#adding this to my playbook

[theblairwitch]

[starsinthesky5]

you are in love: fast times and fast nights || joe burrow x reader

description: covering the events of F1 Miami and the Met Gala

a/n: a little standalone smau fic for the series to hold you over while I work on the second part of the grammys/honors fic! p.s. there is no faceclaim for this series. i choose photos based on the aesthetic i am going for. there is a mix of photos & some writing in this one!

universe: you are in love

taglist: (ask to be added): @joeyfranchise @joeyb1989 @joeyburrrow @softburrow @burrowbarbie @yelenasbraid @lovelyburrow @majestic87 @grittysbiggestfan @definitelynotdomanique @burrowswomen @lilfreakjez @fourburrow @ladyluvduv

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📍miami, florida

liked by: joeyb_9, sydneysweeney, f1, taylorswift, sabrinacarpenter, lahjay10_, y/bsf_21, jenfinch_12 and others

tagged: joeyb_9, y/bsf_21, f1, joeandthejuicemiami

y/n_y/ln: you were drivin' the getaway car, we were flyin', but we'd never get far

comments:

joeyb_9: didn't know i owned a juice bar in miami

——— y/n_y/ln: i knew the guy behind the counter looked a little too familiar 🤨

joeyb_9: proving once again i am the best photographer

——— y/n_y/ln: i'm about to kick you off the bed 🧍‍♀️

fan393: JOE AND THE JUICE MENTIONNN. excellent choice y/n

y/bsf_21: baddie baddie shot o'clock 🥂

——— y/n_y/ln: going from playing beer pong in your parents basement at 2 am to drinking espresso martinis in miami. look at us go

fan42: this reputation aesthetic on the feed is eating SO hard

y/bsf_21: thanks @joeyb_9 for returning her to her original lover aka ME

——— joeyb_9: hate to break it to you but...

—————— y/bsf21: is this your version of a hey girly text

sabrinacarpenter: cuties 😘

joeybfanpage: joe in that last pic just barley touching her ankle because he needs to feel her 🥲 boy is GONEEEE

fan2020: patiently waiting for more album crumbs 🍽️

y/nforlife: wait…“we were flyin’, but we’d never get far”??? IS THIS A LYRIC??? new album coded.

f1: paddock royalty 🏎️🏁

fan2: can the season start already i need to see her wag fits so bad

——— fan39: we say this, but watch her pull up in his hoodie and plain black leggings

sydneysweeney: loved seeing you this weekend <3

——— y/n_y/ln: missed you so much

fan22029: this gave me a will to live thanks queen 😍😍😍😍

loverofbridges: every time y/n posts, a queen on pinterest somewhere gets her wings. QUEEN of aesthetics

tatemcrae: glowing.

——— y/n_y/ln: sports car was on loop this weekend

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📍f1 miami

liked by: y/n_y/ln, alomen, samhubbard, ryland_1, quinn_ski, bengals, NFL, killatrav, ybsf_21

tagged: alomen

joeyb_9: Traded playbooks for pit stops in custom @alomen

comments:

alomen: fast times 🏎️

y/n_y/ln: you look like you're wearing my silk pajamas

——— joeyb_9: thanks i know i look good 😁

—————— y/n_y/ln: joe i swear if you don't stop

samhubbard: i blinked and joe turned into a damn model

lahjay_10: what the helly is u wearing

NFL: fastest hands in the league meets fastest wheels off the field

bengals: cartier glasses i ain’t even peak at you

quinn_ski: you know damn well you don’t even like going fast grandpa

——— y/n_y/ln: get him for me quinn 🙂‍↕️

—————— quinn_ski: i gotchuuuuu. why have a porsche if you're not going at least 90 on the highway in it

————————— joeyb_9: unlike you two, i would prefer to live to see the day we build a civilization on mars

fan91: y/n is the luckiest woman on the planet because ?? you're telling me she wakes up to this everyday

fan8282: joe and his wristbands. a lovestory

rulethejungle5: my qb at an F1 race wearing pink silk pajamas. what a time to be alive

fan249.2: 😍😍😍😍😍

y/n_collective: i spy a reputation wristband 👀

fan4857: hot 🤤 (said respectfully because i love y/n)

fan535_: i love seeing him and y/n go at it in the comments LMFAOO

——— fan221: old married couple energy radiating off the screen every time 💘

fan8182: his hair HIS HAIR

y/nlover: i know she freaked when she realized he was growing it out again

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y/n_y/ln via instagram stories

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joeyb_9 via instagram stories

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📍ZZ's Miami

liked by: tmz, y/ncollective, rulethejungle5, jenfinch_12, enews, and 1.3 million others

tagged: y/n_y/ln

gridback_news: She’s back in the fast lane.

Superstar singer-songwriter Y/N Y/LN was spotted last night leaving dinner with friends at hotspot ZZ’s Club in Miami’s Design District. The Grammy winner kept it effortlessly cool in a black long-sleeve leather jacket, black top, and denim shorts, paired with her classic red bottom heeled boots & her 'J' necklace. Styled to perfection, Y/N looked relaxed but radiant as she laughed with friends and slipped into a waiting black SUV around 11:40 p.m.

👀 While out with the girls, sources confirm her boyfriend Joe Burrow wasn’t far—insiders say the NFL quarterback and music icon have been in Miami for a few days ahead of this weekend’s F1 Grand Prix, where they’re expected to attend several events together. It’s Y/N's first time at the Miami GP, and fans are already buzzing about a potential grid walk moment with the couple.

💿 As for what’s next? Whispers around the industry suggest that Y/N has a new single set to drop this Friday, marking her first official release since her double single drop the night of the Grammys. Insiders close to her team say the announcement could come as early as tomorrow morning, with a special rollout to follow.

The insider adds that a major source of her peace and confidence lately has been her relationship with Joe. “They’ve found a really strong rhythm together. He’s her safe place. He gives her space to create but never makes her feel like she’s doing it alone,” they say. “He’s been there for the highs, the low moments, the all-nighters in the studio. He knows this song by heart. It's one of his favorites,”. Y/N is reportedly “happier than ever” and “incredibly proud” of what’s coming. One source tells us, “This song is the one that changed everything. She’s telling her story exactly how she wants to,”.

Keep it here for the latest updates on the queen of cryptic captions and slow burns. 🖤🏁

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y/n_y/ln via instagram stories & via twitter

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💿 now playing: call it what you want (y/n)

liked by: joeyb_9, ryland_1, taylorswift, sabrinacarpenter, oliviarodrigo, enews, jackantonoff, y/bsf_21, jenfinch_12 and others

tagged: joeyb_9, jackantonoff

y/n_y/ln: lost film: late november.

my world fell apart more than once. quietly, sometimes publicly. and for a long time, i thought i’d never feel safe in it again. this song came from the version of me who was learning how to rebuild—slowly, softly, and with someone by my side who never once asked me to be anything but myself.

“call it what you want” is about finding peace in the wreckage. it’s about the moment you realize you don’t need to prove your love to anyone. it’s not about grand gestures or fairytales—it’s about trust. about someone who builds a fire when the world goes cold. someone who walks toward you, every time. someone who sees you at your worst and doesn’t flinch.

i wrote this in the quiet. no pressure. no expectations. just a girl in love, healing. just a girl who finally let herself feel safe.

this one means more than i can say. it’s yours now 🤍

comments:

joeyb_9: you did more than one thing right. proud of you always 🤍

fan209: the first photo :(

——— fan665: the SECOND photo :( babiesssss

jackantonoff: this one gutted me. you’re magic. honored to be part of it

fan29: WHY IS A CHAIR ON FIRE LMFAOOOO

——— y/ncollective: is this the fire joe built for her im rotfl 😭

taylorswift: this is so beautiful. watching you step into this chapter has been the greatest joy. love you

fan38: THE BICEP PHOTO? look at the way she's latched on that's HER man y'all

fan22: i want whatever this is

fan000: she had bangs...and we DIDNT GET TO SEE THEM? OH WHEN I CATCH HER EX

——— fan8: and when we lock him in a cage like joe goldberg.

fan9: joe took half of these and i'm saying this with no proof but like i just know

sabrinacarpenter: this made me CRY. you’ve never sounded more like you 🥹🖤

oliviarodrigo: my baby’s fit like a daydream?? you’re insane for that line omg

y/bsf_21: ah, the grown out blonde highlights and bangs era. my favorite.

ryland_1: joe's gonna be unbearable after this. man’s floating rn 😭

quinn_ski: she really said “here’s my entire heart” and walked away. elite drop ma'am

enews: this one is already making history 💿🔥

gridback_news: starry eyes sparkin’ up my darkest night? we’re never recovering

fan383: you’ve survived so much and came out of it with a love like this. you deserve it all 🫶

tourupdatez: she said “he doesn’t own me, he knows me” and i fell to my knees in the middle of the dog food aisle

trevortherevver: 🙌

fan2020: this is the first time in history a qb has been the muse for a lyrical masterpiece. joey b you icon

fan39: “loves me like i’m brand new??? how do i recover from that???

——— fan221: we simply don't

joe&y/nupdates: she made vulnerability sound like a love letter. i’m so proud of her i’m sobbing

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liked by: tmz, y/ncollective, joe&y/nupdates, jenfinch_12, enews, and 1.2 million others

tagged: y/n_y/ln, joeyb_9

gridback_news: Spotted: music’s reigning sweetheart and her superstar QB boyfriend trading touchdowns for home runs in the city that never sleeps 🗽❤️

Pop powerhouse Y/N Y/LN and NFL golden boy Joe Burrow were seen getting cozy at the Yankees vs. Reds game last night in New York City—proving that even when they’re technically behind enemy lines, their loyalty (and love) runs deep.

The couple arrived hand-in-hand, both dressed in sleek, head-to-toe black with lowkey nods to Cincinnati—Y/N sporting a worn-in Reds cap over loose waves, and Joe in a vintage Reds bomber with her initials stitched inside the collar (yes, fans zoomed in). We’re told they kept a low profile in a private box, but still managed to steal the show with their trademark blend of lowkey affection and total “main character” energy.

According to eyewitnesses, Y/N was seen leaning her head on Joe’s shoulder between innings, and at one point, the two were caught sharing a kiss behind Joe’s cap when they thought no one was looking. Spoiler alert: we were. ���💋

The sighting comes hot on the heels of Y/N’s emotional new single “Call It What You Want”, which dropped last week and has already been dubbed “her most vulnerable work yet.” The timing hasn’t gone unnoticed by fans, many of whom believe the song is a love letter to Joe, with lyrics that reference “building a fire to keep her warm” and wearing his initial “on a chain ‘round her neck”—which, yes, she was also wearing at the game. The 'J' necklace remains undefeated.

And if you think this is the peak of their Big Apple love tour, think again. Word on the street is that the couple is gearing up for their first joint Met Gala appearance this Monday. With Joe making his Met debut and Y/N returning after a two-year hiatus, insiders say the pair have been working closely with major fashion houses for looks that are tailored to them, while also telling a story only they can read 👀✨

Until then, we’ll be over here watching the game footage like it’s a rom-com.

#YN #JoeBurrow #MetGalaRumors #NYCspottings #Reds #Yankees

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📍the mark hotel, new york city

liked by: y/n_y/ln, joeyb_9, y/ncollective, joe&y/nupdates, enews, vogue, jenfinch_12

tagged: y/n_y/ln

versace: Power, polish, and pure Versace.

Y/N wears a custom silk corset gown from the Atelier, structured elegance with signature edge. Paired with opera-length leather gloves, a statement necklace, and the kind of attitude only a true muse can carry.

#VersaceWoman #VersaceAtelier #VersaceAtTheMet

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[VOGUE ON THE MET STEPS — TRANSCRIPT]

Interviewer: Emma Chamberlain

Guests: Y/N Y/LN and Joe Burrow

EMMA: [smiling wide] Ohhh my god, you look insane. Stop. I’m obsessed. Welcome back to the Met, Y/N!

Y/N: [laughs, smoothing her gown] Thank you, Emma! It’s so surreal to be back. I’m kind of trying not to fall on these stairs right now because I forgot how many there were and overestimated the comfort of these heels, but otherwise—I’m great.

EMMA: Totally relate with you, my feet are legit killing me right now [laughs, watches Joe come up the steps] Oh, but at least you have a knight in shining armor to carry you up the stairs! Look who you brought with you! Mr. Joe Burrow himself—welcome to your first Met Gala!

JOE: [grinning, pressing a quick kiss to Y/N's cheek] Thanks, Emma. I’ve been hearing about this for a long while. It’s definitely living up to the hype for sure.

EMMA: You two are matching on the lowest of keys I see. I don’t want to freak out but, Y/N, your eyeshadow and center stone of your necklace are literally the exact color of his suit. Who planned that?

Y/N: [laughs, shooting a look at Joe] It may or may not have been my idea. I told him, “If I’m putting myself through fittings and five-hour glam, you’re coordinating with me in some way,”.

JOE: [nods solemnly] She told me I didn’t have a choice.

Y/N: [teasing] And yet you loved it. He saw the final look and was like, “Wait…I look good,”.

JOE: [shrugs] I mean—she’s not wrong.

EMMA: I love it. Your looks feel very intentional. There’s a softness, but there’s edge, too—what’s the vibe?

Y/N: We wanted something simple and classic, but also uniquely us. It’s all storytelling, but nobody really knows the tale yet. I’ve been kinda calling it the "calm after the storm,".

EMMA: Ooh, I like that. That feels…metaphorical. Is this look...Reputation coded?

Y/N: [smiles coyly] Maybe. You’ll have to wait and see.

EMMA: Speaking of Reputation—Call It What You Want dropped Friday. The internet exploded, like seriously. People are saying it’s your softest and most honest song yet. How does it feel having it out in the world?

Y/N: I’m honestly overwhelmed—in the best way. This era is different. It’s not about spectacle, it’s about what’s real. I wrote this whole project during a time when I was trying to figure out who I am without all the noise. The love, the stillness, the safety I’ve found…I think people are starting to feel that.

EMMA: [glancing at Joe] I feel like I’m looking at part of the inspiration.

Y/N: [glances at Joe too, eyes soft] Yeah. He’s a big part of it. This one song in particular—it’s the heartbeat of the album. It wouldn’t exist without him.

JOE: [clears throat, trying not to smile too hard] I’m just happy to be here.

EMMA: He’s so chill but the entire internet is screaming every time you two breathe in the same vicinity. Do you read the comments?

Y/N: [laughs] Sometimes. I saw someone call us “the most unproblematic it couple” and I was like…wow. That’s the dream.

EMMA: Well, you two look incredible. Have the best night inside, and please give us more music breadcrumbs soon. The people are starving.

Y/N: [grinning] They won’t have to wait long. Let’s just say…I have a few more tricks up my sleeve!

JOE: [smirking] She never stops.

EMMA: And we love her for it!

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liked by: joeyb_9, vogue, y/bsf_21, taylorswift, sabrinacarpenter, lahjay10_, y/bsf2, jjetas2, and others

tagged: versace, metmuseum

y/n_y/ln: i once believed love would be black & white 🖤🤍 thank you for an unforgettable night @metmuseum

comments:

joeyb_9: that’s my girl.

——— y/n_y/ln: always yours 🖤

joeybnation: joe really showed up in the comments like "yeah i know she’s THAT girl"

y/ncollective: i need this look in motion. in 4k. in my dreams.

fan9_92: the queen of the met gala is BACK bitches ANDDDDD she brought her king

huntershafer: we’re not calling this a look anymore. it’s a moment.

y/nlover: HOT. HOTTT 💘

luxurylaw: it’s the drama. the silhouette. the restraint. flawless styling.

taylorswift: the lyric…the look…the power.

——— y/n_y/ln: love you forever 🤍

fan473: OH MY GOD?????? HELLO

donatella_versace: bellissima! my muse forever. you wore it like it was made just for you, because it was. 🤍

fan202: is that caption...more lyrics. Y/N. honey.

fan221: watching the stream and seeing joe lead her up the steps and making sure she doesn't trip is so 🥲

sabrinacarpenter: you ATE this up and left nothing but corset bones y/n_y/ln: and leather gloves xx

y/bsf_21: never letting you live this down btw. i need a warning next time you serve like that.

vogue: a vision in structured silk 👑 met gala royalty.

teehiggins: 🔥👑

lahjay10_: nah this is the move idc idc. lookin' fly yet again 🔥

——— y/n_y/ln: this is why you're my favorite ❤️

—————— teehiggins: yo? i was gone for 2 seconds and you forgot 'bout me?

jjetas2: she said 90s supermodel villain and she meant it

——— y/n_y/ln: the brief was “make them regret breaking up with you in 2017”

theestallion: bitch. i had to zoom in 3x just to process all that glamour.

versace: Pure goddess. The Atelier lives for moments like this.

——— y/n_y/ln: honored to be part of the house 🤍🖤

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📍met museum

💿 now playing: met gala (gunna)

liked by: vogue, y/bsf_21, y/n_y/ln, lahjay10_, samhubbard, quinn_ski, max_w11, ybsf2, jjetas2, jenfinch12, and others

tagged: gucci, metmuseum, getty images

joeyb_9: Met Gala 2025

comments:

y/n_y/ln: great caption joe🧍🏻‍♀️

——— joeyb_9: you were showering okay i was on my own for this one

quinn_ski: bro you look like you just closed a million-dollar deal and walked straight onto the carpet

——— joeyb_9: had to match her energy

y/n_y/ln: 🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤 you look goooooodddd

y/ncollective: HAIR? CHAIN? oh I KNOW she is losing her mind right now. well done joseph

samhubbard: tell me you’re in love without telling me you’re in love 😭

——— fan383: nah cause the way he was looking at her the whole time 😭😭😭

fan721: my qb at the met? are pigs flying? did aaron rodgers retire yet?

y/bsf_21: i was NOT ready for met gala boyfriend reveal oh my goddd

fan2383: that soft smile in the first pic? yeah. y/n's goner.

killatrav: 🔥

gucci: 💙

jjetas2: clean as hell sheist. except for them damn shoes

——— lahjay_10: boy you had one job. you was supposed to yank em off his feet

max_w11: joey franchise in gucci??? give the people what they want!!

teehiggins clean. boy is CLEAN.

vogue: a quarterback in custom gucci. a moment.

bengals4ever: this man is in his soft era and i’m here for it. he never would've went to the met if it wasn't for her

joe&y/nupdates: y/n liking this in 0.2 seconds is killing me 😭

rulethejungle5: another new side quest

burrowsource: she was whispering in his ear half the night. he’s GONE.

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joeyb_9 via instagram stories

y/n_y/ln via instagram stories.

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📍casa cipriani, new york city

liked by: tmz, y/ncollective, joe&y/nupdates, jenfinch_12, enews, and 934.1 k others

tagged: y/n_y/ln, joeyb_9

gridback_news: Joe Burrow and Y/N seen leaving the Cartier Jewelry afterparty at Casa Cipriani in NYC last night, and let’s just say, love was louder than the flashbulbs ⚡️

Y/N turned heads in a cream-toned two-piece embroidered with delicate florals, cinched at the waist, and showing just enough skin with a subtle side cutout. She paired the look with a vintage baby blue clutch (some fans ID’d it as archival Prada), her go-to strappy white heels, and soft curls pinned into a low, romantic twist. A Custom Cartier bracelet shimmered on her wrist—rumor has it, a recent gift from Joe.

Joe kept it clean and classic in all-black. A relaxed short-sleeve button-down, tailored slacks, and loafers (a nice change for him)—topping the look with a vintage gold Rolex and subtle chain. And of course, his real accessory? The way he never let go of her hand.

