#sam and compartmentalization

[deathsmallcaps]

SamBucky in the next movie where they’re like that professor couple: fucking HATE each other professionally. Sniping through professional means all goddamn day. But then they get in the same car and drive home every night

[bopbop171]

WERE SO BACK PROTOCOL 31 WAS SO GOOD 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[shallowseeker]

The thing is...I don't hate Sam.

[pregnancykink]

Ok I finished 11x21 and watched most of 11x22 at the gym and all I can think is Sam is being so BRAVE? Working so closely to Lucifer and even extending sympathy to him that he does not need to like aaaaah he is so…😭🫠 but also god this show bit off more than it could chew with the scope of Sam’s Cage trauma and ummm really doesn’t know how to handle it or take it seriously lol

[readingreddingread]

Thing I wish I could write but don't have to skill to do is a competent, seasoned commander learning about the ice zombies being 100% real going thru 5 stages of grief in 5 seconds before the soldierly compartmentalization takes over and they start asking the vital battle questions of how to put them down and strategy. Have real in depth, insightful, useful conversation about strategy with idk a Night's Watchmen or whoever that's been on the frontlines of the fight then go back to their room, tent or somewhere semi private and have good old fashioned contained freak out or brief existential crisis before shoving all back down. Once composure is regained leave the semi private area to go eat something.

[castielsflowers]

every time the whole sam eats rabbit food thing comes up on the show or in fanfiction it’s such a great example of the writers doing something interesting that they don't have the guts to follow through with because it’s usually in the context of “sam eats traditionally non-masculine foods let’s laugh at him for his failure to perform masculinity on the Man Show” but in the context of PTSD and sam's self consciousness the mr. king of compartmentalization is eating “clean” foods in an effort to live in a “cleaner” body and cleanse himself of the moral failings and contamination that comes with having demon blood in his body which is an infinitely more interesting metaphor for abuse but yeah no sam's just a pussy for eating a salad got it

[hello-eden]

Unexpected Hope

Damian has been disoriented all week. When he was told that stopping the ritual would have repercussions, he did not expect this. He had been dealing with the memories on his own but unfortunately he could not postpone this gala. 

He had been stopping a ritual that would end up summoning the being he now knows as Undergrowth. Damien does not regret that choice especially now that he has the context. Unfortunately it brought back his memories of Phantom.

He didn't quite understand they were memories for quite a while honestly he was a little bit concerned he got possessed. Thankfully after some compartmentalizing and a little bit of isolation, he figured out what was wrong. It did not help the confusion that comes with being a Midwestern teen and an assassin child put into one body but he has gotten the hang of it. 

Unfortunately Damian did not get long before he was forced back into the presence of his family. he had put off many public family events in the last few months so he was not able to get out of this event. he probably could have faked being sick but he'd much prefer to be able to pass off any of his symptoms from the memories as uncomfortableness being around strangers then be alone with his family. 

He's honestly very happy with his choice after he sees her. He doesn't recognize her at first with the dark auburn braided hair and the dress being something other than black but something made him turn around when he heard her rant.

She was giving a humanitarian speech to one of the investors. At first he got closer just to hear about it. It's always funny to see the faces of the imbeciles when people don't bow to their wishes.

Damien thought he finally found someone who was not a gold digger or a social climber. What made him really stop in his tracks was her body language. It was like a neon flashing sign opened up and said ‘hey this is Sam Mason’. 

Damien walked over with hope in his chest that he was not alone. she eventually seemed to get tired of the man or maybe he was able to scramble an excuse and walk away. he couldn't quite hear but by the time he walked over there it was only her.

 “you seem to be quite passionate,” Damian says, trying to start a conversation and figuring out how to ask the hard question.

 What is he exactly supposed to say? ‘Hey, are you my best friend for my last life or hey do you remember being on my ghost hero vigilante team that ended up with all of us being Undead royalty.’

The girl looks him over, probably trying to figure out what he wants. 

“Are you here to argue?” She says angrily, obviously ready for another fight.

“Your speech reminds me of someone, have you ever heard of Samantha Mason” Damien says trying to be nonchalant.

Her eyes seem to widen and look him over again.

“Where'd you hear that name.” She ordered.

“I've heard enough of her rants to be able to pick it out from a crowd.”

 “Danny,”  She said softly her grabbing his hands and squeezing as she looked around to make sure no one saw. “what how I thought it was the only one” Hope seemed to be filling her eyes. 

“Hi Sam” Damien Whispers just as softly just as glad he is not alone. 

Without another word Sam drags them to the stairway rushing up to the floor upstairs and trying to find a room that isn't being used. She eventually finds one two floors above the room they were using for the gala and pushes him into what looks like a break room.

 “How the hell did you get your memories” Sam demands 

“Why are you yelling at me? You have your memories too obviously if you are recognizing your name” Damian says shouting back at her. 

Sam always has a way of catching him off guard. She was happy just a minute ago. 

“yeah well I did something stupid which means I know you did something stupid” Sam said pointing her finger at him.

“ Well I may have accidentally stumbled upon a ritual for summoning an ancient and when I stopped it the backlash gave me my memories back. ” Damien stumbled over their words trying to justify themselves. "What stupid thing did you do?”

“The girls in my stupid Prep School in my grade went through a very witchy phase. there was a slumber party and they were stupid enough to actually find real magic. I had a cut on my hand earlier in the day and try to freak them out by adding a little bit of my blood. apparently my protection spell is literally stuck into my soul, so things went down” Sam says just as hesitantly as Damien

 “you have zero leg to stand on okay fine we were both stupid” 

They both sat there in silence for a while, mostly just basking in each other's presents realizing they weren't alone anymore.

“it's good to have you back," Damian says, giving her a weak smile and running his hands through his hair.

He'd been trained out of all of his nervous ticks but it probably makes her more comfortable to see him just as nervous as she is.

“it's good to see you too da- do you have the same name?” both of them don't seem to realize at the same time that they didn't get each other's names. 

“Damien” he says as he pulls his hand out of his hair and puts his hand out for a handshake. 

“Sarah” she says, grabbing his hand and giving it a shake.

the two of them shake their hand for a moment before they look at each other's eyes and burst out giggling. 

Damien's really glad he decided to not pretend to be sick.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

H̵̩͋o̸̹͒l̶̢̑ď̸͕ ̵͔͛T̴̲̄h̶͙͋e̶̤͘m̵͍̋ ̷͓̈D̵̯͛o̶̡̅w̵̖̃n̵͝ͅ

Get in the Water AU: Original Post Ruthlessness

Ghosts were physiologically different from humans.

It was something Tucker and Sam didn't understand. They saw Phantom as "Danny with superpowers," not as a fundamentally different being.

Sometimes, Danny didn't understand either.

But his parents did. Utter disregard for the scientific method aside, the Fentons were the ones who learned how inhuman ghosts were: "Just emotions and electricity imprinted on ectoplasm, Danno, nothing to be scared of!" Snapshots of people at the moments of their deaths. The past and the present, incapable of contemplating the future.

And with his duality, Danny struggled to understand either of his halves.

As a human, Danny could move past his nightmare of a childhood, compartmentalize and think to the future, when he was fully healed and his past couldn't hurt him anymore. So when Dora, first elected Queen of the Infinite Realms - long may she reign - asked him to collect all the resurrected humans for a health check and assessment... when he'd noticed Damian Al Ghul-Wanye on the list... He'd thought up a little prank to pull on his long-lost brother. A cruel one, perhaps, but nothing harmful.

As a ghost, Danny couldn't move on. He could never forget that Sam led him to his death, that his parents negligence allowed for the stage to be set, that the lab they loved so much held both his home and his grave. Just as Danny would always be that fourteen year old, caught in that moments, he was still the 7-year-old Danyal Al Ghul who trusted his brother not to hurt him... and ended up poisoned.

Phantom wanted his murderer to suffer.

And Danny, much to his shame, had allowed it.

For a few weeks, Danny managed to ignore it. He'd gone after Damian first, so there were tons of resurrected on his list. He started with the more extreme cases first, like Constantine, but soon enough the next on his list was Ra's Al Ghul.

He'd asked Queen Dora to send someone else, anyone else. That he wouldn't be able to control himself if he saw his grandfather again. Instead of relieving him, she'd given him a knowing look and told him to follow his core's desire.

She never mentions it, but Queen Dora had been a murder victim too.

There was no showmanship, no dramatic reveal. Just Danyal, his grandfather, and the Pit.

Despite all Ra's Al Ghul's power, he was no match for a spirit hellbent on drowning him.

That's what Danny did to his grandfather. He'd thrown up afterwards, once he was human before. But the ghost in him relished the act; he could still feel Grandfather's throat under his hands, pulse fluttering against his palm as Danyal held him down. He struggled and shook as the Lazarus waters filled his lungs, burning away healthy tissue. Fingernails morphed into claws that sliced through the tender skin, blood leaking into the water, and water leaking into the blood.

It took a long time for Grandfather to die. Deep within Danny, next to his core, he knew it was what was deserved. That the murdered finally had justice. He was content with never speaking of it again, a secret between him and the waters.

And now it was going to happen again as Phantom's impulsive mind overtook Fenton's tactical one.

He'd known Damian was looking into him. Knew another confrontation was inevitable, what with two more of his siblings needing their health checks. But as Danny was stalking their mother, searching for the best way to abduct her (she was still his mother after all, he didn't want her dead... yet), Damian and his family confronted her.

Relief washed over him as only a normal amount of rage bubbled up at the sight of Damian, instead of the overwhelming, all-consuming fury he'd felt. Danny laughed at their arguments, at Constantine thinking he could put a living ghost to rest, at his siblings-unmet and his father-unknown, until...

Damian confessed.

His murderer confessed, yet as he continued to speak, to explain, the fury rose in him again. Because it wasn't a betrayal. He'd always thought Damian betrayed him, but no.

Through his own ruthlessness, Damian gave him the only mercy he could manage. And there was only one thing Danyal wanted now.

""̸̲̈́T̶͘͜ä̵̢li̸a̶̬̓ ̴̬̐A̵̛̪l̸̲̚ G̸̛̫h̶̺̏u̸̢̚l!̴̳̈́ D̷̩̕o̸͛ͅ ̶̝̍y̴͙͘o̵̙͐u̵̬̓ ̴̤͂k̸̡̑n̵͓̈́o̷͈͝w̷͖͂ ̷͓͑w̴̧̄h̵̲͌o̴̮̔ ̵̼́Ị̷̂ ̷̣̽a̵̳̓m̷̩̓?̷̝͒"̷̧͠"

It was her fault. She was the reason why he was dead, nothing more than a coward who couldn't go against her father for the sake of her children. She abused them, she struck his brother, it was her fault-

"Danyal," she answered. And Danyal grinned, fanged and sharp.

