#admin: buffer

[forthedancingandthethriving]

SMG3: I am very handsome. Sometimes I look in the mirror and think to myself "I have committed horrible acts".

----

Vitality: What state would you live in?

Lag: Constant anxiety.

Buffer: Denial

CPU: Perfection

Crash: Florida.

----

Cluster, seeing the Toxic Old Man Yaoi: it's none of my business it's none of my business it's none of my business it's none of my business it's none--

----

Crash: Hey, do you have 2,500 credits?

CPU: What do you need 2,500 credits for?

Crash: An escape room?

CPU: What escape room is that expensive?

Crash: The Containment Zone.

----

Kidnapper: We have Mario.

Luigi: Please, put him on the phone.

Kidnapper: Go ahead, you're on speaker.

Luigi: Again, bro?

----

Lil Coding: I can't ever show my face to my dads ever again.

Cody: It can't be that bad.

LC: No, it was.

Cody: How?

LC: Papa asked me why I was sneaking out to see you, and I said, "Who's sneaking out?"

LC: He's not even mad that I was lying, just disappointed that I was so bad at it.

----

Juliano: The "new year, new me" agenda is going pretty well.

Forum: Have you made any progress?

Juliano: Of course I have. Just one week in and I'm already a lot worse than I was last year.

----

The Abyss: You call them heinous actions. I call them lore. We are not the same.

----

Black Doom, watching Juliano & the Abyss after the NWO takeover: Jeez, talk about down bad.

Phobos: ..

Phobos: I am not even going to comment on the irony of that.

[sainz100]

Max & Daniel throwback to 2018 | Futsal in São Paulo | x

[slavhew]

Hello!

If you're not too busy, would you mind listing some of the things you think count as death flags for Mr. Spender?

There's the obvious fact that he's the "old" mentor to group of young protagonists, but what else do you think would count?

OHH BOY ok so I'd think I'm a crackpot for this but since we're talking about Zack "Foreshadowing" Morrison. I have some thoughts

No harm in leading with the (chronologically) first thing that jumped out at me:

This one IMMEDIATELY made me antsy whenever I came back to it after my initial read, and considering Zack has referred to it on twitter in the past as one of their favorite jokes it's definitely not been forgotten about.

Second, the sheer amounts of near-misses, jokey or not, of Spender narrowly avoiding specifically lightning

Again, not much, but it's weird that it happened thrice, latter two of which had real gravitas rather than an one-off joke.

And third, Spender himself. He's repeatedly shown himself to be kind of a self sacrificing idiot, as well as prideful to a fault. Granted, it's both him and Mina trying to take on all the responsibility of saving Mayview and its inhabitants from their fate.. But Spender is exactly that right measure of doesn't-value-himself-enough (chest footprint aftercare or lack thereof), having an obscene amount of power (enables his loner act + pride) and poor judgement that has the capacity to put him at great risk. And it has!

Spender has not only shown low enough self-esteem to view himself as the de-facto scapegoat for the safety of the town, but also prideful enough to make very bad calls that end up in people, often himself, hurt (COUGH FORGE INCIDENT COUGH)

This is all conjecture, but it's definitely enough to make me worried about him :') Even if all this doesn't mean he'll necessarily die he's definitely getting (even more) seriously injured at some point. I love the guy but he's so far doing a horrible job of convincing me he wants to live bad enough to circumvent at least that

[liciatalks]

John-117 is fourteen (14), three (3) weeks after the body augmentations.

--------------------------------------

I think about this scene a lot. It's sad and pisses you off all at the same time for a multitude of reasons.

This is the first time John is by his self. He's not with the other Spartans, he's not reporting to anyone. He's just going to the gym to do a little bit of exercising, experiencing his augmentations without comparing it to another Spartan.

He thinks everything moving slow, the weights are to light and runs experiments with the gravity because he thinks maybe the rooms calibration is off.

He literally does not know his own strength right now.

Then you have the ODST soldiers.

Probably the first military personnel outside of the Spartan program that John has interacted with. This is backed up by his hesitation to defend himself because not knowing their rank.

These ODST soldiers are assholes but none of them deserve what about to happen.

In walks the Sergeant, assuming he's the ODST sergeant.

John given the orders to step into the fighting ring, by someone he knows is higher ranked then him, he follows orders.

Given the context, he thinks this has to be some kind of mission.

(Of course he does he's 14 and a military kid)

John, not knowing his new strength, severely injuries the ODST soldiers and kills one (maybe two), might have been more deaths but Mendez stops it.

Either he walked in after John, or after the ODST and was just sitting back and observing.

Given John would have noticed Mendez, I'm thinking it's the latter.

Mendez has already called medics, and the Intel officers were informed about the ODST and their sergeant, all before the match was called.

Mendez was aware of what was about to happen.

Mendez wanted to see how his Spartan was with the new augmentations in a combat situation.

John and these soldiers were all used as an experiment.

And I think in a way, John knows.

[leclercskiesahead]

Not people stretching so hard “omg he was holding his phone therefore he must have posted the birthday story from the red carpet” 🙄 do people not bring their phones everywhere. Not to mention the event started a good three hours after that story was posted.

[ebitenpura]

Am I Understimulated Or Depressed: a novel

And Would Buying the New Mario Fix Me: the sequel

[haztory]

the lonely fight.

— masterlist | part one | part two — jack abbot x fellow f!reader; attending/fellow dynamic, age-gap (unspecified but reader is late 20s and up, jack is mid 40s), heavy plot, slow-burn, this is a crack/fluff followed by angst, alcohol consumption featuring the night shift team and team bonding exercises, more yearning, more wanting, escalation of tensions, city girl confronting jack's deep rooted issues, jack being a traumatized man — word count: 6.3k — summary: Karaoke night is supposed to be a morale boost for the team. It only escalates tensions even further for you and Jack. 

It’s late into your shift on Wednesday when Ellis and Shen find you in the brief lull. 

Saying the night has been easy is an insult, one you’re not keen on doling out without proper padding and a roll of sterile gauze clutched to your side, battle tested and ready for war. You’re down an attending, the three residents that were scheduled for tonight have been reduced to one, and two nurses have been cut early in the night due to budget constraints. Leaving only a skeleton crew to man the deck for the night. 

You manage. You all do. With gritted teeth and the incessant propensity to keep moving.  

Would manage even better in between putting your notes in for the girl in Room Three who got an earring stuck inside of her lobe if the network for the EHRs wasn’t experiencing a statewide slow-down. You’re one more loading screen away from punting the computer altogether when the two doctors brace either side of your work station. They settle next to you with a tired air—one not quite exhausted but close enough to know that they’re counting down the minutes until sunrise.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask the two of them, eyes locked on the buffering screen in front of you. 

“We might have to go to paper.” Shen says.

Your eyes find him, quickly. “Who said that?”

”Richmond’s on the phone with admin.” Ellis says, leaning her chin into her palm. “They’re talking about it.”

You sigh, waving the white flag with the computer. “If they want handwritten notes, they’re not going to be up to standard and I don’t want to hear shit about it. I have three patients that need to get logged in and more that are going to come in soon.”   

“Broken left hand. X-rayed. Fixed.” John supplies, dryly with a pantomime of his hand writing on paper. You snort in agreement. Shen bobs his head from side to side as he looks around the floor. “At least it’s quiet.” 

Your head snaps to him just as Ellis’ falls into her hands and groans. 

“What is wrong with you—“

“—do you ever learn—”

Shen shrugs you both off. “You guys are so superstitious.”

“We need a smarter attending on the floor.” Parker sighs, dragging her hands down her face. She looks at you, desperately. “How long before your boards, sunshine?”

You laugh at her, pitiful and flat. “Don’t count on me so soon. I’ve still got time.”

“We need more attendings who don’t play with God on the floor.” Parker pins an ugly stare at John, just as he shrugs in return. 

“Jokes on you, Parker. I feel like I play with God everyday.” You tease, but you sympathy for her sorrow and continue, offering your answer as a means of consolation to her. “I take them in six months.”

Thing One and Thing Two nod slowly, digesting the words in what should be a passing understanding. But—there’s a look in their eyes. Too knowing, too conspiratorial, to be considered innocuous. 

Your eyes narrow at them, “What?”

”What?” Parker parrots.

“Why do you guys have that look?”

John turns his head to Parker, then back to you. “We don’t have a look.”

”You’ll be here, right?” Parker ignores your question, giving her own. “After you pass?”

John seconds Parker. “Not going back to New York?” 

”Or Florida?” 

“No.” You tell them, skeptical at their line of questioning. Still, you give the truth. “Pittsburgh is home for a while.”

“It’s the winters, right?” John asks. “Keeps you coming back?”

Parker scoffs. “No, it’s definitely Eliza Furnace Trail. The smell of piss and shit, just addicting.”

“There’s reasons to stay.” You tell them, finalizing your notes on the system and returning to the home screen. A shadow moves in the corner of your eye, drawing your attention to it quickly. You spot Jack exiting North 10, speaking quietly to Anna Maria as the two head further into the hallway. 