According to one insider, the pair arrived fashionably late (no word as to why 😉), entering through a private side entrance and heading straight to a tucked-away lounge space where they sipped martinis and people-watched from a velvet sofa. “They were whispering, laughing, completely in their own little world,” a source told Gridback. “She adjusted his chain at one point, and he leaned in to kiss her shoulder. It was so soft and natural, not performative at all, even though everyone had their eyes on them. Those two, they were only looking at each other.”

Another partygoer caught them slow-dancing to a surprise jazz set in the back bar room, Joe’s hands resting low on her hips as she tilted her head back and laughed like a little kid at something he whispered in her ear. One blurry but beloved fan-taken clip already has over 1M views with the caption, “This is what love looks like.”

Sources inside also say the night was nothing short of a lovefest for these two. Think sweet kisses in shadowy corners, lingering touches under the dim lights, and whispered words that no bass drop could drown out. Unfazed by the flashbulbs and chaos around them, the lovebirds stayed locked in their own world 💘

🕊️✨ Couple goals, but make it Cartier-certified.

#YN #JoeBurrow #MetGalaAP #NYCspottings #Cartier

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liked by: joeyb_9, y/bsf_21, jenfinch_12, y/bsf2, jackantonoff, y/ncollective, rulethejungle5, enews, sabrinacarpenter, and others

tagged: joeyb_9, y/bsf_21, y/bsf2

y/n_y/ln: holding onto the memories so they can hold onto me 🎞️

comments under this post have been limited:

joeyb_9: holding onto you very tightly

——— y/n_y/ln: oh but I thought you had small hands 🤨

—————— joeyb_9: ...you and me both know that's not true

————————— y/bsf_21: am i interrupting something 🧍🏼‍♀️

————————— y/n_y/ln: joseph lee burrow.

y/bsf_21: you’re so unserious for dropping this and not warning me. you were in your main character with a disposable camera era and i support it fully 🎞️📸

tatemcrae: what camera is this because i NEED

——— y/n_y/ln: olympus om-d e-m10 series <3

jackantonoff: film hits different when it’s curated by a lovesick poet. i said what i said.

sabrinacarpenter: the first pic sent me into cardiac arrest. your grip on the aesthetic girlies is UNREAL.

jenfinch_12: 🤍🤍🤍

lahjay_10: thx for giving me more ammo to tease joe with

——— y/n_y/ln: this is my actual job

oliviarodrigo: love love love this

ryland_1: come to athens soonnnn

——— y/n_y/ln: duhhh. who else is gonna help you & quinn win beer pong against joe, trevor, & max

bengals: 🧡

y/bsf2: the way you’re glowing. like you know he’s obsessed with you or something 😌

——— joeyb_9 because i am obsessed with her

—————— y/bsf_21 : god joe you're such a simp 😪

————————— y/bsf2 : and we love him for it

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y/n_y/ln via instagram close friends stories

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joeyb_9 via instagram stories

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--The End--

[cavegirlpoems]

On Blorbability

I think one of the strengths of modern D&D is the ability to efficiently describe the blorbos you make with it using understandable components. Like the template of Alignment + Species + Background + Class lets you put together a quite evocative picture of who a character is quite efficiently, just by swapping in and out those components like those mix-and-match monster flipbooks.

Like, to take a character I played, when I say:

Lawful-Evil Drow Monk with the Inquisitor background.

you can immediately picture that character, right?

You can do this indefinitely. "Chaotic-Good Halfling Bard Criminal" or "Chaotic-Neutral Human Barbarian Outlander" or "Lawful-neutral Elf Wizard Accademic". It clicks.

There's a sweet spot of having the right amount of slots you pick from, 3-4. Less than that and the blorbo comes out flat, more and its too granular. An OSR character is probably one template (class), two if you're doing race+class AD&D style, and thats not quite enough detail to go full Blorb. Same with most PbtA games where you just pick a playbook. A gurps character is pretty darn granular, and is also not a particularly legible blorbo even if you can be very expressive with it.

The actual *stats* don't matter, what your attributes and spells and gear are don't matter much, the point is that you're madlibsing archetypes together in a legible way.

Like take vampire the masquerade as another good example of an extremely blorbable game. Here, the actual weight of your character is carried by attributes/skills/disciplines/backgrounds/merits, right? But you can still describe them with that same combination of archetypes. Here's a character I'm playing right now:

Ancilla Noiad Anarch on the Path of Harmony.

Age + Clan + Sect + Path. Simple. Four tags and you get a good picture of who this character is. And like, I bet you could take a good guess at what she's like mechanically, right? From that description, I bet you're picturing somebody with Survival and Stealth and decent combat and probably leaning hard into Protean, and that's accurate!

Here's some more VtM characters. "Camarilla Ventrue Elder on Humanity", "Camarilla Ventrue Elder on Honorable Accord", "Sabbat Tzimisce Elder on Path of Ecstasy", "Independent Giovanni Neonate on Humanity". If you're familiar with VtM, you can picture the shape of these characters.

+ + +

So I'm taking this idea and applying it to my Magical Girl project. You have two playbooks that slot together - one magical and one mundane - and then you pick whether you're heroic or villainous. And on top of that, in the late game you might become Something Else like a Spectre or a Princess. So that's 3-4 mix-and-match slots. A player character can be expressed as:

Villainous Ruffian Blaster

and you can picture who she is. The combinations work. "Heroic Recluse Spy", "Villainous Fangirl Summoner", "Heroic Weirdo Cheat becoming a Princess", these are legible just from the options picked.

Which I think is a good sign, it means its easy to picture and communicate the sorts of characters you can have in the game.

[v6quewrlds]

Please. I need some good Joey B smut. Please! Maybe Joe and reader take a weekend trip together and leave the kids with his parents after a hectic week that happens to fall on a bye week. They just need some good reconnecting!

You sighed, your eyes still glued to the TV, watching the latest reality show drama unfold. You looked over at Joe, who was engrossed in his iPad at the edge of the bed. “You know, if you studied me as much as you do this damn playbook, you might score every night,” you teased, your voice laden with sarcasm.

Joe looked up, laughing softly as he set aside the iPad. “Oh?” He smirked, his blue eyes twinkling as you watched the wheels turn in his head. Suddenly, he stood and yanked you by your ankles down the bed. “If you needed me that bad, you could've just said so.”

You squealed, giggling as he sank to his knees in front of you. “But, you've been so busy,” you admitted quietly, the tiniest gasp escaping your lips as Joe parted your thighs, his breath hot against your skin.

Joe looked up, his gaze locking with yours. “Always got time for you,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest. He kissed your thigh gently, sending a shiver through your body.

He kissed his way up, his lips trailing a hot path to the juncture of your legs. Your heart rate picked up, and you felt your face grow warm. You leaned back into the bedsheets, biting your bottom lip to keep from making too much noise.

He lifted your oversized shirt over your head, taking his time to appreciate every inch of your brown skin revealed to him. You felt a thrill run down your spine as his fingers traced patterns on your stomach, the anticipation building.

“Joe,” you whispered, your voice weak with desire. “please.”

He smirked again, a hint of mischief playing on his lips. “What’s the rush?” He said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against your skin as he placed open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. You felt the tension in your body coil tighter. You wanted to laugh, you wanted to yell at him to hurry up, but instead, you just leaned in closer, your breath catching in your throat.

Joe took his time, savoring each moment as he slid your shorts down your legs. His hands were gentle, yet firm, as they explored your body. Your eyes fluttered shut, the sensation of his touch overwhelming you. It was like floating on a cloud of desire, and you didn’t want it to end.

“Look at me,” Joe murmured against your skin, his breath sending chills down your spine. You nodded slightly, a silent agreement to let him lead. His hands worked to pull your panties aside, dipping his head to taste you. Your eyes widened, watching him with a mix of surprise and excitement. His tongue danced along your folds, indulging in your taste as if it were a treat made just for him.

Your breath hitched as Joe’s hands moved to your hips, holding you in place as he picked up the pace. The sound of your moans filled the quiet room, echoing off the walls as Joe’s mouth worked its magic. Your grip tightened on the bedsheets, your hips attempting to buck upward to meet his mouth.

“You’re so fucking good at that,” you managed to say, your voice strained as Joe’s mouth continued to work wonders. He just chuckled, the vibration of his laughter adding to the pleasure. His thumbs gently caressed the tops of your thighs, his eyes carefully taking in every twitch of your expression.

The tension grew, coiling tighter and tighter until you felt like you were going to explode. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body arching off the bed as Joe’s tongue flicked and teased, bringing your closer and closer to the edge.

“Joe, I’m gonna—” you panted, your voice barely above a whisper. He just hummed in response, the vibration of his mouth sending you hurtling over the edge. Your orgasm shot through you like a rocket, your body convulsing with the intensity of it. You threw your head back, eyes squeezed shut, as waves of pleasure rolled over you.

“There you go, baby, there's my girl,” Joe murmured, his voice a gentle rumble as your body slowly came down from the high. He kissed your inner thigh before standing up and stripping out of his own clothes. You watched him work with half-lidded eyes, admiring the muscular form that was revealed as the fabric fell away.

He climbed back onto the bed, his body pressing against yours, his length making its eager presence known. You laughed, feeling the warmth of his skin against your own. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, your fingers tracing the lines of his shoulders and biceps. Joe took you in, his gaze roaming your pretty face, the softness of your plush lips, and the way your eyes sparkled with satisfaction.

“Tell me how you want it,” Joe whispered, his voice thick with desire as he positioned himself at your entrance, eyes fluttering shut as he attached his lips to your jaw.

Your eyes widened for a brief second, a smoldering heat igniting in them. “Just like that,” you murmured, your voice a sweet surrender to the moment.

[fryingpan1234567]

Percy can’t find his glasses lmao

~

“Shit, shit, shit!”

Oliver couldn’t help the laugh that made its way from his chest at the sight of Percy Weasley tearing through their shared dorm, tossing stuff around as if he’d forgotten his ‘no clothes on the floor’ rule that had been in place since their second year.

“Fuck, it’s not funny, Oliver!” Percy complained. 

Oliver dropped his quidditch playbook into his lap, temporarily forgotten. He grinned teasingly. “The perfect Percy Weasley swearing? Never thought I’d see the day.”

That wasn’t true. He knew the stress and many siblings would get Percy to snap eventually, and he knew adding onto that with the ‘Perfect Percy’ bit didn’t help at all. The not-so affectionate nickname from his younger brothers, namely the twins, was enough to get him twitchy in itself.

Percy chucked a pillow at Oliver with surprising strength. As the keeper, he did catch it to his chest, but he was still bewildered at the force behind it.

“I can’t find them,” Percy fretted as he returned to his wild search, neglecting to mention what exactly he was referring to. “I’m gonna be late to transfig and—“

“Okay, slow down.” Oliver set the pillow down next to him and shifted forwards, taking a glance around the room. “What are we looking for?”

Percy huffed, taking a pause. He glared at the nearest pile of clothes he’d just made as if it had conjured into existence on its own.

“I can’t find my glasses.”

Oh. The glasses that were on top of his head, innocently nestled in the ginger curls there, no clue about the turmoil they were causing? 

Oliver pursed his lips, fighting down his laughter. He forced himself not to look at them, instead turning his attention to the newly cluttered floor.

“Right,” he said slowly. A plan came into his head. “Want help looking?”

“No,” Percy snapped immediately, then continued digging through a laundry basket.

“What? Why not?” Oliver said innocently, nudging at him with a socked foot. Percy batted it away without even sparing him a glance.

“Because,” he grumbled, “you’re all smug about it. And if you end up being the one to find them, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Well, that much was true. But that ship had sailed as soon as Oliver figured out exactly what he was looking for. So really, what’s the harm in a little more teasing?

“I wouldn’t make fun of you if one of your brothers had hidden them,” Oliver reasoned, standing from his bed and making his way over to where Percy was crouched over his book bag for the third time. “That’s not your fault. Or like, sometimes when you don’t sleep for a few days you get tired and misplace them—“

Percy stood abruptly, putting him nearly nose to nose with Oliver. His ears turned bright red, but he didn’t immediately make any move to back away. Oliver smiled sweetly.

“Hi, gorgeous.”

“Oh, fuck off.” That was the thing to get Percy to resume his frantic search, rolling his eyes and pushing at Oliver’s chest, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

Oliver caught his waist, pulling him back in. Percy glared at him indignantly, lightly slapping his shoulder in an attempt to get him to let go.

“Oliver—“

“I found ‘em,” Oliver said simply, a sly smile spreading across his face. Realization dawned on Percy’s as Oliver reached up to take them off the crown of his head.

He dropped his face into Oliver shoulder in embarrassment. “Fuck me, of course that’s where they were.”

Oliver laughed, ruffling his hair. “Right now? I thought you were gonna be late to class—“

“Shut up,” Percy grumbled as he straightened up (lmao). He took the glasses from Oliver’s hand and fixed them to their designated place, face still slightly flushed. He made to leave, but Oliver stopped him with his arms around his waist again.

“You’re forgetting something,” he hummed, grinning with unbridled joy. There really was no way he’d let this go, and there was no reason to cut him some slack now.

Percy glared at him again. “I don’t think I am, actually.”

“No ‘thank you’?” Oliver pouted. “No ‘thanks, amazing heroic boyfriend, I’d be going to class blind if it weren’t for your ingenuity—‘“

“Please shut up,” Percy begged, and then kissed him. His hands found either side of Oliver’s face, and Oliver melted into him, pushing up onto his toes to get a better angle. His lips slotted perfectly against Percy’s, and he figured he’d never get tired of kissing him. It left him breathless every fucking time.

“Thank you,” Percy finally murmured into Oliver’s mouth. He didn’t open his eyes and he didn’t at all try to back away.

Oliver grinned again. “Sure, but you were right earlier.” Percy broke away to look at him in confusion. Oliver poked him in the side. “I’m never letting you forget this.”

“OLIVER WOOD—“

“Kill me later. McGonagall’s gonna kill you if you’re late again.”

Percy flipped him off over his shoulder as he left, slamming the door behind him. Oliver huffed a laugh and went back to his playbook.

[honeydippedfiction]

Baton Rouge Nights

Track 3 of Off The Record

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Synopsis: In his first real taste of LSU's vibrant social scene, Joe Burrow begins to shed his outsider status, finding unexpected connection and belonging through friendships and a growing interest in a confident, enigmatic girl named Y/N. Amid the heat, music, and chaos of a college party, something quietly shifts—marking the beginning of a deeper emotional journey both on and off the field.

Warnings: Emotional Vulnerability, Unspoken Tension and Secrets, Pressure and Performance, Idealization vs. Reality, Suggestive Content

Themes: Belonging and Identity, Transition and Growth, Friendship and Brotherhood, Romantic Curiosity and Connection, Ritual and Culture

WC: 12.5k

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A/N: uh ohhh

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

September 2018

It was Joe’s first real taste of LSU’s social pulse—a sultry Southern evening stitched together by laughter, low-slung music, and that peculiar electricity that only comes alive in college towns during football season. Baton Rouge didn’t just move; it throbbed with anticipation. The air, thick with humidity and hope, clung to skin like a second shirt. Even the oak-lined sidewalks seemed to hum beneath the weight of it all, vibrating under the feet of students who spilled from dorm rooms and apartment balconies, drawn by the magnetic pull of music, movement, and mischief blooming across Greek Row.

Though the fall semester had barely taken its first steps, the undercurrent was already undeniable. Plans for tailgates buzzed like war councils. Coolers cracked open with sharp, satisfying pops. Smoke curled from porches, carrying the scent of sizzling ribs and spicy sausage into the dusk. Purple and gold flags flapped defiantly in the breeze, as if the buildings themselves were flexing for game day. This wasn’t just school spirit—it was something deeper. It was ritual. It was faith. It was blood.

And in the middle of it all was Joe—still a step behind the rhythm, still learning the beats.

His transition from Ohio State to LSU had been anything but smooth. It wasn’t just the climate—though the relentless Southern heat was a constant, sweltering presence—it was the intensity. The practices were longer. The drills were sharper. The expectations? Higher, heavier. LSU didn’t just want to win. LSU expected to dominate.

The culture, too, was its own animal. Tight-knit in ways that made Joe feel both welcome and wary. There was a fierce loyalty here, a brotherhood built not just in locker rooms but on porches, in living rooms, over shared meals and inside jokes. And as much as he admired it, he wasn’t quite sure yet where—or if—he fit.

He’d kept mostly to himself, throwing himself into the weight room, into film study, into the safe structure of routine. The locker room had become his home base, the playbook his compass. But routine had its limits.

“You’ve been living in that damn locker room,” Ja'Marr had said earlier that afternoon, stepping squarely into Joe’s path just outside the football facility, arms crossed like he was daring him to argue.

Joe adjusted the strap of his duffel bag and blinked at him, one eyebrow raised. “I’ve been working.”

“Yeah, well, it’s Friday. The work can wait a few hours.” Ja'Marr’s expression softened, just a little. “Come out tonight. It’s just a mixer. No pressure. No cameras. Just people. Real people.”

From the other side of the hall, Justin leaned against a wall with the kind of relaxed confidence Joe hadn’t quite figured out how to mimic yet. He smiled easily, tossing a football from one hand to the other like it weighed nothing.

“C’mon, man,” Justin added. “You’re new. No one expects you to show up already knowing everyone. Just show up. Let the night do its thing.”

Joe hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He wasn’t a recluse by nature—but this? The social stuff? It always felt like walking onto a stage mid-performance, unsure of the script.

“I don’t know…” he said slowly. “Social events aren’t really my thing.”

“Which is exactly why you should come,” Ja'Marr shot back. “We’re not asking you to throw a party, man. Just show up. Drink something. Talk to somebody.”

Joe exhaled, looking past them toward the parking lot where his truck waited. Quiet. Predictable. But so was loneliness, if you let it be.

Eventually, he gave a reluctant grin and held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll go. Just don’t make me look stupid.”

“No promises,” Ja'Marr said with a wide smirk, already turning away. “But we’ll try to keep you outta trouble.”

“Key word is try,” Justin called after them with a laugh.

⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇ ⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇ ⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇

By the time the sun dipped beneath the horizon, bleeding streaks of tangerine and plum across the Louisiana sky, the trio—Joe, Ja’Marr, and Justin—had made their way across campus, drawn by the gravitational pull of one of LSU’s more infamous Greek houses. Columns wrapped in string lights gave the facade an almost theatrical glow, and the bassline thumping from inside pulsed through the ground like a second heartbeat. It was less a house now, more a living organism—breathing, shaking, alive with anticipation.

Even before they hit the steps, the sounds met them in waves: laughter thick with drink, the chaotic clash of Solo cups, the unfiltered hollers of students halfway between flirtation and full-blown revelry. This was the welcome mixer—an annual rite dressed up in the language of tradition and unity. In reality, it was a party with too much alcohol and just enough structure to be allowed by the university.

Joe slowed his stride as they reached the porch, glancing up at the open doorway spilling warm light and bodies into the humid night. The air that pressed out of the house was heavy—ripe with sweat, cologne, perfume, and the haze of too many bodies crowded into too little space.

He hesitated.

Justin, already halfway through the door, turned back. “Yo, you good?”

Joe gave a half-laugh, one hand scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. Just... taking it in.”

Ja’Marr caught the hesitation and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine,” he said, using his other shoulder to push the door open. “We’ll ease you in.”

Inside, the noise swallowed them whole.

The first thing Joe noticed was how the air changed—thicker, hotter, saturated with bodies and movement. The music was loud—Wayne’s Tha Carter III bleeding into some newer trap track with enough bass to rattle the windows. Every few seconds someone shouted over the music, every voice competing for dominance. A bottle clinked against the tile floor. Someone laughed too loudly in a corner. The lights were dim and golden, flickering with the rhythm of a party that had no plans to slow down.

