#still on my social media hiatus

[thetomorrowshow]

a stuffed deer

empires superpowers au masterlist (currently out of date)

this story takes place about one year after the end of ‘poisoned rats’.

cw: past abuse, religious trauma, referenced past death, deadnaming/misgendering of a character (but the person isn’t really doing it out of mailce, and said character is dead)

~

The closer they get, the more anxious Scott becomes. His hands grip tighter on the steering wheel, he checks his mirrors more often, he glances over at Jimmy every couple of seconds.

This is fine. This is normal, even. He knows what he’s doing. He’s done far more terrifying things than this. He’s nearly died several times, he’s graduated college, he’s been a superhero for years.

He can face his birth parents.

He’s been talking to Nora about it for several months, and he’s come to the conclusion that he needs closure. Not about himself—he fully understands their feelings for him, and made peace with them long ago. No, he’s here for closure on Xornoth.

In the last minutes before their death, Xornoth had declared themself to be Scott’s sibling. As far as he knows, he’d been an only child. If what Xornoth said was true, that puts Scott in charge of any and all of their possessions currently being held by the city. Not that he wants them, but the mayor had asked him to pursue any leads he found on Xornoth’s next of kin and, even though it had taken him an entire year and a half, he finally feels ready to pursue the only one he’s ever had.

Jimmy’s fiddling with the radio next to him, switching between gospel and country. There’s not much else that comes through out here, and they’re going through a dead zone for their data plan, so Jimmy eventually just turns it off and sits back, not-so-subtly watching Scott. Scott resolutely keeps his eyes on the road.

They pass the exit for Milford. If Jimmy’s feeling all right after the visit, maybe they can stop by there, visit the library and community college and homeless shelter.

Half an hour until Briarsville. Scott shifts in his seat, taps the steering wheel lightly.

“What did you think of that motel breakfast?” Jimmy breaks the silence. “I thought it was decent—waffles are always good, at least. But I wouldn’t have touched those sausages with a ten foot pole.”

Scott had only eaten a slice of toast with some watery coffee, too nervous already to have any faith in his stomach. “Not the worst I’ve ever had,” he offers. Jimmy’s just trying to help him relax. He can humor his attempts.

“Well, yeah. I can remember a time when I would’ve killed for a motel breakfast—literally.” Jimmy chuckles nervously, tugs on his seatbelt. “Um—how much longer?”

“Half an hour,” says Scott too quickly. He checks the radio clock, then his rearview mirror. They’re almost there. His heart is really beginning to jump now.

The car is quiet again until they reach exit 42. Briarsville.

Jimmy straightens up, looks between Scott and the town that they’re pulling into. It looks like any run-of-the-mill midwest town, Scott knows. Even the Order of Heaven private school isn’t much of an indicator of anything abnormal.

“We can turn around, you know,” Jimmy says softly. Of course he’d noticed the nerves. Scott’s knuckles have turned white around the wheel, his back is ramrod straight, he’s barely spoken all morning. Jimmy’s not an idiot, and he’s more observant than most people know.

Scott forces himself to relax. “No. I need to do this.”

Jimmy nods and doesn’t argue him any further. That’s something that Scott will always love about Jimmy: he understands. He sees that this is important for Scott and would never try to keep him from it.

And then he’s turning onto Bloomfield Avenue, and he thinks that maybe Jimmy’s right. Maybe he ought to turn back now and cut his losses.

It’s still his last name printed above the door of the house three houses down. The welcome mat is that ugly, waterlogged brown thing that it had been before he’d left. His parents still live here.

Scott pulls into the driveway, then freezes.

“What if we just went home?” he says, voice pitched an octave higher than normal. “We can stop by the country music museum. Or the Appalachian one, I heard it’s—”

“Scott,” interrupts Jimmy. “Normally I would be fine with that, but you just told me you have to do this.” He takes one of Scott’s hands, runs his thumb over his knuckles. “This is important to you. I don’t want you to be kicking yourself for the rest of your life because you got all the way here only to turn back.”