You turn your attention back to the Scooby and Shaggy, only to find them staring curiously at you. Then, with glib interest, you tack on, “And maybe it has something to do with you two.”

“Oh, sure.” 

“Yeah, totally.”

Your laugh is light and the two smile knowingly. Peace settles in the air, complimented by the steady beeps of the machines in the examination rooms and the soft chatter across the floor. 

Ellis clears her throat. “You’re coming, right? Friday night?”

You nod. “I am. Taking roll call?”

“Gotta make the reservation for the table.”

“Who’s going?”

“Us, Hilly, Anna Maria, a couple of people from day shift.”

“You guys ask any other attendings?”

“Basu’s doing a double, Robby gave a hell no, Walsh is on the fence and we’re fine with that. And we were going to ask Abbot, but—” Ellis’ voice trails off and she weighs her hand like a scale. 

Shen cuts in, dryly. “We were hoping you would do it.” 

Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum remain pointedly innocent even as your glare turns deadly on them. 

“You both have to stop this.” You grit out. “Why me?”

“Because you guys got that weird telepathy thing going on.” Shen provides, simply. As if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He looks to Ellis for backup, which earns a supportive smile from her.

“He will give you the same answer that he will give me.” You insist for the hundredth time, punctuating the statement with an eye roll for emphasis on exactly how you feel about it.

They both stare blankly at you. Not that you blame them entirely. Try as you might otherwise, even you can hear the gentle deceit on your tongue when you insist on normalcy between you and the attending. 

If anyone asks, it’s respect. Admiration, trust, and all the sister siblings of a well-meaning accord that force you to hold the man in high regard. Nothing more. 

You keep the low pulse of hope and longing that toils within your stomach pointedly quiet.

“Just ask.”

“You guys are ridiculous.” You stand from your desk, deciding the moment has dragged on and you’d rather not be caught in the crosshairs of further investigation. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to check on my patients before Shen’s curse catches up to us.”

“Tell him we’ll cover the beer!” John calls after you as you make your way down the hall, conveniently in the same direction Abbot went down. 

You wave your hand in the air, brushing the two of them off. “I know how to do it.” 

They wait until you’re a safe distance away from earshot before turning to each other. 

“Good work.” Parker tells John, holding her fist out to him. He bumps it in relaxed victory. “You adjusting?” 

He shakes his head, his lips turning downward in a frown of intrigue. “Nah. I still think that it happens before the boards.”

“I’m switching to eight months.” Ellis supplies lowly. 

“Why eight?”

“When she gets results back and passes, that’s when it happens. Abbot’s not going to fuck a fellow, too much of a power thing.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think he’d fuck any fellow, but he’d make an exception for that one.”

“My money is on when she becomes an attending. Abbot would fuck an attending.”

“So… you’re saying I have a chance.” John says and Parker shoves his shoulder with a laugh. 

—

Luck is something rarely afforded to the ED. It’s sheer will power that things manage to work, human perseverance and triumph even in the moments of clear sabotage as the unit is denied more staff, denied more resources, forced into a corner to fend for themselves with bare threads of patience and the bottom of the barrel that nobody else wants to touch.  

The floor isn’t lucky that the number of people waiting for care is relatively tame at the same time that the hospital's servers are undergoing an update that’s halted everything in its track. Luck implies something good, something that changes the tides for the better. The floor is just coincidentally in the eye of the hurricane at the moment. One ambulance away from teetering over the edge and plunging the unit into the swirling winds and drowning rain. 

Jack doesn’t count his blessings. That’s asking for fate to be tempted. He watches the time tick on his watch and waits. Listens for the distant sounds of thunder approaching, finding only the soft squeak of sneakers on the tile floor.

He hears you before he sees you. The familiar sound of your steps, the steadied pattern, the jingle of your badge against the swivel clip on your chest

He’s standing beside the rolling cart outside of North 15, having given up on any attempt at reviewing the team’s charting notes when the screen gave its fourth error message. You lean against the door frame, watching him. 

“I talked to Richmond. We’re switching to papers.”

“Medieval times.” His expression flickers with disbelief, before smoothing into one of calm neutrality. His jaw clenches, tight for a second. “We’ve been through worse.”

“Don’t speak too soon. The psych eval that was about to get sent up just got delayed because they can’t get access to his medical history. Probably going to get worse for my other three that were ready for transfer to different units that also have their records in a system that is shut down.”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.” He meets your eyes, unabashed in his displeasure.

“I wish I was. I called, tried to strike the fear of God into Psych but those people aren’t scared of shit. They said it’s too risky.”

He scoffs. “If they really want to know risk, why don’t they come down and see how the other half lives?”

“That’s what I said. I was able to pull a favor with Ortho. On the record, they’ll accept four so long as we provide them with some form of medical history.”

He raises a brow, “Off the record?”

“They said they want a sticky note, minimum, but can be convinced for oral presentation as long as we’re available for any questions. I told Shen and Parker to choose the most important to go up. Just need your sign off.”

The still nonchalance cracks slightly. He smirks. Impressed. “Done. Good work.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re scary, you know that?”

“You like it.” You smile and he shakes his head slowly, but he doesn’t deny it. And you know then that you’ve caught him ripe enough to push further. “By the way, Shen and Ellis want to know if you’re going to the karaoke night thing on Friday.”

It draws a narrowed stare your way. “You their messenger now? That’s the third time this week.” His eyebrow raises, entirely unamused at the prospect. 

You take his annoyance to be directed at the invitation. He’s concerned by the fact that the two doctors know to send you.  

You push past it, giving it little thought. “Are you?”

“…No.” 

You catch the hesitation. Brief, but there. “Why not?”

“I deal with this place enough, I don’t need it cutting into my day off.”

“C’mon. It’ll be good for morale.”

“If I wanted to be tortured I’d pick up a double, not sit and listen to you all scream at the top of your lungs.”

You hold your hands up in surrender, “Fine, be a grouch. If you happen to find yourself free on Friday night, we’ll be at Riley’s. Eight o’clock. I’ll be wearing a blue sweater and singing ‘Single Ladies’. Can’t miss it.” 

Jack looks at you from beneath lashes. “Don’t do Beyoncé like that.”

You pull your head back in amazement. “I’m surprised you even know who Beyoncé is.”

He steps towards you, his hands falling to hold the stethoscope around his neck. His gait is slow as he crosses the small distance from the cart to the other side of the door frame. You can see how he’s favoring his left leg yet makes no betrayal of that on his face. “I’m not that out of touch.”

“Had me fooled. You’re allergic to fun.”

“Our definitions are drastically different.”

“And what do you do for fun, Dr. Abbot?” Your head tilts. He leans against the other side of the frame and folds his arms across his chest. Your eyes flick quickly to the sight, tempted by muscle and veins. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” His smile slants. Hung and crooked, like a crescent moon in the sky. It creases into his skin gracefully and the urge to bask in the luster that shines from the rarity of his smile surges within you tenfold. 

“I would, actually. I’d like to know what you get into on your days off. Except for building furniture for sleeping people.”

He huffs a breath, his head tucking down to his chest. Not in embarrassment, but shyness at the reminder of his good deed performed by the other side of Jack Abbot. One revealed to you in parts, with his hand lingering on your back, his eyes fixed on you, and care imbued in the small things he does. 

He peers his head out of the doorway, looking over the floor before meeting your gaze. He thinks, for a moment, before deciding that disclosing is low in some kind of risk.

“I run.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah really. Good for the heart.” He bats.

“Bad for the knees.” You return.

“Good thing I’m already down one.”

You hum, amused. Delighted to know more. “What else?”

“I read.”

“Yeah? What do you read?” 

Jack shrugs, blasé. “Whatever catches my eye.”

“Romantasy, right? You seem the type.”

“Is that the elf shit the nurses are talking about?”

“Faes.” You correct.

“Whatever the fuck that means. Pointy-eared weirdos frolicking in flowers.”

“God, you are old.” Your laugh is soft, gently reverberating through him and he finds himself leaning into it. Watching it, letting it wash over him like a warm sip of coffee on the long shift. A sweet relief. “I’ve got some good recommendations if you want them.”

“I don’t want to read fairy porn.”

“No, I save that for the people who will appreciate that. I’ve got some memoirs, good educational reads, fun stuff. We can start our own book club.”

“A book club?” He repeats, eyebrows raised on his face in disbelief. “Now who’s old?”

“Well, the difference here is that I go out and have fun while still embracing old people things.”

A message interrupts, then. It sounds over the intercom and both your attentions are called to it. It’s over as soon as it happened, one of the nurses announcing someone’s name and instructing them to see The Hub, but it’s the disruption to the easy rhythm. A reminder to you both in your respective yet silent realizations that there is a world outside of this moment—one that was easily forgotten, for a second.  

You tap his arm, voice earnest as you appeal to him, just before either of you can be called to duty. “Come to Riley’s on Friday. I’ll let you pick what I sing.”

Jack shifts on his feet, settling his lean further against the door frame. His shoulders, broad and sturdy, sway before finding stillness again. “You’re stooping to bribery now?” 

