#and i will educate myself on what they tell me

[jburrgf]

Champagne Coast, JOE BURROW.

“Finishing 8 or 9, tell me what’s the perfect time. I told you i’ll be waiting hiding from the rainfall.”

◦pairing: ¡long hair!joe x ¡college student!reader

◦summary: fwb, no attachment relationship, attachment problems, forbidden type of love. +18 readers only!

◦description: academic pleasure is your thing, and that means that you put nothing over your education. literally nothing. but when a long-haired football player that just got transferred from the north just pops in front of you, it’s too hard to say no to him.

◦n/a: i’m doing this for my latina girlies (like me! <3). she has curly hair and slightly tanned skin.

Mornings were always the hardest.

Not because I wasn’t a morning person—I was, to some extent—but because they reminded me of how much I had to do and how little time I had to waste.

My alarm went off at 6:30 a.m. sharp, vibrating against the nightstand with a persistence I could never ignore. I didn’t allow myself to hit snooze. I couldn’t afford to. Instead, I threw the covers off, stretched until my spine cracked, and made my way to the tiny bathroom in my apartment, eyes barely open as I turned on the sink.

The mirror reflected my exhaustion back at me. Dark circles had made a home under my eyes, the evidence of another night spent hunched over my laptop, working through notes, assignments, and emails.

I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and tied my hair back into a loose ponytail before heading to the kitchen. Breakfast was always a rushed affair—black coffee, a piece of toast if I wasn’t running late. Today, I had just enough time to spread some butter over it and let the warmth seep into my fingertips before taking a bite.

As I stood there, leaning against the counter, I flipped open my planner, its pages filled with neatly written notes, deadlines, and reminders. Between classes, assignments, and shifts at my internship, every minute of my day was accounted for.

But today felt different.

Excitement buzzed under my skin as my eyes skimmed over a note I had scribbled down the night before: New project meeting – 2 PM.

My internship had been one of the best things about this year. It was demanding, sure, but it gave me a sense of purpose. The chance to work on something real, something tangible. And today, I was finally getting assigned to a project I had been hoping for.

I double-checked the details, making a mental note to grab an extra coffee before the meeting. If I was going to impress them, I needed to be on my A-game.

After slipping into a pair of jeans and pulling on a navy-blue sweater, I slung my bag over my shoulder and stepped outside. The crisp morning air bit at my cheeks, the sky a soft, muted blue, but I barely had time to appreciate it. My days ran on a tight schedule, and I had no room to fall behind.

The walk to campus was second nature by now. I moved on autopilot, weaving through streets and past coffee shops, my earbuds in, music humming softly as I mentally prepared myself for the day ahead.

By the time I made it to the library, my coffee was already half gone, but the caffeine was finally kicking in. I settled into a seat by the window, pulling out my laptop and opening the file I had started last night. I had about an hour before my first class—plenty of time to go over my notes, make sure I hadn’t missed anything.

This was my routine.

And I liked it this way, but today, my friends had another plan. Rachel and Nathan have been keeping me busy about every single gossip on this campus, and the new one was The transferred quarterback from Ohio State. And of course, the whole campus needed to celebrate.

I wasn’t planning on going to the party that night. It was the kind of LSU house party that smelled like cheap beer and desperation, packed with sweaty, screaming students all trying to forget their midterms or bad decisions. But my roommate, Rachel, had another plan.

A few hours earlier, I had been sitting in my psychology class, half-listening as the professor droned on about the power of love in humanity. It was some philosophical tangent about how emotions, particularly love, played a crucial role in human development and scientific progress. I struggled not to roll my eyes. Love, to me, had always been a concept romanticized beyond its worth. Sure, it made for great literature, but I had never been convinced that it held any real power beyond that.

When class finally ended, I packed up my things and headed to the campus diner, where Rachel and a few other friends were already gathered in a booth, their laughter rising above the chatter of the busy place. Jess, my best guy friend Nate, and his roommate Lucas were already deep in conversation when I slid into the seat beside Rachel, who immediately pushed a menu toward me.

"Are you actually eating or just here to mope about your long, miserable week?" she teased.

"Neither," I replied, scanning the menu without interest. "I just need a drink."

"That’s the spirit!" Jess cheered, raising her iced coffee like it was something stronger.

"So, you’re coming to the party tonight?" Lucas asked, drumming his fingers against the table.