Scott takes in a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out. Then again. Jimmy’s right. Jimmy’s absolutely right. “Yeah,” he whispers.

“And,” Jimmy continues, “if they try to hurt you in any way, I will kill them.”

“You’ve got to stop saying that about everyone we talk to.”

“Hey, I’m just really good at making things look like an accident. Some might even say it’s a superpower.”

“Jimmy.”

“Just saying.”

Scott laughs, kisses his boyfriend on the cheek. He’s ready now. He can go in.

He pulls the key out of the ignition and hops out, then circles round to offer his hand to Jimmy and help him up. Jimmy stops to grab his cane out of the backseat, then gestures encouragingly for Scott to lead the way.

Right. He has to actually go up to the door.

It’s the longest walk of his life, Scott thinks. Even the walk across the stage at graduation hadn’t been this long. But seconds yet seemingly hours later, he’s in front of the door, hand poised to knock.

He swallows, then bites the bullet.

Rat-tat-tat-tat.

It’s only a couple of moments before the door swings open, and his mother is standing before him.

She looks much the same, but changed. Her hair, once grey at the temples, is nearly completely grey with only a few streaks of its former blond. There are a few new lines in her face, only serving to add to the sallowness, the laugh lines he’d once known long-faded. Her hairstyle is the same as ever, her classic Christian mom fashion sense not any different. He takes in all of this, then properly meets her eyes.

“Hello, Mother,” he says, a shiver running up his spine.

She doesn’t say anything at first, eyes passing over Scott to examine Jimmy briefly, sizing him up like a bird of prey. Then she steps aside, pulling the door open wider.

“You’d better come in, hadn’t you,” she says, and the resignation lacing her tone is somehow so much better than the anger he’d expected yet so much worse.

The living room is different. There’s a new couch, pushed up against the wall opposite where it used to be. The easy chair is the same, but also tilted weird and there’s a coffee table for some reason when all it does is take up space. But Scott keeps his complaints to himself and steadies Jimmy as he lowers himself onto the couch, propping his cane up against the coffee table, then sits beside him.

His mother looks at the two of them with something unreadable in her expression, before leaving the room. She returns moments later with two glasses of water.

It’s a test, and Scott doesn’t know if she’s set it up like this or if he set it up for himself, but he takes the water from her hand and sends a little burst of freezing air to chill it, eyes trained on hers the entire time. She doesn’t react.

Jimmy takes his water with a muttered thank you, then she sits down in the easy chair across from them, crossing one leg over the other as she waits for Scott to break the silence.

He takes a sip of his now-cool water (Jimmy passes his own over and Scott forms some of the water into an ice cube before handing it back), takes a deep breath, and speaks.

“Is Dad home? Because—”

“He’s dead,” his mother interrupts. Scott blinks.

Two for two, his mind unhelpfully supplies. 

Is he supposed to mourn an unloved parent? Is he supposed to mourn someone he used to care very deeply about, but proved that they didn’t care for him?

He’s not sure how to feel.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Jimmy says beside him. “That must be terrible.”

“How long?” is all Scott can manage.

“Nearly two years, now,” she replies. “Heart attack while at work.” She clicks her tongue. “I was always telling him to lay off the salt, stop working so hard. Guess he suffered the consequences.”

Scott’s really not sure how to feel. The last memory of his birth father he has is of his face closing off, declaring himself to have no son, and banishing Scott from the house. Would he have liked to reconcile? Is parting easier with his last words being unforgivable?

“I’m so sorry, Mrs—”

“Heidi,” his mother corrects Jimmy, and Jimmy amends his words.

“I’m so sorry, Heidi. I can only imagine the pain.”

That’s the first thing to incite emotion in Scott, because Jimmy can’t only imagine that sort of pain. Jimmy’s lived through the death of loved ones without a house to live in afterwards or a community to support him. Jimmy’s had it worse off. Jimmy shouldn’t have to be placating his terrible excuse for a mother.

He must be getting tense, because Jimmy’s hand runs comfortingly along his knee, and Scott can almost feel the love and support that Jimmy imbues the touch with.