Joe followed closely as Ja’Marr and Justin zigzagged through the maze of people—dodging shoulders, side-stepping beer spills, exchanging daps and nods with nearly every guy they passed. They were at ease here, fluent in this environment. Joe, on the other hand, moved like someone navigating a foreign country without knowing the language.

Still, he tried to relax. He noticed details. The girl perched on the banister texting furiously with acrylics that clicked against her screen. The couple arguing in hushed tones near the stairwell. The DJ, tucked into a corner behind an absurdly large speaker, head bobbing like he was conducting an orchestra of chaos.

And then he saw her.

It wasn’t dramatic. No spotlight. No movie magic. Just a moment. A subtle shift in the room’s temperature. A pause in his own rhythm. She stood near the open French doors leading to the back patio, the golden light brushing her cheek like it had been told to do so.

She wasn’t the loudest person in the group. Not the flashiest. But there was something about her—something quiet, composed. Her posture was relaxed, drink in hand, her laugh soft and real. She wasn’t performing for the room. She didn’t need to. Her presence filled the space without asking for permission.

Joe didn’t realize he’d stopped walking until Ja’Marr turned around and noticed him lagging.

“Yo, Earth to Joe,” Ja’Marr said, nudging him. “You see a ghost?”

Joe blinked. “No. Just… taking it in.”

Justin followed his gaze, then grinned knowingly. “Ah. You mean her.”

“Who is she?” Joe asked, trying—and failing—to sound casual.

“That’s Y/N,” Ja’Marr said with a smirk. “She’s tight with Leilani. You met her at that first party, remember? Justin’s girl.”

Joe nodded slowly. “Yeah, I remember Leilani.”

“Well, that’s her best friend,” Ja’Marr said. “Smart, low-key. Doesn’t put up with bullshit, so tread carefully.”

“Should we go say hi?” Joe asked, surprised by his own boldness.

Justin chuckled. “Oh, now you wanna socialize.”

Joe rolled his eyes, but the nerves were real. As they crossed the room, he adjusted his shirt, ran a hand through his hair, then immediately regretted it.

“Relax,” Ja’Marr muttered out the side of his mouth. “You’re not going in for a job interview.”

When they reached the edge of her group, Ja’Marr cleared his throat. “Y/N, you got a sec?”

She turned, casual and unhurried. When her eyes landed on Joe, something flickered—curiosity, maybe. Amusement. Recognition, even if they’d never met. She held his gaze with ease.

“Y/N,” Ja’Marr said, gesturing between them, “meet Joe. Quarterback, transfer, straight outta Ohio. Joe, this is Y/N. SigRHO’s secret weapon.”

She offered her hand without hesitation. “Nice to meet you.”

Joe took it, surprised by the firmness of her grip. “You too.”

“You’re the new quarterback, right?”

He nodded. “That’s me. Still figuring it out.”

“You and half the freshmen,” she replied with a smile. “LSU has a way of chewing people up at first. But once you get the rhythm? It’s magic.”

There was a clarity in her voice, like she meant every word. She wasn’t trying to impress him. She wasn’t flirting, at least not in the obvious way. She was just… present.

“Not from around here, are you?” she asked, tipping her head slightly.

“Ohio,” Joe said.

She winced playfully. “Yikes. You ever been in real humidity before?”

He laughed, some of the tension in his chest loosening. “Not like this.”

“Well, welcome to the swamp,” she said. “We do things different down here. Slower. Louder. Hotter.”

“I’m noticing.”

She smiled, and something about it felt earned. Like he’d passed a test he hadn’t realized he was taking.

Just then, Leilani emerged from the kitchen holding two drinks, spotted them, and lit up. “Joe! Didn’t think we’d see you out.”

“Peer pressure,” he said, pointing to Ja’Marr and Justin.

Leilani laughed. “Sounds about right.” She handed a drink to Y/N, then gave Joe a once-over. “You surviving?”

“So far, yeah,” he said, glancing at Y/N. “Think I might even be starting to enjoy it.”

And he was. Somewhere between the humidity, the music, and the quiet way Y/N looked at him without expectation, Joe began to feel something shift. For the first time since he’d stepped foot on LSU’s campus, he wasn’t watching the party from the outside. He was in it.

And maybe—just maybe—he belonged.

As the night unfolded, the energy of the party began to shift. The early chaos—people arriving in packs, drinks sloshing, music loud enough to make your chest thump—eased into something looser, more rhythmic. People settled into conversations, found corners to lean in close, or drifted outside for a breath of semi-fresh air and a break from the heat trapped in the house like a greenhouse.

The playlist rotated to something smoother—Frank Ocean’s Blond threading between beats, giving the room a warm, late-night softness. Somewhere near the living room, someone was losing at beer pong and pretending not to care. From the upstairs balcony, a pair of girls shouted down to someone they knew and received an enthusiastic but entirely nonsensical response. No one was ready to go home, not yet.

Joe found himself planted near a set of open windows, talking with Y/N, a half-empty cup in his hand he’d barely touched. The conversation had wandered into easier terrain now—classes, food spots around Baton Rouge, how to survive the heat without looking like you’d just walked through a car wash.

“You’ll learn,” Y/N said, leaning casually against the wall, her voice just above the music. “The trick isn’t to fight the sweat. Embrace it. It’s part of the charm.”

“Charm,” Joe echoed, skeptical. “That’s one word for it.”

She grinned. “You’ll come around. Everyone does eventually. Even Ohio boys.”

“Hey,” he said, laughing. “I resent that.”

“I stand by it.”

Her eyes sparkled with something unspoken, and Joe found himself smiling in a way that wasn’t guarded, wasn’t practiced. It just... happened.

But Y/N didn’t stay rooted for long. She moved like water—drifting from one conversation to the next with a kind of natural grace, like she belonged everywhere and nowhere all at once. She wasn’t trying to command the room. It just happened. People leaned in when she spoke, laughed easily at her jokes, relaxed in her orbit. Joe trailed her unconsciously, keeping her in his periphery like some part of him didn’t want to lose the thread.

Then her voice cut through the music again, bright and unmistakable.

“Hey, Joe!”

He looked up. She was standing near the back door now, framed in the soft golden light of the porch, one hand raised in a wave that was more of a command than a request. Behind her, the humid night breathed gently across the threshold, cooler than the thick heat inside.

“You gotta meet Leilani,” she said, flashing a smile. “Come on.”

He weaved his way through the crowd—bumping shoulders, dodging an enthusiastic couple mid-dance, navigating with the half-distracted grace of someone who didn’t want to seem like he was rushing but absolutely was.

Y/N’s presence had grown magnetic, and not just in the way she looked—which, yeah, didn’t hurt—but in the way she made things feel lighter. Easier. Like maybe, for once, he wasn’t just the quarterback or the new guy or the outsider. Maybe he was just Joe.

As he reached her, she touched his arm briefly, a small gesture that somehow grounded him.

“This is Joe,” she said, turning toward a girl perched casually on the railing, holding a spiked seltzer and a knowing expression. “The quarterback I mentioned.”

Joe blinked. Wait—mentioned?

Leilani didn’t miss a beat. She looked up at him with a teasing smile and said, “Oh, I know.”

Joe blinked. “Wait—you do?”

Leilani’s grin widened. “Yeah. We met at that party a few weeks ago. You were the guy camped out in the kitchen like it was a safe zone. Clutching that bottle of water like it owed you child support.”

Joe let out a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guilty. I was trying to not look like the awkward new guy who didn’t know anyone.”

“Well…” Leilani raised her cup in mock salute. “Spoiler alert—you absolutely looked like the awkward new guy who didn’t know anyone. But it was kind of endearing.”

Joe shrugged, playing along. “I’ll take ‘endearing.’ Better than ‘weird guy lurking in the shadows.’”

“Jury’s still out,” she shot back with a wink, then took a sip from her cup.

Y/N laughed at their exchange, nudging Leilani with her shoulder. “She’s blunt,” she warned Joe with faux solemnity. “It’s part of her charm.”

“Charm,” Leilani echoed, glancing sidelong at her. “That’s one word for it.”

Just then, Justin reappeared, slipping into the conversation with the ease of someone who knew exactly where he was supposed to be. He wrapped an arm around Leilani’s waist and dropped a kiss on her temple.

“These two are inseparable,” Justin said to Joe, nodding toward the girls. “Freshman orientation, day one. I think they’ve missed maybe two days apart in four years.”

Leilani rolled her eyes but didn’t disagree. “What can I say? Ride or die.”

Joe watched them interact, the tiny glances, the shared smirks, the way Y/N leaned into Leilani’s space just slightly when she laughed. It was the kind of bond you couldn’t fake. No party connection. No convenient roommate pairing. This was the kind of friendship forged in late nights and real moments—messy, loyal, unshakeable.

And for reasons Joe couldn’t explain, it made him want to stay a little longer. Like being in their orbit meant maybe he was closer to something real, too.

“You’re quieter than I expected,” Leilani said to him after a moment, studying him with a tilt of her head.

“I get that a lot,” Joe said. “Usually people think I’d be more... I don’t know, quarterback-y.”

She snorted. “You mean louder? Cockier?”

“I was trying to be polite.”

“Well, I like that you’re not,” she said, then added, “But don’t get too comfortable. LSU crowds’ll try to pull the loud out of you whether you like it or not.”

Joe grinned, but before he could reply, Y/N touched his elbow gently. “Come with me for a second?”

He didn’t hesitate. As he followed her down the steps into the yard, Leilani and Justin faded into the background, their laughter blending with the music and the hum of conversation. Joe didn’t know where they were going—maybe just a quieter corner, maybe nowhere in particular—but he didn’t care.

He was exactly where he wanted to be.

As the night wore on, the tempo of the party changed—not slowing, exactly, but stretching into something looser, warmer, less frantic. The initial pulse of arrivals and introductions had mellowed into something that felt lived-in. Familiar. Like the house itself had exhaled.

Inside, the music evolved from hard-hitting trap anthems to early 2000s throwbacks—Usher, Nelly, Ashanti—songs that turned the living room into a makeshift time machine. Suddenly, people who barely knew each other were belting lyrics in unison, jumping into spontaneous dance circles and choreographed handshakes that only made sense in the moment.

On the porch, the air was humid but breathable. Red plastic cups traded hands like currency. Conversations drifted between classes and professors, hookups and breakups, bad grades and worse decisions. Stories were swapped over the clink of ice in melting coolers, and somewhere someone lit a joint that made its way through a laughing group seated on the porch swing.

Joe hadn’t expected to still be here.

What had started as cautious small talk and tentative sips of beer had turned into something he hadn’t anticipated: fun. Real fun. The kind that didn’t feel like networking or obligation or fitting into some preassigned box. It wasn’t about being the quarterback. He was just Joe. Just a guy trying to figure it out.

And tonight, that felt like enough.

Ja’Marr had shoved a second beer into his hand somewhere around ten, clapping him on the back like a proud older brother. “That’s it, man. Just breathe. The rest will figure itself out.”

Then came the shots—three of them, to be exact. Justin, with that disarming grin, had somehow convinced him it was tradition. “It’s your baptism,” he’d said, lining up cups on the kitchen counter. “You don’t officially go here until you’ve taken a questionably mixed shot from the frat kitchen.”

After the third one, the tension in Joe’s shoulders faded. He laughed more than he had in weeks—not polite, don’t-look-weird laughter, but the real kind. The kind that snuck up on him, that cracked his face open in ways that made strangers want to talk to him.

And they did.

A girl from his stats class introduced herself, reminding him they had a quiz next week and promising to send her notes. An upperclassman on the swim team gave him a fist bump and told him he had “a freakin’ cannon” for an arm. A guy in cargo shorts swore he’d seen Joe throw a 60-yard pass in practice and immediately challenged him to a beer pong duel.

Still, even in the blur of faces and voices, his attention kept drifting back to her.

Y/N.

She didn’t stay in one place long, yet somehow, wherever she was, the room felt anchored. Joe spotted her in bursts, like glimpses of something just out of reach. Laughing with Leilani by the back stairs. Dancing near the kitchen, arms raised, spinning beneath a string of lights as if gravity had momentarily forgotten her. She leaned in close to hear someone over the music, nodded thoughtfully, then laughed again—big and real and utterly unselfconscious.

She wasn’t trying to draw attention. She just... had it.

And somehow, without ever meaning to, he found himself inching toward her orbit.

Their paths crossed again sometime after midnight—near the makeshift bar, where she was casually refilling her drink, her silhouette outlined by the dim yellow light above the sink. She looked up and spotted him before he could even decide what he was going to say.

Her face lit up.

“Well, well,” she said, raising her cup slightly. “You made it through a LSU party. Color me impressed.”

Joe grinned, leaning his elbow on the counter beside her. “Didn’t think I had it in me, did you?”

“Honestly?” She gave him a look. “You were standing by the door like you were planning an evacuation. I assumed you’d be gone before the second verse of the first song.”

He chuckled. “I had every exit route mapped out.”

“Figures,” she said, sipping her drink. “Quarterbacks and their obsession with escape routes.”

He shrugged, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re not wrong.”

She leaned against the counter next to him, not close enough to touch, but close enough to notice the way his shoulders had relaxed. “And now?”

He glanced around—at the clusters of students trading inside jokes and drunken stories, the flicker of lights on solo cups, the guy asleep on the couch with “Go Tigers” written in sharpie on his forehead—and then back at her.

“Still not totally my scene,” he admitted. “But I’m glad I stayed.”

Y/N’s expression shifted, softened. “Good. You should be here. I mean it.”

There was something in her tone—earnest, steady—that caught him off guard.

“This place can feel like too much at first,” she went on, more quietly now. “Like it’s already moving, and you’re chasing it. But it slows down when you find your people.”

He looked at her. Really looked at her.

“Yeah,” he said after a pause. “Starting to see that.”

Their eyes held—not in a dramatic, movie-scene way, but in that still, rare kind of moment where something subtle but undeniable passes between two people. Recognition. Curiosity. Possibility.

Before he could say more, someone across the room called her name.

She gave him an apologetic smile and a quick wink. “Duty calls. Don’t be a stranger, Ohio.”

Then she turned and slipped back into the noise and the crowd, and he was left standing there—cup in hand, heart just a little too fast, brain a beat behind.

He stayed a while longer—just long enough for the music to soften, for the crowd to thin, for the night to wind down. Eventually, he found Ja’Marr outside on the porch, arm slung lazily around the railing, deep in conversation with a defensive lineman. Justin and Leilani were seated on the front steps, locked in one of those quiet, familiar conversations couples have when the world starts to fade.

Joe said his goodbyes and slipped away.

The walk back to his dorm was quiet. The air had cooled a little, heavy with Southern humidity but calm. LSU’s oak trees loomed above him, their branches catching the streetlight like lace. Campus was almost still, the chaos of the night tucked away behind closed doors and glowing windows.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and walked slowly, not in a hurry for the night to end.

Y/N’s voice echoed in his mind. Her laugh. The way her gaze didn’t flinch.

There had been something between them. Not a big moment. Not a movie kiss. Just a spark. But it was the kind of spark that made you think about someone long after they were gone from view. The kind that lingered.

He didn’t know her. Not really. Not yet. But he wanted to.

And as he climbed the stairs to his building and slipped quietly into his room, he had the strangest thought:

Maybe he’d remember this night.

Not because it was wild or legendary or something he'd brag about in the locker room.

But because it was the beginning of something.

And even if he didn’t know where it was going yet, he knew one thing with sudden clarity—

He wanted to see her again.

Joe couldn’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—he’d been meant to walk into that party tonight. To be nudged by Ja’Marr. To follow Justin through that crowd. To look up at the exact moment Y/N had turned and smiled.

He didn’t know how deep the connection really went.

Not yet.

But something had started.

Something he couldn’t unfeel.

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As the fall semester gained momentum, LSU began to breathe with a different kind of rhythm—fast, heavy, almost electric. The days blurred together under a sky that hadn’t yet surrendered to autumn, the Louisiana heat still clinging to every inch of pavement and skin. The air was thick with humidity and potential, the scent of fresh-cut grass wafting from the practice fields, laced with the metallic tang of sweat and something else: expectation.

Football season wasn’t a season here. It was a state of being.

Everywhere Joe went, the presence of the game echoed. The golden tiger eyes painted across Death Valley seemed to follow him from every angle. Purple and gold flooded campus like it was stitched into the DNA of the place. Students wore it like war paint—on shirts, hoodies, hats, socks. Conversations in lecture halls, dining halls, even bathroom lines looped back to game stats, power rankings, and speculation about depth charts. Joe was used to pressure. But this? This was something else.

This was religion.

Practices were long, grueling, and unforgiving. Meetings stretched into the kind of evenings where the only light came from the glowing screens of tablets and the whiteboards they scribbled across like madmen. Every rep was dissected. Every misstep echoed louder here. He was QB2, but the microscope didn’t care. He was expected to absorb it all—offense, reads, tempo—until it lived in his bones.

And yet… somewhere in the noise and sweat and repetition, something else had started threading its way in. Quietly at first. A flicker. Then a pulse.

Y/N.

She was uninvited in his thoughts—but never unwelcome. She showed up at the strangest moments: between sprints, during film, even mid-rep, like her voice had tucked itself into his helmet. He’d see her laugh in his head and almost miss a read. Hear her teasing lilt and forget he was supposed to be focused on linebacker shifts. It was irritating. Then it was amusing. Then it was just true.

He’d only met her at that first party, but the impression had lingered like static.

And then came the group chat.

Originally, it had been just the trio: Joe, Ja’Marr, and Justin—passing notes in digital form. Jokes, memes, playbook complaints, the usual team banter. But after LSU’s first home win, everything changed.

Ja’Marr had dropped a message out of nowhere:

Ja’Marr: Leilani says we need more personality in here. Adding the girls.

Justin: Bet. Just don’t let them roast us too hard.

Joe: Wait, who’s “the girls”?

Five seconds later, two new names lit up.

Y/N👹 has entered the chat. Leilani💋 has entered the chat.

The dynamic shifted immediately.

What had been strictly football turned into barely contained chaos. The conversation cracked wide open. One minute they were breaking down a busted screen pass; the next, they were arguing about who had the best fries in Baton Rouge. Leilani brought sass. Y/N brought mischief. The guys never stood a chance.

Group Text:

Ja’Marr🤡: Joe, you were lowkey sleeping in film today.

Justin😎: You good, man? You look like a grandpa on that bench.

Joe👴🏻: I’m alive. Just tired. Thinking about things.

Y/N👹: Thinking about me, huh? 👀

Joe👴🏻: I mean... I did see you at the game last night.

Leilani💋: Oop. 😏 Not even subtle anymore.

Y/N👹: You’ve been at every volleyball game this week, sir.

Joe👴🏻: Just broadening my athletic horizons. Supporting women’s sports.

Ja’Marr🤡: That’s what we’re calling it now?

Justin😎: Dude’s got front row tickets and still pretending it’s about “support.”

Joe👴🏻: Y’all need to chill.

Y/N👹: It’s fine. I get it. I am the main attraction. But hey—thanks for coming. Means more than you probably think.

Joe read that last line twice. Maybe three times. Then, after a long beat, he smiled.

The group chat became a constant presence. The kind of thread you check first when you wake up and last before bed. It lived in their pockets and in the laughter that slipped out at practice when someone referenced a particularly savage meme. Joe found himself looking forward to her replies. Not just because they were funny, but because they always carried a kind of warmth. A familiarity.

And maybe… a little something else.