I sighed. "Yeah, but I’m not really in the mood for it. I just need to blow off some steam."

"That’s what parties are for," Rachel said. "Besides, have you heard about the new transfer? Joe Burrow?"

Jess wiggled her eyebrows. "Apparently, he’s not just good. He’s supposed to be the guy. Like, NFL material."

Nate scoffed, leaning back against the booth. "Everyone’s acting like he’s a god or something. He’s just another quarterback."

I shrugged, uninterested. "I’m sure he’s good at what he does, but that doesn’t mean he’s obnoxious."

Rachel smirked. "So, you’re saying he’s just a great professional player who happens to be really good?"

"Pretty much. I don’t get why everyone acts like he’s the second coming or something."

"Because he might actually be," Jess said with a dramatic sigh. "And you, my dear, are going to meet him tonight."

Nate chuckled. "Yeah, maybe you two can talk about quantum physics and see if he can keep up."

I rolled my eyes, but I knew there was no escaping it now. The party was happening, and whether I liked it or not, Joe Burrow was about to become part of my night.

[…]

I got to the party slightly late. My friends were already over there, bouncing over songs that we used to listen to together and talking louder above the speakers. To me, that was irritating. I love parties, but after a long week of work, the last thing I wanted to do is partying all night on a friday.

The music thumped through the walls, a steady, pulsing beat that rattled through my ribs as I wove through the crowd, my plastic cup clutched loosely in my fingers. I wasn’t even sure what was in it anymore—some neon-colored mix of whatever they had at the bar—but I had taken exactly two sips and decided I didn’t need more.

I was about to turn around when a voice cut through the noise.

“You’ve been standing there for a while.”

I looked up.

I turned, expecting one of my friends, but instead, I was met with someone unfamiliar. He was tall—really tall—with messy blond hair that fell over his forehead, and sharp features that the dim lighting only made more defined. His sweatshirt hung loose on his frame, sleeves pushed to his elbows like he had just come from somewhere else, and the cup in his hand was barely touched.

“I was just—” I hesitated, glancing at the dance floor. “People-watching.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Yeah? Anything interesting?”

“Not really,” I admitted. “Just the usual: drunk freshmen, a couple making out in the corner, a guy who’s definitely going to regret that keg stand tomorrow.”

"You don’t look like you’re having fun," he said, his voice cutting through the noise of the party.

I raised a brow. “And you’ve been watching me?”

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I just noticed. Everyone else is either dancing, drinking, or trying to do both at the same time. You, though? You’re just… here.”

I huffed, half amused. “I guess I’m not very good at parties.”

He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Nothing wrong with that.”

I turned my head, surprised he was talking to me. "That’s because I’m not."

He smirked. "Then why are you here?"

"Peer pressure."

"Same."

I looked at him, doubtful. "I find that hard to believe. Isn’t this your crowd?"

He shook his head. "Not really. I’m still figuring out who my crowd is here."

I hummed in response, not sure I believed him. He was too comfortable, too effortless in the way he carried himself.

"What’s your major?" he asked.

"Psychology," I replied. "And you?"

"Consumer and family financial services.”

I raised a brow. "That’s oddly specific."

He chuckled. "Yeah. I like numbers."

"So, you’re actually smart?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.

“But I’m here cause of football.”

I raised a brow. “Of course, you do.”

He chuckled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I shrugged. “You have that whole… football player look.”

He looked vaguely amused. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Not necessarily.” I took a sip of my drink. “I just feel like I already know your whole deal.”

Joe leaned in slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Yeah? And what’s my deal?”

I pretended to think. “Cocky, thinks he’s smarter than he is, probably way too competitive.”

“You don’t know me at all. He laughed, a deep, genuine sound that made something flicker in my chest. He stepped closer, but at a safe distance "I like to think I'm smart. Want to test me?"

I leaned against the counter, intrigued. "Alright, what’s the capital of Lithuania?"

"Vilnius."

I blinked, impressed but unwilling to show it. "Okay, what’s the powerhouse of the cell?"

"Mitochondria. Come on, give me a hard one."

I bit my lip, thinking. "Fine. Who wrote ‘Pride and Prejudice’?"

He didn’t even hesitate. "Jane Austen."

My mouth parted slightly. "Huh."

He grinned. "Not what you expected?"

"Not even close."

He tilted his head, studying me. His blue eyes went all over me, starting at my face and getting down all over my body. "What about me gave you the impression I wasn’t smart?"