Heidi’s eyes follow the movement, and after a moment, she says gruffly, “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Right. This could go very badly.

“Mother, this is Jimmy, my boyfriend,” Scott says stiffly, before adding, “as in, romantic partner. We kiss. Each other.”

Her nose wrinkles in disgust. “Are you a gay now, then?”

Scott stares her down. “And if I am?” he challenges. “What are you going to do, kick me out again?”

She stares back for a long moment, a moment during which Scott’s certain she is going to kick them out—then she chuckles, shakes her head.

“You always were a bit sassy,” she says. “I ought to have known, really. But that can be said for a lot of things.”

“Speaking of things that ought to have been known. . . .” Jimmy hints, nudging at Scott. Scott nods, takes a deep breath, and forces out the question that’s been on his mind for so long.

“Did I . . . did you have any children before me?”

Heidi looks away suddenly, toward the TV. Her expression gives away absolutely nothing. “I thought that was Noah,” she says eventually. “His voice was already starting to change when he left.”

“Sorry—Noah?”

She looks back at him. “Your brother. He was fourteen when we noticed he was one of them. You were so young, I’m not surprised you don’t remember.”

Right, because it’s such a normal thing to destroy every trace of your child’s existence and raise the other to believe he never had a sibling.

But that means—

“I’ve seen the two of you on the news,” his mother continues. “Your father, too. He regretted what he did, Scott, after he saw how good your heart was.”

“So he just wanted to send me to conversion therapy instead, huh,” Scott mutters. “And that’s so much better.”

Heidi sighs. “We did what we thought we had to do, for both of you. We always hoped you would repent and come back.”

Scott wants to scream. He wants to scream and yell and freeze the entire house, because that may be the most insensitive thing he’s ever heard and his own mother is supposed to love him unconditionally, not act like this!

His hands are shaking. He doesn’t even notice until Jimmy eases the glass from his grip and rubs his arm. He needs to calm down.

But he can’t bear to look at the woman’s face for a moment longer.

“I think we’ll be going,” Scott says icily, moving to stand. Heidi stands as well, taking their glasses, then pauses on her way back to the kitchen.

“We donated your things,” she says, “but not all of it. Do you want any of what’s left?”

And as much as Scott wants to get out of here, he knows he needs to see whatever it is his mother decided to keep. So, after an encouraging squeeze from Jimmy, Scott follows her into the attic.

There’s only two things in the attic—two small trash bags, leaning against a wall to the side. With a nod from Heidi, Scott opens one of them up.

His monogrammed bible is on top. He has no interest in that. His Boy Scout pins and kerchief are here as well, more stuff he doesn’t care about. His birth certificate, which he does set aside (he already has a copy of it that he’d requested from the government, but it can never hurt to have the original), and a small photo album, which he sets aside as well. At the very bottom of the bag is his plush turtle, scruffy and old.

That he pulls to his chest, burying his nose into it. It smells pretty musty, which makes sense. It probably hasn’t been out of this attic in a decade.

It brings back feelings, looking at it. Not memories, not exactly, but feelings of a simpler time. Feelings from some vague past, where he had no troubles and his only concern was getting to school on time.

And more feelings. Feelings of deception, of hate, of guilt. The feeling of his world being flipped upside down and this plushie not being near enough to anchor it.

He wants to set it with his birth certificate and the photos, but it holds so much of this place that he’s not so sure.

He sets the turtle to the side and looks in the other bag.

Much the same stuff, and at first he inexplicably thinks this is an exact replica for some odd reason—but the name monogrammed onto this bible is not his.

Scott weighs it in his hands for a moment, then sets that aside.

There’s no photo album, but the same boy scout items and a birth certificate. There’s a plushie here too, though, a floppy deer, one of the antlers torn off and the hole it left carefully sewn shut. The fur is wearing thin in places, the beads for eyes have lost their shine.

It’s well-loved, as loved as Scott’s turtle, and for some reason, that makes him want to cry.

He’s not sure what to do with it. He still hasn’t really processed what his mother confirmed downstairs.