He approached, the waters of his birthplace lovingly brushing against his legs, consoling him the only way they knew how. They whispered revenge into his ears, madness into his heart, just as they had when he'd confronted Damian, when he murdered Grandfather. "You have much to answer for, daughter of the Demon Head," he said, voice echoing around the room.

Unrestrained greed filled her gaze. "You've returned to me, my son."

Danyal laughed, brutal and rough. "I've returned for you, Mother," he corrected. "Don't think this reunion will end well for you."

"You mean to hurt me, Danyal?" she crooned, all false hurt and fake love.

"I mean to kill you."

Genuine anger flashed across her face. "My son would never-"

"Y̵̺̆o̴̩͂u̸͉̕r̷̰͝ ̴͔͝s̵̡̉o̶̡̎ň̵̞ ̶̗̈i̴̘̍s ̸̦̐d̴̯̚ê̶͚á̶̩d̷̻̈́," he snarled, and Damian flinched. He was too close to Talia. "You wanted me dead... for being weak. For having mercy." He stared up at his mother's shocked form. "I killed Grandfather. Tell me, is that ruthless enough for you, Umi?" Talia flinched with just her eyes. He hadn't been allowed to call her Umi since he was three.

Their father stepped forward, the naked distress on his face contrasting with his battle armor. "Danyal," he plead. "You don't have to do this-"

"Stay out of this, Baba." The man's breathing hitched. "This doesn't involve you."

Constantine tried to talk him down next. "It does, kid. A Siren on your level can't stay around for long. It's time for you to rest."

Danyal threw back his head and laughed. "As if you could stop me, exorcist." No more delays. It's time for action. "I will drown you all before you can."

Danyal lunged. And despite his mother's decades as an assassin, she couldn't kill what was already dead.

He held her down by the throat, the attacks from Damian's family bouncing off him. "This is mercy," he cooed as she desperately clawed at his hands. "For me. For Damian. For everyone you will try to hurt in the future. Ruthlessness is the only mercy I can give you now." Her face turned red as she gaped for air and Danyal-

Was thrown back into the water.

Reorienting himself, he found John Constantine standing over his mother, protecting her from him. "̷̪͂E̷̺͐x̷̝̑ŏ̶̺ȑ̴͉c̷̟͘i̸͔̋s̶̮̀t̶̯͝."

And the Pit's water began to rise.

[reasonmustbemytruenorth]

Except Jim only did that under specific guidance from Spock Prime to compromise his younger counterpart—just like TOS Jim did to clear Spock’s mind from the spores in ‘this side of paradise’, deliberately trying to get under his skin—whereas Sam was just being a xenophobic jerk under pressure. Thought Starfleet trained ‘em better, but I guess it could factor into why Sam leaves to go to Deneva after this Gorn stuff on Parnassus gets wrapped up. Still, I don’t like that they picked Sam, a xenoanthropoligist who surely has an appreciation for other cultures, to be the character to break under pressure and lash out at an alien colleague this way. I know the showrunners wanted to illustrate Spock’s otherness and tie it up with the treatment he gets from a lot of crew in TOS (like in ‘Galileo Seven’), but why’d it have to be Sam? To soften the blow when he leaves and dies? Hm. I prefer their silly fights about putting away dirty cups. Biiiig difference between Spock being annoyed at a little bit of messiness versus the speciesism on display in the gif.

STAR TREK (2009) STAR TREK: STRANGE NEW WORLDS (2022-)

[godjustkys]

pleaseee pleaseee PLEASEEEEE write more straight to gay dean or sam or cas or LITERALLY ANY GUY FROM HARRY POTTER OR SUPERNATURAL SJDNJDDJDKDKDKKDK

Dies

SYNOPSIS: team free will (separately) realize you’re their gay awakening!

CHARACTER: male reader x dean winchester, male reader x sam winchester, male reader x castiel

NOTE: made this for funsies and because this anon seems very desperate..

WC: 0.8k

WARNING: —

DEAN WINCHESTER

dean never questioned who he was. women, cars, burgers — simple pleasures, manly stuff. then you showed up, all calm danger and amused eyes, leaning in the doorway of the bunker like you’d always belonged.

at first dean didn’t even like you. you adapted too quickly, too smoothly. he didn’t like taking you on hunts either. you could be standing there, drenched in blood after destroying a vamp in the blink of an eye and you wouldn’t even brag. or gloat, if dean admitted you saved his ass.

the first crack in his built-up walls appeared when you insisted on patching him up. he told you he didn’t need it, that he was a grown man, all that shebang. you didn’t let up, stubborn as ever. the last thing dean expected was your gentle hands. the way you touched him like he was some antique china. like a little porcelain doll. call him crazy, but he needed that soft touch. hell, he craved it. for a guy who’s so gruff and independent, he leaned into the touches, hoping for more.

dean started thinking you were cool.. uh, just a buddy. a friend, if you will. until he started catching himself watching you when you weren’t looking. if he’d hear you laugh, his stomach would twist weirdly. if he’d see you working on a car, all sweaty with greasy hands, his hands would clench.

everything came crashing down when you two decided to have a sparring match. you pinned him to the mat, your forearm on his chest, your breath fanning over his lips. “yield?” you asked. dean’s heart pounded in his ribcage as he looked up into your eyes and thought ‘shit.’

he didn’t yield, but he didn’t stop thinking about that moment for weeks.

SAM WINCHESTER

sam had always prided himself on control. his mind was his shield. even with his complicated past — the demon blood, lucifer, the cage.. he could compartmentalize. rationalize.

until you walked into the bunker and looked at him like you could read him better than any book on the shelf. you weren’t a brute like dean, and you weren’t a soldier like castiel. you were composed. intense. you carried yourself like a man who knew exactly what he wanted. and sam? well he wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of that kind of attention. at first, he dismissed the signs. you were just.. charismatic. charisma wasn’t attraction. but then, you started teasing him. nothing mean — just clever quips, a raised eyebrow, a brush of your hand when you handed him his coffee. sam liked it. too much.

it truly threw him off when he felt seen. you asked him about the lore he was studying, not out of boredom, but pure and genuine interest. you respected his intellect. and you pushed him, challenged his ideas, and didn’t let him retreat behind his usual walls. one evening, he caught you in the library — shirt slightly unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, reading and catching up on his new written notes.

“you really think this passage proves demonic possession predates biblical scripture?” you asked with a small tilt of your head. and sam... forgot how to speak for a second. that night, he laid in bed, heart pounding, staring at the ceiling. “i think i want him.” he whispered to himself.

CASTIEL

castiel had always been distant from human pleasures. emotions, carnal desires — they were secondary to his mission. but something about you pulled at him in a way he wasn’t capable of understanding.

he first noticed it in the way you moved. confidence wasn’t something castiel had words for until he saw it embodied in you. you didn’t need to speak loudly to command a room. you didn’t need a weapon to make people listen. you just existed with that self-assured stillness that hinted at raw power held carefully in check. what unraveled castiel wasn’t just your strength — it was the gentleness behind it. the way you looked at him like he mattered. like his confusion, his silence, his celestial awkwardness — none of it made him any less. one early morning, you patched him up. his grace was dimming and his vessel was bloodied. you sat him down, your hands warm, firm, capable. and when your fingers brushed his ribs, his vessel shivered. “you’re safe,” you said, voice calm. “i’ve got you.” it was then that something stirred inside him.

he couldn’t stop watching you. the way your eyes softened when you were focused, the slight curl in your lips when you teased dean, how you were never truly cruel and never passive. he was standing outside, all alone in the middle of the night, enjoying the feeling of a gentle breeze. “is this what longing feels like?” he murmured to himself, his eyes locked on the stars in the night sky.

he felt human around you.

© godjustkys ©

[mrs-delaney]

Behind The Lens | Part Three

Part One

Part Two

Reader Request: Reader has been working for the bengals since Joe got drafted. She can be a social media admin, public relations liaison or even a physical therapist. She’s been in love with him but it is unrequited while he was with Olivia and when they break up she thought that she had a chance but he starts seeing the influencer but please make it a happy ending. Angst as fuck but happy ending.  I want to see this girl yearning for fucking years before she gets him and I want him to realize that she is the love of his life. 

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: Life-changing job offers, confrontations in edit bays, the specific discomfort of everyone finding out you might leave, career crossroads, that painful moment when he finally says what you've been waiting to hear at the exact wrong time, first kisses that are years overdue, heartbreaking honesty, the anxiety of deciding between your heart and your career, feelings that can't be compartmentalized no matter how hard you try, and the terrifying vulnerability of finally admitting what you want.

Taglist: @honeydippedfiction

A Few Quick Notes:

📌 This story is ONLY posted on Wattpad and Tumblr under miss_delaney. If you see it anywhere else, it’s been stolen. Do NOT copy, repost, translate, or distribute my work on any other platform. Please respect my writing.

📌 Want to be added to the taglist? Drop a comment or message me!

📌 Requests: Open for now, but it may take a minute to get to them, I’ve got several in the inbox.

September 2025 - Regular Season Begins

Game day energy pulsed through the stadium as Y/N directed her social media team from the sidelines. The season opener against Pittsburgh had sold out months ago, the stands now a sea of orange and black as fans welcomed football back to Cincinnati.

"Pregame is live across all platforms," Marcus confirmed, tablet in hand. "Fan engagement numbers already up 25% from last year's opener."

Y/N nodded, scanning the field where players warmed up. "Good. Make sure we're capturing rookie reactions, especially Thompson's first NFL experience. Fans love that 'kid on Christmas morning' energy."

She moved efficiently along the sideline, camera in hand, document key moments herself while overseeing her team's coverage. After five seasons with the Bengals, Y/N had developed an instinct for the visuals and stories that would resonate with fans, the quiet pregame rituals, the focused preparation, the camaraderie within position groups.

From across the field, she spotted Joe going through his warmup routine, methodical and focused as always. He looked good—confident, sharp, ready for the season ahead. Y/N captured a few frames, professional eye recognizing the compelling visuals, before moving on to other players and moments.

The buffer system she'd implemented in January had evolved into something more sustainable by September, a professional approach that allowed her to do her job effectively without the emotional complications that had once made working with Joe so difficult. She still managed overall content strategy, still oversaw quarterback coverage, but delegated the direct, one-on-one work to her team whenever possible.

"Five minutes to national anthem," Sam's voice came through her earpiece. "Coaches want pregame huddle coverage."

"On it," Y/N confirmed, positioning herself for the shot as players gathered around Coach Taylor.