He started going to more volleyball games. At first, it was under the guise of team bonding. Then it was because Ja’Marr and Justin were already going. Eventually, he stopped pretending.

He was there for her.

She knew it. So did everyone else. But no one said it out loud.

They started hanging out more outside of practice and parties. Coffee before early classes. Cane’s runs after late lifts. Study sessions that never involved much studying. Some nights, the group met up just to decompress. Others, it was just the two of them walking campus, talking about anything but football or school.

He learned she was in Business Management that she’d grown up in Atlanta and still made gumbo better than anyone she knew. She had a soft spot for 90s R&B and a weird talent for remembering the birthdays of every starter on the LSU basketball team. She could be sarcastic one second and quietly thoughtful the next.

With her, Joe never felt like he had to be on. Or perfect. Or even impressive.

He just had to be.

One evening, after a grueling practice, Joe sat alone on the edge of the bleachers overlooking the quiet field. The sun was sinking low, bleeding orange across the sky, the air sticky and still. His legs ached. His back was tight. He hadn’t moved in ten minutes.

Then his phone buzzed in the grass beside him.

Y/N👹: You alive or nah? Haven’t heard from you since this morning.

He smiled, fingers already moving.

Joe👴🏻: Barely. Practice was murder. Legs feel like Jell-O.

Y/N👹: Aww. Poor baby. Want me to bring you Gatorade or nah?

Joe👴🏻: If you do, I’ll owe you for life.

Y/N👹: Noted. I will be cashing that in next week when I need a ride to anatomy.

He laughed quietly, typing slower this time.

Joe👴🏻: Thanks for checking in. Seriously.

Y/N👹: Of course. Gotta keep my favorite QB2 breathing🚑

He locked his phone, staring out at the empty field as the sun dipped below the tree line. Something softened in him. Something deeper than muscle or fatigue. He didn’t quite know what to call it yet.

But he knew the shape of it.

Y/N wasn’t a crush anymore. Not really. She’d become a part of his routine. The best part. Her name on his screen brought a kind of calm he couldn’t explain. Her laughter lived somewhere behind his ribs now.

Football still demanded everything. But lately, she was the reason it didn’t feel like too much.

And as the lights on campus flickered to life one by one, he found himself wondering what might happen if he leaned in. Really leaned in.

Because she wasn’t just a distraction anymore.

She was becoming something he wanted.

Maybe even something he needed.

And for the first time since arriving in Baton Rouge, Joe Burrow wasn’t just chasing a dream on the field.

He was chasing something off of it, too.

And her name was Y/N.

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The late afternoon sun was beginning its slow descent, dipping low behind the sprawling oaks that lined LSU’s campus, their branches casting long, dappled shadows across the walkway. The air remained thick with the stubborn Southern humidity, the kind that clung to your skin like a second layer, even as a gentle breeze tried to cut through. The faint scent of freshly cut grass blended with the unmistakable tang of spilled beer and popcorn, a signature perfume of game day.

Joe, Ja’Marr, and Justin wove through the steadily growing crowd, a vibrant sea of purple and gold. Students, alumni, and families moved eagerly toward the LSU Volleyball Complex, their voices rising in excited chatter, the hum of anticipation almost palpable.

“I swear, man, the energy here is on another level,” Ja’Marr said, bumping shoulders with Joe. “You’re gonna love it once you get in the rhythm of the game. Volleyball fans? They bring the heat.”

Justin was already scrolling through his phone, eyes lighting up as he checked the lineup. “Especially when Y/N’s on the court. She’s the captain for a reason—absolute beast. The team wouldn’t be the same without her.”

Joe chuckled, trying to mask the familiar flutter in his chest. Y/N. He’d come tonight to support her, but the feelings it stirred inside him were more complicated than simple friendship or casual interest. There was a magnetic pull he couldn’t quite explain.

As they stepped inside the gym, the atmosphere hit him immediately. The LSU Volleyball Complex was alive with energy. The polished hardwood court gleamed under the bright, unyielding overhead lights, purple and gold banners hanging proudly from the rafters, reminders of seasons past and championships won. The stands were packed with students waving foam fingers and shouting chants, parents leaning forward eagerly in their seats, and die-hard volleyball fans carefully tracking every play.

From the corner of the gym, the rhythmic thwack of volleyballs being passed and served echoed like a heartbeat, punctuated by the sharp whistle of the referee. The players were finishing their warm-ups—an intricate ballet of movement and precision.

Ja’Marr led the way, weaving through the crowd toward seats just a few rows from the court, their vantage point close enough to hear the sharp taps of feet pivoting and the quick breaths of athletes focused on the task ahead.

Joe’s eyes immediately found Y/N. She moved across the court with a lithe, effortless grace that was mesmerizing. As the team’s captain and libero, she was a whirlwind of energy and control, directing her teammates with a sharp voice that cut through the noise.

She wore her number 12 jersey like armor, the bright purple fabric clinging to her athletic frame. Her ponytail swung in time with her movements, eyes sharp and unyielding as she sprinted across the court. She shouted commands, signaling her teammates to shift positions or prepare for a play.

“Look at her,” Justin said, nodding toward Y/N with obvious admiration. “Libero’s gotta be lightning fast—digging, diving, setting up plays. She’s everywhere. And as captain, she carries the team on her back.”

Joe watched as Y/N dropped low, knees bent and hands outstretched, poised to dig an incoming serve. The ball came hurtling toward her—a fast, spinning serve from the opposing team—and with a quick, fluid motion, she slid to scoop it just before it hit the floor, sending it back into play.

Her teammates responded instantly, feeding off her intensity like electricity sparking through the court.

The coach blew the whistle sharply, signaling the end of warm-ups and the beginning of the match proper. The crowd hushed, anticipation thick in the air.

Joe felt the thrill of it—the sudden quiet, the expectancy, the way the energy seemed to pulse through every person in the stands and every muscle on the court.

As the opening whistle blew, Y/N’s voice rang out clearly, directing her team with confident authority. Joe found himself leaning forward in his seat, caught up in the surge of adrenaline and the rush of seeing her in her element—commanding, fierce, unstoppable.

The first set exploded into motion with a sudden, thunderous crack—LSU’s outside hitter launched a booming serve that sailed past Auburn’s defense, cutting clean through the air like a cannonball. The ball hit the floor just inside the line, an ace that sent the crowd into an immediate frenzy. The stands erupted, a wave of cheers and whistles crashing through the gym, shaking the rafters.

Joe found himself caught up in the surge of adrenaline, clapping along instinctively, his heart pounding in time with the roaring crowd. The energy was electric—every eye locked on the court, every voice hoarse from cheering.

The game unfolded in rapid-fire bursts: lightning-fast spikes that seemed to defy gravity, precise sets that threaded the needle between blockers, and near-impossible digs that made the stands gasp in disbelief. The ball danced back and forth, a blur of motion and sound that pulled Joe deeper into the rhythm of the match.

Y/N’s role was unmistakable. As the libero—the defensive anchor of the team—she zipped around the back row with a kind of feline grace, her movements fluid and urgent. She was the last line of defense, the one who would throw herself headlong to keep the ball from hitting the floor. Her hands skimmed mere inches above the polished wood as she dove, slid, and lunged, each save a testament to hours of relentless practice.

When Auburn’s star hitter—tall, powerful, and merciless—unleashed a fierce cross-court spike, the ball came screaming toward Y/N like a bullet. In an instant, she launched herself sideways, twisting her body midair, and barely caught the ball with the tips of her fingers. It bounced just over the net, saved by what looked like a miracle.

The crowd exploded again—this time even louder, as if they knew they’d just witnessed something extraordinary. Y/N’s teammates converged around her, their faces alight with shared triumph, the energy crackling between them like live wire.

“Did you see that?!” Ja’Marr shouted, practically on his feet, voice booming over the noise. “That’s heart right there. That’s why she’s the best in the league.”

Joe nodded, a slow smile tugging at his lips. For a brief, golden moment, the relentless pressure of his own world—the endless reps, the mountain of playbooks, the suffocating expectations—felt miles away. Here, in this charged atmosphere, watching Y/N lead her team with fire and grace, Joe felt something shift inside him.

Justin leaned over, grinning. “Man, I don’t even understand half of what’s happening on that court, but it’s wild to watch.”

Joe laughed softly. “Yeah, it’s like they’re speaking some kind of secret language.”

Ja’Marr added, “It’s all about timing and trust. They’ve gotta read each other’s moves like second nature. Y/N’s the glue—the one who keeps the defense tight.”

The ball zipped across the net again, the volley resuming with renewed intensity. Joe’s eyes stayed glued to Y/N, who was already sprinting toward the next play, calling out instructions, rallying her teammates with a fierce determination that made it clear she carried this team on her shoulders.

As the first set wore on, the score remained tight, each point hard-fought and met with thunderous applause. Joe felt the fire in his chest grow, a mixture of pride, admiration, and something quieter—a connection he couldn’t quite name.

When LSU finally won the set with a flawless spike from their middle hitter, the gym erupted in cheers, the crowd rising to its feet. Joe found himself whooping alongside Ja’Marr and Justin, swept up in the victorious roar.

As the teams reset for the second set, Joe caught Y/N’s eye across the court. She gave him a quick, sharp smile—a silent acknowledgment that seemed to say, You’re part of this tonight, too.

And for the first time since arriving at LSU, Joe felt like maybe he belonged.

As the game intensified, the players battled point for point, the momentum swinging like a pendulum. Then, suddenly, the referee’s sharp whistle cut through the din, signaling a timeout. The crowd’s energy dipped into a low murmur, and the players rushed to their respective benches, gulping down water and huddling close to coaches.

Joe leaned back in his seat, wiping sweat from his brow. The steady pounding of his heart matched the rhythm of the game, and for the first time, the intensity of volleyball’s pace hit him full force.

Turning to Justin, who was already replaying the last rally in his mind, Joe admitted, “I never really understood how intense volleyball was until now.”

Justin chuckled, elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward, lowering his voice so only Joe could hear over the crowd’s buzz. “It’s like chess and football rolled into one. You’ve gotta read the hitters, anticipate every move, and cover so much ground. One split-second lapse, and the other team snatches the point.”

Ja’Marr, eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, nodded and added, “Plus the vibe in here? Man, it’s raw, emotional. You don’t just play for points—you play for pride. You can feel every point like it’s do-or-die.”

Joe let out a breath, soaking in the weight behind his friends’ words. The gym was charged, alive with tension and hope. His gaze drifted back toward the court just in time to catch Y/N crouched beside her setter, whispering fiercely, hands animated as she outlined strategy. Her face glowed under the bright overhead lights, sweat glistening on her forehead, eyes sharp and focused.

Their eyes met again—just for a fleeting second—but it was enough. Something passed between them in that glance: a spark, a current, the unspoken acknowledgment of shared understanding amid the chaos of the game. Joe’s chest tightened, heart skipping a beat.

He swallowed, trying to steady himself before Ja’Marr nudged him, breaking the spell.

“Bro, you good? You spacing out or what?” Ja’Marr joked, grinning wide.

Joe laughed softly, shaking his head. “Yeah, just caught in the moment, I guess.”

Justin smirked. “You’re definitely not spacing out, you’re spacing in — fully locked on Y/N and the game.”

Joe rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the grin creeping across his face.

The timeout ended with a sharp whistle, and the players snapped back into formation. The crowd surged to its feet, a collective breath held as the game resumed with renewed ferocity.

Joe settled back into his seat, eyes glued to the court where Y/N moved with the commanding energy of a captain—every step purposeful, every call crisp. The ball flew in a blur, and with each rally, Joe felt himself drawn deeper into this world—an intricate dance of power, precision, and heart.

The game wasn’t just about points anymore. It was about connection. About finding your place in the chaos and holding on tight.

And right now, Joe knew he was exactly where he needed to be.

The second set began with a sudden shift in momentum. Auburn, sensing an opportunity, surged ahead aggressively, hammering the ball with precision and power that immediately put LSU on the back foot. The crowd’s roar dimmed slightly as tension settled over the gym like a thick fog. Joe felt it too—a tightening in his chest as Auburn racked up point after point, their spikes and serves relentless.

LSU’s Tigers retreated into defense, their bodies coiled, eyes sharp. The polished court became a battleground of split-second reactions, furious scrambles, and desperate saves. Every rally stretched taut, the weight of the moment pressing down on each player’s shoulders.

And there, in the eye of the storm, was Y/N—moving like a force of nature.

Joe watched as she zipped across the court with catlike reflexes, muscles coiled and ready to spring. The ball came at her from all directions, a blur of white and motion, but she never faltered. She slid low to scoop up a vicious cross-court spike, sending the ball skimming just over the net with textbook precision. The crowd erupted in cheers, a fresh burst of energy flowing through the stands.

Ja’Marr leaned forward beside Joe, voice thick with admiration. “Man, look at her go. That’s what I’m talking about—heart, hustle, everything.”

Justin nodded, eyes locked on Y/N’s every move. “She’s a wall back there. Keeps this whole defense standing when things get crazy.”

Y/N’s voice rang out over the noise, sharp and clear, slicing through the tension. “Watch the seam! Setter, you ready? I got the line!” She called, her commands steady and confident, a beacon for her teammates amid the chaos.

Joe caught her fierce grin after one particularly daring dive. Her teammates caught the spark and fed off it—shouting encouragement, locking eyes, pushing harder. The atmosphere crackled like electricity.

On the sidelines, the LSU coach paced, shouting instructions, fists clenched tight. The players responded, feeding on Y/N’s energy and rallying their own resolve. Each point was a battle, fought with grit and determination.

Joe felt a thrill building inside him—not just for the game, but for her. The way she owned the court, leading with every fiber of her being. It was captivating.

During a brief lull, Justin turned to Joe with a grin. “This is the kind of fight that changes games. You ever feel like your whole body’s buzzing?”

Joe smiled, nodding. “Yeah. And seeing Y/N out there? Makes it even better.”

Ja’Marr added, “Captain material right there. Not just playing—leading.”

The second set stretched on, Auburn’s early lead narrowing as LSU clawed back point by point. Sweat dripped down Joe’s forehead as he stayed glued to the action, caught between admiration for Y/N’s tenacity and the pulse of competition raging all around.

Every save she made was a reminder of the stakes, every call she barked a signal that she wasn’t just playing—she was commanding.

The crowd rose to their feet with a collective shout as LSU finally pushed ahead, the momentum swinging back in their favor.

Joe’s heart thundered in his chest.

This wasn’t just a game.

It was a test of will.

And Y/N was leading the charge.

By the time the third set rolled around, the atmosphere inside the LSU Volleyball Complex had shifted into something almost electric—charged with the kind of tension that knotted every muscle and quickened every heartbeat. The scoreline mirrored the intensity: back and forth, volley after volley, neither team willing to give an inch. Each rally seemed to stretch longer than the last, the players battling not just for points but for pride, for momentum, for the chance to claim victory.

The crowd was fully awake now. Students waved purple and gold pom-poms like a sea of wildfire, voices rising in a crescendo of cheers, whistles, and chants. The unmistakable scent of sweat mixed with the faint aroma of popcorn and hot dogs sold at the concessions. Somewhere near the entrance, a brass band erupted into a raucous fight song, underscoring the drama unfolding on the court.

Joe found himself swept up in it all, shouting with a mix of surprise and passion. “Come on, Tigers!” His voice cracked but carried, joining Ja’Marr and Justin in a chorus of encouragement that filled the stands.

Justin, eyes glued to the court, elbowed Joe playfully. “Never thought I’d see you get this into volleyball.”

Joe grinned, the competitive fire in him igniting. “Hey, it’s a game of inches—just like football. You start feeling the momentum, you get hooked.”

At that moment, the ball rocketed over the net with brutal force—a spike from Auburn’s powerhouse hitter that seemed destined to end the rally. But then, like a flash of lightning, Y/N exploded into action. She slid low and fast across the gleaming floor, her fingertips barely grazing the ball as she kept it alive, a move so instinctual it seemed almost effortless.

The gym erupted.

“Did you see that?!” Ja’Marr practically shouted, leaping to his feet. “That’s not just skill. That’s pure heart.”

Y/N barely paused, twisting mid-slide to whip the ball to her setter with pinpoint accuracy. The Tigers quickly orchestrated a counterattack, the ball arcing through the air to an outside hitter who thundered it down for a clean kill.

The crowd exploded again, the momentum shifting palpably in LSU’s favor.

Joe’s eyes never left Y/N. His breath caught in his throat as he watched her wipe a sheen of sweat from her brow, already moving back into position, calling out to teammates with steady, confident authority.

It was more than just a game to her—it was a battle, a dance, a fierce contest of wills.

For the first time since arriving in Baton Rouge, Joe felt something inside him shift.

He wasn’t just watching a teammate play volleyball.

He was witnessing something extraordinary.

The grit etched into Y/N’s jawline, the relentless sweat dripping down her arms, the electric connection she fostered with every teammate on that court—it all spoke to a world that was raw, alive, and demanding everything.

And as he sat there, surrounded by the roaring crowd and the quicksilver pace of the game, Joe realized he wanted in.

Not just on the field, but in this world.

In this moment.

In this fierce, beautiful chaos.

He clenched his fists, adrenaline surging through his veins.

This wasn’t just support anymore.

This was belonging.

When the final whistle blew, the gym exploded in a wave of sound—shouts, claps, stomping feet, and high-fives ricocheted off the walls like thunder. LSU had clinched a hard-fought 3-2 victory over Auburn, the kind of win that felt earned through grit and heart. The scoreboard glowed triumphantly overhead, casting a golden light on the polished court as the players caught their breath, faces flushed with effort and joy.

Y/N’s teammates surged toward her, lifting her briefly onto their shoulders amid cheers and laughter. Her eyes sparkled with a fierce, radiant glow—the kind of light born from the culmination of hours of sweat, focus, and unyielding determination. Her ponytail bounced as she grinned, catching her breath, basking in the moment with the poise of a true leader.

From across the court, Joe watched, heart pounding with something close to awe. And then, catching sight of him among the throng of students and fans, Y/N’s eyes lit up. With practiced ease, she weaved through the crowd, her strides purposeful and quick, a bright smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

She dropped her bag at Joe’s feet with a soft thud and looked up at him, that same triumphant smile still blooming. “You actually stayed for the whole match,” she teased, a playful glint in her eyes.

Joe shrugged, trying to keep his grin casual but failing spectacularly. “Yeah. Justin’s right—it’s way more exciting up close. I get it now.”

She laughed, the sound warm and familiar, like a melody he hadn’t realized he’d been craving. “Glad you came. You’re welcome at every game, you know.”

Ja’Marr stepped in, clapping Joe on the back with a satisfied grin. “See? Told you you’d get hooked. You might end up trading your helmet for kneepads next.”

Justin smirked, nudging Joe’s shoulder. “Next thing you know, you’ll be spiking balls instead of throwing passes.”

Joe laughed, the tension and weight of the day finally lifting from his shoulders like a warm breeze. Watching Y/N play had been more than just spectating a game—it was stepping into a world that felt raw and real in a way football sometimes didn’t. The energy, the teamwork, the unspoken trust—it resonated with something deep inside him.

For a moment, he let himself imagine what it might be like to belong there too—not just on the sidelines, but truly a part of the rhythm and pulse of it all.

Y/N caught his gaze, her smile softening just a bit. “Hey, don’t let it go to your head, Ohio.”

Joe’s grin widened, the spark of something new flickering steady in his chest. “No promises.”

As they stepped out into the humid evening, the sounds of the crowd slowly fading behind them, Joe realized this night was more than just a win for LSU Volleyball. It was a glimpse of a different kind of victory—one that wasn’t measured in touchdowns or tackles, but in connection, in moments shared, in the quiet beginnings of something unexpected.