“This is part of my tactic. Warm you up, bribe you, profit.” You explain. “I’ll pull out all the stops if I have to, which includes giving you the first pick of my song.”

“Your tactic needs some work.” He cocks his head at you. “You shouldn’t give someone that much power. Could land you in big trouble.”

“And yet, I’m giving it to you.” 

The banter stills. Halts completely, only the low hum of the fluorescent lights filling in the space. 

It’s not the first time you’ve said something to that effect—a seemingly simple declaration. Spoken as easy as you breathe, as if you haven’t further fractured the barely held boundary that lies blurred and frayed between you two. This tiny truth of yours isn’t a simple compliment. They’re windows of implications into something deeper. Something more volatile that simmers under the warmth of your skins and behind each tease. 

It happens, then. The inevitable, the familiar, the expected. The song and dance that has become so routine that escape seems futile. 

The induction of the soft feelings. The confusing ones.

Jack stares straight into the fire, unconvinced that you don’t know what you’re doing. Unconvinced that he should walk away.

“Beer will be on Shen.” Your voice lilts into a song, a means to diffuse the tension. 

“That’s a terrible idea.” He says disapproving, but there’s no malice in it.

“Whatever gets people to come.” A beat passes and you know that, at the very least, he’s considering the offer.

“Tell Shen and Ellis to stop making you do their dirty work.” He says quietly. You shake your head softly, suppressing the want to tell him that talking to him is the farthest thing from dirty work. It’s an easy task, one you look forward to most days.  

“I’ll consider it.” You say instead. He nods, knowing that the two will keep going to you for as long as the affinity he has for you is as obvious as it feels. 

“So…” You kick your foot out, tapping his leg gently, “Are you coming?” 

His lips curl, slightly. “…I’ll see.”

“Good.” You move from your place on the door frame, inching backwards into the hallway. Back into the rush and chaos of a world that feels so far away from this little bubble the two of you made. 

“By the way, Shen said the “q” word, so prepare.”

Jack sighs, heavy and annoyed. Luck and fate tempted once more. 

“Does he want a black eye?”

— 

The door to Riley’s opens with a squeal at 9:15 PM on Friday. The sound is drowned out entirely by the screams that erupt from the crowded establishment when someone’s voice tilts falsetto at the opening line of Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive’.

Jack’s eyes look to the stage, only moderately surprised to see Shen delivering the performance of a lifetime. A bottle of beer is clutched close to the man’s chest as he hits notes only a prepubescent boy could to a crowd more than supportive of his endeavors, a red flush to his cheeks. 

He wasn’t going to come. 

A morning traffic jam that resulted in a six car pile-up on I-279 this morning led to a late exit for Jack which led to an even later morning trying to tackle all of the things he wanted to do for the day. Grocery shopping for meal planning, a stop at a supply store to fix the rubber seal on his leaky kitchen faucet, start his week’s worth of laundry, fit in some semblance of sleep in there (maybe). Top it all off with ESPN and a beer. 

It wasn’t in the plan to come. It just didn’t fit.

…but then you sent a photo. 

A picture of you seated at a table with a smile so bright it could single handedly illuminate the dark and dingy bar surrounding you. Parker sits to your left distracted by something off camera with John standing behind the two of you, a peace sign thrown up as he leans down to stay in the frame. And to your right, an empty chair. Your text saying: Saving you a seat!

So he came. Because the promise of free beer and a means to decompress after a shitty week of long and trying shifts was enticing enough. 

(And because you asked, but he stomps out that answer like a low broiling fire needing to be put out.)

He finds you immediately in the surge. Blue sweater at the middle table and an empty chair beside you. Just like you said. 

His steps are cautious, dodging moving bodies and his own discomfort as he zeroes you in his sight. He fits in beside you just as your hands raise upward shouting a song lyric with the singing group, sliding into the seat as if he just came back from the bathroom instead of making his grand entrance. You notice the movement, your singing faltering as you look to defend the empty chair from pilfering. Your hair is loose from the usual style you have from work, strands framing your face, your body relaxed from the alcohol you’ve no doubt been drinking. There’s a scrunch to your face as you look at him that immediately peels into one of joy when you realize who it is. 

“You’re here!” You shout, your excitement bringing you closer to him. Your touch is liberal, spurred by the haze of drunken inhibitions. Leaning into him, your hands fall onto his shoulders, grabbing onto him as if you were afraid he would disappear. He lets you, watching amused as you fail to contain your elation. Affected, as you bleed into him. 

There’s a dry resignation on his face, like he finds this to be equal parts burdensome and amusing. But he makes no move to put distance between you two. “I’m here.” 

“Do you want a beer?” You shout over the noise, “Come on, I’ll get another one too!”

“How many have you had?”

You hold his gaze for a moment, smile turning sheepish. “I don’t know.”

“Let’s get you some water instead—” He moves for the pitcher of water in the middle of the table, grabbing a plastic cup sat beside it and filling it up.

“No! C’mon!” You grab onto his forearm, halting him from pouring anymore, “I don’t work tomorrow. Let me have fun.”

“You’re going to wake up nauseous and knee deep in regret tomorrow when you realize everyone’s recording you guys.”

“I don’t care.” You laugh, earnestly. “I don’t regret the things that I want, Jack.” 

As his hand hovers over the pitcher, yours falls onto his arm nearest to you. Grasping onto the breadth and holding him tightly. Even in the slur of your words, he sees the honesty behind it. How intently you say it, mean it. Might mean something else behind it all, too. 

“Come on.” You begin again, a siren song on your tongue perfectly heard even in the shrieks of the bar. “Grab a beer, have fun with us. With me. You held up your end of the bargain, I’ll keep mine.”

He looks over your shoulder, relieved to find that the table is too entranced by Shen’s glorious rendition of the ballad to be concerned with the intimate moment behind them. 

“I haven’t gone up yet. You get to choose my song.” 

Your eyes are warm, beautiful. And close. Too close.

“I was promised Beyoncé.” He says after a second, softer than the moment calls for, softer than he intended it to be. 

You smile happily at him. “Beyoncé and a beer, coming right up!” 

The soft feelings, the confusing ones, slip into the narrow space between you. 

Despite it all, Jack is steady. Sipping casually at his Miller watching person after person head on the stage and make a fool of themself. It’s that steadiness that has you drawn to him. Not sloppily or messily, but just teetering past a point of buzzed and into the embrace of loose. 

Your thigh touches his underneath the table mistakenly. Once, twice, four times. He presses back into you, comfortingly. You lean into him when you laugh, mutter the smart quip and teasing joke at a certain performance that he shakes his head at. His arm slings around the back of your chair, only slightly brushing against your shoulders. 

And it’s easy.

“This is for you, Abbot!” Shen calls over the microphone an hour later, his face flushed red with his drunken stupor as he clutches the microphone like it's his last chance. The static from the speakers blows from how close he holds it to his mouth. “This is dedicated to that epic pericardiocentesis you did the other day that I’m still thinking about, you handsome man.”

The rushing piano of “I Need a Hero” plays and it’s the first time you see Jack’s shoulders shake from laughter as he raises a beer up to Shen. The song progresses to an ensemble as the team all shout the lyrics, their fingers pointing back to Jack at each proclamation of needing a hero throughout the song. And you swear, swear, that a flush rises up his neck at the lavish attention paid his way. His head tucks into his chest, and his eyes narrow like the sound of Shen’s voice is physically causing him pain but you can see it as clear as day. 

He’s happy. And it dredges up a tingle in the depths of your heart that surges like a rushing tide you can’t hold back. 

It soars even higher—feels even worse—when it’s your turn. Microphone shoved in your hand, dance moves pulled out as you sing about needing a ring on your finger and feeling Jack’s stare bore into you the entire time. 

A smile, free, unabashed, admiring permanently fixed on his face.

—

“Someone get Mel home!” You call over your shoulder into the bar as you make your exit, the clock just creeping past midnight. Jack’s arm sits firmly around your waist, thick and corded as it supports and holds you steady. “I want her tucked in and sung to, precious girl.”

“Easy.” Jack’s voice is husky beside you and colored with a slight twinge of amusement. Startling, almost, as you’re reminded of how near he is. It’s rough and jagged and it flares a heat within you that has you whipping your head to look at him. 

“Don’t want you spilling guts all over me.” He’s firm and warm next to you, a beacon of quiet strength. You’ve always known Abbot was broad from his forearms alone. Seeing it is one thing, feeling it around you? It’s something else entirely. Temptation sings for you to fall into him. 

It’s hard to recover from it, taking much longer than you’d like to admit as your tongue feels thick in your mouth and your heart pounds in your ears. You blame that on the environmental circumstances of the night. 

“Don’t forget, old man.” You poke just as his arm tightens around you. Your own hand falls to his wrist held right against the front of your stomach, falling in step beside him as he guides you through the bar’s parking lot. “I’m from the city. I can handle my alcohol.”

His interest is piqued, despite all well-meaning efforts to hide it. “I know. You don’t let anyone forget it.”

“Watch it. Don’t make me mad, I can take you if I need to.”