The game unfolded with the intensity typical of a Bengals-Steelers matchup, hard hits, defensive struggles, momentum shifts. Y/N documented it all, capturing both the game action and sideline reactions, directing her team to focus on storytelling moments rather than just plays.

When Joe threw a perfect 40-yard touchdown to Higgins in the third quarter, breaking open what had been a tight defensive battle, Y/N captured his celebration—the controlled fist pump, the quick acknowledgments to teammates, the immediate refocus on the next series. She knew his patterns so well, could anticipate his movements even from across the field.

"That's the money shot," Marcus said, reviewing her footage of the touchdown celebration. "Lead with that for the halftime content push."

Y/N nodded, already moving toward the tunnel to prepare for halftime coverage. As she approached, Joe jogged past on his way to the locker room, helmet in hand. Their eyes met briefly, a moment of recognition amid the chaos. He gave her a small nod, which she returned professionally before continuing on her way.

That was their rhythm now, professional acknowledgment without lingering. Mutual respect without the complications of before. It worked. It had to.

The Bengals won 24-17, a solid start to the season that sent fans home happy and created plenty of positive content for Y/N's team to amplify. After the game, she coordinated postgame interview coverages, finalized social media highlights, and directed the content wrap-up from the media room as players showered and changed.

"That's a wrap," she announced to her team as the final content pieces were scheduled. "Great work everyone. Clean execution across all platforms."

As staff packed up equipment and prepared to leave, Y/N checked final statistics and planned the morning follow-up content. She was focused on her tablet when a voice spoke from the doorway.

"Successful opener."

She looked up to find Brian Reynolds, Director of Communications for the New York Giants, standing just inside the media room. His presence was so unexpected that Y/N momentarily struggled to place him, though they'd met at league events before.

"Brian," she said, professional smile quickly in place. "Didn't expect to see you in Cincinnati."

"In town for meetings with sponsors," he explained, stepping further into the room. "Thought I'd catch the game while I was here. You mind if I shut the door? Wanted to talk to you about something."

Y/N nodded, curious about this unusual visit. Brian closed the door and took a seat across from her, his expression thoughtful.

"I'll be direct," he said. "I've been following your work with the Bengals for several years now. The content strategy you've developed, particularly around Burrow's injuries and comebacks, has been exceptional. Authentic storytelling that connects with fans without exploiting vulnerable moments."

"Thank you," Y/N replied, genuinely pleased by the professional recognition. "That's exactly what we aim for."

"The Giants are looking to completely overhaul our digital content approach," Brian continued. "Our ownership wants a more cohesive strategy across platforms, something that builds deeper fan connections beyond just game highlights and press conferences."

Y/N listened with increasing interest as Brian outlined the Giants' vision, mentally noting the similarities and differences to her work with the Bengals.

"So," he concluded, "we're creating a new position: Vice President of Content Strategy and Fan Engagement. Full creative control, substantial budget increase, direct report to ownership." He met her eyes directly. "We'd like you to consider it."

The offer hung in the air between them, unexpected and substantial. Y/N maintained her professional composure while her mind raced through implications.

"That's... quite an opportunity," she said carefully. "I'm flattered you thought of me."

"You were our first choice," Brian said simply. "Your work speaks for itself. The way you've positioned the Bengals' digital presence, particularly through challenging seasons and player setbacks, shows exactly the kind of storytelling vision we're looking for."

"I appreciate that," Y/N replied. "I would need to know more details, of course."

"Of course," Brian agreed, retrieving a business card from his jacket. "My contact information. If you're interested in discussing further, we can arrange a more formal conversation. Compensation would be substantially above your current position, and we'd provide relocation assistance to New York."

Y/N accepted the card, her thoughts still processing this unexpected development. "This is a lot to consider. I've been with the Bengals my entire NFL career."

"I understand," Brian nodded. "Take some time. But we're moving quickly on this position. We'd like to have someone in place before the holiday season, to prepare for playoff push and draft strategy."

After Brian left, Y/N sat alone in the media room, turning his business card over in her fingers. The opportunity was substantial—higher position, creative control, major market, significant salary increase. A chance to build something new rather than maintain what she'd already established.

It was also, she had to acknowledge, a chance to start fresh. Away from Cincinnati. Away from Joe Burrow and the complex emotions that still lingered despite her best efforts to move forward.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Sam:

Sam: Celebration drinks at Sundry and Vice? Team's heading over.

Y/N stared at the message, Brian's card still in her hand.

Y/N: Running late, finishing some things. Save me a seat.

She tucked the card into her wallet and gathered her things, mind still turning over this unexpected opportunity. She hadn't been looking to leave Cincinnati. Hadn't considered building her career elsewhere. But now that the option existed, she couldn't deny the appeal of a fresh start.

As she walked through the quiet facility, Y/N passed the players' parking area. Joe was just leaving, dressed in his postgame suit, phone to his ear. They spotted each other simultaneously, the empty hallway suddenly charged with awareness.

Joe ended his call quickly. "Heading out?"

"Yeah," Y/N replied. "Just finished content wrap-up."

"Good game coverage," he said, that hint of a smile touching the corner of his mouth. "Saw the touchdown sequence. Perfect timing on the sideline reaction."

"Thanks," Y/N said, unexpectedly touched that he'd noticed her work specifically. "Clean game from the offense. Especially that third quarter drive."

Joe nodded, seeming to want to continue the conversation but unsure how. "Team celebrating?"

"Meeting them now," Y/N confirmed. "Sundry and Vice, I think."

"Tell everyone good work," Joe said, then added with slight hesitation, "Your boundary system's working well."

The observation caught her off guard, so directly acknowledging what had developed between them. "It seems to be," she agreed carefully.

"I don't like it," he said quietly, "but I respect it."

Before she could respond, his phone rang again. He glanced at it, then back at her. "Should take this. Have a good night, Y/N."

"You too, Joe."

As she walked to her car, Y/N felt a strange lightness. Their brief exchange had been the most natural in months, acknowledgment of their new dynamic without tension or avoidance. Progress, perhaps. Or just the passage of enough time to dull the sharper edges of what had once felt so raw.

She thought of Brian Reynolds' card in her wallet. Of New York City and new beginnings. Of building a career beyond the shadow of complicated feelings for Joe Burrow.

For the first time, leaving Cincinnati felt like a genuine possibility. Not an escape, but a step forward. And that realization was both terrifying and exhilarating.

* * *

Late September 2025 - Exploring Options

The Giants moved quickly after Brian's initial approach. What began as exploratory conversations rapidly evolved into formal interviews, detailed position discussions, and increasingly attractive offers.

Y/N conducted these conversations discreetly, scheduling video calls during off-hours, using empty conference rooms when the facility was quiet, carefully protecting her exploration from becoming facility gossip. Only Sam knew the full extent of her discussions with New York, serving as both sounding board and reality check as Y/N weighed the opportunity.

"They've increased the salary offer again," Y/N said, showing Sam the email during a rare lunch away from the facility. "And added a signing bonus."

Sam whistled softly. "They really want you. Question is, do you want them?"

Y/N stared into her coffee. "The professional opportunity is undeniable. VP title, creative control, major market. It's the kind of role people work decades to reach."

"But?"

"But Cincinnati is home now," Y/N admitted. "Five years of building relationships, understanding this team's culture, creating something meaningful here."

Sam studied her friend carefully. "And is that the only reason you're hesitating?"

Y/N knew what Sam was asking. She sighed, turning her coffee cup slowly. "I'd be lying if I said Joe wasn't a factor. Not in the way you think, though."

"Explain."

"I've finally reached a place where I can work with him professionally without my feelings complicating everything. Where I can appreciate his talent and leadership without that constant ache." Y/N met her friend's gaze directly. "I fought hard for that balance. Part of me wonders if leaving is running away, not moving forward."

"Or maybe," Sam suggested gently, "it's recognizing that you've done the work here, and now it's time for new challenges. Professionally and personally."

Y/N nodded slowly. "The Giants want me to visit New York next month. See the facilities, meet with ownership. Final step before a formal offer."

"And will you go?"

"I think I have to," Y/N replied. "Even if just to know what else is possible."

* * *

The next week passed in a blur of regular season content production, Giants follow-up calls, and careful navigation of Y/N's increasingly complicated professional situation. She maintained her focus on Bengals work, refusing to let her potential departure affect current performance.

The Wednesday morning content meeting found her reviewing game footage with her team, outlining social strategies for the upcoming Ravens matchup. She was deep in discussion about third-down conversion graphics when she noticed her team's attention shift to something behind her.

Y/N turned to find Kayla in the doorway, expression unusually serious.

"Can I see you in my office?" she asked.

The walk to Kayla's office felt longer than usual, Y/N's mind racing through possibilities. Had someone discovered her Giants conversations? Was there an issue with recent content performance?

Kayla closed the door behind them and gestured for Y/N to sit. "So," she began without preamble, "the New York Giants."

Y/N maintained her composure despite the internal jolt of surprise. "You've heard."

"Brian Reynolds and I have known each other for fifteen years," Kayla said simply. "He had the professional courtesy to let me know they were pursuing you seriously. Not the details, just the fact."

"I was going to talk to you," Y/N said quickly. "Once things became more concrete. I'm still exploring options."

Kayla nodded, her expression softening slightly. "I'm not upset that you're exploring opportunities, Y/N. That's normal career development. I am concerned that you didn't feel you could discuss this with me directly."

Y/N exhaled slowly. "It's happened very quickly. And honestly, I'm still processing what I want."

"Fair enough," Kayla said. "So let me be direct: what would it take to keep you in Cincinnati?"

The question caught Y/N off guard. She had been preparing to explain her reasons for considering departure, not negotiate her reasons to stay.

"It's not about compensation," she began carefully. "The Bengals have been very fair."

"But the Giants are offering substantially more," Kayla finished for her. "Along with a VP title and greater creative control."

"Yes."

Kayla leaned forward. "We value your contributions here, Y/N. You've built something special with our content strategy, particularly around player narratives. Before I take this to ownership, I need to know if there's a package that would convince you to stay."

Y/N considered the question carefully. "It's not just about title or compensation, though those are factors. It's about growth potential. The Giants are offering creative control I don't currently have."

"And if we matched that?" Kayla asked. "Director of Content Strategy. Final approval on all external storytelling. Budget oversight."

The offer was substantial—more than Y/N had expected. "I'd need to think about it," she said honestly. "This isn't just a leverage play for me. I'm genuinely weighing options."

"I understand," Kayla said, leaning back in her chair. "Take the time you need. But know that we want to keep you here. You've become an essential part of this organization's voice."

Y/N nodded, appreciating the straightforward conversation. "Thank you. I promise I'll be transparent about my decision process."