This stuffed deer belonged to the sibling he never met.

This stuffed deer belonged to Xornoth.

Can he take it?

Does he want to take it?

He sets it aside next to his turtle. At the bottom of the bag, there’s one last thing—a photograph, bent at the corner.

It’s older than any in the photo album, and Scott knows instantly that the child in the photo isn’t him. It’s a small child with a mop of dark blond hair, maybe three years old, wearing little red overalls and a white sweater, sitting on a push-bike and smiling up at the camera.

He can’t quite force his brain to make the connection. This child, so happy and young, grew up to be Xornoth. This toddler tried to take over the world.

He can process it later, he supposes, and he upends one of the bags to make sure there’s nothing else (there isn’t, so few of what once were his possessions leftover), then stuffs both his turtle and the deer in it, along with his birth certificate. He hikes the bag over his shoulder and picks up the photo of—of the child—and the photo album, before holding both out to his mother.

“Do you want any of these?” he asks brusquely. She takes the loose photo, then waves off the album.

“I’ve kept some of yours downstairs,” she says dismissively. “This is my only picture of Noah, though.”

Scott leaves the attic without another word, photo album chucked into the bag over his shoulder. He meets back up with Jimmy in the living room, who looks up from his phone with a questioning glance.

Scott sets down the bag, pulls out the turtle plushie. “This was mine growing up,” he says. Jimmy’s face immediately softens and he coos, reaching out for it. Scott hands it over, then removes the second stuffed animal.

This one he holds farther from Jimmy, because he’s still not sure if he wants to take it with him, despite the strange sense that he owes it to his lost sibling. “This,” he says carefully, “belonged to Xornoth.”

Jimmy’s face goes carefully neutral, and his hands still. “Oh,” he manages, and Scott can hear the change in his exhales as he immediately kicks into breathing exercises.

“We don’t have to take it if you aren’t okay with that,” Scott is quick to reassure. “We can leave it here, that’s fine. I’m sure my mother would appreciate it.”

“Why—why do you want it?”

That’s harder to answer, because Scott hasn’t figured out why yet. He’ll know when he comes across the answer, he’s certain, but it hasn’t made itself known to him in the five minutes that he’s known of his sibling’s existence.

“I don’t know,” he says eventually. He stares at the deer, at the faded pattern of its coat. “There’s some reason I want it, but I’m not sure what that is, yet.”

A little color has already returned to Jimmy’s face, and he doesn’t stutter when he speaks. “Is it part of your closure?”

He doesn’t know how, but Jimmy’s right. He nods. This is, in some way and fashion, a very important part of making peace with his sibling’s identity in his head.

“Then take it,” says Jimmy, handing back the turtle. He stands, slowly, supporting himself with his cane.

But it’ll hurt you, Scott wants to say. It’s clear that Jimmy doesn’t like the idea of taking this deer plushie home, doesn’t like the idea of it being in their house.

“Don’t worry about me, yeah?” Jimmy says, as if he can hear Scott’s thoughts. He smiles weakly, squeezes Scott’s arm. “I’ll be fine. This is about you.”

They leave with a quick goodbye, no attempts on either side to set up further contact. Scott just throws his things into the backseat with Jimmy’s cane, then drives away.

-

It’s just a week later when Scott drives out of the city to a park.

It’s a quiet park, just some trails and benches through the trees, and Scott stops at one of these trees and digs with the shovel he’d brought from home.

He digs alone, in the quiet shade of the trees, a light breeze rustling through them. And when he’s finished the job, a small pile of dirt beside him, he lays a shoebox containing a small stuffed deer in the little hole he’s dug.

He scrapes the dirt back over it with his shovel, pats it down a bit, and stands there. Just . . . stares.

Then, silently, Scott turns away and heads home.

[hangmanshole]

“steve and eddie are dating” I say into the mic. the crowd boos. I begin to exit the stage in shame. “no, they’re right.” I hear voices say from the back. the spotlight turns on them. it’s joseph quinn and gaten matarazzo

[adrift-in-thyme]

Are you going to be here for febuwhump?

