the neckline of her sleek black dress—the same one Joe had picked out for her birthday last year during a surprise trip to New Orleans. She could still remember the way he’d stood behind her in the boutique mirror, arms wrapped around her waist, whispering that she looked like everything the world didn’t deserve.

Now, in the quiet of her hotel suite’s bathroom, she stared at her reflection. Flawless makeup. Confident eyes. The ESPN badge clipped to her waist was a reminder that she’d earned this. After years grinding on the sidelines, chasing quotes in freezing locker rooms, she wasn’t just reporting on college football anymore.

Tonight, she was hosting—live, in front of the country—at the College Football Awards.

It was everything she had worked toward.

The moment she’d dreamt about when she was pulling double shifts during grad school, when she was the only Black woman on set, when she was told to smile more and talk less. All of it led here.

And Joe had promised he’d be there. Not just as her fiancé, but as her partner. As her biggest supporter.

She could still hear his voice from the week before, warm and certain: “Babe, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. You’ve supported me through everything—now it’s my turn.”

But he had missed it.

Three hours after the stage lights dimmed, after the cameras stopped rolling and the congratulatory hugs faded into the background, Angel stood alone in the driveway of their Cincinnati home. Her heels dangled from two tired fingers, her arches aching, but that pain was nothing compared to the tight, bruised feeling in her chest.

The sky was a soft charcoal above her, clouds hanging low, the kind of Midwest night where the air tasted like rain even if it never came.

She took a breath, lingering at the driver’s side of her car, part of her still hoping—still foolishly clinging to the idea—that maybe something had gone wrong. Maybe he had made it home early and was waiting upstairs, half-asleep in his clothes, her segment paused on the TV. Maybe there was a good reason.

She unlocked the front door quietly, slipping inside. The familiar scent of pinewood and lavender greeted her. The living room was dim, lit only by the soft flicker of the lamp beside the couch.

And there he was.

Joe was curled up on the sofa, hoodie loose around his frame, legs stretched out, his face bathed in the cold blue glow of his iPad. One headphone dangled from his neck. His eyes were narrowed in concentration, locked onto film breakdown, fingers tapping occasionally to rewind or freeze a frame.

He didn’t look up until the door clicked shut.

“Hey,” he said casually, glancing at her like she’d just come back from the grocery store. “How’d it go?”

Angel didn’t speak right away. She just stared at him. Her hand tightened around her keys.

“You weren’t there,” she said quietly.

Joe’s smile faltered. The guilt on his face wasn’t sudden—it had been there, simmering just beneath the surface. He sat up a little straighter, clearing his throat.

“Angel… I know. I—Coach called a team meeting last minute. There was new breakdown footage from practice, and he needed us to—”

“No.” Her voice sliced through the space between them, sharp and clean. “Don’t start with that.”

Joe’s brow furrowed. “I’m not making excuses. I just—”

“You promised, Joe.”

He sighed and set the iPad on the coffee table. “I swear, I wanted to be there. I was watching the time the whole meeting. But it ran long, and by the time I thought about leaving, it was—”

“Wanted to be?” she repeated, her laugh sharp and bitter. “That’s supposed to be enough now? Wanting?”

Joe stood, rubbing his hands down his thighs like he could scrub the guilt off. “Angel, come on. You know what my schedule’s like. It’s not like I was sitting here playing Xbox. This is my job. You knew this is what life with me was going to be.”

“Exactly,” she snapped, stepping closer. “It’s always your job. Always football. Always something more important than me.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No?” Her arms crossed over her chest, shoulders drawn tight. “What’s not fair is standing on a national stage, my first time ever doing live television, with my heart in my throat, looking for your face in the crowd and praying you'd walk through the doors. Thinking maybe you got caught in traffic, maybe you were running late, maybe—maybe—you gave enough of a damn to show up. But you didn’t. Just like last time. Just like every time.”

Joe’s jaw clenched. “You knew what this life was when you signed up for it.”

Angel blinked. Slowly.

Her voice dropped an octave, calm now. Dangerous. “I didn’t sign up to be a footnote in your life, Joe. I signed up for you. I thought we were building something together. But I’m starting to feel like I’m doing the building and you’re just passing through.”

The silence that followed was immediate and suffocating.

Angel turned sharply, walking down the hallway without another word. The sound of her suitcase rolling open and the zip of fabric felt louder than any argument.

Joe followed, pausing in the doorway of their bedroom, watching as she began throwing clothes into a duffel bag with a methodical, practiced rhythm.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice tight.

“To Monica’s.”

“You’re seriously leaving over this?”

Angel paused at the dresser, her hand hovering over the engagement ring that had once symbolized the future they were building together. She looked at it for a long moment—her finger, the precious metal, the diamond that had been a promise, now feeling heavier than ever.

Then, without a word, she took the ring off and set it gently on the counter. The sound of the band meeting the stone felt louder than it should have in the silence of the room.

She looked at him. Her eyes were tired now—not angry. Just disappointed.

“I need space, Joe.”

Joe took a step forward. “Don’t you dare walk away from me.”

That stopped her cold.

Angel slowly turned, her face unreadable. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that.”

“Angel—”

“No,” she said, yanking her arm back when he reached for it. Her voice cracked, but her stance held. “Until you can respect me—until you can treat this relationship like it matters—consider our engagement over.”

It hit him like a blindside sack. His lips parted, but no words came.

She slung the duffel over her shoulder, grabbed her keys off the dresser, and walked out. No tears. No dramatic pause. Just the sound of the front door clicking shut, quiet and final, as if the house itself exhaled in her absence.

Joe remained where he was, still trying to make sense of what just happened. His legs felt like lead, his hands trembling, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop her. Not now.

The sound of the door clicking shut echoed through the house, like the softest slap of finality. No tears. No dramatic pause. Just the quiet, irreversible exit.

And then, she was gone.

Joe stood there in the silence, his heart pounding, his mind racing with all the things he should’ve said, should’ve done. The house around him felt colder somehow. The weight of Angel’s absence pressed in on him, suffocating the air. And there, in the center of their once-shared home, was the ring. The promise that had slipped through his fingers.

⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭.·:¨༺༻¨:·.⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭

The night air hit Angel like a slap the moment she stepped outside. Cold. Final. The door shut behind her with a dull click, but inside her chest, it sounded more like a door slamming shut on something sacred.

She didn’t even remember getting into her car. Her hands moved on autopilot—key in the ignition, seatbelt pulled, drive. The streets blurred as she drove through Cincinnati’s quiet neighborhoods, the city lights casting shadows across her dashboard.

And still, no tears.

Not at first.

It wasn’t until she pulled up to Monica’s apartment complex—a beige three-story building tucked behind a row of oak trees—that the adrenaline wore off. That’s when her breath caught in her throat. That’s when the first sob ripped out of her like it had been waiting all night.

By the time she reached Monica’s door, she was trembling. Her fist knocked harder than she intended, but her control had slipped. All of it had slipped.

The door opened within seconds. Monica appeared in plaid pajama pants, a bonnet secured over her tight curls, a pint of Ben & Jerry’s in one hand and a face mask half-applied. Her eyes widened immediately.

“Angel?” Her voice sharpened. “Girl, what the hell—what happened?”

Angel tried to answer. Tried to say I’m okay, or It’s nothing, or Can I crash here for the night? But the only thing that came out was a choked sob.

And then she broke.

Monica didn’t hesitate. She stepped aside, looping an arm around her best friend’s shoulders and ushering her inside like she was guiding someone out of a burning building.