And maybe, just maybe, it was the start of a whole new chapter.

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Every time Joe found himself at a volleyball game now, it wasn’t just about the sport anymore. Not really. It had started out as a simple thing—an easy way to fill the long, quiet hours of the evening and to be there for his friends. Something low-key, casual. A way to show up without any real expectations. But somewhere along the way, it changed.

He realized the shift the first time he caught himself watching the game with more intensity than he'd ever intended. It wasn’t because he suddenly became a volleyball fanatic—far from it. The spike counts, the rotations, the foot faults—they still blurred together like white noise most of the time. No, the reason his eyes were glued to the court was far more specific.

She was on the court.

Y/N.

Joe could hardly put into words what it was about her. Maybe it was the way she moved—graceful, precise, like she was part dancer, part athlete. Every motion deliberate but never rushed, every step calculated but effortlessly fluid. It reminded him of the moment they first met at the mixer weeks ago, that sudden jolt of recognition he hadn’t expected. Y/N had that kind of presence—one that caught you off guard.

He noticed how sharp the snap of her serve was, how her teammates responded immediately to the commands she called out, her voice steady and commanding without ever being overbearing. Y/N wasn’t just a player out there. She owned the game, carried it with her in every swing, every dive, every jump.

And then came the moments after the final whistle, when the scoreboard lit up with their win. She’d flash that smile—one side tilted up, a little breathless, a little wild, and somehow utterly genuine. She’d tuck damp strands of hair behind her ears, a small, almost shy gesture that hit Joe every single time like clockwork. It was the kind of thing that made his heart skip without him even realizing it.

At night, lying in bed, Joe found himself opening tabs on his phone, Googling volleyball rules. Just enough to understand the basics—rotations, scoring, what made a double hit illegal. Not because he was obsessed with the game itself, but because he didn’t want to seem clueless when she started talking about it. He wanted to be able to keep up, to know her world even if she didn’t realize yet how much of his was starting to revolve around her.

His phone buzzed one afternoon with the group chat lighting up.

Y/N👹: Had fun last night. Even though Joe was probably too tired to actually talk to me.

Joe👴🏻: I was not tired.

Leilani💋: Lol, Joe’s just a little shy.

Ja’Marr🤡: Shy? Nah, Joe doesn’t do shy.

Joe👴🏻: I’m just... focusing on the game.

Justin😎: Right, right. “Focusing.”

Y/N👹: Sure you were. But, I mean, we can always hang out more. The four of us, after the next game?

Joe stared at her message for longer than he’d care to admit. It was casual, easy, like throwing a pebble into a pond to see if the ripples might spread. But for Joe, the ripples crashed hard inside his chest. He read it twice. Maybe three times. His fingers hovered over the keyboard before he finally typed.

Joe👴🏻: Sounds good to me.

He hit send before overthinking it any further.

They’d been dancing around something for weeks now—an unspoken current threading through their interactions, subtle but undeniable. It lived in the spaces between their texts, in the stolen glances exchanged across crowded bleachers, and in the way their conversations always seemed to end just a moment too soon, as if neither wanted to be the one to break the fragile silence that stretched between them. A connection was there, quietly pulsing beneath the surface, waiting, but neither had yet dared to cross that invisible line.

It was the kind of tension that didn’t need words to be felt, but words kept getting caught somewhere in their throats—too risky, too fragile to say aloud. Every time Joe thought about texting her first, his fingers hesitated. Every time Y/N caught his eye from across the stands, her smile faltered for just a second before she looked away. It was a game they both played without rules, both hoping for a breakthrough but afraid of what crossing that boundary might change.

As the football season rolled on, it consumed more of Joe’s days than he had expected. From early morning workouts to late-night film sessions, the schedule was brutal. But in the grind, Joe found himself changing. The awkward outsider from Ohio—the guy who had felt like a stranger when he first arrived—was beginning to disappear. The practices that had felt like endurance tests slowly morphed into something familiar, even a little comforting. His muscles remembered the plays, his mind started anticipating the formations before they unfolded.

In the film room, the coach no longer talked at him as if he were an outsider who had no clue what was happening on the field. Instead, Joe found himself joining the conversation, breaking down plays with his teammates, offering insights. He was getting sharper. Faster. More confident. The game wasn’t a foreign language anymore; it was becoming his.

But no matter how locked-in he tried to be, no matter how focused on drills and strategies, there was always that one moment during home games when his mind would drift away. It was after the final whistle, when the crowd started thinning out, the roar of the game dimming into a low murmur.

That’s when his eyes would search the stands, looking for a particular spot.

There she was.

Y/N, sitting high in the student section with Leilani, both wearing the purple and gold colors of the Tigers. Leilani is wearing a jersey with Justin’s name and number on the back, Y/N in a black LSU sweatshirt. Their faces were painted, their energy infectious. They cheered loudly, their voices carrying across the emptying stadium like they’d been there forever, like they belonged.

Joe never could quite explain why seeing her there settled something inside him, but it did. Every time he caught sight of her, a quiet calm would wash over his chest—a sense that no matter what the scoreboard said by the end of the night, he’d already won something far more valuable.

One chilly evening after a particularly intense game, Joe found himself lingering by the sidelines as the last of the fans trickled out. The crisp night air filled his lungs, sharp and refreshing. He wiped the sweat from his brow and started making his way toward the student section, his cleats crunching softly against the concrete steps.

Up in the crowd, Y/N caught his eye and smiled, waving him over. Her face was flushed with excitement, strands of hair sticking to her forehead from the sweat of the game. Next to her, Leilani grinned, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet.

“Hey, Tiger,” Y/N called, her voice clear despite the distance.

Joe smiled back, feeling the tension of the game begin to dissolve. “Hey. You guys came to watch?”

Leilani laughed. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. You’re getting better every week.”

Joe shrugged modestly but felt the heat rise in his cheeks. “Just trying to keep up.”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with something like pride. She stepped down a few steps to meet him halfway, brushing a damp curl out of her face. “You’re doing more than that. You’re owning it. We noticed.”

Joe’s throat went dry for a moment, the noise of the stadium fading into the background. He looked at her and saw something more than just a teammate or a friendly fan—a warmth, a kind of quiet encouragement that made his heart beat a little faster.

“Well,” Joe said, voice low but steady, “maybe I’m finally starting to feel like I belong.”

Y/N’s smile deepened, softening her usually confident demeanor. “You do.”

They stood there for a long beat, neither moving closer but the space between them charged with everything they hadn’t said. Around them, the stadium lights flickered, the night settling in like a comfortable blanket. It was as if time slowed just enough for them to acknowledge the invisible thread weaving them together—tentative, fragile, but undeniable.

Joe cleared his throat. “So, uh, what’s next for you guys? More games?”

Y/N nodded, her eyes still locked on his. “Definitely. And maybe some of those post-game hangs we talked about?”

Joe’s heart jumped. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Leilani chimed in, teasing gently, “See? He’s not so shy after all.”

Joe shot her a playful glare, feeling more alive in that moment than he had in weeks. “I’m just strategic. Focused.”

Y/N laughed, the sound light and easy. “Sure you are.”

They fell into an easy conversation, the noise and chaos of the game fading away completely. For once, Joe didn’t have to think about plays or stats or proving himself. Instead, he just enjoyed being there—right where he was supposed to be.

And somewhere deep down, he knew this was only the beginning.

The group grew closer. More dinners, more late-night drives to get daiquiris, more stolen moments between practices and classes. But still, for all the laughs and inside jokes and almost-there moments, something remained unspoken. A soft line drawn between them.

Joe didn’t know much about Y/N’s life beyond the court, beyond the group texts and game days. She was confident, sure. Comfortable in her own skin. But there was a part of her he hadn’t seen yet, a layer she kept hidden beneath the jokes and teasing.

⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇ ⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇ ⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇

The group grew closer.

It wasn’t overnight. It was slow—organic—the way real connections often are. One week it was post-practice takeout eaten from the back of someone’s car in the stadium parking lot. The next, it was long group texts about nothing and everything, inside jokes forming like constellations only they could recognize.

And then there were the late-night drives—impromptu escapes from the pressures of classes and practices. Joe never thought he’d become a fan of daiquiris, but with Y/N and the others, even something as simple as sipping bright red cocktails under the glow of streetlamps felt like a secret rite, an unspoken celebration of the small moments that made everything feel less overwhelming.

“Remember that time you totally wiped out on the quad?” Leilani teased one night, grinning as she took a sip. “Classic Joe.”

Joe groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m never living that down, huh?”

“Not a chance,” Y/N laughed, elbowing him playfully. Her smile was easy, but there was a flicker in her eyes that made Joe pause—something quieter, almost reluctant.

Saturday daiquiris from that sketchy little drive-thru with the blinking fluorescent sign and the ridiculous flavor names. Tiger’s Blood, Blue Hurricane, Electric Lemonade. Leilani swore by the Strawberry Mango Fusion, but Joe had taken a quiet liking to the Frozen Peach Punch, mostly because Y/N had rolled her eyes and said it was the “most Joe flavor possible.”

“I’m just saying,” she teased one night, sipping through a bright green straw, “it’s giving Golden Retriever energy. You taste like sunshine and optimism.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Joe said with a smirk.

“Oh, it wasn’t,” she shot back, but her eyes were laughing, and her shoulder brushed his for a moment longer than it needed to. That was how it always was with them. Almost.

There were more of those moments lately—quick glances held just a second too long, conversations that felt like they were always on the edge of something deeper, something neither of them quite dared to name.

But for all the closeness—the comfort, the laughter, the ease of being around each other—something remained just out of reach. A line drawn in soft chalk. Not obvious. Not definite. But real.

Joe felt it, even if he didn’t understand it. He cared—more than he meant to. But every time he tried to steer their conversations to something real, something below the surface, he hesitated. He didn’t know how to ask her about the parts of herself she didn’t volunteer. He didn’t want to push too hard and ruin the fragile rhythm they’d found.

Joe realized he didn’t really know much about Y/N beyond the court, beyond the group texts and game days. She was confident, sure—radiantly so. Comfortable in her own skin in a way that made it hard not to admire her. But beneath the jokes, the teasing, the effortless grace she wore like a second skin, there was something else. A layer she kept carefully hidden.

And Y/N?

She wasn’t ready to let him in. Not all the way. Not yet.

Because while she was growing closer to Joe in person—with every smirk, every shared silence, every lingering walk across campus—she was already close to him in another way.

Secretly. Online.

Unbeknownst to Joe, the girl who lingered in his thoughts during long practices and late-night film sessions was the same one he’d been tipping anonymously on a livestream for months. The same one whose voice had become a strange kind of comfort in the quiet hours of the night. He didn’t know it was her. Not yet.

She streamed under a different name—never showed her face. Just her voice, soft but clear, sometimes accompanied by music or quiet commentary on life, school, art, or whatever thoughts crossed her mind in the moment. There was a calm to it, a kind of vulnerability she didn’t share in person. That version of her was raw and reflective, a side no one in her day-to-day life ever really saw.

And Joe?

Joe was just “BurrowedDown32” in the chat—a name chosen out of muscle memory and irony. He’d stumbled onto the stream during a restless night in early fall, one of those evenings where sleep felt like a distant rumor and his mind wouldn’t quiet down. He hadn’t been looking for anything serious—just distraction. Something to pass the time. But then he clicked on a stream with a soft-lit thumbnail and a username he didn’t recognize, and everything shifted.

She didn’t lead with shock value or theatrics. There was something quieter about her—something that felt less like a performance and more like an invitation. Her voice was what held him. Low, calm, a little amused. She joked, she flirted, but there was an ease to her that felt real. Even in front of a camera, surrounded by the trappings of the persona she wore for the screen, she still managed to sound like someone thinking out loud, like someone who wasn’t pretending to be anything she wasn’t.

She was lounging that night—one of her chill streams, as she’d called them—curled up in a pale robe trimmed with faux feathers at the cuffs. It swayed delicately every time she reached for something off-camera, catching the light in soft, deliberate movement.

She wasn’t trying too hard. That’s what caught him.

There was a quiet confidence in her posture, a relaxed elegance in the way she moved. She didn’t fill every silence or lean too heavily into suggestion. She knew the room was hers. And even without showing her face, she held the attention of everyone watching.

Joe wasn’t sure what made him click on her stream that first night—maybe curiosity, maybe boredom—but he stayed. Longer than he meant to.

She was talking when he joined, her voice low and warm, a kind of midnight hush that made him instinctively reach for his earbuds.

“—this is the kind of night where I just want to melt into my sheets and forget the world exists,” she said, laughing softly, her hand brushing a lock of hair back behind her shoulder. “But here I am instead, hanging out with the internet’s finest degenerates. You guys should feel special.”

The chat lit up, as usual—fast, chaotic, thirsty. But she never seemed overwhelmed. She sifted through it with ease, plucking out the comments worth engaging, tossing the rest aside like leaves in the wind.

It was intimate, but not vulnerable. Flirty, but in control. She was playing the game—but on her own terms.

Someone in the chat asked, Do you ever get tired of pretending?

She leaned back in her chair, the robe slipping slightly to expose the curve of her shoulder. Her fingers drummed lightly against her thigh as she read it.

“Hmm. Depends on the day,” she murmured, her voice lighter than the question deserved. “But let’s be real—everyone’s pretending a little bit. I just get better tips for mine.”

The chat blew up with emojis and laughter. She laughed too, but there was a flicker behind it—one Joe couldn’t quite place. She moved on quickly, back to her rhythm, but he couldn’t stop thinking about that single line.

“I mean, if you’re going to sell the fantasy, at least make it feather-trimmed, right?”

Joe exhaled a quiet laugh through his nose, leaning back against his pillows. Something about her delivery—half-joking, half-honest—felt sharper than anything else he’d heard all week. She wasn’t pretending to be deep. She wasn’t giving them her soul. But in her own way, she was saying something true.

So he tipped her five bucks.

BurrowedDown32: “If you’re pretending, you’re scarily good at it.”

She paused when she saw the message. Just a second. Just enough for him to wonder if she’d skip over it like the dozens of others. But then—

“Oh, look at you,” she said, that smile back in her voice. “Someone give this man a sticker. Or a gold star. Or a bigger bank account so he can double that tip.”

The chat erupted again, but her tone softened as she added, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I only pretend on camera. The rest of the time, I’m way more dangerous.”

That line stuck with him.

She moved on after that, back into banter, teasing, light flirtation. But Joe lingered—long after the screen dimmed, long after the stream ended.

She never showed her face. She didn’t have to.

Somehow, through careful angles and crafted presence, she still felt more real than half the people he talked to daily.

What he didn’t know—what he couldn’t know—was that she sat across from him at group dinners. That she passed him energy drinks after practice and wore his hoodie once when the air conditioner in the student lounge was too aggressive. That the voice whispering through his earbuds was the same one laughing next to him in real life.

He stayed.

Not for the show. For her.

Even if he didn’t know yet that her real name was Y/N. Even if he didn’t know that the girl on the screen, the one who haunted his thoughts late at night, was the same one he sat next to during post-practice dinners and walked beside on chilly campus nights.

Their worlds were circling each other—so close, so unknowingly intertwined—but still, just out of sync.

For now.

He didn’t know it was Y/N. And she didn’t know it was Joe.

Not yet.

Because Y/N had built her digital space as a sanctuary—a place where she could be honest without consequence. No eyes, no judgment, just words and sound and silence when she needed it. It was her escape. Her armor. And Joe, unknowingly, had become part of it.

Their two lives—intertwined yet still unaware of the overlap—continued in quiet parallel, slowly spiraling toward a collision neither of them saw coming.

​​Two versions of her. Two versions of him. Circling each other in plain sight.

Still just out of sync.

For now.

In the meantime, life moved forward.

One evening after practice, the group had scattered, leaving just Joe and Y/N behind near the bleachers. The sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across the field. Joe kicked at a pebble, watching it skitter across the dirt.

“So,” he started, hesitating. “What do you do when you’re not killing it on the court or making us look bad in group chats?”

Y/N laughed softly but didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stared out at the empty field, her expression unreadable.

“Honestly?” she said finally. “Sometimes, I just disappear. Not literally—just… mentally.”

Joe looked at her, curiosity pushing past the awkwardness. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, the easy confidence faltering for a heartbeat. “It’s like, people see me as this loud, funny, confident person. And I try to be. But sometimes, it’s exhausting, you know? Keeping up the act. It’s easier to just vanish into my own head for a while.”

Joe nodded slowly, surprised by how natural the conversation felt, like peeling back a layer he hadn’t known was there.

“I didn’t know,” he admitted quietly.

“Not many do,” she said, eyes meeting his for the first time that evening. “It’s easier to keep some things to yourself.”

Joe wanted to say something more, to tell her she didn’t have to carry it all alone. But the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he reached out and bumped her shoulder gently.

“Well, if you ever want to disappear somewhere less lonely,” he said, “I’m around.”

She smiled then, a little softer, a little warmer. “I might just take you up on that.”

As the sky darkened and the stars began to peek out, Joe realized that maybe, just maybe, those unspoken lines were starting to blur—slowly, quietly, but unmistakably.

Practices continued. Group chats buzzed. Midterms came and went. The daiquiri runs got colder as fall deepened, and the hoodies got thicker, but no one suggested stopping. Their friendship was a kind of warmth that helped push back against the season’s chill.

After a group dinner ended with Leilani and Justin claiming they were “tired” and Ja’Marr peeling off early to finish a project, Y/N and Joe found themselves walking alone down a quiet stretch of campus. The sidewalks were damp from a recent rain, the air sharp with the scent of leaves and distant barbecue smoke.

“You ever feel like you’re two different people?” she asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

Joe glanced over at her, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” she said, hands stuffed into her jacket pockets. “Like… there’s the version of you everyone sees. The one who jokes around and shows up to games and texts back in the group chat. And then there’s the one who’s just… tired. Or quiet. Or kind of wondering what the hell you're even doing.”

Joe’s laugh was soft, almost rueful. “Every day.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Sometimes I feel like I’m just playing catch-up. Like everyone else is running and I’m still tying my shoes.”

She let out a breathy laugh, the kind that carried more weight than sound. “Exactly.”

He glanced at her, wondering—Is this it? Is this the opening?

But before he could say anything more, her phone buzzed, and just like that, the moment dissolved. She glanced at the screen and sighed.

“I should go. Early practice tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Joe said, swallowing whatever else he’d meant to say. “Of course.”

But as she walked away, a thought settled heavy in his chest.

He was falling for her. And he didn’t even know how much of her he didn’t know.

JB9 Taglist: @lilfreakjez, @dasia21, @superanastasia1981, @gg-trini, @wickedfun9, @irishmanwhore, @danielle143, @destinyg237

Series Taglist: —

[adumbratrapedme]

Toxic!Kageyama headcanons - controlling

common, we all know how lil bro is at court, y'all can NOT tell me he wont be controlling, i definitely headcanon him like this.

Remember, if you enojed this like, follow, share and make a request.

╭⋅“Constant Micromanagement”: Kageyama would DEF. try to control every aspect of your life. From your schedule to your clothes, to your friends and hobbies. He would tell how to dress, and who to spend time with in order to make him happy and less insecure!  ╭⋅ Excessive Jealousy: Any interaction you had with other people, especially men, would be seen as a threat. He would interrogate you about your conversations, check your phone, and forbid you from going out with your friends without him huh. ╭⋅ Demands for Perfection: Just like on the court, Kageyama would expect nothing less than perfection from you in all aspects of your life.Oh and poor you if you didn't meet his expectations, he would make you feel guilty and blame you for your mistakes. ╭⋅ Isolation: He would try so hard to distance you from your family and friends, arguing that they don't understand you or that they are a bad influence. He would make you feel like he is the only person you can trust. ╭⋅ Use of Guilt: He would make you feel guilty for anything you did wrong or for not meeting his expectations. He would make you believe that you are the reason for his problems. ╭⋅ Subtle Threats: He would give you the impression that if you don't do what he wants, you will lose his love.