Yup! I like posting on both ao3 and tumblr so I’ll definitely be here!

[taegularities]

so hhhh

[house-of-limbo]

After the last episode, I was on an all-time fandom high. Now we're coming close to the finale. And I've faced enough trauma from disappointing finales that I'm getting nervous for this one :')

[cosmos-kitty]

Your new shop layout looks super nice!!! Excited for upcoming revival lol

Thank you!! I was nervous about coming back I was worried people would have forgotten about me, but it's been really rewarding to see people excited about my art again and I've got lots of plans for the future with my shop/patreon 😁

[xixisin]

Vent ahead, keep scrolling

I hate my current major so much why didn't I chose art when it was actually an option 🧍‍♂️

[luriluth]

Twitter is scary man,

[hakkikun]

I haven’t made any new content since october. WELL...

[dxvidtennxnt]

hi!

hi (:

[justagaycryptid]

Ngl I/Me/Myself is the absolute WORST song that could have gone viral for Will especially on tiktok of all places because it is an incredibly nuanced song and tiktok users are not particularly known for their understandings of nuance

[littlechibs]

Not apologizing to my DetCo oomfs for the Ryuki on y'all's feed btw

WOE. Ryuki be upon ye.

[rivertakis]

Alright, I logged in to see if anyone enjoyed my house (I'm proud of it, sue me) and... A lot of people did. But what struck me the most is someone saying they miss me

Miss my blog is more accurate, but still. I've spent a lot of time thinking on what kind of blog I want to be, what kind of art i want to make. Essentially, I just want to learn to be myself

So, I suppose I'll try to get back into things. Maybe I'll ramble about feelings and such more another time haha

[lilrambo-shooter]

As some of you may have noticed, I have been a little more active lately. I currently have about a week and a half left until this semester is over (and my birthday! I'm going to be 21 holy shit). Then I will be free of my self imposed ban.

Expect some more memes to come... :)

[gourde]

Oh yeah I should also say my break fucking failed HARD so guess who's back bitches!!!

[dear-bunnyboo]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐈𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 || 𝐉𝐎𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖

important note: my face claim will be madison beer but you can imagine whoever you desire. also the songs mentioned are not all technically all madison’s i will be incorporating other songs from other artists.

all the pictures seen below are not mine, however they were edited by yours truly. credits to the owners.

happy new year, my loves! 🎉🎊🍾 not the season we wanted, however, I know for a fact that the next one will be our comeback season!!! Hope this makes you guys happy even if for a little while.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Joe Burrow x Singer!Reader / Brief Ex!Jack Hughes x Singer!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You decided to go live… your fans are nosy, Joe is noisy.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cursing, social media, media, hate comments, ig live comments, fluff, mentions of cheating ex, fluff, more fluffiness, tooth rotting moments, Joe Burrow being a simp, established relationship

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐍𝐇𝐋 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐲/𝐧_𝐲/𝐥/𝐧 started a live video.

You lounged on a plush couch in the heart of your stylishly decorated living room. Soft, ambient lights adorned the space, casting a warm glow on tasteful decor that bore witness to your numerous achievements. The room emanated a sense of comfort and sophistication, a reflection of your own laid-back yet refined taste.

Clutching your phone, you felt the familiar anticipation as she initiated an Instagram live session. Excitement filled the air as you looked into the camera, ready to connect with your fans after a hiatus from such spontaneous interactions. The room, a blend of neutral tones and vibrant accents, served as the perfect backdrop for you to share a slice of your life.

The subtle hum of background music added to the ambiance, enhancing the sense of ease that permeated the room.

You leaned back against the plush cushions, your eyes fixed on the phone's camera. "Hello, I’m gonna wait for people to come before starting.”

𝐟𝐚𝐧1: HELLOOOO QUEEENB!!!&3)373

𝐟𝐚𝐧2: MISS THING!? ARE MY EYES DECEIVING ME OR ARE U LIVE RN!??