I hesitated, but he was looking at me with genuine curiosity. "The hoodie, the wristbands, the fact that this house is a frat-football house. And, no offense, but most guys like you care more about throwing balls than reading books."

He let out a breathy laugh. "Fair enough. But I promise you, I’m more than that."

I found myself wanting to believe him.

“Oh, I bet.”

The night stretched on, and we kept talking. The party faded into the background. He told me about growing up in Ohio, about transferring to LSU for a fresh start. I told him about my dream of being a psychologist, working with kids was my whole goal.

At some point, we ended up outside on the porch, sitting on the steps as the humid Louisiana night wrapped around us. I hadn’t realized how much time had passed until my phone buzzed with a text from Rachel: "Where r u???"

I looked at him, his hair messy from the night, his blue eyes watching me like I was the most interesting thing in the world.

"I should go," I said reluctantly.

He nodded, but there was something in his expression that made my pulse skip. "I’ll see you around?

I hesitated, then smiled. "Yeah. See you around."

As I walked away, I felt his gaze linger. And for the first time in a long time, I wondered if maybe, just maybe, I had been wrong about people like him.

[…]

The city buzzed with the hum of conversation and the scent of freshly brewed coffee as we walked the familiar route to our usual spot. The sun had begun its slow descent, painting the sky in warm hues of orange and pink. It was the kind of late afternoon that felt like a soft exhale after a long day, the air thick with the scent of summer and distant laughter from students scattered across the campus.

Rachel, Jess, Nate, Lucas, and I had just wrapped up another draining day—classes, internships, and the slow crawl toward graduation looming over us like a deadline we weren’t ready to meet.

"I swear, if I have to listen to one more professor drone on about case studies, I might actually drop out," Rachel groaned as she linked her arm with Jess’s.

"You say that every semester," Nate teased, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

"And yet, here I am. A survivor," Rachel shot back, flipping her hair dramatically.

I trailed slightly behind, exhaustion weighing on my shoulders. My internship at the counseling center had been particularly draining today. A few tough sessions had left me with more questions than answers, the complexities of the human mind unraveling in ways I hadn't yet learned how to piece back together.

"I don't know how you do it, Y/N," Lucas said, as if reading my mind. "Listening to people’s problems all day would drive me insane."

I smirked. "That’s kind of the point. Psychology is about understanding people, not just fixing them."

"Yeah, yeah," he waved. "Just remind me never to tell you my problems."

We finally reached the café, a cozy little corner of campus life where we had spent countless hours avoiding responsibilities. The scent of espresso and fresh pastries welcomed us as we pushed through the doors, greeted by the comforting hum of low conversation and the occasional clatter of dishes.

Sliding into our usual booth by the window, we settled in, each of us instinctively knowing our roles in the ordering process. Rachel and Jess debated over which overpriced latte to get, while Nate and Lucas argued about football stats neither of them would remember in an hour. I, meanwhile, busied myself scrolling through my phone, half-listening to their conversation.

That’s when the notification popped up.

A follow request.

Joe Burrow.

I frowned slightly, the name unfamiliar for only a second before my memory caught up. Joe Burrow, the new player. Why was he texting me like that?

And then, a message.

“Finally found you. Do you know how hard it was to track you down?"

I blinked, confused.

Then another message appeared.

"It’s Joe—the guy you thought was dumb. We met at the party last Saturday."

The guy I met at the party.

Joe Burrow, the quarterback.

The transferred dude and the new quarterback were the same person.

My stomach did a weird little flip. I had spent the entire night talking to him, intrigued by the way he had effortlessly thrown back every challenge I gave him. I had walked away thinking I’d never see him again.

And yet, here he was.

I stared at the screen, my mind racing with possibilities.

"Earth to Y/N?" Jess’s voice broke through my thoughts.

I looked up, realizing they were all staring at me.

"Who’s got you looking like you just saw a ghost?" Rachel asked, sipping her drink.

I hesitated, my fingers hovering over my phone.

"No one," I said, too quickly.

But the smirk on Rachel’s face told me she wasn’t buying it.

And truthfully? Neither was I.

I stared at my screen, my heart pounding for reasons I couldn’t explain.

And he texted me again.

"So, did I pass your intelligence test?"

[ask-postcrash-curly]

…alright big c, I warned you. I’ll do ten.

Real why would someone do this? I truly wonder.