“Okay. Sit down. I got you.”

Angel dropped her bag by the door and collapsed onto Monica’s couch, tears streaming freely now, her body shaking. Monica knelt in front of her, one hand holding Angel’s and the other reaching for a blanket from the armrest.

“Breathe. Just breathe, okay?”

Angel nodded, but her breath came in gasps.

Monica waited, rubbing her thumb over Angel’s knuckles until her breathing finally slowed. When Angel was able to wipe her face and speak, the first words came in a hoarse whisper.

“He didn’t show.”

Monica blinked. “What?”

“For the awards,” Angel said. “He promised me, Monica. He swore he’d be there.”

Monica sat back, her expression darkening. “Tell me you’re joking.”

Angel shook her head. “I kept looking at the crowd, thinking maybe he’d walk in late, maybe he’d surprise me. But he didn’t come. I got home, and he was just there. On the couch. Watching film.”

“You’re kidding me,” Monica said flatly. “Watching game film?”

Angel nodded, another tear slipping down her cheek. “Like it was just another Tuesday. No apology, no flowers, no effort.” Her voice broke. “And I—I just snapped.”

“Damn right you did.” Monica stood up, pacing now. “After everything you’ve done for that man? After all the times you’ve canceled things for him, traveled with him, bent over backward to support his ass—and he can’t show up for the biggest night of your career?”

Angel looked down at her lap. “I told him I needed space. That I was coming here.”

“You did the right thing,” Monica said without hesitation. “He needed to hear it. He needed to see that you won’t sit around waiting for him to finally remember you’re not just the woman in his house—you’re the woman who’s next to him, or supposed to be.”

Angel winced. “I told him to consider the engagement over.”

Monica stopped in her tracks. “Good.”

Angel looked up. “Mon—”

“I’m serious,” she said, her voice low but fierce. “If he can’t treat you with the respect you’ve earned, then he doesn’t get to wear that ring like it’s a badge of honor. You’ve always been more than someone’s fiancée. You’re Angel Carter. You don’t need a man who only shows up when it’s convenient.”

Angel wrapped the blanket tighter around herself, her voice small. “I still love him.”

Monica’s expression softened, and she returned to the couch, taking Angel’s hand again. “I know. And maybe he loves you, too. But loving someone means more than saying it. It means showing up. Not just when it’s easy. Especially when it’s not.”

Angel nodded slowly, her tears finally slowing, her body exhausted.

“Get some sleep,” Monica murmured. “I’ll make waffles in the morning. You’re not going anywhere until you’ve had carbs and clarity.”

Angel managed a soft, tired smile through the ache in her chest. “I love you.”

“Love you too, babe,” Monica said. “And just so you know, if I do see Joe in the street tomorrow, I’m fighting him. That’s not a threat—it’s a premonition.”

That pulled a short laugh from Angel, a watery one, but real. It wasn’t healing yet. But it was the first breath after drowning.

⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭.·:¨༺༻¨:·.⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭

The first night at Monica’s, Angel barely slept.

She spent most of it curled on the couch under the weight of a fleece blanket and her own thoughts, staring at the ceiling fan slowly spinning above her. Her phone buzzed twice—both messages from Joe.

She didn’t read them.

She couldn’t.

The next morning, she awoke to the smell of cinnamon and the distant hiss of Monica’s waffle maker. She shuffled into the kitchen, hair tied up, hoodie draped over her petite frame. Monica handed her a plate and a side-eye full of sisterly concern.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” Angel said preemptively.

“Didn’t ask,” Monica replied, pouring syrup like it was holy oil. “But I’ll listen when you’re ready.”

Angel spent most of that day in sweats, watching reruns of A Different World and only half-listening. Her mind drifted back to that moment in their hallway—Joe reaching for her like he could fix everything with a hand on her arm. The way his face had changed when she told him to consider the engagement over.

She hadn’t said it to be cruel.

She had said it because it hurt too much to pretend anymore.

By Thursday, her emotions had shifted. The anger wasn’t gone, but now it was folded beneath layers of sorrow and confusion. Every time her phone buzzed, her heart jumped. What if he was saying the right thing now? What if he wasn’t saying anything?

She didn’t check. Not yet.

Friday came with silence. Monica went to the studio for a podcast taping and left Angel with the apartment to herself. Alone, Angel found herself scrolling through old photos—tailgates at LSU, their first NFL Draft night, the weekend in Miami when Joe told her, “I don’t know what the future looks like, but I know you’re in it.”

She had believed him.

By Saturday, the air was heavier. Something about weekends had always made Angel feel closer to him. Their lazy mornings. Coffee in mismatched mugs. Her feet on his lap while they watched film or movies. The ritual of love, in quiet moments.

But tonight was different.

They had planned dinner at Joe’s parents’ house weeks ago. Robin was making her infamous shrimp étouffée. It was supposed to be the kind of warm, casual night they both loved—family, wine, a break from the chaos.

Angel stayed on the couch, her phone on silent beside her, as Monica made sangria in the kitchen. She couldn’t face Robin. Couldn’t put on a brave face and pretend that everything wasn't unraveling.

Across town, the Burrow house was quieter than usual.

Dinner was ready. The table was set for six, though only five were seated.

Robin stirred her wine and looked at the empty chair beside Joe.

“Where’s Angel?” she asked casually, not yet suspicious, just curious.

Joe didn’t meet her eyes. He poked at his rice and shrugged. “She couldn’t make it.”

Robin blinked, surprised. “That’s not like her. She’s never missed a family dinner.”

“I know.”

Silence settled over the table, but Robin didn’t let it rest.

“She okay?”

Joe swallowed hard. “We, uh… we had a fight.”

Robin set down her wine. “What kind of fight?”

Joe shook his head, still not looking up. “It’s fine.”

“It doesn’t sound fine.”

“She just… needed space.”

Robin let the words hang there for a beat. Then, without a word, she reached for her phone, walked out of the dining room, and stepped onto the back porch.

She didn’t need to ask for Angel’s number. She had it saved.

It rang twice.

“Robin?” Angel’s voice came on the other end, hesitant.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Robin said gently, but there was a steel edge beneath the warmth. “I missed you tonight.”

Angel’s breath caught. “I’m sorry. I… I couldn’t come.”

Robin’s voice softened. “You don’t have to apologize to me, honey. But I would like to know what happened.”

There was a long pause. Angel considered dodging, softening the truth. But she was tired of pretending.

“He promised he’d be at the College Football Awards,” she said quietly. “He didn’t show. I came home to find him watching film like it was just another Tuesday night. And I broke.”

Robin exhaled sharply. “He didn’t show up for you?”

“No. And not just that night. It’s been building for a while. I feel like I’m standing alone in this relationship, and when I told him that, he got defensive. I told him I needed space… that I was leaving.”

Robin’s voice went cold. “And he let you?”

Angel didn’t respond. She didn’t have to.

There was a beat of heavy silence.

“Well,” Robin said finally, her voice rising just slightly, “you may not be my daughter by blood, but I love you like one. And I’m not going to sit back and watch my son sabotage the only good thing that’s ever happened to him.”

Angel closed her eyes. Her heart ached from the kindness, from the clarity of being seen.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Robin didn’t respond right away. But when she did, her voice was low, firm, and meant for one person only.

“I did not raise him to be this man. And if he doesn’t wake up soon and check into reality, he’s going to lose the only woman who’s stood by him through everything. And believe me, Angel—he knows it.”

⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭.·:¨༺༻¨:·.⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭

Robin stepped back into the house, the sliding door gliding shut behind her with a soft click. But the shift in her presence was anything but soft. The warmth in her smile was gone, replaced by a cool determination that made everyone at the dinner table sit up a little straighter.

Joe looked up instinctively. The second he saw her face, he knew.

He’d never been afraid of his mother. Not as a boy, not as a man. But right now, seated at the table like nothing was burning around him, he felt something close.

Robin crossed her arms and stared at him.

“Get in the kitchen,” she said.

A few glances darted across the table. Everyone else fell silent as Joe pushed his chair back with a scrape and followed his mother into the kitchen. He didn’t need a map to know where this was headed—he could feel the storm coming before she even opened her mouth.

Joe blinked. “What?”

“I said get up. Now.”

The scrape of his chair against the hardwood was the only sound as he followed her. Once they were out of earshot of the others—just past the pantry, near the fridge—Robin turned on him.

“I just got off the phone with Angel.”

Joe’s heart sank, but he kept his jaw tight. “I figured.”

Robin’s voice was low, sharp as a blade. “You figured? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” he muttered, but it sounded weak, even to him.

Robin leaned forward, her eyes fierce. “Don’t you dare minimize this. You broke a promise to her. Not just any promise—a big one. Her night, Joe. After all the times she’s been there for you. After all the ways she’s had your back, stayed quiet, made space for your career, smiled for cameras when she wanted to cry. And you couldn’t show up for her once? She didn’t come tonight because she couldn’t bring herself to sit across from you and pretend like you didn’t break her heart.”

Joe’s stomach sank.

He opened his mouth, but Robin wasn’t done.

She raised a hand, and he immediately fell silent.

“No. You don’t get to talk yet. You get to listen.”

“Do you understand how lucky you are that that girl even looked at you twice, let alone stayed with you through everything? Through the chaos, the injuries, the relocations, the media—she’s been there. Constant. Loyal. Proud of you. Loving you out loud, in front of the world. I’m not saying this as her friend. I’m saying this as your mother. You want to be a franchise quarterback? A leader? A grown man who earns respect? Then you better start with the woman who’s been holding you down since LSU.”

Joe’s chest rose and fell, slow and tight. He’d felt guilt before—but this? This was something deeper. A sinking realization that he hadn’t just made a mistake—he had wounded something sacred.

“And you couldn’t be bothered to show up for her,” Robin said. “Her night. A night she earned, worked for, dreamed of. You left her alone in that room, looking for your face and realizing you weren’t coming.”

Joe’s shoulders tensed. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be there—”

​​“Wanting isn’t doing,” she snapped. “She didn’t need you to want to show up. She needed you to be there. In the seat you said you’d sit in. Supporting her like she’s supported you through injuries, media storms, trades, and a schedule that devours every minute of your life.”

“Mom, I—”

“No.” Her voice dropped, quiet and lethal. “Joseph Lee Burrow.”

Joe froze.

That was it.

The full government name. Robin hadn’t said it since he was sixteen and wrecked her Camry backing out of the driveway too fast. Back then, he’d known it meant he’d crossed a line.

Now, hearing it again, as a grown man, the shame hit him in the chest like a linebacker.

“You didn’t just miss a dinner,” Robin continued, voice trembling now—not from anger, but from disbelief. “You missed her. And then, when she called you on it, you let her walk out that door instead of fighting for her. You let her pack a bag and leave. She told me she called off the engagement. Do you even get what that means?”

Joe’s throat was dry. “I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” she snapped. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t be sitting at this table acting like you’re just giving her space. You’d be on your feet, in your car, at her door, doing whatever it takes to win her back.”

He looked down at the tile floor, hands braced on the edge of the counter. The image of Angel walking out—her bag over her shoulder, her eyes full of fire and heartbreak—played in his head like punishment.

“I didn’t raise a man who hides behind excuses or expects the people who love him to always be the ones bending. I raised a man who knows how to apologize. A man who knows when he’s wrong and makes it right.”

Joe’s throat tightened. “I know I messed up.”

“Messed up doesn’t even cover it, Joseph,” she said, using his full name now. “She left your house. She’s staying at Monica’s. And she told me to my face that she called off the engagement.”

He flinched.

Robin took a breath, softer this time. But no less serious.

“She loves you. But love isn’t a one-way commitment. And you are this close—this close—to losing the best thing that’s ever happened to you because you’re too buried in game tape to notice the person in front of you is drowning.”

Joe leaned against the counter, hand to his face. “I know,” he whispered. “God, I know.”

Robin stared at him for another moment, and then walked closer, her tone dropping to something gentler.

“I adore that woman,” she said. “She’s strong, she’s brilliant, she’s loyal. She chose you—not the NFL, not the spotlight. You. And you’ve got one chance, maybe two, to make this right before she walks away and never looks back.”

Joe nodded slowly, the weight of his mother’s words settling into his bones.

“Figure it out,” Robin said, pointing a finger at him like it was gospel. “Because if you don’t, she’s not going to be the one who regrets it. You will.”

Robin took one last look at him and let out a breath like she’d just set something heavy down.

“I raised you better than this. So act like it.”

With that, she turned and walked back toward the dining room, calm as ever—leaving Joe alone in the kitchen, heart pounding, shame burning like fire in his chest.

⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭.·:¨༺༻¨:·.⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭

Four days.

That’s how long it had been since Angel left.

Each one stretched endlessly, heavy and hollow, the kind of days that don’t tick forward—they drag. The kind of days that make a man sit in silence and realize just how loud a quiet house can be.

Joe didn’t go back to the facility. Not after the fight. Not after the dinner at his parents’ place where his mother, with every ounce of love and fire she had, peeled back the armor he’d been hiding behind and forced him to look at himself. Really look.

He told Coach he needed a few days. Told the team he had something personal to handle. That was true, at least in part.

But what he really needed was her.

And she wasn’t answering.

Not the simple Hey. Not the full paragraph that started with I’m sorry and ended with I don’t expect a response, but I hope you know I love you. Not even the one that just said: I miss you.

Joe had always known Angel was special. Since the beginning. Since LSU. But these four days stripped away every distraction, every assumed “tomorrow,” every excuse.

He wasn’t losing some girl he casually dated. He was losing the woman who had rooted for him when he was a backup quarterback, who had defended him when no one thought he had an NFL arm, who had stood in the shadows of stadium lights so he could shine—without once dimming her own brilliance. The woman who made him, him.

And he had let her down. In front of the world. In front of herself.

⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭.·:¨༺༻¨:·.⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭

That fourth night, just after 9 p.m., Joe stood outside Monica’s condo building, hands shoved deep into the pocket of his hoodie. The spring air wrapped around him with a quiet chill—the kind that seeps past cotton, settling in your chest, reminding you that time keeps moving whether you’re ready or not.

He shifted his weight on the concrete stoop. His breath fogged faintly in the porch light as he looked up at the door. From the outside, everything looked normal. Cozy, even. But inside those walls was the woman he’d spent the last four days aching for—and she hadn’t given him a single word.

He deserved it. That silence. And still, it hollowed him out more than any hit he’d taken on the field.

Joe exhaled once, a breath that rattled in his chest, and knocked.

The door creaked open a crack.

Monica appeared, bonnet wrapped tight, arms crossed, eyes sharp as nails beneath arched brows. Her sweatshirt read Don’t Try Me, and she wore it like a mantra.