“Yeah? Gonna go for my ankles?”

“Oh please, this again—”

“You gonna slide across the floor again for my feet?”

“He was running away with a catheter in him. If I didn’t take him down it was going to be golden showers for all of us.”

“Yeah, but going for the feet puts you in the direct line of sight.”

“Alright, then next time you stop the meth head, Lieutenant Dan.” 

“And get a mouthful of urine? I’m not kinky enough for that.” He says nonchalantly and you guffaw, your hand landing a smack at his chest. His walking slows as he approaches his truck towards the end of the parking lot. Shiny and well-taken care of, the car you remember him driving you home in before.

He guides you towards the passenger side of the car, loosening his grip on you as he fishes his car keys from his pocket. “All I’m saying is that the Giants missed an opportunity in their draft pick.”

Separating from him, you slump against the passenger door, watching him pull out the key fob. “If the Giants put me on the roster, we’re coming out with a ring every year, baby.” You hold your hand up for emphasis, pointing at each of your fingers. “You can kiss ‘Single Ladies’ goodbye.”

A beat passes. Jack’s eyes bore into yours. “Nevermind, let’s call the Steelers.”

You laugh echoes around the empty parking lot. A song on the wind, a hymn in an empty church as it bounces into the night. Your head leans back in joy, resting against the side of his car. Relaxed, easy, happy. 

“Tonight was fun.” You hum. Jack nods, slowly. Carefully, guarded. 

You see it, even in the sway of the uncountable number of drinks you’ve had that only makes you slightly unsteady—you see it clear as day. The way he is bobbing and weaving, ducking and side stepping a truth he’s not quite ready to admit yet. Not as though it’s a particular harrowing one. Your eyebrow flicks up, curiously.

“I didn’t know Shen had that in him.” He says, pointedly neutral. 

“Neither did I. You must have brought it out.” You push. “Everyone was really happy to see you.”

A grimace pulls to his lips, small yet noticeable. It confirms a suspicion, then. 

Jack Abbot can banter without issue. He can do the sincerity and the comfort when it comes to someone else needing it. But in this moment, cool, confident, and steady Jack Abbot actively avoids acknowledging a truth that implies something good about him—admitting that people wanted him around and that he actually had a good time.   

“Someone just needed to make sure you guys didn’t burn down half of Pittsburgh. And drive your drunk ass home.” He demeans, disguises, dissuades.

Maybe it’s not that serious. Maybe it’s just a defense mechanism he uses when near drunk people, a release of a pressure gauge but for some reason you’re not having it. Blame it on drunken fixations, but they’re the heart of sober thoughts. You’re on the crux of something, inching closer and closer to the soft center of the man. Spurned on by little more than his continued dodging and the need to know, you ask. “Why did you come tonight?”

Surprise colors his features for a second before he schools it. “Morale boost.”

“For the team or for you?”

“Does it matter?”

“I think that you wanted to come out this whole time.” You dig. He stiffens, minutely. 

“You promised ‘Single Ladies’. It was too good to ignore.” He says, stilted. Almost forced. 

“No, before that. You wanted to come. You’re just using that as an excuse to justify it.”

“What are you trying to say?” His gaze turns stony, his voice curt. 

His lips are drawn tight as he stares the particular Dr. Jack Abbot speciality into you. You should probably feel intimidated, should probably be scared into a dynamic of hierarchy between you two, should probably heed the warning signs that crease in his crow’s feet and settle in the lines of his small frown that tell you to stop where you stand. 

You don’t. You stare back, equal in your press into him. 

(Because you’ve seen the softness before, know it exists. It was only a few weeks ago that he drove you home, sat at your table, talked to you like it was the easiest thing in the world. Only a few months ago Jack made it a habit to start meeting you at each of your shifts with your coffee mug in hand, a quiet check-in in his eyes. Only a few days ago the two of you lost yourselves in the safety of a bubble built by the two of you in the midst of a chaos. 

You know where the softness sits, you know it will keep creeping out. 

And right here, right now, you can see how he tries to lock it away. Pretends that it doesn’t exist with all of the good in him.)

“I’m saying you’re allowed to want something for once, Jack.” You tell him, honestly. “You’re allowed to want, and to hope, and to have faith that for a moment something good will happen if you let it in. You’re allowed to want something and have it, because you deserve it.”

He says nothing. Only stares. A charged silence buoys between you two, lit only by the haziness of the street lamp. A warmed yet dulled light that casts a gentle halo around the suppleness of your face—soft and angelic as you peer up at him.

To anyone else, your words would be the ramblings of a drunken woman. Let off the tongue with nonsensical meanings. Prompted by nothing, and supported by whims. To Jack, it’s something else entirely. Not the once foreboding noose— the omen of the invitation, the threat of giving in. What he thought would be a long fraying rope beckoning for the sounds of his choking is replaced instead with you. Your hands, warm, and soft, and well-meaning that wrap around his throat and squeeze until his breath gets caught in his chest. Your nails digging in the skin in search of something he has long since buried. Fingers tenderly massaging out the truth, his reckoning, his undoing.

The in-between of your words isn’t hard to make out. Something good will happen if you let it in. 

If you let me in.

He wonders if you know how close you are to getting to it. He wonders if he even knows how close it is to being released.

The night hums softly. Beckoning a closeness that is filled with a hostile tensity. Like peace and war, heat and ice, fusing into one. Becoming the energy that you both fuel. That something—the one that seems to follow you two when moments like this fall, when it’s quiet and the two of you acknowledge that the air feels weird—is here. 

Loudly silent. Quietly screaming. 

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” He gives, finally.

“Yeah. You are.” You huff out a breath. Then, with the familiar sound of a door being knocked on, you say. “I’m glad you came out. It made my night better, too.”

Your eyes flick down to his lips. His do the same. A question sits in the air. 

Will you let me in?

He swallows, then makes his choice. Buckles the armor up his chest, shuts the door that has been creeping open all this time, that you’ve been pushing against. He locks it, keeps you barred on the other side.

“You gonna get in?” He asks, nodding his head to the car. 

The air spoils as quickly as it was heated. Now cold and void with all of the things left unsaid. 

You nod, simply. Leaving well enough alone. “Yeah. Okay.” 

He opens the passenger door for you quietly, his hand hovering over you slightly as you step up into the seat, but he never touches you. You buckle yourself in, silent as he enters through the other side. Then he drives you home. It’s quiet, a suffocating, choking quiet, but neither of you make any effort to break it. The radio buzzes on the lowest volume, only barely filling the void. 

You thank him for the ride when he gets to your apartment. He nods his head. You go inside and he watches until you're safely inside before peeling off on the road.  

He pointedly tries not to think about anything the whole way home. Puts it onto the shelf, blocks it out, does everything to not remember how earnestly you looked at him, to not remember how you were the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a long time. But it’s his luck—the old funny thing called karmic fate that this night is the first night that he dreams of something other than the tense soundscapes of agony and grief that plague him and draw short bursts of sleep. 

He wakes up with his mouth dry, sweat beaded on his temple, his heart pounding, and the phantom feel of a hand on his chest. 

He dreamed of you. Eternal, effervescent, you. 

Shrouded in the warm hazy light of a bedroom, your laugh on the wind. A quiet moment of serenity, peace. Enjoying the stillness of you two, basking in the feel of giving in before it transformed into something else. You, then, bare on a bed beneath him, your wistful sighs in the air of his room. A prayer on your tongue, the words that fuel his desire, unlock all that he’s kept held back and that’s released something he hadn’t allowed himself to yearn for. And he knows then that the door that was slightly ajar by your gentle hand, the one he so quickly and concisely shut earlier, has now been thrust open by a gust of wind from his exhaled shaky breath. 

“Shit.” He thumps against his pillows in defeat, his hands rubbing at his face harshly. 

He admits, here, in the dawn of his bedroom with sunlight slowly filtering in through the curtains, the long held truth. The guilt is tumultuous; roiling and biting. Shredding through his skin, through muscle and tendon and into the marrow of his bones as he realizes, harshly, violently, with a voracious sense of betrayal and fear—

—that he liked it. He liked seeing you in the after hours with your hair down and your smile effortless. Liked seeing you in something other than scrubs and liked hearing the squeal of your laugh. Liked the way you leaned into him throughout the night. Liked watching you, liked being watched by you.

Liked, liked, liked.

For the first time in years, he laughed—truly, belly achingly laughed— and the burden on his shoulders levied just as the lowlights of the bar fell onto the sweetness of your smile. In the sanctity of a spartan bedroom lingering with the last remnants of a life long lost and hollow of his own that aches to be filled, he admits it.  

The familiar something that exists everytime the two of you meet has a name. 

Want.

And Jack wants you. 

All of you.

a/n: imma be real i don’t love this chapter but we need it before we get into the meat and potatoes. i was second guessing myself the entire time and then i remembered this is fanfiction so who CARES

this chapter was inspired by "the lonely fight" by mk.gee :)

[doyoulikethis-videogame-song]

Hi all, Mod Rae here with a very quick clarification. Admin is working on a more comprehensive FAQ and update to the pinned post, but:

A lot of folks have been disgruntled about there being a lot of songs from the same series in quick succession, and it can be frustrating, especially if you aren't aware of the timeline of posts being submitted. (There are a lot of new or casual followers, after all!)