"That's all I ask," Kayla said. "And Y/N? Let's keep this between us for now. No need to create unnecessary speculation around the facility."

"Of course," Y/N agreed, though she wondered how long such significant career discussions could remain contained.

* * *

Joe found out two days later.

Y/N was reviewing game highlights in an editing bay when Joe appeared in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

"Got a minute?" he asked, voice carefully neutral.

"Sure," Y/N replied, saving her work before giving him her full attention. Their interactions had become easier over the past few months—professional, occasionally even friendly, but with clear boundaries that neither pushed against.

Joe closed the door behind him, an unusual move that immediately put Y/N on alert.

"The Giants?" he asked without preamble.

Y/N kept her expression composed despite her surprise. "How did you hear about that?"

"Does it matter?" He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Were you going to mention it?"

"Once I made a decision," Y/N said carefully. "It's still exploratory at this point."

"Exploratory," Joe repeated, studying her face. "VP of Content Strategy doesn't sound exploratory. Sounds like they're serious."

"They are," Y/N acknowledged, seeing no point in downplaying the opportunity. "And I'm seriously considering it."

Joe was quiet for a moment, his gaze direct in a way it hadn't been in months. "Is this about the buffer system? About creating distance?"

The question caught her off guard with its directness. "No," she said firmly. "This is about my career. A significant opportunity in a major market."

"So it has nothing to do with getting away from a complicated working relationship?" The challenge in his voice was subtle but unmistakable.

Y/N felt a flicker of irritation. "My professional decisions aren't about you, Joe. They're about what's best for my career."

Something shifted in his expression—perhaps surprise at her directness, or recognition of the independence it represented.

"Fair enough," he said after a moment. "But five years building something here, and you'd walk away for a title and a bigger market?"

"It's more than that," Y/N replied, keeping her voice even. "It's about creative control. Building something new rather than maintaining what already exists."

Joe studied her, that perceptive gaze seeing more than she sometimes wished he could. "And there's nothing keeping you here? Nothing worth staying for?"

The question hung between them, loaded with implications neither had acknowledged directly. Y/N maintained her composure, refusing to read more into his words than was actually there.

"I've built a life here," she said carefully. "Relationships that matter. But career opportunities like this don't come along often."

Joe nodded slowly, processing her response. "When will you decide?"

"After I visit New York next month," Y/N explained. "Meet with ownership, see the facilities, get a better sense of what I'd be walking into."

"And if you go," he asked, his voice dropping slightly, "who handles the content strategy here? Who maintains what you've built?"

The question felt both professional and personal, his concern extending beyond workflow logistics.

"That would be Kayla's decision," Y/N replied. "But I'd ensure a smooth transition. I wouldn't leave things in disarray."

Joe pushed off from the wall, his expression settling into something more resolved. "Well, I hope you don't go. But if you do, I get it."

The simple statement, neither manipulative nor dismissive, caught Y/N by surprise. Before she could respond, he continued.

"You've earned the right to choose what's next. After five years of building other people's stories, maybe it's time to build your own."

With that, he turned to leave, pausing briefly at the door. "Just do me a favor? Let me know before I hear it from someone else."

After he left, Y/N sat motionless, processing their conversation. Joe's reaction had been unexpected—not anger or indifference, but a complex mix of disappointment and understanding. And beneath it all, a question she couldn't fully answer: was there anything keeping her in Cincinnati beyond professional opportunity?

The answer, she knew, was both simpler and more complicated than she wanted to admit.

* * *

Word spread quickly after that, despite Kayla's desire for discretion. By the following week, Y/N noticed the shifts in how people interacted with her—the careful questions about New York, the subtle inquiries about her timeline, the occasional comments about loyalty and opportunity.

She maintained her professional focus, refusing to indulge speculation or make promises she couldn't keep. The Giants continued their pursuit, scheduling her visit for mid-October and sending increasingly detailed information about their vision for the role.

"They've sent the official visit itinerary," Y/N told Sam over drinks after work. "Two days in New York, meetings with ownership, tours of their facilities, dinner with the executive team."

"Sounds like they're rolling out the red carpet," Sam observed, studying the email on Y/N's phone. "When do you leave?"

"Next Thursday," Y/N confirmed. "Back Friday night."

Sam took a sip of her wine. "And how are you feeling about it?"

Y/N considered the question carefully. "Excited. Nervous. Torn. All the things you'd expect when contemplating a major life change."

"And have you told..."

"Joe knows," Y/N confirmed, anticipating her friend's question. "He asked for a heads-up before I make any final decisions."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "That's interesting. Any particular reason why he cares so much?"

"Professional courtesy," Y/N replied automatically, then sighed at Sam's skeptical expression. "And whatever complicated history exists between us. But it doesn't change anything. This decision has to be about my career, not about Joe Burrow."

"Agreed," Sam said, refilling their glasses. "But it's interesting that he sought you out specifically to discuss it. That's not typical quarterback behavior for a staff member's potential departure."

Y/N changed the subject, unwilling to examine the implications too closely. Her relationship with Joe had finally reached a stable, professional place. Overthinking his reaction to her potential departure would only complicate things unnecessarily.

Besides, she reminded herself, Joe had Ellie. Whatever his concerns about Y/N leaving, they were professional, not personal. The sooner she accepted that reality, the clearer her decision-making process would become.

* * *

October 2025 - Decision Point

The days before Y/N's New York visit passed in a blur of preparations, both professional and personal. She carefully organized ongoing projects for her team to handle in her absence, created detailed status reports for Kayla, and prepared a portfolio highlighting her most significant content innovations with the Bengals.

At home, she researched New York neighborhoods, cost of living adjustments, and potential apartment options, trying to imagine herself in this new environment. After five years in Cincinnati, the prospect of starting over in a city like New York was both exhilarating and daunting.

The morning of her departure, Y/N arrived early at the facility to tie up loose ends before heading to the airport. The building was quiet, most staff not yet arrived for the day. She was reviewing final notes in her office when a knock came at her door.

Joe stood there, practice gear already on, a coffee cup in his hand. His early-morning training sessions were legendary, often beginning hours before other players arrived.

"Heading out today?" he asked, his tone casual though his eyes were serious.

"Flight's at 11," Y/N confirmed, surprised by his appearance at her office.

Joe nodded, considering something before speaking again. "New York's a big move."

"It would be," she agreed, unsure where he was going with this observation.

He seemed to weigh his words carefully. "The Giants are getting a lot of buzz this season. New coaching staff, strong draft picks. Good time to join their organization."

"That's part of the appeal," Y/N acknowledged. "Building something during a period of transition and growth."

Joe nodded again, his expression thoughtful. "Well, good luck with the meetings. Hope they show you the real picture, not just the recruiting highlight reel."

"Thanks," Y/N said, touched by his concern despite her determination to maintain professional boundaries. "I plan to ask tough questions."

"You always do," he replied with the hint of a smile. "It's what makes your content authentic."

He turned to leave, then paused. "When do you get back?"

"Tomorrow night," Y/N told him. "Late flight after the final meetings."

"Would you..." he hesitated, then committed. "Would you let me know how it goes? After you've processed it."

The request was simple, yet loaded with implications neither of them had directly addressed. Y/N found herself nodding despite her reservations.

"I will."

After he left, Y/N sat quietly, processing the brief interaction. Joe rarely sought her out for non-content conversations these days, both of them careful to maintain the professional distance established after the charity gala confrontation. Yet here he was, checking in before her Giants visit, expressing interest in her experience there.

She pushed the analysis aside, focusing instead on final preparations for her trip. Joe's interest was likely professional courtesy, nothing more. And regardless of his motives, her decision would be based on career opportunity, not complicated feelings for someone who had chosen someone else.

* * *

New York exceeded expectations. From the moment Y/N landed at LaGuardia, the Giants organization treated her with the consideration reserved for high-priority recruits—private car service, luxury hotel accommodations, meticulously planned itinerary that balanced professional substance with city experiences.

The facilities tour impressed her with both technology and vision. The executive meetings revealed an ownership group genuinely committed to transforming their content approach. The creative team openly acknowledged the need for new leadership and direction.

"We've seen what you built in Cincinnati," the Chief Marketing Officer told her during one session. "The player narratives, the community connections, the authentic voice. We want that here, but adapted for the New York market and culture."

By the end of the first day, Y/N found herself genuinely excited about the possibilities. Over dinner with the executive team, conversation flowed from content strategy to market differentiation to personal experiences, revealing a group of leaders she could envision working alongside.

In her hotel room that night, she called Sam for a reality check.

"They're saying all the right things," Y/N admitted. "Creative control, budget authority, seat at the executive table. It's everything I've worked toward professionally."

"And the city?" Sam asked. "Could you see yourself living there?"

Y/N glanced out her hotel window at the Manhattan skyline, lights twinkling against the night sky. "It's overwhelming but exciting. Different energy than Cincinnati, but not in a bad way."

"You sound like you're leaning toward yes," Sam observed.

"I think I am," Y/N admitted. "There's just..."

"Joe," Sam finished for her.

Y/N sighed, unable to deny it any longer. "Four years, Sam. Four years of loving someone who chose someone else. Twice." She stared out at the city lights. "Part of me wonders if I'll ever fully move on if I stay in Cincinnati. If I'll always be the woman who fell in love with Joe Burrow and couldn't let go."

"Or maybe," Sam suggested carefully, "it's about finally writing the ending yourself, instead of waiting for him to determine it. About choosing your own happiness instead of orbiting his."

The observation lingered with Y/N long after they hung up. Perhaps that was exactly what this opportunity represented, the chance to define her own story rather than remaining a secondary character in Joe Burrow's narrative.

The second day of meetings focused on specifics, compensation package, relocation assistance, start date discussions, transition planning. By the time Y/N boarded her flight back to Cincinnati that evening, she had a formal offer in hand, one even more substantial than initially discussed.

Two weeks to decide. Two weeks to choose between the familiar foundation she'd built in Cincinnati and an exciting but uncertain future in New York.

As the plane descended toward Cincinnati, Y/N gazed out at the city she'd called home for five years. The place where she'd built her career, established meaningful relationships, and yes—fallen in love with someone who didn't, couldn't, or wouldn't love her back.

Would leaving feel like escape or evolution? Running from complications or running toward opportunities?

* * *

The leadership meeting was supposed to be routine, winter content planning, playoff contingencies, draft strategy preliminary discussion. Y/N attended with her usual professional focus, presenting social media performance metrics and engagement strategies for the coming months.

She was wrapping up her presentation when someone asked about content leadership continuity through the winter.