This one is super duper real, thank you anime girl Jimmy… jamine jirl I guess.

A story in two parts……… hawk one or hawk two, big c.

I luv Swansea he’s so swaggers. But you’re swagalicious curly so even better

doubting this but whatever jimothy zare says (that’s his full name, right?)

sometimes I’m the yeller sometimes I’m getting yelled at. Did you know my friend once yelled ‘Ting I don’t want to know about your sparkly pink dildo!!!!’ In front of my favorite teacher? He just looked at her and said her very disappointedly. Anyways, I got back at her by yelling something like ‘I don’t consent!!!’ In the middle of the halls. It’s so fun to do.

Thank you for this educational speech, Daisuke.

Hmmmmm. With the five m’s.

anyways, that’s all for now! Please tell me how to you eat ice cream from the cone up without making a mess.

...Oh.

Y'know, Ting, when you said kind images, this isn't really what I was going for. These are... rather disturbing. I don't want to see Swansea looking half-starved and I certainly don't need to hear Daisuke's thoughts on frottage. Ever.

And. Uh.

Really... really not a fan of, uh, seeing myself and Jimmy in that way. Yeah. We weren't involved and even if we had been I certainly wouldn't want to see it now. Urgh. Yeah.

The ice cream trick's not as cool as it sounds, Ting. I just tilt my head back and ask the sellers for an empty bowl in case of an emergency.

[olderthannetfic]

Man...heavy vent for your blog, but I often see so many fandom people who are "successful" in the typical academic way. Masters, med school, law school, phd, etc.

And that is great. I am happy for those people! I earnestly LOVE it when my friends, mutuals, following, etc get to do their dream job or dream degree. :)

But...that will likely never be me. I am an alcoholic dropout. Which is also fine. I'm working on myself. And tbh I've worked so hard just to stay the fuck alive that even just being here is an accomplishment. I left my cult I was raised into, I live alone (which is more so something I need than something I want, but still great I can do it). yes all I have going in my life is my GED, my IOP program, my dinky work from home admin assistant job, and the HRT i've always wanted and now no longer think I'll go to hell for getting (bc that is not a real thing). I am a survivor! I am badass! I have done great, all things considering!

But...that might be all I accomplish ever. Which is fine. But it's still hard, sometimes? Im sure most people have seen that post that is about, like, niche knowledge that fanfic authors have and apply to their works and whatnot? And that is...nothing for me. Nothing. I cannot apply any type of job or education or whatsoever to my fic because that never happened to me. This isn't me insulting myself, it is just facts.

I genuinely don't hate myself or anything, which in itself is great bc life trauma wants me to hate me! and i don't! I just...feel sorta worthless because I might never achieve more than what i have already achieved, which is barely nothing, and so many people seem to be successful and I am just not.

--

The successful ones tell you about it.

But also... given how much fic is either about extreme trauma with no actual plot or about people hanging out in a coffee shop, I am confident that you can apply plenty of life experience if you want to.

[fromchaostocosmos]

My mother had an ectopic pregnancy which meant that I at some point in my life learnt what that was.

Now even though this happened long before I was ever born it was still something I learnt about and was educated on as a child.

So when my school did it is really basic explanation of periods in either 6th or 7th grade I of course brought it up.

To which I was told that was not a thing.

The person who doing this presentation/explanation was a doctor.

I was very confused why I was told this and went home for a long time thought maybe I was wrong.

I don't know why I was told I was wrong. Maybe because she, the doctor, didn't want to scare or confuse us. Maybe because she didn't want to get into reproduction. I don't know.

I do know that it was wrong to tell me that I was incorrect that there was such a thing.

Because there was.

There is lack medical literacy in general world wide, but especially so in the USA. We do no one any favors by not educating ourselves and the future generations in medical literacy and also science literacy.

Sex ed falls under that and understanding miscarriages does too.

I have met people who thought I was lying when I said that miscarriages in the first few weeks of pregnancy are very common and often can occur before the person even knows they are even pregnant themselves.

I consider myself to be very lucky that both my parents at one point were in the medical field, now just one parent, because that means I grew up surrounded by medical literacy and people to go to when I had questions, and still do.

We owe it to each other and to those who come after us to ensure that we all properly educated and have full understanding on these things. So that people know what is happening to them and the ones they care about.

But also because the more understanding you have, the more educated you are, the more medically literate and scientifically literate you are the less likely you may fall for a scam or a mlm or some faux medical/science product because you will understand why it is bogus and how it is trying to take advantage of you.