She didn’t blink. “If you’re here to start drama,” she said flatly, “turn around now.”

Joe didn’t flinch. He nodded once. “I’m not,” he said, quiet and low. “I just… I need to talk to her.”

A long pause stretched between them. The kind of silence that measures character.

Monica narrowed her eyes, then sighed. She didn’t soften, but she stepped back just enough to let him pass.

“She’s in the back,” she said, tone clipped and cautious. “And if she tells me she wants you gone, I will personally help her pack your ego into a suitcase.”

Joe managed a small, broken smile. “Fair enough,” he murmured. “I understand.”

The condo was warm—light jazz playing low from a Bluetooth speaker somewhere in the living room, candles flickering from a side table. It smelled faintly of eucalyptus, cocoa butter, and the vanilla lotion Angel always wore at night. The familiarity of it almost made him dizzy. He didn’t deserve the comfort—but he took it in anyway, like a man gasping for air at the surface.

He moved down the hallway slowly, like each step mattered.

Because it did.

Every one of them was an apology. A plea.

He reached the end of the hallway just as she stepped out.

Angel stood barefoot in Monica’s oversized T-shirt, joggers hanging low on her hips, her curls pulled back into a loose pineapple bun. There were faint smudges beneath her eyes, the kind that didn’t come from makeup—but from not sleeping. From carrying too much.

She looked exhausted. And somehow, impossibly, still stunning.

Joe’s heart twisted hard in his chest. She was right there—so close—but he could feel the distance between them like an entire ocean.

He cleared his throat, voice low.

“I messed up,” he said.

Angel didn’t move. She didn’t roll her eyes. Didn’t cross the room. But she didn’t walk away either.

That was something.

“I told myself I could balance it all,” Joe said, eyes searching hers. “That football and us could live in two separate lanes. But that’s not how love works. You’re not something I fit into the margins of my schedule, Angel. You’re the center. You’re home. And I haven’t been treating you like that.”

Still nothing. But her arms fell from their crossed stance. Her fingers laced together in front of her like she was holding herself still.

Joe stepped closer, slow and careful.

“I keep saying I love you,” he said. “But love isn’t missing your biggest night because I was too wrapped up in game film. Love is being there. It’s showing up. And I didn’t. I didn’t show up for you—and that’s the part I can’t stop thinking about.”

Finally, Angel’s voice cut through the quiet—soft, steady, and sharp.

“Do you know how hard I’ve worked to be taken seriously in this field?”

The words were simple. But they carried years inside them. Years of being questioned. Overlooked. Undermined.

“I do,” Joe said, voice hoarse.

Angel’s jaw tightened. “No. You think you do. But you don’t. I’ve stood on the sidelines in the snow, gotten talked over in press conferences, been told to smile more and speak less. I’ve had people call me lucky for being on air—as if I didn’t earn every second with sweat and receipts. That night… it wasn’t just about the award, Joe. It was about being seen. And I needed you there. Not as my boyfriend. Not as the NFL quarterback. As my person. The one who claps loudest, even when no one else is watching.”

Joe closed his eyes briefly, the weight of her words sinking into his bones.

“You’re right,” he said. “I failed you. I see that now.”

Angel looked down, blinking fast. Her arms hung loose at her sides now, like even holding them up took too much effort. When she spoke again, her voice trembled—not with anger, but with fatigue.

“You let me stand alone in a room full of people who didn’t expect me to be there in the first place. And you were supposed to be the one face I could find. The one person I never had to doubt.”

“I know,” Joe said, taking a tentative step forward. “I can’t fix the moment. But I can do better. From this moment on.”

He looked at her, bare and open, no defenses left.

“I just want to be there for you. Every time. No more excuses. No more ‘next time.’ You deserve more than promises. You deserve action.”

The silence between them stretched long—thick with history and hurt. And love.

Angel’s gaze lifted. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the kind you don’t cry because they carry too much. She looked at him for a long beat, like she was deciding whether to believe again. Whether to let him back into the soft, vulnerable places.

Then, quietly, she said:

“I don’t need perfect.”

She took a step forward.

“I just need present.”

Joe nodded, voice caught in his throat. “I can be that,” he whispered. “From now on… I will be.”

No dramatic music played. No world paused. It was just her—moving closer. Slowly. Until she was in his arms again, wrapping herself around him like she belonged there.

And she did.

Angel pressed her cheek into his chest and let out a breath that seemed to collapse four days of holding everything in.

Joe buried his face in her curls and held her like she was gravity itself.

No, it wasn’t forgiveness—not fully. And it wasn’t forgetting.

But it was hope.

It was us.

It was the start of something new, built from the rubble of everything they’d nearly lost.

In the hallway of a quiet apartment, beneath the hum of candles and the weight of a love still learning how to grow, Joe and Angel didn’t fix everything.

But they chose each other.

And sometimes, that’s enough to begin again.

Joe didn’t move right away. He just held her, arms wrapped tight like he needed the physical confirmation that she was real, that she was here, that she hadn’t slipped through his fingers completely.

After a long moment, she pulled back slightly—just enough to look up at him.

Her eyes were still glassy, lashes clumped from tears that hadn’t fallen. But her shoulders weren’t so tense now. The storm in her chest was settling.

Joe reached into the front pocket of his hoodie and slowly pulled something out—small, delicate, shining faintly under the hallway light.

The engagement ring.

He hadn’t let it out of his sight since the night she left. It had slept on his nightstand, sat on his kitchen counter while he ate cereal he couldn’t taste, pressed against the palm of his hand when he paced the house in the middle of the night.

“Can I…?” he asked, his voice quieter than it had been all night.

Angel looked down at the ring, then back up at him. Her lips parted slightly, her breath catching.

She didn’t answer with words.

She held out her left hand.

Joe took it gently, like he was handling something sacred, and slid the ring back onto her finger—slow, deliberate, like a promise being made for the second time.

It glinted under the warm overhead light. And this time, it meant something more.

Not just love—but earned love.

He looked back up at her, a small, hopeful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“So,” he said. “Do I get a kiss, or...?”

Angel lifted one brow, her mouth twitching into the smallest smirk. Her voice was soft, but teasing.

“Don’t push your luck, Burrow.”

Joe huffed a laugh, the first real one in days, as she shook her head—but didn’t pull her hand away.

He didn’t lean in. He didn’t need to. That one look, that one line—it was hers. It had always been hers. And he’d take it gladly.

In that quiet hallway, no kiss was exchanged.

But the ring was back where it belonged. Her hand was still in his. And his heart—finally—was back in the right place.

They had a long way to go. But they’d go together.

And that made all the difference.

[oscquinn]

DAY EIGHT → autumn leaves, older bf!richie

TAGS & WARNINGS → age gap, swearing and smoking, drinking mention, reader is a grad student. late entry for day eight of bearblr promptober!

WC → 347

having a boyfriend who was so obviously so much older than you attracted a lot of stares from your friends in undergrad. but you never cared. richie was good to you. the sex was good, he never cheaped out on your dates, and he was so much more mature than your other boyfriends. 

well, for the most part. 

it's a chilly october morning when you wrap a cardigan around your frame and step out of your college apartment. you're late. it's not your fault that your boyfriend set your breakfast date for the morning after one of the core four college parties. even as a grad student, you aren't one to miss the yearly bash for the football team paving their way to the playoffs. to put it lightly, you're hungover as fuck. the idea of an omelette and a cold water keeps you going on unsteady feet. 

of course, richie wears his grumpiest look and a sharp suit as you sit down across from him. "why'd you get a table outside," you hiss, rubbing your hands together. richie just shrugs and looks you over. a nearly burnt cig hangs from his lips. you reach out with a pout and he concedes, passing it over to you. 