"That's a fair question," Kayla acknowledged. "As some of you may have heard, Y/N is considering an opportunity with another organization. We're in discussions about retention, but we also need contingency planning in case she accepts this new role."

The room went quiet, all eyes shifting to Y/N. She maintained her composure, though the public acknowledgment of her potential departure felt unexpectedly exposing.

"Nothing's been decided yet," she said calmly. "I'm weighing options carefully, and regardless of my decision, I'm committed to ensuring a smooth transition if that becomes necessary."

The meeting continued, but Y/N could feel the shift in energy, the sidelong glances, the subtle reactions to this now-public development. Most surprising was Joe's expression from across the table: not shock or confusion, but a kind of contained intensity she hadn't seen from him in months.

As the meeting concluded, Y/N gathered her materials quickly, hoping to avoid uncomfortable conversations. She had nearly reached the door when Joe's voice stopped her.

"So that's it?" he asked, loud enough for those still in the room to hear. "Everyone just finds out in a meeting that you might be gone next month?"

Y/N turned slowly, aware of the remaining staff watching this exchange with barely concealed interest. "This isn't the place, Joe."

"When is the place?" he pressed, an edge to his voice she rarely heard. "After you've already accepted? After you're already gone?"

"I haven't made any decisions yet," Y/N replied evenly, conscious of their audience. "And this is a professional matter I'm handling appropriately."

Joe took a step closer, frustration evident in his posture. "Is it? Because it feels like you're making a major decision that affects a lot of people here without any real conversation."

"I've had those conversations with the appropriate leadership," Y/N countered, her own frustration rising. "With Kayla, with the content team. My career decisions don't require facility-wide consultation."

"So we just lose the person who's built our entire content strategy for five years, and that's supposed to be fine?" The challenge in Joe's voice was unmistakable now, his usual composed demeanor slipping.

Y/N felt her professional mask wavering in the face of his unexpected confrontation. "Why do you care so much?" she asked, the question escaping before she could contain it. "Why does this matter to you specifically?"

The question hung in the air between them, more pointed than she'd intended, more revealing than was professionally prudent. Joe stared at her, clearly caught between authentic response and awareness of their still-present audience.

"Because some things should matter more than titles and market size," he said finally. "Some connections are worth more than whatever the Giants are offering."

The implication in his words, connections, not just professional value, sent a jolt through Y/N's carefully maintained composure. Before she could respond, Kayla stepped forward, intervening with practiced diplomacy.

"Let's table this discussion," she suggested firmly. "Y/N hasn't made her decision yet, and we'll have appropriate transition conversations when and if that becomes necessary."

Joe held Y/N's gaze for a moment longer, something unresolved burning in his expression, before turning and walking out without another word.

The room emptied quickly after that, staff dispersing with the awkward energy that follows public tension. Y/N remained frozen in place, processing what had just happened. Joe had never confronted her so directly, so publicly, about anything—let alone her career choices.

"Well," Sam said, appearing beside her as the room cleared, "that wasn't subtle."

Y/N exhaled slowly, her heart still racing from the unexpected confrontation. "What was he thinking? That was completely unprofessional."

"It was," Sam agreed, "and also completely revealing."

"Of what?"

Sam gave her a look that suggested the answer should be obvious. "Of the fact that your potential departure matters to him. A lot. More than it probably should to a quarterback discussing a staff member."

Y/N shook her head, unwilling to read too much into Joe's uncharacteristic outburst. "He values continuity. Consistency. That's all."

"Sure," Sam said skeptically. "That's why he publicly challenged you in front of leadership. Because of workflow continuity."

Before Y/N could respond, her phone buzzed with a text. She glanced down to see Joe's name on the screen:

Joe: I'm sorry. That was out of line. Can we talk? For real this time.

Y/N stared at the message, unsure how to respond. Their coffee shop conversation had already pushed against carefully established boundaries. Another private discussion, especially after his public display of emotion, felt dangerous in ways she couldn't quite articulate.

Y/N: Not a good time. Need to focus on work.

His response came immediately:

Joe: I understand. But we need to talk before you decide. Please.

The request simple yet loaded with implication lingered on her screen. Y/N tucked her phone away without responding, unwilling to commit to a conversation that might only complicate her already difficult decision.

"What did he say?" Sam asked, noting her friend's expression.

"He wants to talk," Y/N replied. "Before I decide about New York."

"And will you?"

Y/N gathered her materials, mind already spinning with potential scenarios and complications. "I don't know. Probably not the smartest move professionally."

"And personally?" Sam pressed gently.

To that, Y/N had no answer at all

* * *

Late October 2025 - The Breaking Point

For three days, Y/N successfully avoided being alone with Joe. She scheduled meetings during times he'd be in practice, worked remotely when possible, and managed to slip away whenever he appeared in common areas. The facility had become a tactical battlefield, with Y/N constantly aware of Joe's location as she navigated around him.

Sam watched this strategic avoidance with growing concern. "You realize you can't keep this up until you decide about New York, right?" she asked as they reviewed content in the edit bay. "The facility isn't that big."

"I don't need to avoid him forever," Y/N replied, eyes on the footage they were reviewing. "Just until I've made my decision without additional complications."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "And his feelings aren't already a complication?"

"His feelings?" Y/N looked up, expression carefully neutral. "He's concerned about maintaining content continuity. It's professional."

"Right," Sam said skeptically. "That's why he confronted you publicly in the middle of a leadership meeting. Because of content continuity."

Y/N didn't respond, returning her attention to the screen. The truth was, she didn't know what to make of Joe's uncharacteristic outburst or his persistent attempts to speak with her privately. And she wasn't sure she wanted to find out not when she was so close to making a decision that could finally free her from the gravitational pull she'd been fighting for years.

Late that afternoon, as the facility emptied for the day, Y/N remained in her office, reviewing the latest correspondence from the Giants. Their offer was extraordinary, substantially higher salary, creative control, direct reporting line to ownership, the prestige of a New York market. The kind of opportunity that came along once in a career, if ever.

Yet something kept her from immediate acceptance. She'd built something meaningful in Cincinnati, had relationships and understanding that couldn't be replicated overnight. And then there was Joe, complicated, frustrating, impossible to fully leave behind.

A knock at her door interrupted these thoughts. Y/N looked up to find Joe standing in the doorway, practice clothes replaced by casual street wear, his expression resolved.

"Got a minute?" he asked, though his tone suggested this wasn't really a question.

Y/N considered deflecting, mentioning a deadline, pleading exhaustion, finding some reason to escape. But the determination in his stance told her he wasn't easily dissuaded this time.

"About content strategy?" she asked, knowing full well it wasn't.

"You could call it that," Joe replied, stepping inside and closing the door behind him—an unusual move that immediately put Y/N on alert.

She straightened in her chair, maintaining her professional composure. "What's on your mind?"

Joe remained standing, hands in his pockets, a tension in his shoulders that Y/N had rarely seen outside of game situations.

"I'll get straight to the point," he said after a moment. "I broke up with Ellie."

The statement hung in the air between them, simple but loaded with implication. Y/N kept her expression carefully neutral, though her heartbeat quickened against her will.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said, her voice measured and professional. "But I don't see how that's relevant to content strategy."

A flicker of frustration crossed Joe's features. "It's not. But it is relevant to you potentially leaving for New York."

"How so?" Y/N asked, a defensive edge creeping into her voice despite her efforts to maintain distance.

Joe took a step closer to her desk. "Because it changes things between us."

"There is no 'us,' Joe," Y/N responded, the words coming out more sharply than she'd intended. "There never was."

"That's not true and you know it," he countered, his own composure showing cracks. "We've always been more than just colleagues."

Y/N felt a sudden surge of anger, at his timing, at his presumption, at the years she'd spent carefully containing feelings he now seemed to be acknowledging far too late.

"Friends, then," she amended, pushing back from her desk to stand. "But that doesn't give you any say in my career decisions."

"I'm not claiming it does," Joe said, frustration evident in his voice. "I'm just asking you to consider everything before you leave."

"Consider what, exactly?" Y/N asked, her carefully maintained professional mask beginning to slip. "That you're suddenly single again? That after five years, after I'm finally moving forward with my career, you've decided I matter?"

Joe's eyes widened slightly at her tone, unused to such directness from her. "It's not like that."

"Then what is it like, Joe?" The question came out with all the pent-up emotion of years spent watching, waiting, hoping. "Because from where I'm standing, the timing seems pretty convenient."

“Ellie and I had been off for a while,” he said, his voice dropping. “But after the charity gala… things just got clearer.”

Y/N froze, the implications of this timing not lost on her. "The charity gala."

"When you finally told me how you felt about me hiding Ellie from you," Joe continued, holding her gaze. "When I realized what I'd done."

Y/N felt something crack inside her, the last restraint holding back years of carefully contained feelings.

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" she asked, her voice rising despite the empty facility around them. "That you broke up with your girlfriend because what, you suddenly noticed I was hurt? That's not exactly a compelling reason for me to stay in Cincinnati."

"That's not what I'm saying," Joe insisted, taking another step forward.

"Then what are you saying?" Y/N challenged, fully losing her composure now. "Because I'm having a hard time understanding what you want from me. For years, I was right there, Joe. Through your ACL tear, through the Super Bowl run, through every high and low of your career. I was the person who saw you, who understood you, who was there for everything. And you never once saw me as anything more than the woman behind the camera."

Joe looked stunned by her outburst, his carefully crafted QB1 composure completely abandoned. "That's not true. I saw you. I've always seen you."

"No," Y/N said firmly, anger giving way to a more painful honesty. "You didn't. Because if you had, you wouldn't have hidden Ellie from me for months. You wouldn't have let me find out about your relationship from a break-in report. And you certainly wouldn't be standing here now, only after I'm considering leaving, suddenly claiming there's something between us worth staying for."

Her words hung in the air between them, raw and unavoidable. Joe's expression shifted from defensive to something more vulnerable.

"You're right," he said quietly. "My timing is terrible. And I handled everything with Ellie all wrong. But that doesn't change how I feel now."

"And how is that, exactly?" Y/N asked, needing to hear him actually say it after years of implication and assumption.

Joe took a deep breath, seeming to gather courage for words that didn't come easily to him. "I realized after the charity gala, after you actually called me out instead of just accepting whatever I did like everyone else does, that you were the only person in my life who saw me as me. Not as the quarterback, not as some image to protect. Just me." He paused, visibly struggling. "And I realized I've been fighting how I feel about you for a long time."

Under different circumstances, these would have been the words Y/N had longed to hear. But now, with the Giants offer in her email and years of hurt between them, they felt almost cruel in their timing.

"You don't get to do this," she said, voice trembling slightly with emotion. "You don't get to jerk me around like this again. Not when I'm finally moving forward. Not when I've finally found a way to build my career, my life, without organizing it around your orbit."