Namely, the polls going up recently are songs submitted in late July verging into the start of August, which is before a lot of the currently active submission guidelines were put in place. A number of these songs were, in fact, submitted as a single chunk and Admin has had to try and space them out whilst going roughly chronologically (and our current posting rate means that if you put twenty songs between two Splatoon songs, a reasonable buffer by any other metrics, that's actually only four days between them).

Basically, this isn't an issue of people in the present continuously submitting songs from the same series, it's that several months ago, people submitted like 10 songs from their favourite game to the blog when the blog had <100 posts.

[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♡

[forthedancingandthethriving]

(TW: Blood, vomit)

○●○

Buffer stands in front of the doors leading to the space of the infamous code chemist. The dark magenta doors had chains over them, strung tight with a lock over them.

The Admin approaches and gently touches the lock. Closing her eyes, she digs back through fuzzy memory banks and remembers the code.

She flicks the small latches, and the lock falls to the ground and disintegrates. The chains fall and swing, and they, too, vanish. The doors creak as they slowly swing inwards, and Buffer steels herself.

She walks in, and the doors slam behind her. A familiar layer of pink mist covers the foyer of the castle-like space. Grandiose and imposing, with the ceiling arching into a dome. Various symbols and patterns were etched into the walls, a language only those well versed could know.

This was Pink's domain of the space that she and her group owned. It was far more empty than she remembered.

Buffer drags her fingers over the pillars as she walks, the pink mist gently swirling around her ankles. Her hair bounces with each step, similar to the Admin she helped all those years ago.

Years she couldn't remember all too well, but it wasn't like it mattered. She needed to get that formula.

“I know you're here, Pink,” Buffer calls out as she pulls away from the pillar. She comes to stand in between two staircases that lead up to the second floor. “And I know that you know I'm here and why I'm here.”

She starts to ascend the staircase, holding out her hand. “Why? Why would you do this?” She frowns, clenching her hands as she looks up at the ceiling. “So many Programs are sick because of what you released! So many of my friends are sick! What compelled you to do this?"

Silence is her answer.

She reaches the top of the stairs and looks around. It was eerily quiet. She couldn't even hear Pink's Moderators.

Buffer takes a few more steps before she hears footsteps behind her. She whips around, eyes wide, to spot-

“Green,” she speaks, voice soft. Green was Pink's lover and a fellow Admin. Somehow, he was capable of conjuring the things Pink would need to make her substances.

Green stares at her, his body lax. He approaches, his footsteps louder than her own.

“G-Green?” Buffer stutters, backing away.

In a few short moments, Green was directly in front of her, towering over the young Admin. She flinches, looking up at his unreadable expression. His face is blank. Different from the past.

At least, she thinks so. Memories regarding him tend to be fuzzier than most, third only to her memories to Pink, which was second to her.. memories of her time here in general.

He reaches out a hand, and Buffer flinches. Is he going to hit me? What is he-?

Green's hand gently grabs a moderate strand of her hair, slowly running his fingers through it before stopping at the ends. The ends were a soft pink. (A pink Buffer never really remembers changing them to.) His brows were furrowed now, eyes narrow. He almost seems to be.. studying her.

He moves his hand away, letting her hair drop back into place. He mutters something under his breath. She only catches the “... you” part, though.

“Green?” Buffer blinks, utterly confused.

The Admin merely turns on his heel and walks off, heading towards the darkness that consumed the opposite end of the hall.

“Wait, Green!” Buffer calls, rushing after him. Despite the distance between them not being that large, Buffer couldn't catch him. Green was just barely out of reach, and soon, he walked into the darkness.

The younger Admin stops just at the edge, staring, confused. She couldn't even hear his footsteps anymore. Her logical processors were telling her none of this made sense and that she should just turn around, head to the laboratory, and grab the cure that she knew was there.

And yet, her curiosity nags her on. She wants to know what happened. What happened to Pink and her Moderators? Why was Green acting like this?

She inhales deeply and heads into the darkness. She feels on edge, but that's to be expected. There was something deeply wrong here. Green, as quiet as he could be, always answered her whenever she had questions, even if they were short or bullshit answers.

Steeling her nerves, she walks deeper and deeper into the darkness. It clings to the walls like moss-

Moss? Why did she make that comparison? Why would she-

Splash!

She flinches, stiffening. She slowly looks down, lifting her foot. She feels sick to her stomach to see blood mixed with moss swirling at her feet.

For a moment, her processor considered it to be Green's blood before it hit her. This was orange blood. Her heart drops.

Did.. did Orange get hurt? She thinks, slowly setting her foot back down and cringing at the small splash it makes. Why is there even moss here? I remember Pink hating that stuff..

She continues onward, her shoes splashing in the orange blood. She shudders at the noise, and a feeling of dread pools deep inside of her. This blood wasn't fresh at all, and yet it hadn't congealed or dried.

Her eyes flick to the bits and pieces of moss floating in the blood. Could it have something to do with that?

Buffer stops in front of a door. Looking down toward the bottom, she winces. “That's where the blood must be coming from,” she whispers, seeing the blood at a greater quantity there.

Reaching out, she grabs the door knob and twists it, swinging the door inward. “What is Green doing, heading into a place like this?” She murmurs, walking inside.

She jumps as the door slams shut behind her. She looks down and pales.

There was no blood. But an abundance of moss, that was all shades of green. Specks of orange littered the moss that coated the floor. (She couldn't help but notice how the specks of blood were the same shade as her own, and not Orange's. Orange's blood was a tad darker.)

Swallowing thickly with a now trembling body, Buffer continues forward, heading deeper into the room. A room she remembers well. While it was devoid of life, she saw the familiar work benches, large test tubes, and vials scattered about.

She walks over to one work desk and glances upward.

There was the balcony where Pink would watch Buffer work whenever the Admin had a test.

Looking back down, Buffer falters, seeing several text boxes. If she remembered right, Pink never took notes. The Admin merely committed everything to memory. Buffer was the one who took notes due to her poor memory. (But it was odd since she never needed to take notes in the Adminspace.)

She grabs one text box and reads.

Log #3

Another failure! I've failed again! This damned moss, where did it even come from?! Green can't figure it out either! We're all stumped!

It took her from me.. her smile.. her laugh.. the only one who truly knew and understood what we did here.. I can't lose her. I need to know what this moss did to her.

Buffer quickly clambers onto the table, staring at the moss on the floor. Though her eyes soon narrow, seeing how the moss was nowhere near the tables.

Odd.

She swipes through the textbox, seeing a second page.

Log #7

We got somewhere today. Red went to a world - Minecraft, I believed it was called. Yellow went with her, and they discovered… Fledging spores, so to speak. Apparently, the code they held nearly matched the code of moss that appeared here!

They won't be able to bring any here, but.. I couldn't care less. I'm going there myself. I'll fix her. Make her better. She'll wake up.

A swipe to the third page.

Log #10

Failures, failures, failures. I don't care what they say, I don't care that I'm being stubborn. They back off once I say it's so we don't have an infection of some sort spread. But I need to know, I need to figure this out. I will go insane if I don't.

This is nothing compared to what I have mastered.

This was definitely Pink’s writing. The Admin was always a bit intense whenever she had to write.

She set one down and picked up another.

Log #17

Red, such a hypocrite. Telling me to put down my work - as if she isn't working as much! No, no. I can't get upset. We're all hurting. None of my tests have yielded results.

But soon they will. I know they will.

Buffer slowly sits down on the table, swiping to the next page. “Hm..”

Log #24

I finally got something - it's less of a moss and more of a fungus. Green has been a tremendous help figuring this all out. Despite how many times I tell him, I know that he's blaming himself. None of us could have known she would.. deactivate. None of us knew she would bleed out.

None of us knew that she was mixing things she shouldn't be.

Who was Pink talking about? Did this happen sometime after Buffer left? It had to, considering that she couldn't find any memories relating to something even remotely like this.

Log #29

I managed to preserve a sample of her code. There was still code just a bit lingering. I grabbed it as soon as I saw it and put it into one of the test chambers.

I don't care how many times it takes. I'll fix her. Bring her back. She's not dead. That code still holds life. I'm sure of it.

Flicking through more of the pages, she frowns deeply as reads. It was more of the same. Pink declaring that she'd bring someone back, more notes about failures, and other sorts of things.

One apparent thing, though, was that Pink’s sanity and mental health had taken a hit by whatever had happened. Someone had deactivated a while after Buffer left, and Pink was trying to bring them back.

She left itches her shoulder, feeling a tingle there before grabbing the third text box.

Log #50

I can't forget the state of her when we first saw her that day. We were gone for just a few hours, and the lab was overrun by this damn fungus. And she was just. sitting there. Slumped over the table.

Her left arm was completely taken over by whatever the hell this thing is. So was her face. Her right ankle and left upper thigh.