𝐟𝐚𝐧3: y/n I love you 🩷🩷🩷

𝐟𝐚𝐧4: hello from Italy 🇮🇹

𝐟𝐚𝐧5: Omg! It’s been a while since you’ve been live 🥹🩵

“It's been a while, hasn't it? I don’t usually do lives but a lot of you guys have been asking me to, so… here I am.” You giggled.

The room feels cozy, with the soft glow of lights creating a warm ambiance. You can't help but smile as the viewer count rises steadily.

𝐟𝐚𝐧6: girl you look good 😫

𝐟𝐚𝐧7: 🧡🧡🧡

𝐟𝐚𝐧8: y/n you have no business looking so good like that at home.

𝐟𝐚𝐧9: are you making new music?

𝐟𝐚𝐧10: come to japan!!

Questions flood in, ranging from music updates to personal anecdotes. "Ah, someone asked about new music. You know I'm always working on something. I've got a few surprises up my sleeve, so stay tuned for that."

𝐟𝐚𝐧11: what’s your favorite genre?

𝐟𝐚𝐧12: where is y/bf/n?

𝐟𝐚𝐧13: talk about your breakup with Jack.

𝐟𝐚𝐧14: do you still watch Hockey?

𝐟𝐚𝐧15: GIRL WE NEED YOUR SKINCARE ROUTINE ASAP!!

𝐟𝐚𝐧16: what’s your songwriting process?

The chat scrolls rapidly, and you pick a question about your music preferences. "Favorite genre at the moment? Honestly, it changes all the time, but lately, I've been vibing with some indie and acoustic stuff.”

As more questions pour in, ranging from songwriting inspiration to behind-the-scenes moments, you share glimpses of your creative process. "Songwriting is such a personal journey. It could be a fleeting emotion, a random moment, or even something a fan shares. Inspiration can come from anywhere, really."

“How fast can you write lyrics?” You read in the comments.

“Uhm, it depends. Sometimes I get a wave of ideas just flowing. But there are also times where I get stuck and it takes forever for me to continue… it really does depend. But the fastest song I’ve written is far, has to be Selfish and Reckless. I write those two back-to-back in about three, four hours.”

𝐟𝐚𝐧17: I bet it’s easier to write when you have A LOT of things to say.

𝐟𝐚𝐧18: can you say hello to my cousin, Annie?

𝐟𝐚𝐧19: pineapples on pizza? yes or no?

As the questions continued pouring in, you found yourself engrossed in the virtual conversation. Little did you know, the front door to your home had swung open, announcing the arrival of your boyfriend, Joe, fresh from hanging out with his friends.

The comments section, ever vigilant, caught the subtle sounds of the door and began buzzing with curiosity.

𝐟𝐚𝐧20: Did anyone else hear that? Is someone there?

𝐟𝐚𝐧21: is it y/bf/n? I hope it’s her, I love when they do lives together.

𝐟𝐚𝐧22: girl are you being robbed?

𝐟𝐚𝐧23: I don’t think she heard.

𝐟𝐚𝐧24: SOMEONE JUST ENTERED YOUR HOUSE MISS THING?!!!

Your fans, always quick to pick up on details, speculated about the unexpected noise.

Your eyes met Joe's from his place by the door, and a smile crept across your face. Ignoring the barrage of questions flooding the comments about the mysterious door sound.

As he moved closer to you, you moved the camera away from the two of you as he leaned down and placed a kiss on your lips, “Hey, baby.” He mutters against your lips.

“Hello.” You whispered, pecking him one more time before moving away, facing the camera back to you as Joe walked towards the sofa, placing his things on it.

𝐟𝐚𝐧25: GOOD GOD IS IT JOE? AND DID I HEAR KISSING NOISES?!

𝐟𝐚𝐧26: she was just kissing someone right now 🥲

𝐟𝐚𝐧27: HI JOEEEE💕💕

𝐟𝐚𝐧28: imagine if she was cheating on Joe like she did with Jack and got caught on live 😂

𝐟𝐚𝐧29: OH ITS DEF JOE, DO U SEE HER SMILE 🥹

𝐟𝐚𝐧30: Who was that?