"wanted a smoke," he replies simply. "we gotta get you a nice old fashioned watch. cause i'm gettin' real tired of looking like the sad old man eating by 'imself."

you peer at him with still-blurry eyes, watching the way the leaves behind him give an effect like a halo. “dunno, y’look pretty good to me,” you mumble. after one more deep drag from his cigarette, you pass it back.

as you extend your hand, a leaf spirals down from the large oak next to the patio. it’s heavy and wet from the rain, and it knocks the cig right out of his hand. “the fuck?” he exclaims, a little louder than he should at a spot this nice. 

you giggle as he shakes the cold water from his hand, pouting at you. “oh, grow up richard,” you tease him.

© gallaghersgal, 2024. inbox. masterlist.

div. © saradika

[dannysgf]

— just got home, it’s 5AM, i’m tired from my grad-bash at Universal, and he posts these….. HE LOVES ME!!!!!

[astrophileous]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I need anything fluffy (and I mean the most stomach churning, toe curling, quiet screaming fluff please 🥴🩷) for professor!spencer because I am actually frothing at the mouth DO YOU FEEL ME🗣️‼️ (mwah ily kith kith)

I might have written two blurbs for this request and I might have driven myself crazy trying to determine which one I should post so here's to wishing I didn't make the wrong choice 🤞 this one is special for you avis I hope you enjoy it MWAH 💖

Warning(s): gn!reader, I imagine reader being in grad school but you can imagine reader in college as well--that just means there's gonna be an age gap in there, if professor-student romantic dynamics isn't your thing you shouldn't be reading this, profanities(?), established relationship

This blurb was written as a part of the "Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K" celebration.

Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist

Have a good day, my love.

You grinned giddily at the text message popping up on the screen of your phone. Without wasting another second, your thumbs moved swiftly over the keypad as you typed in a response.

You too, honey. See you tonight at dinner <3

"What are you so smiley about?"

You quickly shoved your phone into the pocket of your pants before looking up towards the owner of the voice. Gladys stood to your left with a quizzical tilt to her eyebrows. Her eyes assessed you from head to toe before they landed back on your face.

"I'm not smiley. Who's smiley?"

"You are." Her eyes squinted. "Something smells fishy."

"You should check your bag. Maybe you accidentally threw your cat's wet food in there again."

"That was one time!"

Gladys scampered after you as you made your way into the lecture hall. Akbar was sitting on the third row when you walked in, immediately scooting over to make room for both Gladys and you to slip into your respective seats.

"Hey, did you guys hear?" Akbar asked as soon as you and Gladys plopped down next to him.

"Hear what?" Gladys asked.

"Apparently, some people are saying that Professor Chuckie is hitched."

Gladys' eyes grew comically wide. "He's what?"

Your brain was working in overdrive, trying to decipher whom exactly Akbar had meant by Professor Chuckie. Between him and Gladys, the two of them had a tendency of coming up with dozens of ridiculous code names for every single person they ever encountered in life, to the point where you were constantly struggling to keep up with them all.

"Who's Professor Chuckie again?" you eventually asked.

"Chuckie? From Rugrats?" Gladys hinted.

Your frown deepened. "Who?"

"Oh my God, (Y/N)." Akbar sighed. "You know the man. Fluffy curly hair like Chuckie from Rugrats."

After swimming in a pool of confusion for the next few minutes, Gladys eventually took pity on you and blurted out, "It's Professor Reid, (Y/N). Professor Spencer Reid from Criminology department?"

Your stomach dropped to the floor.

How did they—

"A buddy of mine was at the criminology lab today and told me that everyone was talking about it," Akbar explained. "The Spencer Reid is married. It's a huge news."

"Damn right, it is." Gladys scoffed. "Why are all the fine men in my life already taken? I hate it here."

Akbar rolled his eyes. "Right. As if you ever had a chance with him anyway."

As your two friends proceeded to bicker with one another, you felt yourself sinking deeper into a temporal abyss as your brain tried to process what Akbar had just said.

Spencer Reid is married.

Everyone was talking about it.

A lump formed at the base of your throat as you faced Akbar again, "Hey, how did they—how did your friend find out that Professor Reid was married?"

"He showed up to work with a ring this morning."

Your heart was racing inside your chest. "That's it? Not a very conclusive evidence, isn't it? Maybe the man just likes his jewelry."

"Nah, I'd bet my money that he's hitched," Akbar said. "My buddy told me one of the students tried to ask him about it and he just kinda smiled and nodded. Never really answered the question, though."

"That does sound kinda sus," Gladys opined. "Makes me wonder what kind of person managed to bag a specimen like that."

You hummed distractedly in reply, too busy mulling over everything to actively participate in the conversation your friends were having. Your professor strode into the hall barely five minutes later, and before long, the class officially began, forcing you to shake off any irrelevant thoughts about Professor Chuckie and his ring from the deepest corners of your mind.

Today was the day every group in class had to present their last progress report before finals rolled around. As soon as the fifth group finished their presentation, you walked to the front of the class with Akbar and Gladys following closely behind.

Akbar stepped towards the desk, trying to connect his PC with the class projector. He fumbled with the cable for a few minutes before he sheepishly glanced at you and Gladys. "I don't think it's gonna work. Either of you brought a laptop today?"

"I brought mine," you announced. "Wait here."

You ran back towards your table to grab your laptop before connecting the device to the projector. As soon as the desktop of your laptop appeared on the big screen, the entire lecture hall suddenly erupted in a round of synchronized gasps.

Gladys was staring at you, a clear sign of shock on her countenance. "(Y/N)?"

"Dude," Akbar muttered breathlessly. "What the hell?"

You swept your gaze repeatedly between the two of them and the rest of the class, confusion dawning inch by inch with every second that ticked by. "What? What's going on?"

Akbar nudged your shoulder, gesturing you to look behind towards where the projected screen of your laptop was being shown to everyone in the room. Your mouth instantly ran dry when you realized what had the whole lecture hall so stunned for the past few minutes.

It was a picture—the one you had set up last week as the wallpaper of your PC desktop but somehow had managed to completely forget about—of you and Spencer lounging on the living room couch of your shared apartment, holding up your hands to show off the identical bands encircling your ring fingers. Spencer was smiling big towards the camera with a protective arm wrapped around your shoulders while you peeked behind his neck with a portion of your face concealed behind his untamed curls.

It was a sweet photo to commemorate the most important day of both of your lives, taken merely hours after you exchanged vows at the city hall and entrusted each of your own hearts towards the other person to keep, nurture, and love.

And now, that same photo was up on the wall of Room 2404 as an impromptu spectacle for your entire Data Analytics class to see.

From behind the desk, Professor Clegg cleared his throat. "So, (Y/N). You and Dr. Reid, huh?" He peered at you from behind his glasses, not the slightest hint of a smile on his lips, but a brightly twinkling mirth in his eyes. "I guess congratulations are in order."

You exhaled a tired breath and replied, "Thank you, Professor."

Once your presentation was over, you retired back to your seat and discreetly typed in a message as another group came forward to present their work. You threw your phone into your bag after hitting send, trying to ignore the whispered demands of your two friends as they badgered you for answers.