We don't know how it got there. Got to her. All we know is that it's a fledging in only the Minecraft universe.

I'll eradicate it if I have to.

Buffer slowly clenches her hand. She rolls her right shoulder and tucks her left ankle under her right thigh.

This isn't about you. She tries to reason, to stop her worried thoughts. You would remember this.

Log #55

A breakthrough. A breakthrough. I got a breakthrough. Her code is still there, and I can remake it. She was never dead. Death never took her from me.

You'll be back. I'll bring you back.

Buffer's thumb trembles over the final word being covered. Slowly, she moves it.

I promise.

She exhales softly.

Log #60

I love Yellow. I care for them, and I cherish them, but if they don't get off my back about this.. who cares if this goes against all moral codes! I want her back! My Moderator, my apprentice, my heir - my DAUGHTER! I want her back! She's the perfection of what I do, the pinnacle of my teachings!

GIVE HER BACK!

Buffer, shakily, sets down that text box. “No more reading for a minute,” she mutters to herself. She felt shaky and sick, knowing that if she read more, she'd waste more time. She hops off the table, cringing at the soft squelch that comes from one of her feet landing in the moss.

She steps away and hurries over to another one of the tables, keen eyes spotting a box.

A box that had not been there before.

Throat feeling dry, she moves forward and clicks open the box.

Inside were the vials. Vials she knew contained the cure, because it was a cure she made as a test. It was how she knew. How she knew that Pink was behind this.

Buffer stares and stares and stares. She could take these and leave. She could take these and go back to the Adminspace, and try to forget what she saw today. She could ignore Green and Pink's behavior.

She could ignore it all and go home.

But she wouldn't. Because-

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Pink spoke, placing a hand on Buffer's head, “but satisfaction brought it back.”

Shaking her head, Buffer pulls herself from the memory and brings up a log box. From memory, she put down how to use and make more of the cure, something she knew Vitality and Kelsie would do just fine at replicating.

Opening a small portal command, she puts the box and log box through. Once she pulls her hands back out, it closes, and she's left in the darkness of the room.

Someone was watching her.

Her head snaps up to look at the balcony once more.

..

No one was there.

Buffer shudders. She glances around for any sign of vibrant pink, but finds none. She clenches a shaking hand over her chest, before her curiosity makes her look back at the text boxes. She makes her way over, hops back on, and shuffles through them.

Her eyes skim over the texts before something catches her attention. It was a number for.. something. Unlike the logs, it was something else that was numbered.

She lifts the text box and pales.

Clone.

It was a text box labeled ‘Attempts’. Swallowing down her fear, she opens it up.

59 entries. About clones.

The text box falls to the ground with a clatter when she sees the name. She feels bile rush up her through and she rushes as quickly as she can to a corner and retches.

“Ah, you're here!” The airy voice of Pink fills the room, and Buffer jolts. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she stumbles away and looks toward the balcony.

Pink stands there, hands clasped behind her back as Green stands behind her, looming over her shoulder.

“I've missed you dearly, Buffer.” Pink closes her eyes as she smiles. “I almost thought you were intentionally not visiting me!”

“That- That can't be true,” Buffer stammers, pointing to the text box. “Pink, tell me it isn't true - I'm begging you, tell me that isn't true!”

“What do you- Ooh.” Pink pauses before giggling. “Dear, it's as true as the sky is blue.”

Buffer felt like her whole world was crashing down.

Pink continues to smile down at her, and Green manages to, somehow, continue looking down at Buffer.

“You're a clone, Buffer. The best one yet, I must add.” The older Admin smiles. Buffer's knees buckle under her, nearly giving out.

Buffer can hardly think. Whatever Pink is saying doesn't register. Her hands grasp at the air as a portal opens behind her. And she runs through it, stumbling out to her office on the other side. She collapses onto the floor, body and voice shuddering with each breath.

She hears a gentle, “I'll see you soon,” before the portal behind her closes.

(happy birthday @local-angst-dispenser <3)

[the-s1lly-corner]

Pocky game w/ them (Main edition)

maybe ill put some buffer posts between parts so its not the same thing back to back to back- i need to really get better at balancing what fandoms i write for. not fair for everyone else notes: gn toon reader, pre game, short and sweet, max characters for requests is still 3-4 this is just a time killer for the admin, no i dont want to hear "butbutbutbut dandy is a lethal-" idc hes not getting his solo post sorry if this comes off as mad im just annoyed LMAO, written on mobile cws: none

DANDY

Oh you don't have to ask him twice! An excuse to give you another kiss isn't an excuse- it's a call to action!

But don't think his eagerness is going to mean he's going to speed run the game... oh no, no no no- he's gonna make you wait for it. He likes seeing the realization and horror as he takes his sweet time, while you're already at the middle

...and don't try to rush it, he will lightly (but playfully) scold you got it... come onnnnnn you can be patient, can't you?

SHELLY

ASTRO

...hopefully you catch him before he goes down for a nap, he doesn't like eating sugar before going to bed

But if he is, he'll make sure to play the game with you as soon as he's awake if he's too exhausted to stay awake! A smile on your face always makes him smile, too

He's a shy kisser though, and the game makes him a little more... well, shy- he doesn't back down but there is some extra sheepishness in his body language

Yes! Yesyes please! Honestly she thinks it's really cute and she's instantly in love with the idea

The grin she has is heavenly, she can't help but giggle as your lips meet- even if it's the gentlest and softest kiss you've ever shared it makes her melt on the spot

If she had a tail it'd definitely be wagging right now!

VEE

SPROUT

Pocky? Oh! He thinks he's heard of that before... honestly he's considered trying to make his own version when he had the time but oooooooh... he hasn't quite gotten it right yet..

But when he does you can expect him to try the game with his pocky! In the meantime your box will do...

Neither rushes nor drags it out, it's a cute game in his eyes but he's not going to giggle or grin like an idiot

...her screen is... flat... the pocky kind of just clacks and smears around- which she doesn't appreciate very much by the way!

She doesn't need to eat at all actually, she gets her energy through electricity, has a whole plug and everything-

And sure she probably already knows what it tastes like, or can make an educated guess based on what she's already programmed to know... but she's not going to stop you from trying to describe it to her

[ccccallsigns-au]

dear callsigns audience,

I am now officially taking my brief hiatus. At minimum, this station will be dormant for a month. I need sleep and rest! [<- will be doing no such thing] I also need time to build up my buffer and create new work for this project. I've consumed everything in my coffers right now.

Thank you all for participating in puzzle week! I can assure you that whatever comes next will not be nearly as extravagant. This was exhausting. I have literally no plans at this present moment, so. Expect... something !

yours truly, your very tired and eternally grateful callsigns admin

[yeonmuse]

ᥫ᭡ f!reader x Park Sunghoon ── 𝒢enre. Uni au. fluff, non idol enha. feats. ot7 [reqs are closed] ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓁ibrary ⛸️

⍣ ೋ AUTHORS NOTES . This is part of admins Enhypen University Special Event. This series also has slight connections to every series in said event so occasionally characters from the other members chapters may appear in this series as well.

˗ˏˋSUMMARY ´ˎ˗ Park Sunghoon doesn’t usually like getting close to new people, but when a little shows up to his place of work in need of skating lessons he finds himself getting oddly close to his older sister. He finds himself developing some uncontainable feelings while having to teach not only her little sister to skate, but her as well.

TAGLIST IS CLOSED ❕ 🏷️

the zamwhati?

Another day, another skate lesson, her sister and her had gotten there a little earlier than usual – June wanting to get in some extra skate time before all the other kids crowded the place. Sunghoon was surprised to see her there this early, and it made him partially nervous knowing he’d have to find some way to entertain her until the other kids got there. Meanwhile her eyes scanned the rink, subconsciously searching for a certain someone that she had gotten accustomed to seeing when she went there. Sunghoon who had been staring at her that entire time shoots his head down towards the counter and wiped it down to seem like he had been busying himself, completely missing the smile that crept onto the girls face when she finally spotted him.

“Um I think the counters are clean enough.’’ Alexa comments from behind him, a concerned look on her face as she watches him aggressively wipe down the skate exchange counter.

Sunghoon completely ignored her observation and kept wiping until he heard the clatter of her bracelets against the counter and then the sound of his name spilled past her lips, looking busy wasn’t getting him as far as he thought it would. Alexa glances back and forth between the two making an o shape with her lips before disappearing into the back where her and Sunwoo quietly listened in.

“Um i think whatever dirt or bacteria was on that counter you’ve killed it.’’ she comments, a comedic snort following her comment that forced sunghoon to hold back a smile.

“You never know you have to make sure sometimes.’’ he responds throwing the towel over his shoulder and scratching the nape of his neck awkwardly.

“Sorry if we’re here too early, june wanted to try and get some laps in on her own before all of the other kids joined I hope that's okay.’’

“Yeah yeah it’s fine. Cool.’’ his response brings an end to the conversation and an awkward silence falls over the two of them. Alexa who’d been listening to everything with Sunwoo rolls her eyes and curses under her breath ‘oh for fucks sake’ dragging Sunwoo out with her she makes her way over to the counter.