"Who was that?" you read from the comments, a mischievous twinkle in your eyes. With a playful grin, you responded, "Santa." Giggles escaped your lips as you teased your online audience, fully enjoying the mysterious atmosphere you had unintentionally created.

Off-camera, Joe's puzzled expression deepened as he tried to make sense of your comment. Unaware of the ongoing live session, he exchanged a confused look with you, silently asking for an explanation.

𝐟𝐚𝐧31: oh they’re messing with us.

𝐟𝐚𝐧32: Y/N! STOP GATEKEEPING JOSEPH!!

𝐟𝐚𝐧33: Tell Joe I said hi.

𝐟𝐚𝐧34: Can you tease your new music?

𝐟𝐚𝐧35: BITCH WHAT DO YOU MEAN SANTA!?

𝐟𝐚𝐧36: “I saw mommy kissing, Santa Claus.” 😉

"Can you tease us about your new music?" you read from the comments, a gleam of excitement in your eyes. With a teasing smile, you responded, "Well, I'm planning on releasing an album soon." A collective wave of comments flood in your live as your fans absorbed the thrilling revelation.

The anticipation soared as you continued, "I've poured my heart and soul into this one. Some unexpected collaborations, and a sound that's a departure from what you've heard before. It's a journey, and I can't wait to take it with all of you.”

“That’s a bit of a generic answer.” You laughed as you read that comment.

“Okay, okay, I’m not allowed to talk about it too much as of now but since I love you guys too much… I can say that the vibes for this album would be the complete opposite of my previous one, Teardrops.”

𝐟𝐚𝐧37: EXCUSE ME!? DID SHE JUST CONFIRM A NEW ALBUM COMING SOOONNN!!?

𝐟𝐚𝐧38: HOLY SHIT! YES PLEASE 😍

𝐟𝐚𝐧39: opposite of Teardrops, she’s gonna be in her Lover era. Mark my fucking words.

𝐟𝐚𝐧40: release it now. I dare you to.

The comment section erupted with excitement, fans expressing their anticipation and excitement for the upcoming album. Amidst the flurry of reactions, the domestic sounds from Joe in the kitchen continued, adding a delightful and unintentional layer to the unfolding live session.

Amid the ongoing banter with your fans, the sound of Joe moving around in the kitchen reached the microphone, making a subtle entrance into the live. A clink of glasses and the humming of the refrigerator added a domestic soundtrack to the virtual conversation.

𝐟𝐚𝐧41: what in the hell is going on in your house?

𝐟𝐚𝐧42: IS JOE COOKING?!

𝐟𝐚𝐧43: I don’t think Joe knows how to cook, it’s sounds like he’s building something 💀

𝐟𝐚𝐧44: gurl—

𝐟𝐚𝐧45: I LOVE UUUUUU 😍😍

The comments section buzzed with speculation as your followers eagerly awaited an explanation.

“What’s that noise?”

Maintaining your composure, you chuckled, "Oh, just Santa making himself at home in the kitchen. You know how it is." The playful tone in your voice only fueled the curiosity of your audience, prompting more questions about the mysterious happenings in your house, knowing fully well it’s your boyfriend, Joe.

Joe silently took a seat behind the camera, handing you a glass of wine. A warmth spread across your face as you accepted it, maintaining your live composure. "I couldn’t find the fucking corkscrew to open the new bottle of wine your mom got us," he grunted, unaware of the ongoing live session.

Smiling, you tried to signal him discreetly with your eyes, conveying the message that you were live and to tread lightly on the conversation. "Yeah? Is that why you sounded like you were tearing up the place?" you playfully responded, taking a sip of the wine.

𝐟𝐚𝐧46: IT IS JOE!!!

𝐟𝐚𝐧47: that’s Joe’s voice

𝐟𝐚𝐧48: I wanna see him 🥺

𝐟𝐚𝐧49: HAHAHHA GOD HE’S SO CUTE.

𝐟𝐚𝐧50: he really wanted that corkscrew.