Across the campus, Spencer's phone dinged with an incoming text.

He pulled out the device promptly, failing to contain his smile as he read the message you had just delivered to him.

Thanks a lot for the heads up 👎 Looks like there's no need for me to keep my own ring hidden in the wallet anymore >:(

[isalabells]

it's giving

La Mannschaft 2k23 - A summary | @isalabells

[rewritingcanon]

nextgen/hpcc characters going to an australian public high school:

rose: follows the social hierarchy to the tee and takes the shit from the year levels above her. but when she gets to year 12 she’s such a fucking menace to the years below her. and she gets her special year 12 amenities like access to the school microwave and toaster and kettle and she takes it very seriously that no one in the younger years can use it. if she had to wait so does everyone else. also she’s school captain and is the one always saying speeches at assembly and at athletics day. thinks she’s politically correct but then will turn around and tease scorpius for stuttering or sum.

albus: kinda unproblematic and keeps to himself but always gets bag checked and sent home for not wearing the right uniform (it’s always something so unserious like wearing a hoodie under his jacket or different socks). never used to actually lock his locker right and people immediately clocked that and stole his lock so its just unprotected. karl jenkins is always ransacking his locker so he barely has anything in it. wagged on formal and wouldve wagged on grad if he could. every time he walks through the school gates he gets swooped by a magpie.

teddy: choofs in the bathroom all the time, offers to share with anyone and everyone so all of the year 8s and 9s think he’s the coolest. only contributes in hums classes, dgaf about anything sciencey or mathy. chronic wagger. andromeda comes to his parent teacher interviews. got viral on tiktok once and people tried to clout chase him. a gazillion extracurriculars. pen ink all over his shirt. shit atar. has to do tafe after high school bc of it.

scorpius: the only one who didn’t fucking flop at specialist maths so the class’ mark didn’t get weighted up and so everyone whose ever shared a class with him hates his ass for it. when albus is absent scorpius tries to befriend whatever teacher is there on yard duty. you can catch his ass always at the canteen too buying the most outrageous shit for him and albus. he’s always got a fully stocked and well loved lunchbox, so its not for lack of care. constant victim of the eshays, once sat in the wrong spot and almost got bashed. school dux, but rose claimed valedictorian (she wasn’t happy).

craig: also definitely school captain, but he hatessss doing the speeches. just let him quietly organise the NAIDOC week activities in peace. studies in the library loads. unproblematic as hell, helps tutor year 10s in the library after school too. lowkey knew how to teach maths better than the maths teachers did, so they all liked him. wouldn’t let people copy off him so was kinda a stick in the mud for that. has beef with his year 10 english teacher who confiscated his beanie.

polly: she’s got a organiser in her locker and pictures of her friends put up everywhere inside. always cussing out the eshays and threatening to bash them. takes group costumes for athletics day way too serious and makes sure all her friends coordinate with her vision. absolutely slays the swimming carnival, her friends always are super annoying spectators on the side. super popular, always doing her makeup at the back of the class. did all the ATAR subjects but kinda flopped in it all. has secret beef with most of her teachers. chronic complainer, never thinks her shitty grades are her fault.

victoire: valedictorian of her year. prettiest girl in the school fr. played netball. knows all her friends and teachers birthdays and would always do the thing where she’d get a card and get everyone in her homegroup to sign it. has mostly everyone from school on snap. planned the yearbook, the year 11 formal, the grad afterparty, etc.

karl: lowkey an eshay but absolutely don’t say this to his face. his friendship with yann is like the only thing that is preventing him joining Those group of boys. only did outdoor ed for the camp. took a shit in the bathroom sinks during muck up day but no one could prove it was him. always goes to polly/rose/yann’s class during his frees to fuck around and usually gets kicked out for disrupting the class (“but Misssssss ☹️”). puts dollops of wet toilet paper in albus’ locker

yann: always the one filming school fights. starts rumours about people he’s irritated with, even his own friends. is best friends with the science teachers. is the one everyone goes to for gum. can dig up the most crazy info on teachers ever, someone give this guy a job in background checks. has been playing cricket since he was nine.

james: school captain but lowkey against his will. plays footy during lunch. had The Australian Mullet in year 8 but ginny threatened to shave him bald so it thankfully didnt last. gets invited to a gazillion house parties but stands most of them up to be at home and just nap. people always try to start beef with him for popularity but they always later find out that james dgaf at alllll. doesnt care for listening to music but doesnt want people approaching him so he’ll plug his airpods in and listen to the abc on the way to school/during lazy classes pretending he’s normal and listening to hozier or some bull. trauma bonded with his lote class.

lily: got suspended for bashing someone in the stairwell for calling albus a slur. plays footy and netball and highkey is better than most of the boys that play. planted a tree in the toilets one day. spends all her frees shopping out of school. buys herself heaps of ramen and forces james to use his year 12 privilege and cook it for her. has an electric scooter and is so irritating about it. actually really gafs about afl season and barracks for geelong (simply because she likes cats, and it just stuck). always getting moved in class because she yaps too much and too loud.

dominique: is always bashing someone and getting filmed (probs by yann). no one really learns she’s victoire’s little sister because they are soooo different in looks and personality. always going to school high as a kite. got sent home on muck up day for egging the principal and almost got kicked out of the grad ceremony. known as The Only Lesbian in school (she’s bisexual).

delphi: moved from getting homeschooled. does folio subjects. plays devil’s advocate in history class. never ever wearing school uniform but she’s too difficult to deal with so the teachers just leave her alone (also none of the office ladies want to call euphemia rowle 😭). spends most of her time at wellbeing. would sell empty vapes to year 7s in the girls bathrooms. that mf who tries to befriend the spiders 💀 and she’d throw them in people’s hair

hugo: used to be pressured by his mum to study for naplan so was waiting until he could be set free in year 10 (he doesnt have to do naplan anymore but he does have six assignments due tomorrow). he and rose were definitely kumon kids. always late to homegroup. the drama teacher loves him. got recorded bashing some older guy at a train station because the guy stepped in his hsp and then became a meme around school for a month or two. acts like he dgaf but will go home and cry over his grades in his room.

[amijulesenough]

what comes after me? (luke hemmings)

hiii here's my first fic on this account! :) I hope you all like it- I'll be honest, i'm divided on if I actually like it. I've definitely done better, but i'm a little rusty so I'll give myself a little grace lol.

-

warnings: none!

genre: fluffy

word count: 1.8k

tags: luke hemmings, brother's best friend, party kisses :)

-

“Hey, you almost ready in there?” My mom’s voice calls from beyond my bedroom door,  “Guests are gonna be arriving any minute.”

“Yeah, just a sec,” I respond, fussing with my only slightly-frizzy curls. I pout at my reflection momentarily, wishing my hair would comply a little better when it’s supposed to be my special day.

“I think someone’s at the door, honey,” mom says when I step out, “Would you let them in? Oh, don’t you look cute?”

“Sure thing,” I murmur, skipping a few steps as I jog down, my vibrant green sundress swishing.

My face cracks in a grin as I swing the door open, my eyes locking with my older brother’s bright sapphire blues, his bleached hair tucked under a backwards ballcap. I push the screen door aside and jump into his arms, wrapping my legs around him.

“Woah,” Michael laughs, “Hey there, kiddo!”

“I’ve missed you so much,” I squeal, my face smushed into his shoulder.