“Hoon we’ll take it from here, you two can go and watch junie, just in case she needs any help or critiques.’’

“Uh im on bre-’’ Alexa quickly kicks Sunwoo behind the counter to prevent him from talking any further.

As sunghoon finally threw the towel onto the counter and walked to the other side,his coworkers watched in silence as the two of them walk off towards the rink.

The two took a seat in the benches and as always yn is the first to start off the conversation. That was one thing he appreciated about her since meeting her, he didn’t have to struggle finding things to say because she always had a topic at hand. She happily started each conversation and never complained of him being dry or boring, she just went with the flow of things.

“How was your shift when we left yesterday.’’

“Mm well, Alexa almost flooded the place with the mop hose and Sunwoo almost ran me over with the Zamboni, but other than that it was great.’’

“The zamwhati?’’ She responds, a quite stupid look of confusion on her face that makes Sunghoon snicker.

“A zamboni? Its like a buffer for the ice, cleans it and smooths it out. You know like the little cars they drive on the ice in movies.’’

“Oh the ice tractors.’’

“Ice tractors?’’ sunghoons brow rises out of amusement at her description of the vehicle.

“Um that’s literally what it looks like?’’ Sunghoon throws his hands up in resignation before looking over at june.

“She’s gettin better with each day she spends here, not sure she’ll even need my lessons anymore after today.’’

“I think she’d rather die than stop taking lessons with you, you’re her favorite teacher and that’s including the ones that you know, actually teach.’’

“Ouch. just ripped that bandaid off.’’

“You know what I meant, she adores you. Every time I drop her off or pick her up for the lessons she’s talking about everything that she’s learned from you.” the both of them found themselves watching over the girl that was now skating circles around the rink.

“She’s a fast learner, learns faster than any of my other students and it’s not that easy to learn the things she has so fast.’’

“Are you a skater? I mean i assume you are since you work here and you’re teaching the children and all?’’

“Mm not really, it’s just something that puts money in my pocket until my full term at UA is finally up.’’ yn gives him a skeptical look, she’s seen many times the way he gets when he’s on the ice. The way his eyes sparkled when he studied the kids' progress, or the smile that curled onto his lips when he himself was on the ice. She didn’t realize when she had become so observant of the things that he’d done but observing little details about people she came across in her life was always a trait of her. It was obvious that that was something he wasn’t wanting to tell her, but she knew she had no right to pry.

“What about you? You ever skate?’’ Sunghoon blinks, obviously confused as his question sends her into a fit of laughter.

“Oh wait, you were serious? Yeah no absolutely not sorry.’’

“Am i missing something here, i'm confused as to why you found that comical?’’

“I thought you were seriously joking. Yeah no I came across this video on twitter once, two figure skaters in competition and let’s just say one of them lost their head.’’Now it was Sunghoons turn to laugh at her.

“Okay either you’re seriously sick and twisted or- no actually you’re sick and twisted there's no other explanation as to why you would laugh at that.’’

“I’m laughing because you’re absolutely ridiculous, it’s not like you have to learn any spins or leaps, just skating.’’

“Yeah it’s going to be a no from me.’’ Sunghoon simply laughs it off before returning his attention back to June. The two hadn’t had much more time to talk but they’d gotten quite closer compared to the earlier encounters before Sunghoon was pulled away to teach.

CHAPTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

🏷️ @getoxo @planetmarlowe @dreeki @butterflywonz @sol3chu @squiishymeow @river-demon-slayer @jwonistic @nithxhoon @lakoya @iichuuo @letmein2urheart @mitmit01 @enhaz1 @hollxe1 @brianashiftz @starbyeol1512 @tinyteezer @jkslvsnella @manobillie @vvenusoncasual @i03jae @blackhairandbangs @sunooqvrlsx @addictedtohobi @gaytron3000 @firstclassjaylee @riribelle @ivyvioletcarson @academiq @claumbeju @bubblytaetae @pkjay @httpenhoon @starniras @semi-wife @nightowlpudding @urmomssneakylink @emmacyc @heartheejake @papichulomacy @celestnlav @50-husbands @kukkurookkoo @neptunediaries @nujeskz @gweoriz @nurihihi @pookalicious-hq

[vivid-bad-brainrot]

Fav vbs ship?

I would say polysquad but that's too easy so I guess if I had to rank vbs ships itd look like this ^^

And I'll give explanations cause I feel like yapping

🥇Touan!!! ☕️🎧

TOUAN. My love for this pairing goes so deep I am the sole admin for @timelytouan over or Twitter. I'm. A little insane. Bro their dynamic is everything to me its not even funny. I think they have a really wholesome relationship /p and /r and i think its really sweet for an to be such a big proponent of touya getting new experiences and especially watching their relationship grow as the game progresses and seeing the two of them develop an understandingof eachother!!! I've written about 40k words of touan fanfic in total....my little eebies AND DONT GET ME STARTED ON TOUAN PARALLELS. I could do a separate post yammering about that since An and Touya truly are two sides of the same coin

• "we're teammates, so when you're happy, i wanna be happy with you. And when you're sad i wanna console you,or maybe even cry with you!"

• "hehe, you really have changed a lot, touya. Before, i could never tell what you were thinking at all!"

"if we're saying that, isn't it more impressive that you've learnt to understand me?"

🥈Anhane🎧🐹

Anhane is so.....anhane....*wipes tear* I finished writing a 15k words long anhane fic last night so my passion for these two is very strong. I think Anhane is a ship that is prone to misconception especially in the way some people characterize An—how some people just see her as Kohane obsessed and water down her character just to that (the way i see it is that Kohane is a BUFFER to everything that makes An who she is!!! Again. Another rant for another time) While Anhane's dynamic isn't the first of its kind, it really goes deep!! The mutual importance to eachother is so precious to me.... Kohane who was given the chance to grow into her best self and An who gets to gets to share her love of music and Vivid Street. With An's crippling abandonment issues ESPECIALLY regarding kohane, anhane is a ship that is SO fun to play around with wherein it gives you the best fluff and angst....anhane so good

🥉. Akikoha 🥞🐹

Akikoha is one of those ships where I will randomly get hit by the most severe brainrot of my life for a few days and then be fine but have to live under constant threat of gettjng killed by akikoha cuteness... akikoha is just so cute man!!! Disecting them down to a deeper level, I really love how they complement eachother in their world views and how they approach things!! They both admire eachother so much!!! With Akito and Kohane, they seem really different from wachother but all they want to do is prove themselves!!! I also love to see akito hyping kohane up!!! Good stuff!!!

• "Look, there's always gonna be haters. Don't let it get to you. If it bothers you so much what people say about us, shut them up with an awesome performance. Like that other time. Keep your chin high and show them how awesome you are. Anyway, An's really late. Let's go inside. Besides, this way our sensitive member won't have to listen to some guys badmouthing us while they wait for the gig"

"Um... Was Akito being considerate towards me just now?" (LMAOOO 😭😭😭😭)

4. Akian 🥞🎧

Whether you like them romantically or not can we just talk about how banger their dynamic is???? Their constant bickering makes them so fun!! An and Akito have known eachother since middle school and probably met some time after RAD WEEKEND when Akito would sing on the street and catch wind of An. I think this plays in to not only their deep friendship but also their rivalry!! The two of them indirectly helped eachother through their loneliness 🥺🥺 An found comfort in Akitos voice simply being there!! Then we obviously have akitos deep understanding of an (although generally he's just very perceptive of the people around him!! Don't forget!!!) We see in sis bfby and kiuan where akito is able to see RIGHT THROUGH an and call her out on her shit! That familiarity means so much to the both of them and I think their dynamic is SO sweet what the hell man!!! Guys akian is so peak EVERY VBS PAIRING IS SO PEAK

5. Toukoha ☕️🐹

EVERYTIME SOMEONE CALLS TOUKOHA BORING AN ANGEL LOSES ITS WINGS 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 NO ONE GETS THEM 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 NO ONE DESERVES TOUKOHA 😭😭😭😭 anyways toukoha get shoved aside alot as the quiet ones of vbs when. Guys. Thes mfs are YAPPERS. Touya and Kohane's autism sync up like Bluetooth. If you want to be enlightened on toukoha I EMPLORE you to go read take the best shot....do it for them.... I wish they had more in game content there's not even alot of them in card stories which is sad because that's usually where u can find the most content for vbs pairings outside of ahn/akty 💔💔💔 I think their dynamic in vbs main story is really interesting....... if you think toukoha is lame YOU are lame 🫵🫵🫵

5. Akitoya

Guys I LOVE akitoya very much they are SOULMATES but I put them down here because I think about them the least (i am biased towards women. Off topic but shoutout to girltouya) and don't trust myself to write an analysis of them 😭😭😭 but I really do love them they are very cute

I know people (at least from my experience in vbs communities) get really defensive over ships so remember that I ADORE all of these ships and brainrot all of them

[beemovieerotica]

Pleaseeeee tell me how to get rich parents to pay me $100 an hour to proofread their kids' essays. I beg of you. I have an English degree and four years of copyediting experience at school publications but that doesn't seem to mean jack to any employer. 😭

I did it through a top tier tutoring company in the bay area, it's extremely difficult to build up a client base / reputation without starting at a registered company. once you're there then you have the leverage to say "I'm at X company which charges $100/hr, but if you hire me private I'll give you a discount" - I wasn't ever making the full amount since that was split with admin but it did give me the legitimacy and a dollar value of what my time is worth to get private clients if I wanted. I liked having other people handle all the marketing/tech though and being the buffer between bad parents (happens inevitably) because a lot of those families I don't think I would have worked for without that insurance of the company having my back.