The sun was pouring in through the window, illuminating the room where Y/N and Kageyama shared a small apartment. Kageyama was sitting on the bed, flipping through a volleyball playbook, while Y/N was getting ready to go out to meet her friends. 

"Kageyama, can I go out with the girls today? We have plans to go to the mall." 

Kageyama looked up from his book, his expression impassive. "And what exactly are you planning to do? Go shopping? Try on clothes? I don't think it's necessary for you to spend money on things you don't need."

 Y/N sighed. "Kageyama, I just want to spend some time with my friends. I'm not going to do anything bad." 

"I'm sure you're not. But you never know what kind of people you might run into out there. Besides, you should be studying for your exams." 

Y/N felt cornered. She knew that arguing with Kageyama was useless. He always had a reason to justify his control. "But I already studied enough yesterday…"

 "A little more won't hurt. And besides, wouldn't you rather spend time with me? We could watch a movie or do something together." he added, Y/N nodded, although she wasn't convinced. She knew that if she refused, Kageyama would get angry and make her feel guilty. 

Later, while Y/N was tidying her room, she found her phone vibrating under the bed. It was a message from one of her friends. Her heart raced as she unlocked it and read the message. It was an invitation to go out that night. 

Without thinking twice, she deleted it. Kageyama entered the room just then. "What were you doing?" Y/N jumped. "Nothing important."

Kageyama walked over to her and took her phone. He examined it carefully, looking for any evidence that she was planning something behind his back.

 "You have nothing to hide, right?" Y/N shook her head, feeling a wave of sadness and frustration. This was just one example of how Kageyama exerted his control over Y/N. Day after day, she felt smaller and less important.

// i was sort of inactive but im back lol, remember rquests open, i wirte normal and dark fanfiction.

[lushrue]

frozen hearts pt. 9

had to inject a little bit of angst in here, it was a little too happy :) we also get to meet our villains! i'm hoping that my workload will be a bit lighter next semester so that i can update this story more consistently! thanks for hanging in there, comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

cw: shoulder injury, hospital/emergency room,

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9

price caught his breath as he skated to the center of the face-off circle. it was the middle of the second period, his team down by 2. they were all skating their asses off, pushing themselves to the limit of what they could do. simon had never hit harder, kyle and johnny were practically blurs on the ice. nearly every pass was successful, they were staying on their feet, and they’d managed to control the puck well all period. the Shadows were tough, though.

john knew they would be. he’d been preparing for this game all season, watching and rewatching tapes to study their playbook. they had some talented men, but the real weapon was their team captain, graves. he played dirty, unafraid to take a few penalties to rattle his opponents. he was aggressive as a defenseman, willing to lay it all on the line to keep his centers and wingers moving down the ice. his stats were impressive, more game-winning goals than anyone else in the league. still, Specgru had prepared. at least, john thought they had.

he found himself face to face with graves, a wolfish grin on his face as he lowered his stick onto the ice. “wish i could say i was impressed,” graves taunted, staring price down. “don’t run a very tight ship, do you, cap’n?” john growled low in his chest. he wasn’t usually hot-headed on the ice, preferring to stay cool and let the others fight it out when it got too much. something about graves just got under his skin. the snark, the attitude, the cockiness of the young captain grated on his nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “easy to win games when your coach pays off the refs,” price grumbled in reply. the referee shot them both a warning look, hesitating with the puck held in the air.

they stared each other down, gazes hard and set. with so much on the line for both teams, it was impossible to avoid the tension building. a win for Specgru would send them shooting up the leaderboard, guaranteeing them a spot in the playoffs. for the Shadows, it would earn them the top seed in the division, a nearly impossible feat for a team only established a few years ago. finally, the puck hit the ice, and they scrambled for control.

the rubber slid into a Shadow’s waiting stick, everyone skating into Specgru territory. price cursed under his breath, barking orders across the ice to johnny and kyle. “cut ‘im off! johnny’s open!” he called to kyle, who tried and failed to make a steal. as the puck slid closer to Simon, he swung his stick out to try and catch it, but came up short. price found himself shoulder-to-shoulder with graves as they both took up position in the center of Specgru’s zone. “fuckin’ pitiful performance tonight,” graves said, giving price a shove. “pitiful. that’s a big word for you Americans, isn’t it?” price quipped back, skating forward to try and take control again.

graves followed close behind, toeing the line between permissible plays and penalties. he let his stick swing towards price’s skates, but not enough to trip. he shoved and elbowed, but not hard enough to be roughing. it was frustrating price, his temper reaching a boiling point. his heart thundered in his ears, his muscles ached from how hard he was pushing himself. he’d been on the ice for nearly three minutes of play time straight. he could hear laswell shifting lines around on the bench, trying to accommodate. she’d tried calling out to him, cursing at him to “get his ass off the ice,” but he didn’t care. not when he’d put the weight of his team’s victory on his shoulders and his alone.

he tried for another steal and failed, cursing loudly as he let the momentum carry him around the curve of the rink. he glanced up into the stands as he skated by, his eyes finding you. your brows were furrowed, a slight frown on your lips. he hated to see you like that, all nervous looking and upset. he had to win, if only to wipe that frown off your face. as much as he hated to admit it, he’d become quite attached to you. he didn’t like catching feelings. it made him vulnerable, gave him something to lose and someone to disappoint. he wouldn’t disappoint you this time, though.

in the time it took him to shift his focus from you back to the game, he’d gotten himself up against the boards. that was all the opportunity that graves needed to throw his whole weight against price, slamming him up against the plexiglass. the first thing he felt was a blinding pain in his shoulder. it shot across the top of his chest and down his arm, setting his fingers tingling. something felt wrong, but he couldn’t quite place it. not while the pain was so sharp. he yelped, hitting the ice hard as graves skated away. his heartbeat pounded in his ears, the shrill chirp of the whistle muffled by the adrenaline. curling in on himself as he slid along the wall, he fought to get to his knees. he was sure that frown on your lips would be deeper if he didn’t get up. he had to get up.

a glove wrapped around his bicep, helping to pull him to his feet. with his good hand, he reached across himself, holding his arm in place. moving it hurt. moving anything hurt. slowly, a voice permeated the ringing in his ears, breaking through the haze. “john! are you solid?” kyle called, his grip on john’s arm tightening. all he got was a groan in response, price’s chest heaving as his face scrunched up. he finally raised his head, finding you in the stands again. you were on your feet, hands over your mouth in shock. he wanted to tell you he was alright, run his fingers through your soft hair and hold your head to his chest. anything to make that frightened look in your eyes disappear.

kyle helped him over to the bench, leaving him in the hands of the athletic trainer. the countless questions faded to the background as john saw you start moving his way.

sitting in the emergency department with john had to be one of the worst things you had ever done.

you’d always hated hospitals. they smelled sterile, the sting of disinfectant harsh in your nose. it made you think of illness, death, injury. nothing good ever smelled like a hospital. the room you sat in was bright white, fluorescent lights making your eyes ache and head pound. a dislocated shoulder, that’s what the doctor had said. it certainly didn’t look right, john’s arm hanging at an awkward angle at his side. the athletic trainer hadn’t had the equipment to safely push it back into place, so off to the hospital you two had gone.

you sat in the extra chair by john’s bedside, pulling up your group chat with all of the boys. kyle had chased the both of you back to the locker room, making you promise to keep them all updated. honestly, you weren’t sure how any of them were still playing. it seemed like your messages were getting read instantly. john huffed, the sheets on the hospital bed rustling as he shifted. you were on your feet in an instant, phone discarded on the chair behind you. he held up his good hand, shaking his head. “‘m alright,” he said, tongue heavy in his mouth. they’d given him some pretty strong painkillers while he waited for a doctor to free up.

you still hovered by his side, helping him adjust the pillow under his head. pity made your eyes water as he winced. you couldn’t imagine the kind of pain he was in. “i’m sure the doctor’s coming soon,” you said, trying your best to be comforting. you weren’t always the best in a crisis, but you had held your own so far. john nodded, relaxing as much as he could on the stiff mattress. the two of you were silent for a long moment, just listening to each other breathe and relishing in the knowledge that, for now, everything was okay.

“had worse,” john said, breaking the quiet. you looked down at him, taking a seat at the edge of the hospital bed. “yeah?” you prompt, and he nods. “my first rookie game. got a bit overzealous, wanted to prove myself to the recruits in the stands. ended up in a fight with a guy twice my size and got a broken cheekbone for my troubles. not to mention the black eye and crooked nose.” you hiss, shaking your head to rid yourself of the image. your cheek pulsed with imaginary pain and your hand raised to rub it. “worst I’ve ever done is break an ankle,” you replied. john hums, shrugging his good shoulder. “still painful.” you nod, folding your hands in your lap.

your phone buzzed again on the hospital seat, reminding you of what you’d been doing before you got up. the chat was lighting up, asking for updates. you grabbed your phone and smiled down at it before raising it to show john. “the boys are worried about you.” he smiled softly in response, laying his hand on your thigh. an idea sparked in your mind, opening your camera and flipping it to selfie mode. “proof of life,” you said simply, which earned a chuckle from john. he raised his good arm with a thumbs up and you smile, snapping the photo. you lower your phone, thumbs tapping away at the keyboard.

“[image]”

“Still waiting on the doctor, but pain meds are keeping him in good spirits :)”

your phone vibrated again almost instantly, kyle sending a simple thumbs up. he’d been the most nervous of all of them, hands shaking as he passed john off to you. you weren't sure if it was anger or anxiety. maybe a bit of both. none of them seemed particularly at ease. simon was the next to reply. you read his text, an unattractive snort coming from your nose.

“tell him to bring some of those meds home for all of us to enjoy”

you shared the replies with john, reading each one out to him. his cheeks flushed with each one, the reminder of how much his boys cared for him making him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. he knew he was loved, but sometimes it took something like this to remind him just how much.

the final score was 5-3, Specgru taking the win. john’s injury had lit a fire under the whole team. they’d played like they never had before, skating harder and faster and making riskier plays. it all paid off, the team moving up multiple spots in the division ranking from this match alone. kyle hadn’t left the ice without spitting at graves’ skates, icy glares shot his way from each of the men. they all hated playing the Shadows, but now it was personal.

none of them even bothered to shower; it was a miracle they even took off their pads and gear before rushing out of the rink. simon was given the keys, simply for the fact that they wanted to get there faster. simon wasn’t known for being the safest driver, but he was more willing to run some red lights and blow some stop signs to get to his destination a minute sooner. 

the drive to the hospital was silent, all three of them buzzing with tension. kyle was bouncing his leg in the passenger seat, a hand occasionally coming up to rake through his curls. he’d been there when john went down, had seen the pain in his eyes, knew how bad it was. johnny sat in the backseat, picking at the seam of his jeans. even the pop tune playing on the radio wasn’t enough to raise his spirits. simon’s knuckles were white around the steering wheel, mind fixed on getting to john as soon as possible. he’d seen john injured before, but it always felt worse when he couldn’t be there.

you nearly jumped out of your skin when johnny busted in the room, glancing up from the feed you’d been scrolling on your phone. you hadn’t expected them to be there so soon. john was laying in the hospital bed, his injured arm in a sling and eyes peacefully shut. everyone’s expressions tightened at the sight, simon moving on instinct to john’s side. kyle and johnny bore holes into you with their gaze, silently demanding an update. “he’s fine,” you said, raising your hands like you were placating an aggressive animal. “just sleeping. they gave him some pretty strong pain meds after they set his shoulder.”

everyone seemed to relax, a collective sigh easing the tension in the room. simon pulled a chair up to john’s bedside, taking his hand and stroking his thumb over his knuckles. they’d told you before that simon and john had been the original two, but you’d never really gotten to see their devotion to each other. it was heartwarming to see the usually stoic simon so warm and caring. johnny came over and gave you a hug, his chin resting on your shoulder. you didn’t hesitate to hug him back, giving him the comfort he no doubt craved. you thought you might have even felt his breath hitch in an aborted sob. “thanks for takin’ care of our cap’n,” he said softly, pulling back to press a kiss to your cheek. you feel your face heat up, a soft smile curving your lips. “anything for him,” you reply. “anything for all of you.”

the boys quickly settled in the hospital room, pulling in chairs and situating themselves with an unobstructed view of john. you smiled softly, wondering to yourself if john knew just how much he was loved. it certainly wasn’t a common thing to have your hospital room full for just a dislocated shoulder. before them, you weren’t sure that anyone besides your mother would’ve come to stand watch at your bedside. 

“how was the game?” you asked, trying to break the worried silence that had fallen over the room. kyle spoke up, seemingly as desperate for a distraction as you were. “we won it,” he said simply, his eyes still trained on john. “made sure Graves spent more time in the penalty box than he did on the ice.” johnny scoffed, tapping a bruise on his cheek. “one of the Shadows got a couple hits off on me, but he got worse than he gave.” you smiled, shaking your head at johnny. with him, you didn’t doubt it. johnny was particularly ruthless in a tussle, both with his tongue and his fists.

“what is the deal with those Shadow guys?” you leaned forward on your knees, your back starting to ache from the uncomfortable chair. simon scoffed, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “bastards, tha’s wha’ they are,” he said bitterly, his jaw tight under the surgical mask he wore. johnny reached over, laying a hand on simon’s bicep to steady him. the Shadows were a sore spot for them, especially after the events of today’s game. “they’re our rivals,” Kyle explained. “but they’re a bit more than that. there’s some…bad blood there, been there a while.”

you cocked your head to the side, curiosity brimming. you’d noticed the tension before the game had even started. everyone seemed antsy on the bench; john was the most tense of all of them, but it clearly wasn’t a normal match. “got an asshole of a coach over there. shepherd,” johnny said, fire brimming in his bright blue eyes. “nasty bastard. doesn’t play fair.” “he chose graves as team cap’n ‘cause he plays dirty,” simon chimed in. “doesn’t care about hurtin’ anyone, just wants to win.”

you shook your head in disbelief, your own anger starting to build at the explanation. you’d seen what being overly competitive could do to a sport, especially to the teammates. an athlete who only wanted to win could be an asset, but it could be dangerous if it got out of hand. graves seemed to be one of those athletes where it had gone too far. “how has he not gotten penalized for it? surely this isn’t the first time he’s hurt someone else like this.” johnny shook his head, his grip on simon’s bicep tightening. “got all the refs in ‘is pocket. shepherd pays ‘em out to make sure ‘is men dinnae get a penalty.”

you knew how that felt. when you were younger, a fresh face on the competition scene, there were allegations that someone in your division was paying off judges. it was a horribly-kept secret; the skater bragged about it in the locker room and always managed to get top marks, no matter how bad their program was. still, when their family had all the money, nobody seemed to bother raising a stink. “at least you kicked their ass,” you said, trying your best to sound motivating. kyle smiled a bit, his gaze admiring. “yeah, pretty. we kicked their ass.”

after what felt like hours, the charge nurse gave john his discharge paperwork and care instructions, releasing him into the capable hands of all his partners. it took all four of them to get John to the car as high as he was. compliments were given freely and he made an attempt to get into more than one pair of pants before they’d even gotten to the parking lot. you begrudgingly split ways with them, offering assistance if they needed it before returning to your own car.

daily updates came through the group chat, selfies of the boys helping john with his daily routines and pictures of him trying to cook or write with his left hand. what was almost better were the texts from john himself. they’d been bad before, but now that he was typing with his non-dominant hand, it was downright comical. john would text an indecipherable string of letters, followed by a translation from one of the others once they’d figured out what john was trying to say. besides this, life went on as normal, except for one thing. you hadn’t had your last date.

john had planned an evening for the two of you at the apartment they all shared, complete with a homemade dinner and a rom-com. with the injury, though, you assumed it was all on hold. you’d seen through photos that he couldn’t exactly cook at the moment and you doubted that he wanted company while he was in pain. when the night of the date arrived, you settled yourself on the sofa with a glass of wine and your latest romance novel, content to ride the night out with your vibrator. you’d barely gotten cozy before your phone began to ring, buzzing insistently at your hip. glancing at the screen, you saw John’s name pop up on the caller ID.

“john? is everything alright?” you answered quickly, fearing the worst. maybe he was alone and needed help. maybe he’d reinjured his arm. “everything is most certainly not alright, dove,” he answered. you bolted up from the sofa, dashing for your nearest pair of slip-on shoes. “what’s wrong? what happened?” you ask quickly, fumbling for your car keys on the entry table. worst-case scenarios flooded through your mind, anxiety curling bitterly in your stomach. he chuckled on the other side of the phone, which stopped you in your tracks. “what’s wrong is that you’re late for our date.”

your brow furrows in confusion, pausing in your frantic rush to get out the door. the date? “but your arm-” “i couldn’t care less about my arm right now. i asked a pretty thing on a date and they’re standing me up.” your cheeks warm with embarrassment, sheepishly grabbing your purse from the hook. he didn’t sound angry, but you supposed he had every right to be. “sorry, i, uh…i thought we’d reschedule or something. but i should’ve asked. i’ll be right over.” john hummed, almost amused. “take your time, pet. we’ve got the whole night.”

without a second thought, you hung up the phone, heading out your front door. no need to keep him waiting any longer than he already had.

taglist: @cadotoast @jupiternighties @hxnneydew @kaoyamamegami @lolly145 @linaangel @bestbookfriends @callsignang3l @livingoutsidethetardis @msecho19 @aylitgirl @vvs-dlxodyd @bollzinurmouth @rafaelacallinybbay @namgification @cameron1-1-1 @kee-0-kee @klerns-birdie

[fatimabb]

Tooru Oikawa was never one to lose—not on the volleyball court, not in school, and certainly not when it came to charm. With his easy smile, his endless charisma, and a fan club of admirers, he never had to try very hard to capture attention. And yet, when it came to you, the one person who seemed blissfully immune to his antics, Oikawa found himself completely and utterly out of his depth.

It started innocently enough. You were a classmate, someone who didn’t fawn over his every move or sigh when he passed by in the hallways. It wasn’t that you disliked him—you were polite, even friendly, when you spoke to him—but there was a calmness to you that threw him off balance. You weren’t affected by his teasing winks or the way he played up his natural charm. You just smiled at him like he was… normal. And for someone like Oikawa, who thrived on adoration, that was maddeningly intriguing.

He told himself it was just curiosity at first. After all, who wouldn’t be curious about the person who could ignore Tooru Oikawa? But before long, curiosity turned into something else—something warmer and more frantic, the kind of feeling that made his heart race when you walked into the room or when your laugh drifted across the classroom.

Oikawa had a crush. A big, stupid, boyish crush that he had no idea how to handle. And he had 5 signature attempts to get your attention.

1. The “Oh, I Didn’t See You There” Strategy

Oikawa started popping up wherever you were, as if by coincidence. If you were in the library, he’d conveniently show up with a volleyball playbook, claiming he needed a quiet space to study. If you were walking to class, he’d suddenly appear beside you, falling into step like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Oh, hey, fancy seeing you here,” he’d say, his grin boyish and a little too smug.

“You’re literally always here at this time,” you’d reply with a raised brow, but you’d smile anyway, and that alone was enough to make his heart skip a beat.