“I’ve missed you, too,” he says, spinning me in a circle, “Congrats, grad. Check out this smarty-pants, guys; summa cum laude.”

I glance up when he says ‘guys’, meeting the smiling faces of Michael’s bandmates, who have come with him to celebrate my graduation from college. Calum is holding a platter of assorted cookies, Ashton has several gift bags in his arms, and Luke… darling Luke has a beautiful bouquet of white and red roses and delicate baby’s breath and the biggest grin on his face.

“Congrats!” They all say at once as Michael sets me down.

“Thanks,” I say, suddenly a little bashful once all attention is on me.

Before we can dive into a detailed conversation catching everyone up to date on the goings-on in our lives, a few more cars pull in front of the house and all sorts of relatives and family friends start pouring into the front yard. Aunts and Uncles and first cousins and second cousins and step-cousins show up to congratulate and celebrate me. Of course I’m grateful, albeit a bit overwhelmed. I shimmy through the growing party, stopping to chat about future plans and job opportunities. 

After two hours of answering “Got any jobs lined up?” and “What about future schooling?” and “Planning on a family at all?” over and over, my throat feels as though it’s been thoroughly coated in dust. I excuse myself from a group of my father’s cousins and make a beeline for the refreshments, desperate for some water. I’m pulling a bottle from the cooler when an arm flings itself around my shoulders.

“Thought you might have been avoiding us,” Calum jokes, pulling me into a side-hug.

“Don’t I wish I would have been with you guys,” I sigh, leaning my head on his shoulder.

“Come sit with us and let the rest mingle,” he says, leading me to a table outside.

“Ah, here she is,” Ashton does a dramatic drumroll on the table, “The one and only.”

I do a mock curtsy. “I’ve decided to grace you all with my presence.”

“Only took how long,” Michael teases.

“I can’t believe how many people showed up,” I admit, “I think it’s partially since I didn’t really have a high school grad party.”

“And they’re all proud of your incredible accomplishments,” Luke says, “I know I am.”

I feel my cheeks start to heat up when he talks in that dulcet voice of his. I can’t help it, I’ve had a soft spot for Luke since he and Michael became friends. I’ve watched his style and attitude form and change over the years, seen his features mature and grow, heard him at his lowest and known him at his highest. Of course, that’s true for all of the guys, but Luke has been the one I’ve had my heart set on forever.

Of course, I’m just Michael’s little sister to him, so obviously nothing could ever happen. 

“Thanks, Luke,” I say, settling into a chair across from him, in between Calum and Ashton.

“So, onto grad school?” Calum asks, sliding a beer he apparently pulled out of nowhere toward me.

“Hey, thanks,” I snag the bottle, “Yeah, getting my masters is the next step.”

“What’s after that, Einstein? A PhD in nerdology?” Michael grins, his cerulean eyes squinting with mischief.

“Get off her, Mike,” Ashton tosses a crumpled napkin at Michael’s head, “You’re just jealous that all the brain cells went to her instead of you.”

“I can handle his smart ass comments, you know. I dealt with it constantly when I was younger,” I say, “But thanks, Ash.”

“He’s right, you know,” Michael says, “You’re infinitely smarter than me and I’m only a little jealous.”

I can’t fight the matching grin inching across my face. “Shut up, Mike.”

“See, complimenting her is so much more fun than teasing her because she gets so pink,” Michael continues, “Especially when you’re being genuine because then she doesn’t even know how to respond!”

“Shut up, Michael,” I say sweetly, my smile not faltering.

“I think we’ve spent enough time around her to catch onto that, thanks.” Luke taps his beer bottle to mine, winking.

Banter continues for some time at our table before my mom interrupts for cake cutting. I say a few words of thanks for everyone who came to celebrate and then hand out pieces of cake for everyone who wants some. Once again, as earlier, people corner me and ask about the future, which stresses me out more than it probably should. I fend off as many people as I can, but it gets a little exhausting after answering “What’s the plan?” for the 70th time in three hours.

I need a drink and some time alone, I think as I hug and kiss a great uncle goodbye.

The crowd is just beginning to dwindle when I decide to make a getaway, just for a moment. I sneak back inside and slide into the bathroom for a minute of peace. Why did my mom insist on inviting every human I had ever interacted with in my 22 years of existence?

A soft knock comes at the door. Well, there goes my serenity. I sigh slowly before I call out, “Just a minute!”

“Oh, good, I was hoping it was you,” Luke’s voice says, “Mind if I come in?”

My chest contorts like a circus performer. “Wh-why?”

“To chat,” he says, voice just beyond the door, “I brought you one of those wine coolers you like.”

I poke my tongue into my cheek. “Yeah, okay.”

Luke squeezes in, tossing me a bottle of fluorescent blue beverage. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” I echo.

“Hiding from the attention, then?”

“Just… just for a minute. It’s a little overwhelming, you know?”

“Hmm, yeah, that makes sense.”

“Jeez, what am I yammering about? You get way more attention than I do. I should be grateful I don’t have to deal with this daily.”

Luke’s angel smile lights up the dim space we occupy. “No, I get it. Really. You’ve always been one who prefers her space, so I can imagine this is all a little much for you.”

I sip at my cooler. “Yeah. I wanted something small, but my mom wanted my extended family, every friend I’ve ever made, and the homeless guy who hangs out at the gas station to come, so, you know.”

He laughs, his head lolling back for a moment. “I missed you, you know? We all did. Wish you’d come with us on tour sometime.”

“And do what? Study marine biology off-stage?”

His grin and giggles are so contagious.  “Why not?”

I roll my eyes. “You know, when I was little, I would have died for that opportunity. But I’m a big girl now with big girl responsibilities.”

“Hmm. Sure are,” Luke murmurs, his eyes flitting up and down my body in an almost imperceivable manner. 

“What does that mean?” I take another swig of my drink.

 Luke cocks his head, pressing his lips together. His cute golden curls shift to one side, his hooded baby blues gazing at me intently. “You’ve grown up so much, you know?”

My tummy twists in anxious knots. “Well, yeah, kind of the point of the party, right?” My voice is too high right now.

His smile softens my nerves. “You know what I mean. You cut your hair and embraced your adorable curls. You’ve got tattoos now- I like them, by the way. You hold yourself with confidence and intelligence. You’re really a beautiful woman, now.”

Suddenly the tiny room is much too torrid and my skin is tingling. “Thank you.” I muster, my throat tasting like bile.

“Are you nervous? Miss Clifford, do I make you very anxious?”

“Shut up, Luke,” I tear my gaze from him, my chest rising with more concentration than should be necessary.

He pushes away from his perch on the bathroom sink. “Hey,” he takes the bottle from my hand, setting it down before he holds my hands gently, “I wasn’t trying to make you nervous. I know… how fond you are of me. I was trying to let you know the feeling is mutual.”

My eyes dart back to his. “What?”

That adorable smile is overtaking his features again. “Please tell me I’m not reading the room horribly wrong.”

I step a little closer, and he responds with his hands around my waist. “Not at all,” I murmur, the butterflies in my stomach having a party of their own, “Not a bit.”

“Glad I still got it,” he jests, leaning down to catch my lips in a sweet embrace.

He tastes a little like beer and a little like vanilla lip balm and a lot like the love of my life. I melt into his every movement, letting him pull me closer, letting his lips travel across my chin and over my jawline and down my throat. The smell of his musky cologne infiltrates my nostrils and intoxicates all of my senses.