"I'm not trying to jerk you around," Joe insisted, genuine frustration in his voice. "I'm trying to be honest with you."

"Five years too late," Y/N countered, gathering her things as emotion threatened to overwhelm her entirely. "I have final meetings in New York this week. I'd appreciate it if you respected whatever decision I make."

Joe stood still, visibly processing her words. "So that's it? You've already decided?"

"No," Y/N admitted, pausing at the door. "But for the first time in five years, I'm making this decision for me. Not based on how I feel about you, or how you might feel about me. Just about what's best for my future."

"And if that's New York?" Joe asked quietly.

Y/N met his gaze directly, allowing herself to really look at him without her protective professional mask. "Then it's New York. And this—whatever this is—becomes another what-if that we both have to live with."

She didn't wait for his response, instead walking out with as much composure as she could muster. It wasn't until she reached her car that the full weight of the conversation hit her, tears finally falling as years of carefully contained emotion spilled over.

For so long, she had wanted Joe to see her, to acknowledge whatever existed between them. Now that he finally had, it felt like the cruelest twist yet, right when she was poised to finally build a life beyond his shadow.

As she drove home through the darkness, Y/N wondered if there could ever be good timing for them, or if they were destined to keep missing each other at critical moments. The one thing she knew with certainty was that her decision about New York had just become infinitely more complicated.

* * *

Early November 2025 - The Offer

The second New York trip passed in a blur of final meetings, facility tours, and relationship-building with the Giants' executive team. Y/N threw herself into these encounters with almost desperate focus, grateful for the professional distraction from her unresolved confrontation with Joe.

"We're prepared to improve the offer," the Giants' CEO told her during their final dinner, sliding a folder across the table. "After meeting with you again, the ownership group is even more convinced you're exactly who we need."

Inside, Y/N found an updated compensation package that exceeded her already high expectations. Along with the substantial salary increase came an expanded budget authority, a dedicated content team reporting directly to her, and a signing bonus that would more than cover relocation expenses.

"We understand this is a significant move," Brian Reynolds added. "But we're confident it's the right next step for someone with your vision and talent."

"I'm flattered," Y/N replied honestly. "And impressed by the organization's commitment."

“We know we initially gave you two weeks,” the CEO said. “But if you need more time, we’re prepared to extend it by another two. We’re eager to have you on board before the end of the season.”

Another two weeks. Fourteen days to decide whether to leave everything she'd built in Cincinnati, her career foundation, her friendships, and whatever complicated potential existed with Joe Burrow.

On the flight home, Y/N stared out the window at the clouds below, turning over her options with clinical precision. The Giants offer represented everything she'd worked toward professionally. A vice president title at her age was exceptional. Creative control over a major market team's entire content approach was the kind of opportunity that career trajectories were built on.

Yet Cincinnati had become home. She understood the Bengals culture intimately, had relationships throughout the organization, had built a content strategy that was recognized league-wide. And Kayla's counteroffer was substantial in its own right—perhaps not matching the Giants financially, but offering the director title and creative authority she'd earned.

And then there was Joe.

Y/N closed her eyes, recalling their confrontation. The raw honesty of it had shaken her more than she wanted to admit. For years, she'd imagined what it would be like if Joe finally saw her as more than a colleague, more than the person behind the camera. Now that he seemingly had, the timing felt almost deliberately cruel.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Sam:

Sam: Landed yet? Need intel on final offer and emotional state.

Y/N smiled despite her turmoil.

Y/N: Wheels down in 20. Offer is incredible. Emotional state is complicated.

Sam: Wine and debrief at your place tonight?

Y/N: Yes please. Bring reinforcements.

Later that evening, settled on her couch with wine glasses in hand, Y/N filled Sam in on the Giants' improved offer and the two-week decision timeline.

"So professionally, it's a no-brainer," Sam observed, refilling their glasses. "VP title, New York market, obscene salary."

"Basically," Y/N agreed. "Though Kayla's counteroffer is still very strong for staying."

Sam studied her friend's face. "And what about the Joe situation? Any contact since the confrontation?"

Y/N shook her head. "Radio silence. Which is probably for the best."

"Is it, though?" Sam asked. "You finally had the honest conversation you've been avoiding for years. Doesn't that deserve some follow-up?"

Y/N stared into her wine glass. "What's there to follow up on? His timing is impossible, as usual. I'm literally weighing a career-defining opportunity, and he chooses now to reveal he broke up with Ellie because of me?"

"Not because of you," Sam corrected gently. "Because of how he feels about you. There's a difference."

Y/N sighed, letting her head fall back against the couch. "Either way, it doesn't change the fact that the Giants are offering me exactly what I've been working toward."

"True," Sam acknowledged. "But that doesn't mean you can just ignore what happened with Joe."

"I'm not ignoring it," Y/N insisted. "I'm just... compartmentalizing. Making sure my decision is based on career considerations, not complicated feelings."

Sam gave her a skeptical look. "And you really think you can separate those things completely?"

"I have to," Y/N replied firmly. "Otherwise I'm right back where I started, defining my choices in relation to Joe Burrow instead of what's best for me."

"Fair enough," Sam conceded. "But just for the record, I think there's a difference between making a decision because of how you feel about someone, and acknowledging that your feelings are part of a complex decision."

Y/N didn't immediately respond, knowing there was truth in Sam's words. The reality was more complicated than a simple binary between career and relationship. Her feelings for Joe, long suppressed, deeply rooted, recently disrupted—were inextricably part of her Cincinnati experience. Pretending otherwise was perhaps as dishonest as ignoring the professional opportunity in New York.

"Two weeks," Y/N said finally. "Two weeks to figure out where I actually want to be, and why."

"For what it's worth," Sam added, "I'll support whatever you decide. Even if it means I have to find a new lunch buddy."

Y/N smiled gratefully, thankful for at least one uncomplicated relationship in her life.

Later, after Sam had left, Y/N stood on her balcony looking out at the Cincinnati skyline. The city had become home in ways she hadn't expected when she arrived as a newly-minted master's graduate five years ago. These lights, these buildings, these streets held her history now—professional triumphs, personal connections, and years of complicated feelings for a quarterback who had only just acknowledged what had existed between them all along.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, pulling her from these thoughts. Y/N's heart raced slightly as she checked the screen, half-expecting Joe's name. Instead, she found a message from Brian Reynolds:

Brian: Just checking if you arrived home safely. The entire team is excited about the possibility of you joining us. Let me know if you have any additional questions as you consider the offer.

Y/N typed a polite, professional response, confirming her safe return and reiterating her timeline for decision. As she hit send, she wondered if Joe would reach out again before she decided, or if their confrontation had created a gulf too wide to cross so quickly.

Perhaps that silence was answer enough.

* * *

Mid-November 2025 - The Breaking Point

The days following Y/N's return from New York settled into a strange rhythm at the facility. She maintained her professional responsibilities with focused precision, overseeing content production for the upcoming divisional matchup while simultaneously organizing transition documents in case she accepted the Giants' offer.

Joe kept his distance, respecting her implied request for space. They encountered each other in meetings and team settings, maintaining cordial professionalism that revealed nothing of their confrontation to observers. Only the careful way they avoided direct interaction, the deliberate physical distance they maintained in shared spaces, hinted at the unresolved tension between them.

"Have you decided yet?" Kayla asked during their weekly check-in, the question casual despite its significance.

"Still weighing options," Y/N replied honestly. "Both opportunities have considerable merits."

Kayla nodded, studying her thoughtfully. "For what it's worth, I understand the appeal of New York. The title, the market size, building something from the ground up." She paused. "But I also know what you've built here matters to you. And to us."

"It does," Y/N acknowledged. "That's what makes this so difficult."

"Well, my offer stands," Kayla said. "Director of Content Strategy, creative authority, budget oversight. We can't match their salary completely, but we can get closer than my initial proposal."

Y/N appreciated the directness. "Thank you. I'll have my decision by next week, as promised."

Later that evening, Y/N remained in the edit bay, reviewing footage for the upcoming game package. Most of the staff had gone home hours ago, leaving the facility quiet except for the occasional sounds of cleaning crews or security making their rounds. She welcomed the solitude, finding clarity in the familiar rhythm of work that had defined her career with the Bengals.

The door to the edit bay opened without warning. Y/N turned to find Joe standing in the doorway, still in practice clothes, his expression a mixture of determination and something she couldn't quite define.

"We need to talk," he said simply, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

Y/N tensed immediately. "Joe, I think we've said everything that needs to be said."

"No," he countered, moving further into the room. "We haven't. Not by a long shot."

"I have work to finish," Y/N said, gesturing to the screens in front of her. It was a weak excuse and they both knew it.

"The Raiders content can wait," Joe replied, stopping directly across from her. "This can't."

Y/N sighed, finally turning to face him fully. "What more is there to say? You've made your feelings clear. I've made my position clear. I have a decision to make about my future."

"That's just it," Joe said, his voice taking on an intensity she rarely heard outside of crucial game situations. "You keep talking about your future like it's this separate thing from everything else. Like it's just job titles and salaries and market size."

"Because that's what a career decision should be based on," Y/N countered, her own frustration building. "Not complicated feelings or bad timing."

"Is that really what you think?" Joe asked, moving around the desk until there was nothing between them. "That feelings and timing are just distractions from the 'real' decision?"

"That's not what I meant," Y/N said, standing her ground despite his proximity. "But I can't make a life-changing choice based on something that might not even—"

"Might not what?" Joe pressed when she stopped abruptly. "Might not be real? Might not last? Is that what you think this is?"

"I don't know what this is!" Y/N exclaimed, her careful composure finally cracking. "All I know is that for years, I've been right here, feeling things I shouldn't feel, wanting things I couldn't have. And now, right when I have a chance to start fresh, to build something that's just about me and my career, you're telling me you've had feelings for me all along?"

Joe didn't back down, his gaze steady on hers. "Yes. That's exactly what I'm telling you. And I'm sorry the timing is terrible. I'm sorry I didn't figure it out sooner, or have the courage to say something before now. But that doesn't make it any less true."

"How am I supposed to believe that?" Y/N asked, the question emerging with all the pain and doubt she'd been carrying. "How do I know this isn't just about you not wanting me to leave? About you suddenly realizing you might lose someone who's always been there, always supported you, always—"

“Because I’ve been in love with you since my rookie year.” His voice cracked the space between them, louder than usual, sharper. Not angry. Just honest in a way that felt like it cost him something. “Every time I tried to keep my distance. Every time I told myself we were just coworkers, just friends. I was lying. To you. To myself.”