2. The “Help Me” Excuse

Despite his confidence on the court, Oikawa knew how to play the helpless card when it suited him. One day, he leaned over your desk, his brown eyes wide with exaggerated desperation.

“Y/N,” he whined, dragging out your name, “I need your help. My science grade is in the dumps, and if I fail another test, Iwa-chan will kill me.”

You glanced up from your notebook, unimpressed. “Oikawa, you have better grades than half the class.”

“Not in this class,” he shot back, clutching his chest dramatically. “Please? You’re the only one I can trust.”

It wasn’t entirely untrue—he did need a little help in science—but mostly, he just wanted an excuse to spend time with you. When you eventually sighed and agreed, his grin was so wide you thought he might pull a muscle.

3. The “Accidental” Compliments

Oikawa was known for his flirtation, but with you, his compliments were different—softer, less calculated, and always followed by a faint blush that he’d try to hide.

“Did you do something different with your hair today?” he asked one morning, leaning on the edge of your desk.

“No, why?”

“Because it looks really nice,” he said, his tone unusually earnest. And when you blinked at him in surprise, his cheeks flushed pink, and he quickly added, “Not that it doesn’t always look nice, but, um, today it’s… extra nice.”

It was clumsy, a little awkward, and completely unlike the smooth, confident Oikawa everyone else knew. But you just smiled at him, a little softer this time, and he walked away feeling like he’d just won a championship.

4. The “Watch Me Shine” Plan

Of course, Oikawa couldn’t resist showing off on the volleyball court. If you happened to watch practice, he’d go out of his way to spike harder, jump higher, and throw in a few more dramatic moves than usual.

“Y/N, did you see that serve?” he’d call out after a particularly impressive play, jogging over with a grin.

“I did,” you replied, clapping politely. “It was good.”

“Good?” he repeated, feigning offense. “Just good?”

You laughed. “Okay, okay, it was great. You’re amazing, Oikawa.”

The way his cheeks flushed at your praise didn’t go unnoticed by Iwaizumi, who elbowed him as he passed. “You’re hopeless,” Iwa muttered, shaking his head.

5. The Little Things

Despite all his grand gestures, it was the little things Oikawa did that gave him away. He’d save you a seat at lunch, even when his fan club was glaring daggers at you. He’d bring you a drink after practice, claiming he “just happened to have an extra.” He’d listen—really listen—when you talked about your day, filing away every little detail about your likes and dislikes.

Once, during a rainy afternoon, you forgot your umbrella, and Oikawa appeared at your side with his own.

“Guess you’ll just have to share with me,” he said with a smirk, but his voice was softer than usual, and the way he held the umbrella tilted toward you so you wouldn’t get wet made your heart flutter.

The Confession

It wasn’t planned. Oikawa wasn’t the type to wing something as important as confessing to you, but somehow, the words spilled out one evening after practice. You’d waited for him, sitting on the bleachers with a book in hand, and the sight of you there—so calm, so effortlessly you—made his chest ache in the best way.

“Y/N,” he called, walking over, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Hm?” You looked up, closing your book.

He hesitated, suddenly unsure of himself. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He should’ve had a speech ready, something charming and perfect, but instead, all he could manage was, “You know I like you, right?”

Your eyes widened, and for a moment, he thought he’d messed everything up. But then you smiled, soft and a little shy, and his heart soared.

“I was starting to get the feeling,” you teased, your voice light.

Oikawa let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, running a hand through his hair. “You’re really going to make me say it, huh?”

You nodded, and he laughed, his confidence returning.

“Okay, fine. I like you, Y/N. A lot. And if you’d let me, I’d like to take you out—on a real date, not just me pretending I’m bad at science to spend time with you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, you were pretending?”

“Mostly,” he admitted with a grin.

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable, Oikawa.”

“Does that mean yes?”

You rolled your eyes playfully but smiled. “Yeah, it means yes.”

His grin could’ve lit up the whole gym, and as he leaned closer, you thought that maybe, just maybe, Tooru Oikawa wasn’t so bad after all.

[indie-ttrpg-of-the-week]

Flying Circus

No not the Monty Python variety Touchstones: Porco Rosso, WW1 media, Ghibli Movies (add a quarter to the jar)

Genre: Aviation game, Fantasy (kinda)

What is this game?: Flying Circus is a game of high octane plane action, where you play as messy mercenary pilots in a WW1 inspired post apocalyptic setting

How's the gameplay?: Flying Circus' narrative side runs on the standard PBTA 2d6 resolution and playbooks rules, but the main difference comes when the cast is on air, wherein the game takes a much more realistic approach to its design. Planes are complex beasts, and the game approaches this by having many mini systems that must be kept track of at all times, it's very overwhelming on paper, but in practice it's honestly quite bearable. The game also has a fairly simple economy to upkeep your planes, a simple relationship system, and a vice system similar to Blades in the Dark

What's the setting (If any) like?: Flying Circus' setting is honestly its strongest point, a post-apocalyptic society who just left a WW1 style war, with many fantasy elements such as witches, dragons with nuclear breath, friendly fishy cultists, and ancient wandering machines of war. It's one of the more "In-Depth" settings I've seen, helped along by having a few novels and stories by the developer set in the same universe.

What's the tone?: Hopeful and Gritty, the world's healing, the people are fighting against their past oppression, and things are getting better, but stuff's muddy and scummy for now. Another thing is that this game is pretty damn horny, nothing egregious but probably not a "read on the subway" Type deal

Session length: 3+ hours should be plenty of time 

Number of Players: 3-5 is ideal 

Malleability: Flying Circus' actual mechanics can usually be used for any plane heavy setting, though frankly the default setting is part of the reason why you'd be playing flying circus, in my opinion at least

Resources: Flying Circus has multiple expansions, adding new mechanics, new planes, and even a complete spin off in Chariots of Steel, focused more on tank battle

Flying Circus is a game that is incredibly impressive and clearly a labour of love, do yourself a favor and check this one out, even if its on the pricier side

[bellafemme]

Artists who blatantly copy Lana Del Rey with no originality.

1 - Remy Bond.

Remy blatantly copying Lizzy Grant.

Remy coping Lana in concert too.

Lanaboards destroyed her in their thread.

Some tea on Remy and her upbringing from a follower who reblogged my post!

2 -Saint Avangeline.

Some songs she's done covering Lana: Every Man Gets His Wish, Brooklyn Baby, Young and Beautiful, High By The Beach and Shades of Cool. She's done her own "original" songs but they also sound like Lana. Songs like Lilith is a complete copy of Lana's song Ultraviolence. Her album Gardener of Eden sounds like anything from Ultraviolence or Honeymoon. Saint Evangeline nowadays is doing heavy metal music. She's erased anything Lana related off her Instagram and Youtube playlists, but some of her Lana covers have remained on Youtube.

Places like Reddit have brought up Saint Evangeline's blatantly coping Lana. They brought it up Twice.

3 - Nessa Barrett

American Jesus. Heartbreak in the Hamptons. God's Favorite.

Lana brought her up on stage once, angering Lana's fanbase. At least Lana is aware of her. So did Reddit. Twice.

4 - Ocean Leclaire.

This artist has morphed into Lana over time. She started as a folky Florence Welch but now is doing more 'Lana' in sound and look. An obvious Lana fan too.

Notable Mentions:

Camilla Cabello.

An entire monolugue music video in the style of Lana Del Rey. When Lana saw the video her reaction was "what the hell."

Taylor Swift.

Taylor not only copied the monologue style like Lana, but she hired Lana's ex-boyfriend Reeve Carney to play her boyfriend.

Taylor also had the same chorus vocal melodies as Lana's song "Without You" for her song "Wildest Dreams." The song and music video was very reminiscent to Lana's visuals. Parts of another Taylor video was similar to Lana's music video Summertime Sadness, especially the silhouette scenes. There's was also the brunette wig and glamour look.

Holly Macve.

Lana is actually a fan of Holly's. Lana and Holly sang together for Holly's song Suburban House. Holly is not a exact copy and paste of Lana Del Rey as the other girlies I mentioned, but she's obviously inspired by Lana.

Ethel Cain.

All you need to do is listen to Crush or American Teenager to hear Lana Del Rey's influence. The music videos were shot in a 90's amateurish way like Lana use to create her videos. The tone of the songs and imagery is reminiscent to Born To Die and Ultraviolence.

Fans were able to connect the dots and see that Ethel was greatly inspired by Lana. The press caught on too. Ethel didn't like that and began to edit her Wikipedia page as 'papermassacred' by removing any mention of Lana Del Rey in her Wikipedia page. Ethel went even further saying this about Lana during an interview:

Lana fans were pissed off when Ethel said this and I'm sure it got to Lana too. It's rumored that Lana wrote a diss track called 'All About Ethel' that hasn't been released yet.

Billie Eilish

Billie is only mentioned here for her immense admiration, influence and respect for Lana Del Rey. She is inspired by Lana but she is her own person. She's not putting bows in her hair, wearing a bouffant, dressing like Lana or directly copying Lana's songs or music videos. Lana invited Billie to her Coachella stage to sing Ocean Eyes and Video Games.

Kali Uchis

Kali's new album Sincerely sounds like it was inspired by Born To Die and Honeymoon. She sings a part of her song "Silk Lingerie" like Lana's song Million Dollar Man. This melody is a blatant rip off of Lana's vocal melody.

Addison Rae

Addison's new song Diet Pepsi is straight from Lana's playbook.

Halsey

Halsey's song New Americana has the same melodic chorus as Lana's song National Anthem.

Selena Gomez

Selena's song You Said You Were Sorry is straight from Lana's Ultraviolence playbook. They added the same Rick James scream in the background that Lana uses on her songs Blue Jeans and Born To Die.

[graysondarling]

Luke Castellan. Flowers? What flowers

Luke Castellan X f!reader

summary: candlelit dinner with Luke Castellan

Valentine's prompt is from Valentine's Day Prompt

A/n: I apologize for posting shitty fanfic 😔🙏🏻

Luke revealed a stunning bouquet of vibrant flowers in the delicate shine of a lit candle, “Behold! Unparalleled beautiful flowers, suitable for my lovely lady.”

(Name) raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into an amused grin. "Luke, flowers and a candlelit dinner? have i swallowed a romance novel? did you?”

Luke winked, striking a pose. "Why not both? I'm a man of many talents, you know."

He couldn't help but say, "Consider it a token of my undying gratitude for your unmatched skill to endure my behaviour," as she happily accepted the bouquet.

She playfully rolled her eyes. "Flowers, Luke? I thought we were more of a prank and sarcasm kind of friendship."

Luke laughed, "Well, I figured a bit of floral finesse wouldn't hurt. Besides, even mischief-makers like me need a touch of romance."

Their conversation flowed naturally all throughout the candlelit dinner, telling an amusing story that only two closest companions was able.

Luke leaned back and smirked in satisfaction after telling an extremely long story concerning an incident involving spaghetti. "Who needs a romance novel when we've got this absurdly entertaining day?"

(Name) chuckled, toying with the flowers. "True, our story might not be a bestseller, but it's definitely a wild ride."

The evening wore on with laughter, shared memories, and more than a few clumsy attempts at being overly romantic.

Luke took a deep breath, "So, uh, Angel, about these flowers... they're not just for show."

(Name) raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on her lips. "Oh? Is this a new chapter in the Luke Castellan playbook, or did someone switch our scripts?"

He chuckled nervously, "Well, let's just say these flowers are... my way of saying something."

Her curiosity piqued, (Name) leaned in. "Spill it, Luke. I'm not great at deciphering floral messages."

Moving closer, he gave her another bouquet. "Consider these flowers as an introduction for what I'm going to say."

As she accepted the bouquet, he added, "I might be a prankster and a charmer, but there's something I've been wanting to tell you for a while."

(Name) looked at him, intrigue mixed with a hint of surprise. "Okay, Luke, hit me with it."

Taking a deep breath, Luke locked eyes with her. "I think... no, scratch that, I know that what we have is more than just friendship. (Name), I... I really like you. More than just friends."

Her eyes widened, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Luke, are you telling me you're about to confess, right here, surrounded by candlelight and flowers?"

He nodded, "yeah I am"

She chuckled, "Well, I appreciate the fact that you swallowed a romance book for all this courage," (name) continues "But, in all seriousness, I like you too, Luke."

Relief washed over him, and Luke grinned. "So, we're on the same page?"

(Name) leaned in, closing the gap between them. "Absolutely."

Warmth of the moment enveloped them as their lips found each other in a sweet and tender kiss.

As they pulled away, Luke couldn't help but smile. "Well, that was definitely not in the usual playbook."

(Name) laughed, "Who needs a playbook when we've got this?" She gestured between them, the flickering candlelight casting a soft glow on their intertwined hands.

As they withdrew, their laughter continued to reverberate, but Luke couldn't help but grin. "You know, (Name), if I knew you were a good kisser, I would've confessed earlier."

(Name) raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Oh, is that so? Maybe you should've done your research before the grand confession."

Luke chuckled, and before he could react, (Name) playfully tugged at his necktie. "Research or not, let me show you what you've been missing."

She pulled him in for another kiss. The soft glow of candlelight painted their shared moment.

Luke smirked, "Maybe romance novels were onto something after all."

[happygirl2oo2]

Some More Queer Sports Romance Books For Pride Month 🌈 (all are books I've read/currently have on my own tbr list)

[another year another one of these lists 'cause I wanted to see how many new queer sports romance books I've added to my tbr list since I posted part 1 last year]

Hockey

Zero Pucks - E.M. Lindsey [mlm]

Power Forward (Chicago Thunder Book 4) - Jodi Oliver [mlm]

Like a Power Play - Elle Sprinkle [wlw]

Final Breakaway (For Puck's Sake #11) by Crea Reitan [mlm]

Skating to Him - Christie Gordon [mlm]

Puck Love - Lane Hayes [mlm]

Gross Misconduct - A.J. Truman [mlm]

Rule Breaker - Ava Olsen [mlm]

On the Edge (SCU Hockey Book 3) - J.J. Mulder [mlm]

Crossed Sticks (Buffalo Warriors Hockey #1) and Net Bet (Buffalo Warriors Hockey #2) - Ryan Taylor, Joshua Harwood [mlm]

The Shots You Take - Rachel Reid [mlm]

Pucking Strong (Jacksonville Rays #4) - Emily Rath [mlm]

Breaking Through the Doubt (Espen Jetties #4) - Haven Hadley [mlm]

Love Pucked - Emily Silver [wlw]

Voices - Joey Parker [mlm]

Call It Home - Catherine Cloud [mlm]

One-Time Shot (Smithton Bears #1) - Lane Hayes [mlm]

Zone Entry (Camrose U book 1) and Off the Boards (Camrose U book 2) - Maia Kinley [mlm]

Speed (Railers Legacy book 1) - R.J. Scott, V.L. Locey [mlm]

Bar Down - Stef C.R. [mlm]

Marriage of Ice-venience (The Crawford Family Playbook #6) - Kendall Hale [mlm]

Crossed Lines - Sierra Bennett [mlm]

Slew Foot (Scoring Chances #3) - Brigham Vaughn [mlm]

Spinning to the Goal - Christie Gordon [mlm]

The Puck Contract - M.M. Phoenix [mlm]

Cold Front (Michigan U Hockey #1) - Denver Shaw [mlm]

Figure Skating

Kiss and Cry - Keira Andrews [mlm]

Soccer

Playing The Field - KC Leonard [wlw]

Hits Different - Joel Rustin [mlm]

Futbolista - Jonny Garza Villa [mlm]

Always on My Mind - Kelsey Painter [wlw]

Volley - Crea Reitan [mlm]

The Other Team - Felix Fowler [mlm]

Two Left Feet - Kallie Emblidge [mlm]

Lacrosse 

A Bit of You (Farewell Fairwood #3) - Hannah Ellie [wlw]

Football

The Brotherly Shove - Emily Shacklette [mlm]

Changing the Play - Morgan Sloan [mlm]

Trick Play (Playing the Field book 4) - Ajay Daniel [mlm]

Most Valuable Player - A.M. Woody [mlm]

The Kings of Beacon - Mike Jakubowski [mlm]

Cross-country

Out of Step, Into You - Ciera Burch [wlw]

Rowing

See you at the Finish Line - Zac Hammett [mlm]

Swimming

Poolside (Southeastern Alumni #2) - Taylor E. Weston [mlm]

Field Hockey

All's Fair in Love and Field Hockey - Kit Rosewater [wlw]

Baseball

Switch Pitching (Off the Bench Book 1) - S.J. Crawford [mlm]

Honeysuckle (The Hornets Nest #3) - Aubrey Taylor [mlm]

Totally Opposed (Love In Play #3) - Becca Jackson [mlm]

Rounding for Home - Fallon Brown [mlm, trans MC]

Crew (Comeback Duet #1) - Kimberly Knight, Rachel Lyn Adams [mlm]

Wrestling

Dropkicks and Dandelions (Titan Wrestling #2) - Val Simons [mlm]

Sucker Punch (Wrestling Girls #1) - Kayla Faber [wlw]

MMA

Hits Different - Joel Rustin [mlm]

Roller Derby

Learning to Fall - Peach Morris [wlw]

Rink Rash - Santana Knox [wlw]

Leave It on the Track - Margot Fisher [wlw]

Car Racing

Crash Test - Amy James [mlm]

Speed (Railers Legacy book 1) - R.J. Scott , V.L. Locey [mlm]*

Rugby

Every Move You Make - Sloan Spencer [mmf]

Summer Breakdown (Training Seasons Book 2) - J.S. Jasper [wlw]

The Fly-Half (Lincoln Knights #2) and The Scrum-Half (Lincoln Knights #3) - Charlie Novak [mlm]

Volleyball 

Double Hit - Katie Steele [mlm]

Smash or Pass - Birdie Schae [wlw]

Karate 

The Silver Dragon - Ellis Colton [mlm]

Tennis

Backhanded Compliments - Katie Chandler [wlw]

From the Courtroom to the Court - Eva Gonzay, Julia C. Brown [wlw]

Basketball

Tip In - Josie Mae [wlw]

Scoring the Player (Chasing Rings book 2) - Kit Grey [mlm]

Play You For It - Samantha Saldivar [wlw]

Deeply Loved Bayou (The Baton Rouge Bayou #2) - Aricka Alexander [wlw]

[alicepao13]

Will it make things better (or will anyone believe me) when I say that my next post was about to be about how they were going to pin it all on John Reardon? And that's exactly what happened. Anyway, I'd thought of it first, I'm not going to NOT say that I thought they'd do this kind of scapegoating, it's all in the PR playbook. Present half-truths as statements, turn the fandom against the actor and not the company. It's possible they're even doing it on set currently, to get people to hate him. I just thought it would take a while, and that they'd try to give it to a reporter that they have good relations with for an article. I did not expect someone to try to do damage control from fucking Reddit. Which leads me to thinking either one of these happened:

a) It's someone from the social media company or from the production doing damage control as I said.

b) a third party irrelevant to the other two, maybe even a fan who doesn't care about what human is there, just Rex, and is concerned about how the show will proceed if we escalate. Since I've been a fan of the Rex franchise for more than 20 years now, I know the kind.

What they are not, is who they claim to be. Because no one who is "just part of the team that shows up early, stays late, and keeps the machine running" is privy to the information that this person claims to have. That's absurd. You know what happens behind closed doors, behind negotiation rooms, AND in the fandom? Give me a break.

Oh, and conveniently, it's a new account.

IMPORTANT: A few hours later, that redditor edited a major part of their post, removing all the names in the post, and blunting some of the expressions, phrases, and other things that they had used in their text. That, of course, was a major red flag for the Hudson and Rex moderators, so they removed their post and locked the thread.