Things may have gotten out of hand had my brother not rapped very aggressively on the bathroom door. We both jolt, my nerves being set ablaze.

“You almost done in there?” Michael calls, “I’m about to shit my pants, Luke!”

I bite my lip. “Oops?”

“Wait, Luke, is my sister in there too? The hell are you guys doing?”

Luke snorts, covering his mouth. I sputter, trying to come up with a good excuse. “Uhm, he was bringing me a drink? I just needed some time alone-”

“Right, okay, just make whatever is going on in there snappy.”

I can’t fight the giggles that shake my body. “You’re gonna get me in so much trouble.”

Luke’s eyebrows raise in shock. “Oh, so it’s all my fault?”

“You initiated this.”

He shakes his head. “Right, fine, I’ll take the blame.” He steals another smooch. “It’s worth it.”

[heraldeez]

Because it’s funny and very off-season, would you be comfortable writing about Jayce doing some Christmas decorating?

(I laughed a lot writing this one, thanks for the prompt, anon.)

Jayce x Reader | 670 | SFW

Contains: mistletoe! and the hubris of man

You’re chewing on an excellent snickerdoodle cookie and waiting for the ‘snap.’

The tiny pine tree you’d brought home to stuff into the corner of your shoebox grad-student apartment couldn’t be more than three feet tall, set on a table to add a bit of winter cheer to the sea of textbooks and beat up mechanical projects that usually comprised your place. And despite its diminutive size, Jayce has spent the last five minutes strapping on a distinctly oversized tree topper to the poor thing.

It’ll totally work, or so he had said. Handmade. Just for you.

Not like you were going to tell him no, even before he had held the ornament aloft so giddily, absolutely gleaming with earnestness and excitement…

Jayce stands at the center of your living room, surrounded by cheery garlands and two tacked up stockings, staring down your tree with a contemplative hand on his chin, as though there were simply a better angle he could come at it from. The branch woefully strapped with the dense, albeit beautiful, piece of metalwork droops down towards him as if prostrate and begging for mercy.

“I just thought–” Jayce closes his mouth again for a moment, regarding the poor tree with a grimace. “I thought the wood might be a bit stronger?”

You blink at the topper – solid metal! The size of your cranium! In no universe was that thing meant for a tree smaller than the towering one in the festival market square! – and swallow back cinnamon sugar.

“Well, the ornament is just, uh, extremely well made,” you offer, gently.

Snap.

Shouldn’t have opened your mouth. The tree takes the opportunity to splinter, topper lurching abruptly into the floor at his feet with a dull thunk.

Jayce sucks in air through his teeth. “I owe you a new tree. And maybe a new floor.”

That startles a bark of laughter from you, standing up from the kitchen stool to go place a gentle hand on his shoulder, surveying the carnage. “Definitely not. We’ll just get more creative with displaying it.” Your eyes dart around your cramped living room for prospective spots. “I think it would look excellent on top of the bookshelf. Flanked with some candles.”

Jayce nods slowly, but his pout is still focused on the splintered bough. His brows still furrowed with the need to fix, to problem solve. 

“Before that,” you ply, drawing your hand from his shoulder to rummage in a festive bag beneath the coffee table, “would you like to help me tack these up instead?”

Jayce's eyes flick to the bundle of mistletoe sprigs dangling from your fingers. The frown startles off his face as his lips part slightly, wanting. 

“Oh! Well, yeah–” The corners of his lips quirk up, somewhat bashful, somewhat delighted. “Yeah, I can definitely help with that.”

The tree is all but forgotten in the subsequent flurry of kisses. One right there in the living room. One out on your tiny balcony, breathing in the scent of candied fruits and nuts wafting across your neighborhood from the festival market up the street. Another in the doorway of your kitchen. Approximately twelve exchanged in the middle of your bedroom, Jayce's fingers curling in the soft yarn of your sweater to haul you up against him, eager and sweet against your lips.

He lurches back sharply enough to make you jump, snapping his fingers. “I've got it – I'll build you a new tree. You don't mind the brass aesthetic, do you? It'll be very art deco.”

The abruptness of it startles laughter out of you, too caught in your mirth to remind him that Christmas is in four days, and he hardly has the time to spare building you some sort of steampunk tree.

And yet the tree appears, nestled in the crook of Jayce's elbow when he knocks on your door Christmas Eve, tiny and sturdy and gleaming in the light.

You marvel at it for a moment, and then pull him down for a much-deserved kiss.

[sunlightmurdock]

just re read all of your fireman! bradley stuff and all i can think about him and his excelling academic gf that he tries so hard to understand. like it’s the days where he’s just starting to be promoted and you’re in grad school and he just stands there over your computer as you write your thesis like a fish on land. he would absolutely ask the other guys at the station if they know anything about what you’re studying subtly because he’s busy and a workaholic but he’s NOT neglectful and ignorance! he would get so happy at any awards or honors you receive and go to all the ceremonies and he’s like “i don’t know what she just won but my girl just won!! yippee!!”.

omgggg I can totally imagine catching firefighter!bradley red handed while he’s googling stuff to do with your field like “what is a proton” or something that just has you in fits of giggles and him totally red faced and bashful about it

and he’d like try to defend himself about it and be like “I just wanna understand so I can actually help when you ask me to”

but you’re perfectly content with him struggling to pronounce the words on your flash cards and staring at you with a semi-vacant and halfway perplexed expression on his face as you’re explaining something to him

and it’s just very clear that he cares so much, because it’s something important to you. He’s so proud of the work you do and brags to everyone about how smart his girl is — you definitely get a video of the entire fire crew celebrating after you text him to say you got a good grade on an exam

[quailxcrossing]

📻 Tai!!

I took your picture I felt my heartbeat slow down It's hard to miss you 'Cause you're the one thing moving in the background

This song is about Tai's relationship to his family and his sister most importantly. A lot of Tai's relationship with Turrie is after her departure. I know I don't draw a lot of Tai and Turrie hanging out before she left home, and that's because truthfully they did not hang out much. Tai was always preoccupied with a billion other things, trying to get into med school, then getting into med school, bashing his head against the wall between internships, grad programs, working away forever for this goal he'd never ever reach, as there's no "end goal" to a career. you get it, then you do it until you die. and Tai found his passions in an incredibly grueling, long-hours, intensive and exhausting career, and he's been working on it since high school.

so Turrie was never on his plate of priorities. he loves her, and he went to great lengths for her when she was in danger from their mother- Tai is the reason Turrie got to keep her wings. he is aware of his mother's ailments and he didn't let her inflict harm upon Turrie and she did to herself, but he seemed to only be there for Turrie when she was in dire need of her big brother. otherwise, he was busy. very, very busy. I am honestly convinced that if Spiro wasn't literally at Tai's workplace 24/7 when they met, Tai would've drifted from that relationship too.

so this song...this freaking song....the regrets of losing someone once they're gone.... "'Cause you're the one thing moving in the background" gets me like, you never notice someone's true presence until they're gone, moving out of frame.

tai is constantly torn up he didn't do enough. he doesn't want this to happen to anyone else, but now he's EXTREMELY AWARE of his lack of social life, how he's losing connection with his parents rapidly, he feels he's never around for his daughter, and he's seriously considering if he's happy at all, and if Turrie is still alive, if she'd care to see him again at all. he doesn't think he'd care to see himself if he was her.

Tinge of blue (close to someone's reaches) To the end (won't please the enemy) Left our hearts (close to someone's reaches) With regrets (I'm learning)