Y/N stared at him, momentarily shocked by the raw honesty in his declaration. This wasn't the measured, careful Joe Burrow who spoke in calculated press conferences and maintained professional composure. This was something else entirely, unfiltered, unguarded, desperately sincere.

"If that's true," she began, her voice shaking slightly, "then why Ellie? Why hide her from me specifically? Why let me find out about your relationship from a break-in report?"

Joe ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the gesture. "Because I was trying to prove to myself that what I felt for you wasn't real. That I could build something with someone else and finally stop thinking about you all the time." He shook his head, regret clear in his expression. "It was cowardly. And it was unfair to both you and Ellie."

"And now what?" Y/N challenged, taking a step closer despite herself. "Now I'm supposed to turn down a career-defining opportunity because you've finally decided to be honest about your feelings?"

"I'm not asking you to turn down anything," Joe countered. "I'm just asking you to admit that there's more to this decision than job titles and salary packages. That what's between us matters too."

"Of course it matters!" Y/N's voice rose to match his, years of carefully contained emotion finally breaking free. "It's mattered to me for five years! Through every game, every interview, every content shoot. Through watching you with other women, through maintaining professional boundaries, through creating distance when it hurt too much to be close to you. It's always mattered, Joe. That's the problem!"

The confession hung in the air between them, more direct than anything she'd ever admitted aloud. Joe's expression shifted, something like hope flaring in his eyes.

"If it matters," he said, his voice dropping to something just above a whisper, "then why are we still pretending it doesn't?"

Something changed in Joe's expression at her admission—a flicker of hope, then resolve. He closed the distance between them in two quick strides. His hands framed her face, warm, certain, and then his mouth was on hers. No hesitation. No preamble. Just five years of restraint breaking open all at once.

It wasn't a soft kiss. It wasn't slow. It was urgent, deep, like he was trying to make up for every minute he hadn't let himself touch her. Y/N froze for a second, the shock of it holding her still then her hands were on him, gripping the collar of his hoodie, pulling him closer.

He groaned against her mouth, low and unguarded, like even he hadn't realized how much he needed this.

The backs of her thighs hit the desk behind her, and he didn't stop, just pressed her into it with the full weight of his body, kissing her harder now, deeper, like he didn't trust himself to let go. Her hands slid under his shirt, fingertips grazing warm skin. The muscle in his back flexed beneath her palms. Her legs parted instinctively and he stepped between them, one hand sliding down to her hip, anchoring her like he was afraid she'd disappear.

She kissed him back like she meant it. Like she'd been waiting. Years of waiting. Her lips moved with his in a rhythm they'd never practiced but somehow already knew.

When he broke the kiss, it was only to breathe. His forehead dropped to hers, chest heaving, thumb brushing along her jaw like he couldn't quite stop touching her.

Joe didn't say anything.

Y/N couldn't speak. Could barely think. All she could do was tug him back down and kiss him again, deeper this time, slower, a little reckless now. Her fingers twisted in the hem of his shirt, and his hands slid up her thighs like muscle memory, like this had always been coming.

The kiss didn't cool off. It burned. Got messier. Hungrier.

She made a sound, soft, desperate, and that pushed him further. He kissed down her neck, open-mouthed and hot, dragging his teeth lightly along her collarbone, and her head tipped back against the wall, breath shuddering out of her chest.

"Joe," she gasped, barely recognizing her own voice.

The sound of his name seemed to intensify his hunger his mouth reclaimed hers with renewed desperation. Y/N wrapped her arms around his shoulders, lost in sensations she'd only allowed herself to imagine in her weakest moments.

The sudden buzz of her phone vibrating against the desk shattered the moment. Reality crashed back with brutal clarity as Y/N recognized Kayla's ringtone, an after-hours call from her boss that couldn't be ignored.

She pulled back, breathing heavily, her lips swollen from their kisses. "I have to—" she gestured toward the phone, her professional instincts kicking in despite the situation.

Joe stepped back, giving her space though his eyes never left her face. As Y/N answered the call, keeping her voice remarkably steady, Joe ran a hand over his face, visibly trying to regain his own composure.

The call was brief, a question about the game package deadline that Y/N answered professionally, without any hint of the emotional chaos she was experiencing. After hanging up, she set the phone down carefully, aware of Joe watching her, waiting for her reaction.

"That was..." she began, then stopped, unsure how to characterize what had just happened between them.

"Real," Joe finished for her. "That was real, Y/N. Everything I've said, everything I feel for you—it's real."

Y/N slid off the desk, straightening her clothes with shaking hands. "This complicates everything."

"Maybe," Joe acknowledged. "Or maybe it simplifies it. Maybe it helps you see what matters most."

Y/N looked up at him, at the man she'd loved from behind a camera for years, now standing before her with his heart finally exposed. "I still need to make this decision for the right reasons. My career matters too, Joe. What I've worked for matters."

"I'm not asking you to stay for me," he said, his voice steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes. "That wouldn't be fair to either of us. I'm just asking you to be honest with yourself about what you really want." He paused, meeting her gaze directly. "And if that's New York, I'll understand. But I need you to know that what just happened between us? That wasn't just about tonight. That's been there for years."

The simple truth, spoken without qualification or defense, landed with the weight of everything they'd been avoiding. Y/N felt tears threatening and blinked them back.

"I need time," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need to think clearly, not with my heart racing and my body still..." she trailed off, feeling heat rise to her cheeks at the memory of his touch.

Joe nodded, taking a deliberate step back. "Take all the time you need." He turned to leave, then paused at the door. "For what it's worth, I'm not going anywhere. Whatever you decide."

As he turned to leave, Y/N called after him, "Joe?"

He paused, looking back at her.

"Thank you," she said softly. "For finally being honest. Even if the timing is impossible."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Maybe the timing isn't as bad as you think. Maybe it's exactly when we both needed to stop hiding."

After he left, Y/N sank into her chair, her fingers touching her lips, still feeling the imprint of his kisses. The Giants offer represented everything she'd worked toward professionally. But for the first time since receiving it, she allowed herself to consider what staying in Cincinnati might mean, not just for her career, but for her heart.

One week remained to decide where her future truly lay. And now that decision included not just which job to take, but whether she was brave enough to risk everything on a love that had survived five years of denial, distance, and misdirection.

♡♡part four♡

[gremlin-bot]

There is No Closure, Just Adapting To Life

Ao3 link: Here Master list: Here

Summary:

Danny should have asked more questions before accepting the request to fix a different dimension's time stream from Clockwork. He didn’t think he would be de-aged and live a different life where he would latch on to a new family and friends. It was nice being a part of a community of heroes.

It really wouldn’t have been that bad if he stayed there. Too bad that he was pulled from that world and back into his old one, both fulfilling his wish to see his original family and killing all the relationships with his new ones.

Now he has to figure out how to live in his original dimension again. And maybe, just maybe find a way to visit the one he forcefully left behind.

Chapter 1: Your trial period is over; your account has been put on hold.

Danny shouldn't be thinking about the past life he lived, shouldn't think about the parents who adopted him only to disappear for months at a time, nor the vigilante family he’d inserted himself into during their time of need. That life wasn't his to begin with! Just a dimension with a timeline that needed fixing in an unconventional way. 

So, why is he crying? 

He just got back to his home, time hadn’t passed here. He can see Sam, Tucker, and Jazz again! (He'll never see Cass, Jason, Dick, Damien, Steph, Kon –) He's more experienced and better at fighting now. He can protect Amity better! (He misses Gotham. The city seemed to make heroes feel like magic) Danny has his original life back… but damn it, he wants to go back! He doesn't want to protect a city alone again! 

Danny curls into himself on his bed. Silent sobs racking his body. He's so different than he was before. His hair was longer and parted in the middle, nothing like his usual, (old), fringe style. His missing scars and the new ones he can't explain. Gods-  (No, wait, it's Ancients) he is missing his spleen! How was he going to explain that, or any of this? Even as his sobs grew more violent, their volume didn't increase. 

A trick he learned in the Wayne manor. 

He didn't want to disturb anyone with his half remembered dreams of a different life.

Danny took a shuddering breath, the feelings he’d been trying to bury since his return hitting him full force. He’d been sucked back to his original dimension without warning a day ago. Clockwork, that bastard, didn't even give him time to say goodbye to the rest of the Bats and Birds. He was in his apartment as Tim Drake one second and plopped in Danny Fenton's bedroom the next. 

His talk with the older ghost didn't make the situation any better. 

He didn't explain anything! Just that his work in that dimension's timeline was done. If Clockwork hadn't time locked the portal Danny would've been in the ancient’s lair instead of dissociating in a room that doesn't feel like his anymore. He hates not being given a choice or having a plan. 

Jason was right; anger was so much easier than actually dealing with your feelings.

His spiraling was stopped when he heard a soft knock on his door. Oh, he’d forgotten that Jazz was home. Living through a lifetime made him forget a lot about his first one. He didn't get time to follow the new spiral of thoughts before his sister opened the door. 

"Danny?" Her voice was soft, laced with worry.

"Yeah," He hates how hoarse his voice sounds.

 He should be better than this; he’s infiltrated the league of assassins for Ancients’ sake. He watched as she approached his bed, buried beneath blankets. He can hear when she actually sees him by her gasp. 

"What happened?" Jazz asked as she sat on the bed facing him.

"I… I fixed a timeline in a different dimension for Clockwork." Danny can't bring himself to look at her. Everything is still fresh. The feeling he can just barely comprehend as grief has yet to settle inside him. He takes a deep breath. He can compartmentalize this and deal with it after Jazz leaves.

"How long were you gone this time, a month or two?" Jazz looks at him with unending patience and care. 

"17 years," He whispers hesitantly.

"Oh… oh, Danny." He couldn’t have prepared himself for the shock and pained confusion on her face. She leaned her over him, pulling him into a tight hug.

Oh, he can't compartmentalize this after all. Danny’s breath hitched as fat tears began rolling down his face, dampening his pillow even more. His life as Tim made him forget what it was like to have unending support from a sibling. He loved the hodge podge of the Waynes, but he was a vigilante first. He wasn’t really family.

Just a coworker.

“You don’t have to talk about it if it’s too much. Just know that I’ll always be here for you little brother,” Jazz’s voice was gentle. Oh, did he miss her during those years. Cass and Barbara helped him cope with missing Jazz whether they knew it or not.  He turned into her, relishing in the fact she was here. He may be missing a whole new family, but he got his old one back.

“I missed you, Jazz. Can you stay here with me for a little while?” He pleaded between silent sobs.

“Of course. I’ll be here as long as you need.”

---------—x—---------

Tim woke up to the sound of typing and the sight of red hair. He must have crashed at Barbara’s last night. He sits up, not fully awake just yet.