In this post, I will offer my own two cents to their own post. I don't really care to engage with them and at this point my Reddit account can't really do that. If anyone wants to do that, feel free. But it's as unverifiable as it can get. I am merely replying to dismantle all their bullshit, so that we can move on.

"Ive worked crew in Canadian TV for over a decade, on a lot of sets, including this one. I’m not a producer or anyone “high up,” just part of the team that shows up early, stays late, and keeps the machine running. I’ve seen a lot, and I usually keep my mouth shut. But the way people are twisting what happened with John Reardon? It’s SO ridiculous."

As I said, can't be verified. Not only that, but the part that follows is telling me that it's very likely for part of it or all of it to be false. If you're not high up the ladder, you don't know about negotiations. The production does not negotiate with actors on set, they negotiate behind closed doors and very few know what the contracts entail. You either work on the set or you work for the people who are in charge of those negotiations. You've made yourself sound like pretty low in order to sound like a relatable every-man (or woman). Also, "I usually keep my mouth shut". So what tipped you off the edge, the fandom backlash which at this moment is very tame? Hilarious. Every show has a fandom and most fandoms hate the productions. And now we can see why.

"John demanded a significant pay bump before Season 7, even though the show’s budget was already tight."

Half-truth at best. Every time your lead's contract expires, they re-negotiate the contract. EVERY TIME. Hudson and Rex has been steadily adding regions to which the show is being distributed, so the budget should be higher, not lower. John Reardon WORKED for that. That's also what the trip in Europe after S5 was about. Selling the show to even more countries. And I have no way of knowing whether that was a significant pay bump or not. I'm sure it should have been a raise. Also, he wouldn't have demanded it. He would have negotiated, and all talks would have been through his agents, actors rarely sit at the negotiating table, that's not their job. This person makes it sound like he walked into Shaftesbury's offices and started yelling or something. Negotiating is all part of the game, this is silly (the tame version of what I wanted to write).

"He wanted the show to revolve more around him pushing for a storyline shift that downplayed the dog, the team dynamic, and the core format fans originally fell in love with."

Um, the entire show was about Hudson and Rex from the start and it was still about Hudson and Rex in S6, the last normal season. That's why they're saying "in S7" because we can't disprove it since whatever plan they had going on went to hell. "The core format fans originally fell in love with" is what, exactly? Because we can't even agree amongst ourselves which one that is. One side of the fandom wants one thing, another wants another. And all these people who are now shouting to bring him back are the ones who know that the rest of the characters' storylines will also be ruined (especially Sarah's) if we don't have Charlie.

I find it likely that he pushed for the script to tell more of the humans' stories, instead. That would make sense. Only a dumbass thinks we're still here to watch dog tricks, by the way, I'm sorry to say that. And I'm sorry to say that this includes the production, apparently.

Also, not very smart of the redditor to claim both that John Reardon asked for more money and more screentime. I've never heard of actors doing that as the seasons progress. They usually ask either for more money or less time or set. And again, from their position they wouldn't know any of this.

"He pitched a more "action-hero" version of his character. That whole dramatic look change in Season 6 and 7? That was him. His silly hair in season 6 .. He wanted to reinvent the role to elevate himself so he is seen as an action hero and not some campy actor that has to play second fiddle to a dog (his own words)"

The... dramatic look of season 7? Season 7 especially? Where he was gone? Where the first episode centered around Rex finding a missing woman, and the second centered around Rex starring in "Home Alone 4"? Also, I'm sorry but half of this post is based on "what would have happened to the show had John Reardon been there" which is not something anyone can verify as it never happened. As for S6, if anyone had bothered to tell him to cut his hair, he probably would have. But just like on 911 when an actor showed up with a mustache post-vacation and the production embraced it instead of telling him it's not part of his character, that's what happened here. No one, NO ONE, has ever bothered with any of the actors' hair or style. John Reardon's hair has been different in almost all seasons. Sarah's too. Justin Kelly clearly grew tired of wearing glasses so Jesse never wore glasses again after S5. Give me a break.

As for the "action hero" version... This is standard Inspector Rex partner stuff, it always has been. You should have seen the Italian version. I don't know what we're talking about here. Just a few things I recall off the top of my head. In S1 Charlie saved Jesse from drowning, very dramatically. In S2 they had him solving an entire case from a hospital bed, playing "action hero" and pretty much taking an entire gang on his own. In S3 they had him falling off a cliff, scuba diving (the whole dive master thing, doesn't matter if he actually dived or not), giving the team half the clues they needed to find him while being buried alive in a coffin, S4 had that entire episode which some have dubbed James Bond shit (which part of the fandom didn't even like, mind you), the romance with Sarah intensified which gave him more screentime, etc. Charlie had ex-wife issues, brother issues, daddy issues, everything. As for "playing second fiddle to a dog"... surely he would say that in front of the entire set so that it can be gossiped around. Sure.

"Soon after production started in S7, he found out about his tonsil cancer.. and he used that as a tactic…"

Wow, what a lie. For a person who only made two posts about his cancer, after the fact, who could have pretty much made a post per day, saying "Still alive, still fighting", sharing updates, etc. Do you have any idea how much goodwill he would have earned for himself? Instead, he made two posts. One of them probably to let us know why he wouldn't be in the season because by that point he must have known the production was trying to ice him and they weren't going to say why he wouldn't be there. The other was, as I've inferred myself, to let people know that he was ready to work because again the production was trying to ice him.

This is cause for defamation, by the way. And it’s unforgivable.

"He went completely silent on production for months. No updates, no check-ins, no negotiation , just radio silence."

I'm sure our average Joe (or Jane) would know ALL about that from their position, right? I'm sure the Shaftesbury heads would let them know. And why, if John Reardon had presumably gotten everything he wanted from his previous negotiations, would he need to do that? Is he stupid? This part makes no sense.

Also, it's funny trying to make a man's fight for cancer sound like he's supposed to give them every-day updates about it. He worked for them, he was their leading actor, they should have been the ones to call! At least as human beings. What the fuck.

"Worse, he tried to rally the cast and crew to walk out with him, encouraging people to jeopardize their own jobs so he could pressure the producers into giving him what he wanted.

All this while the rest of us were just trying to keep our jobs and get the show on its feet for another season.

And now, he and his wife are going around acting like they were the ones abandoned? Like the show turned its back on them?"

Rally the cast and crew. First of all, you need no crew to be with you, everyone is replaceable, especially since we have now seen that your titular character and lead is replaceable to you. As for the cast... I'd say if they're pissed about him trying to "rally them up", they wouldn't still care for him. And they do, as evidenced by their posts about supporting cancer treatments. As evidenced by their comments on his first post too. But if I had been manipulated into doing his bidding or tried to be swayed that way, as this post suggests? I wouldn't give him the time of day on social media. (They still all follow him too, if anyone cares about that. And they still don't follow Shaftesbury.)

So either he rallied the cast, which clearly he didn't, seeing as he's not currently the one who's on the show, or he didn't. They stayed because they were quiet.

But let's put that aside for now. "He and his wife are going around like they were the ones abandoned". He was by definition abandoned! If any of this is true, the production is supposed to contact the actor, not the other way around! Have you heard of any actor say, "Hey I'm here, do you still have work for me?"

"Let me be clear: no one else on the main cast has supported him publicly. That silence says everything."

lmao they wouldn't dare. I mean, look what they're doing to their lead right now, after everything. As I said, I was unfamiliar with their game. To start a smear campaign so early...

"Behind the scenes, the makers of the show AND Sherri were under immense pressure not just from John's demands and sudden silence, but also dealing with the emotional weight of losing Diesel, a central part of the show’s identity and a beloved companion to everyone on set. While all this was unfolding, they were doing everything they could to keep the series alive for the crew, the audience, and the future of the franchise."

Of course they were under pressure and of course Sherri Davis has my sympathies. But John Reardon wasn't the cause for it. Once you know he has cancer and you know how many episodes you've got, you don't expect him to come back again for S7. You make different plans, just like they did. You make a placeholder finale, like they did. They knew he wouldn't be back and it shows in every decision they made towards the end. And he even recorded phone calls for them so that they would use them, in which his voice sounds bad, so you can tell he did it while in pain. What bullshit.

"On set, it was common knowledge that John wasn’t a dog person. Diesel wasn’t allowed in the green room because John didn’t want to deal with drool. When Diesel passed, John didn’t post, didn’t message Sherri (his trainer), didn’t say a word. But now fans are out here weaponizing the dog’s death like it was some emotional bond? Give me a break."

He's had both dogs and cats. He grew up around dogs, in fact. He wasn't a dog person? They hired him exactly for that, and he's worked with animals in a lot of other roles from what they're telling me. As for the drool... Laughable. Tell that to wardrobe who would have to dress John Reardon anew every time Diesel drooled on him.

In any case, you can see how well they worked through all the seasons. A dog is not a human actor, he can tell if you don't like him. The show would have been ruined from S1, but hey, I guess one suddenly grows to dislike dogs in *looks the made-up timeline* season 6. Hell, they wouldn't have hired him from the start. This is such a sloppy lie. They even had him spend time with Diesel at home at first, to be able to tell if he was the right person for the job.

Also, he was right not to post about Diesel's death. None of the other cast members did. He did, however, do an interview in which he talked about Diesel's death. I guess this crew member person missed it? Or maybe didn't want to talk about it because it ruins the narrative?

You're keeping Diesel's death silent for MONTHS, the cast and crew has to grieve in private, they're not allowed to say anything, and then when you finally deign to inform the public because it's starting to leak, you try to pin it on them? Wow.

"The show is filmed in Newfoundland. It provides real work to real people. And when John made it clear through silence, demands, and manipulation, that he wasn’t coming back, BETA, the actual producers of the show, made the call to move forward. What were they supposed to do, shut down indefinitely while one guy held the entire team hostage?"

I'm sorry, didn't you just admit that you didn't approach John Reardon with any kind of offer under the guise of "him going silent"? It's one or the other, did you approach him or not? Since when does a production wait for the actor to call? Where you calling at home? Were you not calling his agent?

"It provides real work to real people" John Reardon is a real person too and you screwed him over and trying to come out on top now that you finally realized that actions have consequences.

"You don’t have to love the new direction. Not everyone will. But spamming hate, tagging and dragging the cast and crew like this is some kind of betrayal? That’s not advocacy. That’s delusion."

That's an AI generated paragraph if I've heard any. I mean, aside from the logic (which you'd have to feed into the machine so if it's flawed, it's flawed, the AI is there to cater to your needs), pretty good grammar and such. Not all of it is AI generated, of course. Just enough to pass the filter, am I right?

As for "spamming hate"? Tagging the cast? We didn't. We're trying to get the show to be back to being Hudson and Rex, which is the ONLY show we want. And I'll be honest, as the audience, I shouldn't care at all about "production woes". None of it. It's a betrayal to the fans first and foremost. The production didn't want to take the first step to approach John Reardon after he "was icing them" (let's just assume this is the reason for one minute and he wasn't recovering from cancer)? Boo hoo. What is this, some point of pride? Or is someone in the production so egotistical that they don't want to admit they should have reached out and they never did? You didn't check in with him, didn't ask him if he was okay, and it's HIS fault? But say it was for one moment, say he was taking a vacation instead of fighting cancer (I am sort of fuming about this part, you can probably tell). As the audience, I DON'T CARE. The show is called Hudson and Rex. Either make it be that or cancel it. And I've shared my thoughts on "real people getting work from this show" before. It's supposed to fuel entertainment. Now it's not. I don't care who's supposed to ruin it. But I also won't stand for an "anonymous source" spewing bullshit.

"I get it, you loved the old version of the show. But the truth is, the man you’re defending wanted to burn it down for a bigger paycheck and a bigger ego trip."

Unverifiable. Simply put. And not just from his posts. Just take a look at the comments when he posted about his fight with cancer. Check the sheer amount of people from the industry, not just from Hudson and Rex, who cared to comment. And since we're talking Beta (it was mentioned above), which is Beta Films, by the way, If they were the ones to push for continuing to another direction and not Shaftesbury, John Reardon would have unfollowed THEM, not Shaftesbury. Instead, he follows Beta Films, has unfollowed the Hudson and Rex account (which is Shaftesbury's) and Shaftesbury, and the president of Shaftesbury. And had a nice interaction with Nataline Rodrigues, previously exec. producer on the show from Rogers Media's side who talked about his audition and how she immediately realized he was the right one for the role. So, guess who shafted him.

Anyway, it's the oldest playbook to blame your actor for having an ego. Another thing. John Reardon was in LA and he and his wife had just bought a house there when he was cast on Hudson and Rex. He literally went back to Canada to "play second fiddle to a dog". But I guess one suddenly grows an ego while getting cancer or something.

Also, there is no "old version". There is Hudson and Rex and then there is whatever shit they are trying to feed us now. Watch it yourselves, and I hope for a swift cancellation.

"And if you’re wondering why there’s been radio silence from the producers, the cast, and the official accounts, it’s not because people are guilty or hiding anything.

It’s because the team is taking the high road."

Is the high road in the room with us? Is it in our deleted comments, our unanswered questions and e-mails? No. If they thought they were in the right, they would have made an announcement with the end of S7. That's what it means to be straight with your audience. And they'd announce Luke Roberts properly. Instead, they've been stringing us along ALL THIS TIME. It's not the first time, of course. Again, they did the same thing with Diesel's death and presented it as "Sherri Davis needing time to mourn and do her job". While the show was done filming for 3 months! Right. They covered up a shitstorm of bad behavior from their part and now they're coming up with a (badly rehearsed? Not rehearsed at all?) story once they realized they can't keep lying to us and that we won't wait for the next season to speak up and call them out.

"There are legal matters involved, and rather than fan the flames or get dragged into a public back-and-forth, everyone involved has chosen to stay quiet out of respect for the show, for the work, and yes, even for the legacy that fans associate with John."

lol if he hadn't announced his cancer first, they would have gone with a "John Reardon didn't want to come back" story, believe me. He ruined it for them. And they're punishing him for it. They probably think he riled up the fans too, when we've been operating on casting calls (from their side!), date comparisons, tagged posts, and very little else. That's why I said we shouldn't be using Meghan Ory's name so liberally. Anyway, NDAs are for all. For this person who's posting too, in fact. Who, after "years of work on set" is willing to risk throwing that all away apparently, just to tell us that John Reardon is a big meanie.

"Everyone has chosen to stay quiet" I'm sorry, didn't you just say that no one would speak for him? If they won't speak for him, why not support the production in any way? Why is none of your main cast following Shaftesbury or CityTV? "The legacy fans associate with John" There is no company in this earth that would do that. They're covering their own asses.

"No one is trying to destroy his image, no matter what he or his wife may be implying behind the scenes."

They have literally not said anything? I think this person assumes that we have like, daily talks with his wife or something. She just said that he hasn't been asked back, which is the fucking truth, and it might be the only thing this person is correct about at this point. But that's out there, it's not inside information. From his side, they have been so damn respectful, way too much in fact, given the situation. For a lead to be cast aside like that after working for 6 years for a production. I'd have done interviews in their position, try to get ahead of the narrative. That would be the calculating thing to do. And John Reardon did give interviews, and he never said anything about the production, he never even talked about being let go. Nothing adds up.

"Because at the end of the day, this show isn’t about one person. It’s about the entire team, the entire city, and the audience that made it what it is."

No. This is Hudson and Rex. It is about Charlie as much as it is about Rex. If you want the city to be supported by this show (since when the show is supposed to support the entire city when it has roughly 100 people working on it is beyond me), you have to make this show. Not another show. Again, as audience and a fan I shouldn't care about any of this aside from getting the show that you promised us. Hudson and Rex.

I'm leaving the link for reddit here (Note: The post has been removed by the Hudson and Rex community moderators). You'll notice I haven't touched one iota from the post, I'm not trying to twist the narrative unlike some other people. Only didn't mention a handful phrases because my hand has almost gone numb and Tumblr has a limit. I'm not checking this for mistakes either. See how a real post looks like.

https://www.reddit.com/r/HudsonAndRex/comments/1kudlsb/the_mob_mentality_around_hudson_rex_is_kinda/

(Edited: 25/5/2025)

[damsels-n-dice]

BIRTHDAY SALE

in celebration of my upcoming birthday, my game 'til it kills us is 80% off! that means you can grab it for just $1 for the next two weeks!

'til it kills us is a game about queer activism, community, and the mental health toll of constantly fighting to survive -- all encased in a urban fantasy setting and the wonderful buddy system. each of the game's nine playbooks is focused on a different negative emotion, which fuels that playbook's unique magical powers. will your characters succumb to the corrupting force of their magic, or improve their own life as they fight to help others?

the game is still in playtesting, so i'm also adding various purchase goals to sweeten the deal! my dream here is to get enough support for this project that i have to add even more goals beyond the first six:

at $3, this game gets a proper cover image

at $5, i'll write a PWYW lyric game next month

at $7,  'til it kills us gets a full formatting update (v0.4)

at $10,  i'll add 5 community copies 

at $15, i'll write a (fully-playable) PWYW game by the end of the year

at $20,  i'll write a setting + character companion book for 'til it kills us

if any of that sounds appealing to you, check out the sale at the game link above, or by going directly to my birthday sale page!

[isagrimorie]

Nicky must be the first of his kind physically born to a Human Witch and a Cosmic Being.

Unlike his ‘cousin’ Love, who was magicked into existence from Gorr’s wish, granted by Eternity (Rio’s brother) with added extra bells and whistles, Nicholas Scratch was born.

Made from Scratch. Nicholas Scratch is a child of two worlds.

Considering everything, Agatha and Rio really had no playbook.

The reason Nicky could have been stillborn might be because he was born

Nicky, being part Human and Cosmic could have been the reason Nicky was stillborn. Rio extended Nicky’s life as much as she could but for Agatha that would never be enough time.

From what we know and hinted at Agatha’s childhood, she was a pariah within her own community.

She didn’t have anyone, and it’s possible Agatha wanted to have a child because she wanted to have someone who is really hers. If Nicky lived, this would eventually be an issue. As he grew-up he would want to spread his wings. Agatha would definitely struggle with Nicky wanting his own space.

As much as Rio loves Agatha her time with Agatha can only be scattered moments of her free time. My theory is that Rio’s ‘job’ was always a source of friction between Agatha and Rio.

We don’t know if they planned on having Nicky, or if he conceived on accident. But from the moment Nicky was conceived, a timer existed between Agatha and Rio. Even before Agatha realized he was stillborn. Rio will always have to collect Nicky. She is Death, and that is inescapable.

Because of the circumstance of Nicky’s birth, Rio can only ever be a distant parent I doubt Agatha would ever allow Rio near Nicky as long as the threat of his death hangs over Nicky.

(Maybe Rio appeared in Nicky's dreams once in a while. I think Agatha suspected, but was always too afraid to ask).

I think this is the reason Agatha avoided Jen. Or any midwife, root workers, health professional. Maybe Agatha thought Nicky’s life could have extended if she had any of those around regularly. It didn't mean Agatha wouldn't have hurt them if push comes to shove.

Unfortunately, Agatha ends up people hurting people, whether she meant to or not. (See: Agatha slamming Lilia's Death card. Agatha did this to save their lives in the moment but the unintended consequence was that Agatha sealed Lilia's fate.)

Unless Rio’s siblings have siblings of their own, Nicky could be one of a kind.

Did Rio’s siblings know about Nicky, more to the point, did they even know about her love affair with Agatha?

Eternity seems divorced from the physical plane (at least in the MCU). As of now, it seems Rio is the only one who regularly interacts with mortals in significant ways beyond her role.

/edited for clarity

(don't write things at around 2am, self!)