[maryellencarter]

YouTube Downloads through VLC: Step by Step

[EDIT: I've been receiving reports for some time now that this method no longer works. I suspect something about the switch to YouTube Music as a separate app, and/or YouTube's ongoing attempts to force Chrome use, broke the compatibility with the Github version of youtube.luac -- I haven't managed to look into whether there's an updated working version out there yet. Sorry!]

So this guide to easily downloading off YouTube is super helpful, but there's enough important information hidden in the reblogs that (with the permission of OP @queriesntheories ) I'm doing a more step-by-step version.

Please note: these downloads will be in YouTube quality. My test video download is coming through at 360p, even though the video I'm starting from is set to 720p. They're legible, but they won't look great on a TV. For high visual quality, you'll want to seek out other methods.

This guide is written for Windows 10, since that's what I can test on. It's been tested on Firefox, Chrome, and Edge (which is a Chromium browser, so the method should work in other Chromium browsers too). So far, I haven't tracked down a way to use this download method on mobile.

BASIC KNOWLEDGE:

I'll try to make this pretty beginner-friendly, but I am going to assume that you know how to right-click, double-click, navigate right-click menus, click-and-drag, use keyboard shortcuts that are given to you (for example, how to use Ctrl+A), and get the URL for any YouTube video you want to download.

You'll also need to download and install one or more programs off the internet using .exe files, if you don't have these programs already. Please make sure you know how to use your firewall and antivirus to keep your computer safe, and google any names you don't recognize before allowing permission for each file. You can also hover your mouse over each link in this post to make sure it goes where I'm saying it will go.

YOU WILL NEED:

A computer where you have admin permissions. This is usually a computer you own or have the main login on. Sadly, a shared computer like the ones at universities and libraries will not work for this.

Enough space on your computer to install the programs listed below, if you don't have them already, and some space to save your downloaded files to. The files are pretty small because of the low video quality.

A simple text editing program. Notepad is the one that usually comes with Windows. If it lets you change fonts, it's too fancy. A notepad designed specifically to edit program code without messing it up is Notepad++, which you can download here.

A web browser. I use Firefox, which you can get here. Chrome or other Chrome-based browsers should also work. I haven't tested in Safari.

An Internet connection fast enough to load YouTube. A little buffering is fine. The downloads will happen much faster than streaming the entire video, unless your internet is very slow.

VLC Media Player, which you can get here. It's a free player for music and videos, available on Windows, Android, and iOS, and it can play almost any format of video or audio file that exists. We'll be using it for one of the central steps in this process.

If you want just the audio from a YouTube video, you'll need to download the video and then use a different program to copy the audio into its own file. At the end of this post, I'll have instructions for that, using a free sound editor called Audacity.

SETUP TO DOWNLOAD:

The first time you do this, you'll need to set VLC up so it can do what you want. This is where we need Notepad and admin permissions. You shouldn't need to repeat this process unless you're reinstalling VLC.

If VLC is open, close it.

In your computer's file system (File Explorer on Windows), go to C:\Program Files\VideoLAN\VLC\lua\playlist

If you're not familiar with File Explorer, you'll start by clicking where the left side shows (C:). Then in the big main window, you'll double-click each folder that you see in the file path, in order - so in this case, when you're in C: you need to look for Program Files. (There will be two of them. You want the one without the x86 at the end.) Then inside Program Files you're looking for VideoLAN, and so forth through the whole path.

Once you're inside the "playlist" folder, you'll see a lot of files ending in .luac - they're in alphabetical order. The one you want to edit is youtube.luac which is probably at the bottom.

You can't edit youtube.luac while it's in this folder. Click and drag it out of the playlist folder to somewhere else you can find it - your desktop, for instance. Your computer will ask for admin permission to move the file. Click the "Continue" button with the blue and yellow shield.

Now that the file is moved, double-click on it. The Microsoft Store will want you to search for a program to open the .luac file type with. Don't go to the Microsoft Store, just click on the blue "More apps" below that option, and you'll get a list that should include your notepad program. Click on it and click OK.

The file that opens up will be absolutely full of gibberish-looking code. That's fine. Use Ctrl+A to select everything inside the file, then Backspace or Delete to delete it. Don't close the file yet.

In your web browser, go to https://github.com/videolan/vlc/blob/master/share/lua/playlist/youtube.lua

Click in the part of the Github page that has a bunch of mostly blue code in it. Use Ctrl+A to select all of that code, Ctrl+C to copy it, then come back into your empty youtube.luac file and use Ctrl+P to paste the whole chunk of code into the file.

Save the youtube.luac file (Ctrl+S or File > Save in the upper left corner of the notepad program), then close the notepad program.

Drag youtube.luac back into the folder it came from. The computer will ask for admin permission again. Give it permission.

Now you can close Github and Notepad. You're ready to start downloading!

HOW TO DOWNLOAD:

First, get your YouTube link. It should look something like this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=abc123DEF45 If it's longer, you can delete any extra stuff after that first set of letters and numbers, but you don't have to.

Now open VLC. Go to Media > Open Network Stream and paste your YouTube link into the box that comes up. Click Play. Wait until the video starts to play, then you can pause it if you want so it's not distracting you during the next part.

(If nothing happens, you probably forgot to put youtube.luac back. coughs)

In VLC, go to Tools > Codec Information. At the bottom of the pop-up box you'll see a long string of gibberish in a box labeled Location. Click in the Location box. It won't look like it clicked properly, but when you press Ctrl+A, it should select all. Use Ctrl+C to copy it.

In your web browser, paste the entire string of gibberish and hit Enter. Your same YouTube video should come up, but without any of the YouTube interface around it. This is where the video actually lives on YouTube's servers. YouTube really, really doesn't like to show this address to humans, which is why we needed VLC to be like "hi I'm just a little video player" and get it for us.

Because, if you're looking at the place where the video actually lives, you can just right-click-download it, and YouTube can't stop you.

Right-click on your video. Choose "Save Video As". Choose where to save it to - I use my computer's built-in Music or Videos folders.

Give it a name other than "videoplayback" so you can tell it apart from your other downloads.

The "Save As Type" dropdown under the Name field will probably default to MP4. This is a good versatile video format that most video players can read. If you need a different format, you can convert the download later. (That's a whole other post topic.)

Click Save, and your video will start downloading! It may take a few minutes to fully download, depending on your video length and internet speed. Once the download finishes, congratulations! You have successfully downloaded a YouTube video!

If you'd like to convert your video into a (usually smaller) audio file, so you can put it on a music player, it's time to install and set up Audacity.

INSTALLING AUDACITY (first time setup for audio file conversion):

You can get Audacity here. If you're following along on Windows 10, choose the "64-bit installer (recommended)". Run the installer, but don't open Audacity at the end, or if it does open, close it again.

On that same Audacity download page, scroll down past the installers to the "Additional resources". You'll see a box with a "Link to FFmpeg library". This is where you'll get the add-on program that will let Audacity open your downloaded YouTube video, so you can tell it to make an audio-only file. The link will take you to this page on the Audacity support wiki, which will always have the most up-to-date information on how to install the file you need here.

From that wiki page, follow the link to the actual FFmpeg library. If you're not using an adblocker, be careful not to click on any of the ads showing you download buttons. The link you want is bold blue text under "FFmpeg Installer for Audacity 3.2 and later", and looks something like this: "FFmpeg_5.0.0_for_Audacity_on_Windows_x86.exe". Download and install it. Without this, Audacity won't be able to open MP4 files downloaded from YouTube.

CONVERTING TO AUDIO:

Make sure you know where to find your downloaded MP4 video file. This file won't go away when you "convert" it - you'll just be copying the audio into a different file.

Open up Audacity.

Go to File > Open and choose your video file.

You'll get one of those soundwave file displays you see in recording booths and so forth. Audacity is a good solid choice if you want to teach yourself to edit soundwave files, but that's not what we're here for right now.

Go to File > Export Audio. The File Name will populate to match the video's filename, but you can edit it if you want.

Click the Browse button next to the Folder box, and choose where to save your new audio file to. I use my computer's Music folder.

You can click on the Format dropdown and choose an audio file type. If you're not sure which one you want, MP3 is the most common and versatile.

If you'd like your music player to know the artist, album, and so forth for your audio track, you can edit that later in File Manager, or you can put the information in with the Edit Metadata button here. You can leave any of the slots blank, for instance if you don't have a track number because it's a YouTube video.

Once everything is set up, click Export, and your new audio file will be created. Go forth and listen!