“Morning, Babs,” he yawns, eyes blurry. 

The gentle but persistent clicking of keys stops with a hitch of her breath. "Danny, it's me Jazz. Is Babs someone you were close to… before?" 

The voice he hears back isn't Barbara's.

It's one he barely recognizes now, made even harder to place with the barely covered pain. Jazz deserves a better brother than him. 

What kind of brother is he, that he doesn't even remember his own sister at first glance. 

Danny takes a deep shaky breath. No, he can't think like that. He hasn't seen her in 17 years, Of course he isn't going to recognize her. Still she hasn't changed one bit. 

He can't tell if that makes it better or worse.

"Yeah" he croaks, voice rough from sleep and the lump that's formed in his throat. “She has hair like yours.”

“Oh… do you want to talk about it?” she offers awkwardly. She was completely out of her depth but still wanting to help in her own way. (Alfred would have loved to meet her.)

Danny shakes his head, pushing past the aching in his chest as he drags himself out of bed. He doesn't look back at Jazz, he doesn't want to see the pitying look in her eyes. Something ugly, angry, and raw always tends to creep into him when that particular emotion is directed at him, and she doesn't deserve that.

What a cruel joke that the one thing that he gets in spades in both lives is pity.

He needs a strategy if he plans to survive the next couple of days, (the rest of his life), and that starts small. Get ready and investigate what the hell was happening in his life before… his time mission. He lost so much time with his breakdown, how annoying. 

Tim (no, he's Danny now) huffs, opening his closet. Well before he starts anything he needs a damn shower. 

---------—x—---------

By the time Danny was clean and dressed, Jazz had left him with a journal with his name on it and her scrapbook. Ancients, she really is the best big sister. (Cass would contest that). 

He knows that he should dive into them right away, but… he can put it off a little longer. Remembering and relearning will take time, and he has all the time in the world now, whether he likes it or not. Diving deep will be too much. He’s too emotionally raw, and just needs something to latch on to, like: 

Next day survival plan 101, start small. 

He can look at Danny’s phone; he’ll figure out what to do with Tim’s later. Remember, one step at a time; one thing at a time. Finding the device was easy, it was on the nightstand where he always leaves it. Seems like this is one of the habits he kept in both lifes. Opening it up was easier than he originally expected; he really didn't have a sense of cybersecurity beyond Tucker back then.

(…Now?)

The device was familiar in so many different ways; he always did gravitate towards technology (with Tucker pushing him forward right next to him). The screen lit up, showing the basic layout of all phones; he dismissed notifications from dumb games, leaving the social media ones. What he was really looking for was his messages.

He had a couple new messages from Sam and Tucker in their group chat. He should look at the chat, but, in doing so, he'd be facing the people he had been grieving their missing presence for the last 17 years. A missing presence that had him picked up so many new hobbies, just because they reminded him of his two best friends. Danny would have never touched a camera if it wasn't for the ache in his chest everytime he passed a looming gargoyle. The hundreds of pictures will finally be seen by their intended audience, if he could only get himself to open the gods damned chat!

Shaky breath slips from his lips as he steadies his thoughts. Baby steps. Look at the messages and go from there.

— New Messages —

PettyWitch

Tucker I swear if your ass isn't up rn, I'm coming over and replacing all of the meat in your fridge with lettuce.

TFine

give me a sec 2 get down there you can stop calling me 

i'm not going to answer

what about Danny

how come you aren't calling HIM!!!!!

PettyWitch

Bc Danny can actually get up before noon during the weekends unlike other people in this chat! So he can be trusted to get to Nasty Burger on time. 

TFine

HEY!

Their banter goes on. Danny scrolls through it with a painful kind of fondness draping over him. A hole that once gouged his heart was being filled, only to have a different part get ripped out for the same reason. The people he missed will always have some type of mouth on them, especially one that gets them in trouble. Moving past the too fresh grief and focusing on the conversation at hand does bring about a pressing issue, he's supposed to meet up with Sam and Tucker soon.

Shit.

Looks like he's facing more ghosts of his past-turned-present sooner than he thought. It's Tucker and Sam. They stuck with him through his death and his first hero career. If anyone besides Jazz could sympathize with him, it was them. Resolve hardened like the Bat he is (was —there is no way back to them now), he spends the little remaining time flipping through pictures and looping handwriting as he pieces the memory of his old life back together.

[bluemantics]

Pidge will find her family. There is no question about it. If Matt and Sam Holt are alive, then there is no corner of the universe, no offline or off-grid sector that can be hidden from her sharp eyes. She hates gut feelings and prefers to deal in logical, straightforward facts, but for them, she'll rely on the fickle natures of hope and belief.

To save them, she has to survive. Physically, it's easier for her than it might be for the others. She's not a front-line bruiser like Keith or a self-sacrificial idiot like Lance. Pidge is sneakier, blends in, hides and dodges and ducks. Additionally, as the smallest member of the team, the others tend to protect her a lot. No matter how often Pidge tells them to stop prioritizing her, they do. So, fine. She'll physically survive this.

Mental survival is another story. War is new to Pidge. As Katie, she'd only ever seen stories in books or from her father's recollections. Never firsthand. Hell, she'd never even witnessed an act of violence. Now, hurtling through the strange reaches of space, Pidge realizes how truly ignorant Katie had been.

At age 15, she lands a sharp stab from close up and is forced to watch as a cut bleeds slowly onto metal floors. A month later, she holds a mother as her eyes dim, Pidge's screams tearing up her own throat. Even later, she slices through a throat and freezes to the spot as a body thuds to the floor in front of her where a living being stood moments ago.

Pidge knows she's young, but she's fucking smart, so she decides to treat all this suffering and pain as data rather than letting her whole system fail. Who caused it? Where does it hurt? How can I compartmentalize, which box can I sort this into? It's all lines and columns in her mind, information to be dealt with later. She catalogs their shrieks somewhere buried deep within her, prays the files don't resurface at an inconvenient time.

They do, anyway. A video will play in her mind at night, forcing her awake with shaky, quick breathing and white-knuckled fists. Audio will remind her of dying words, of a soldier's final cry of vrepit sa as they sink to their knees. Counters click upward at a near-constant rate in the background. How many died today? How many Galra, how many innocent?

That's the thing about data: it is never complete and will always resurface.

And when Allura hugs her after a particularly challenging and devastating battle, something in Pidge snaps. She's horrified and helpless as her internal wiring misfires and her systems fall apart. A sob wracks her body, then another.

She was not made for this war. Pidge was made for pranking her brother and research and invention. She is creation, longing for novelty, seeking the endless expanses of knowledge to the ends of the universe. Instead, she has discovered finality. Pidge has found how easily an end can come and has become the tool to bring about these ends. It is the worst thing she can possibly imagine, and she hates it.

Allura holds her. Her marks glow. Leading a group of unwilling, inexperienced fighters can't be easy on her, either. But Pidge finds solace in their shared losses. As they embrace, Pidge grips her back.

"This is not all we are," Allura murmurs.

"Feels like it sometimes," Pidge responds thickly.

"I know." Allura pulls her closer and brings her head to her shoulder. Pidge, too tired to argue, closes her eyes. She'd like not to take in anything new, if just for a moment.

[psyduckz]

“i really did like you” queen of compartmentalization. she said boyfriend or horror dimension… and then tried to shove sam in ajdhskd

[marlenacantswim]

okay. listen. clearly it's sam.

kirk would spill the second the information could get his ship and crew out of danger. plus i'm 90% sure he, spock, and mccoy run the gossip ring wherever they go, so no shot that's not breaching containment.

the doctor has a habit of running their mouth, and with seeming immortality and nonstop time travel, it's more a question of when they'll let it slip than if. my shameful tales will be muttered hastily to some panicked companion in the middle of a firefight seventy million years before i was born.

indiana jones wouldn't give two shits about my secrets. he'd forget them the second i told him, but they'd be the only thing about me he'd remember when trying to get my attention. he wouldn't bother with my name, just pointing to me and going "hey, [deep dark secret] girl" with zero regard for every one else around us.

samwise would consider it his sworn mission to keep my secrets. he'd take that shit to the grave. an eternity in elf heaven and speak of my sins would never even grace the skin of his lips.

[catws-anniversary]

Today is exactly 10 years since the LA premiere of CA:TWS! As good a day as any to release all of our prompts so you can plan for the anniversary event.

Kicking off on March 26th, we'll be celebrating a decade of CA:TWS with 8 daily prompts to choose from, ranging from thematic prompts and quotes, to more general prompts and character-specific ones. These can be interpreted in any manner you choose and do not need to be linked to the daily theme.

As a reminder: this is an open event (see rules and FAQs - content does need to relate to CA:TWS), and the use of our daily prompts is entirely optional. They’re there to inspire, not to put up restrictions.

You can always contact us if you have any questions. We're so excited to see your creations!

MARCH 26 THEME: ON YOUR LEFT

The Smithsonian

First Meetings

Endurance

Mission

PTSD

"I'll put it on the list"

Favorite quote

MARCH 27 THEME: STEVE ROGERS

Camp Lehigh

Elevator

Motorcycle

Steve's list

Guilt

"It kind of feels personal"

Favorite Steve quote

MARCH 28 THEME: SHIELD

The Triskelion

Compromised

Surprise Visit

Neighbor

Weapons

"It's called compartmentalization"

Favorite scene

MARCH 29 THEME: NATASHA ROMANOFF

Mall

Disguise

Redemption

Matchmaking

Trust Issues

"Did I step on your moment?"

Favorite Natasha quote

MARCH 30 THEME: TWS CAST

Press Conference

Character Bleed

Photoshoot

Social Media

Stunts

"I'll take this one"

Favorite cast member

MARCH 31 THEME: SAM WILSON

Department of Veteran's Affairs

Partners

Soundtrack/Music

Wings

Missing Scenes

"I never said 'pilot'."

Favorite Sam quote

APRIL 1 THEME: HYDRA

Lemurian Star

Project Insight

Politics

STRIKE

Post-Credit Scenes

"Order comes through pain"

Favorite fight

APRIL 2 THEME: BUCKY BARNES

Bank

Metal Arm

Memories

Ghost Story

Revenge

"But I knew him"

Favorite Bucky quote

APRIL 3 THEME: CAP QUARTET

Washington DC

Breakfast

Bedside Vigil

Uniform

Found Family

"When do we start?"

Favorite duo

APRIL 4 THEME: TO THE END OF THE LINE

Helicarrier

1940s

Devotion

Identity Porn

Reunion

"Schoolyard and battlefield"

Favorite Stucky scene

Happy creating!