Little did you both know, your fans were going wild as they eavesdropped on this charming and candid exchange. The confirmation that it was indeed Joe from his distinctive voice sent the comments section into a frenzy of excitement.

"Who are you talking to, baby?" Joe asked, still clueless about the live session happening. "I'm live, bubs" you casually replied, flashing him a reassuring smile.

Joe's eyes widened in shock, realizing that your conversation had been broadcasted to an audience. Stunned and not entirely sure what to say, he glanced at the camera, suddenly aware that people were listening in on your cozy, domestic moment.

The fans, now privy to this unexpected revelation, flooded the comments with an enthusiastic mix of emojis and exclamations.

𝐟𝐚𝐧51: DID YALL HEAR HIS VOICE WHEN HE CALLED HER BABY!?)! IM UNWELL.

𝐟𝐚𝐧52: oh to be called by the Joseph Lee Burrow ‘Baby’

𝐟𝐚𝐧53: 🥰🥰🥰

𝐟𝐚𝐧54: BABY AND BUBS. IM SERIOUSLY NOT OKAY.

"Do you wanna say hi?" you asked Joe softly, well aware of his preference for privacy and aversion to attention. Despite his reservations, he entered the frame for your sake, a warm smile on his face.

"Hi," he greeted the camera before gently moving away, respecting his comfort zone.

The comments section erupted with joy, fans expressing their excitement and admiration for Joe's brief appearance.

𝐟𝐚𝐧55: HIIII!!!

𝐟𝐚𝐧56: OH HOT DAMN THAT MAN FINE 🥵

𝐟𝐚𝐧57: oh lawd.

𝐟𝐚𝐧58: good. god.

𝐟𝐚𝐧59: Y/N IS ONE LUCKKY GIRL WHAT THE HELL.

𝐟𝐚𝐧60: hello, Joe 😫

𝐟𝐚𝐧61: he’s so shy, it’s adorable.

As Joe retreated from the camera, you couldn't help but smile at the delightful chaos that ensued. The comments continued to overflow with love and appreciation, turning the live session into an unforgettable and cherished memory for everyone involved.

“It’s my birthday.” You read a comment. “Happy Birthday, love.”

Yawning and rubbing the tiredness from your eyes, you continued reading more comments from your fans. "You're tired," Joe observed, his voice lower but still audible to the viewers.

You shook your head, looking at him with puppy dog eyes, silently asking for permission to stay up a little longer.

Joe gave you a stern look, his voice barely above a whisper, "It's late, pretty girl." His hands appeared in the video, gently removing a strand of hair from your face.

"That's okay," you replied, trying to stifle another yawn. The fans, now witnessing this endearing interaction, flooded the comments with a mix of supportive and playful messages.

𝐟𝐚𝐧62: when will it be my turn 😩

𝐟𝐚𝐧63: COUPLE FUCKING GOALS.

𝐟𝐚𝐧64: it’s confirmed. Burrow is a SIMP.

𝐟𝐚𝐧65: is this too much to ask?

𝐟𝐚𝐧66: “pretty girl.” Goodbye.

"Don't stay up too late, okay?" Joe finally agreed, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek before moving upstairs to get ready for bed.

"Mm hmm," you nodded, acknowledging his concern for your well-being.

The comments section filled with heart emojis and affectionate messages.

𝐟𝐚𝐧67: girl is better than me, cause if Joe Burrow called me a pretty girl and directed me to bed I would in a heart beat.

𝐟𝐚𝐧68: y/n it’s late go to sleep.

𝐟𝐚𝐧69: 💕💕💕💕💕

𝐟𝐚𝐧70: JOE IS THE ABSOLUTE SWEETEST.

As Joe disappeared from the frame, the live session continued, but there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere. The quiet acknowledgment of the bedtime routine added a touch of reality to the virtual interaction, creating a relatable moment that resonated with your audience.

“Now, where were we?” You smiled at the camera.

The warmth of the comments reflected the shared connection between you, Joe, and your fans, making the live session not just about entertainment but about genuine connection and shared experiences.

dividers: @cafekitsune

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