And it also means that you will hopefully be better able to advocate for yourself and loved at the doctor, help you feel more confident in asking questions, etc. Because sometimes it can feel scary or hard to ask questions, self-advocate, say no to certain treatment plans, etc. I too go through that.

I firmly believe being more educated, understanding more, and being more medical and scientifically literate will only help and improve all our lives.

We should teach children about miscarriage during sex ed. Here’s why

I feel this in my bones

Miscarriage and still births are still so taboo, which contributes to/exacerbates the feelings of isolation and despair which often follow. And it's not at all helped by the misinformation that's out there.

Some of the most unhelpful types of advice I frequently see involve versions of 'avoid stress', which, if you think about it for more than a minute is not only something of an empty platitude, but also makes no sense given the number of full-term babies born into extremely stressful conditions throughout human history

Properly understanding and talking about the potential vagaries of pregnancy might also go some way to challenging anti-abortion rhetoric, which tends to fetishise pregnancy (always at the expense of the pregnant person. And reality). It was quite apparent that some of them don't understand how pregnancy works when those US politicians started waffling about 're-implating foetuses' during in ectopic pregnancies... I dare say people like that have never heard of a molar pregnancy, for example.

Basically, we need to demystify pregnancy for everyone's sakes

[xxvi0lent-vahlkampfiidaexx]

just as you must keep an eye out for antisemitism dogwhistles you must also keep an eye out for the people who will jump at the chance to dismiss anything as antisemitism, when all the pale noses were the same and it's a very common cartoon style.

even taking into account that crooked noses have been acartoon style it's still something with historical connections to antisemitism (including the history of it being a cartoon style itself) and in the context of the cartoon where the characters with them were Jewish, it was something that needed to be pointed out.

[puppppppppy]

i wrote this as a joke because I wanted to strangle a guy watching tiktoks without headphones on the bus, but im genuinely disturbed that we've gotten to a point where convenience comes first. and it depresses me even more that its used to justify and monetize greed

[chaos-potat]

Why does this keep happening?

Me: ew kisses?? <-I'm joking, I say that a lot

Someone: Are you aroace????

Me: I'm not aroace

Someone: You sound aroace to me, I think you are actually

Chat, I'm not aroace, I have no problem with aroace as a whole, I have made so many aroace characters, it's my go to for characters at this point. I am not aromantic or asexual, I thought I was for a while, but I am not, telling people their romantic/sexual orientation and insisting is really weird and uncomfortable to hear. It's not your journey, not your self discovery, not your business, don't be like this

[willow-p012]

Why is Amane Momose one of the most misunderstood Milgram characters? Why, I'm glad you asked! In this 3 hour video essay I will

[tarantula-hawk-wasp]

I miss doing bar trivia bc now I just have to wait for something relevant to come up at work to tell people a bunch of fun facts.

[bueris]

okay maybe I should seriously reconsider my path in life and sell my soul to marketing or journalism instead

[pup-pee]

wanting 2 finish my education but 2 do so u need 2 have a camera like

hey

thats y i failed in the 1st place

im gonna cry

[anaalnathrakhs]

no really there is a special kind of academic grief when your classes are fascinating, they present interesting challenges, your homework is stimulating, fun to do, and you feel good when you get it done, your classmates are kind and fun and have so much interesting shit to say.

but you're wayyy busy spending your time 50% trying to be the best potted plant your parents have ever owned 50% blasting your brain with endless stimulation lest you start crying and hitting yourself because you had an unpleasant thought.

[kevyeen]

Guys how do I explain to a 14-year-old kid that saying the n-word is really really bad and it shouldn't be said? I told her the history and showed her articles and sent her videos but she still is like 'oh well i won't say it in any public spaces, just with my friends' THAT'S NOT THE PROBLEM KID IT'S THE FACT THAT YOU'RE NOT BLACK. please send help I'm about at my wit's end.

[vacalimpia]

Y'ALL😭... today was my first class in a japanese course i signed up on and for introductions our teacher asked us what had brought us to the course . everyone talked in great detail how they were there for business, travel, industry and culture reasons— so im MORTIFIED because my main motivation for signing up is that my main interest is a japanese RPG Maker horror game from 2010 that im weirdly devoted to

[homogranates]

i'm so serious when i say that school makes me wanna rip my flesh off