I know you ain't talking. I'll tell Marie to hit the road once Autumn gets up outta here
Invictus
-
Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7394
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
-
Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7394
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
Season VI | Episode 11 - Make A Play
Johntay sat sprawled across the couch in his apartment, one leg kicked over the armrest, a half-finished plate of wings and fries sitting on the coffee table in front of him. The television glowed in the dim room, throwing flashes of violence and shadow across the walls as The Punisher played.
Frank Castle was on-screen, mid-standoff, armed to the teeth and seconds away from unloading on a room full of enemies. Johntay leaned forward, invested, when his phone began buzzing against the coffee table, rattling beside the remote.
He glanced down at the screen and smirked when he saw Malik’s name.
Johntay grabbed the remote first, pausing the show right before Frank could light the room up, then snatched the phone and immediately hit speaker.
“What’s hannenin’, fuck nigga?” he sang into the phone, grinning to himself.
Malik’s laugh came through instantly, warm and sharp. “You a bitch for answering the phone like that, my nigga.”
Johntay barked out a laugh, sinking back into the couch. “Man, shut the fuck up.”
The two sat in the easy comfort of familiar banter, the kind built over years of football, competition, and shared chaos. Johntay wasted no time before steering it into football.
“Congratulations on one hell of a season with the Hurricanes though,” he said, more genuine now.
Malik clicked his tongue. “I appreciate it. Would appreciate it more if I actually did anything.”
Johntay laughed immediately.
“Oh, I forgot you still holding that nigga Judd Anderson’s pocket.”
Malik gave a fake sarcastic laugh through the speaker. “Yeah, yeah. Fuck you too.”
Malik shifted the conversation, asking how NFL prep was going. Johntay shrugged on instinct before realizing Malik couldn’t see him, then leaned his head back into the couch cushion.
“It’s aight,” he said. “Agent says I’m probably looking like a Day Two pick right now. Depends how the first day shakes out though. Might be a long-ass day for wide receivers.”
Malik hummed in understanding. “Yeah, I hear that.”
Johntay sucked his teeth and smirked. “Woulda went Top 50 for sure if that nigga Zane ain’t come through last year and take all my shine.”
The grin on his face betrayed the joke.
Malik laughed hard at that.
“That ain’t Zane fault he just better than you.”
Johntay sat up, offended in the theatrical way only close friends could be.
“Shut your bitch ass up.”
Malik kept laughing for a second before the humor settled. Then there was a pause.
The kind where the real reason for the call started creeping in.
Malik’s voice dropped.
“You heard from Zane?”
Johntay nodded automatically before catching himself.
“Yeah,” he answered. “He been better at hitting me back when I text him.”
He rubbed at his jaw as he thought about it.
“He in the gym all the damn time, man. Sounds like he coping aight.”
Malik was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, there was something heavier behind his words.
“That’s what he do,” Malik muttered. “He pour himself into something so he don’t gotta deal with what’s really going on.”
Johntay listened.
Malik sighed.
“You should’ve seen him when his grandfather died last year. Nigga was a mess.”
Johntay nodded slowly, staring at the paused frame of Frank Castle on the TV.
“Type shit,” he murmured.
The room grew quieter after that, both of them thinking about their friend in their own ways.
Johntay finally broke the silence, saying he was planning on pulling up on Zane after the holidays ended, just to check on him and see where his head was at.
“Make sure his mental good,” Johntay said. “Nigga been through too much too fast.”
Malik agreed, then Johntay added that Tyson had let something slip. Since they shared the same agent, Tyson had mentioned that Zane was trying to lock in on his transfer decision.
That got another pause out of Malik. A heavier one.
He let out a slow breath.
“I just hope he in the right mindset this time,” Malik said finally. “That kind of decision - man - you can’t make it while you drowning.”
Johntay stared at the TV for a moment longer, the frozen image of war and violence feeling strangely fitting.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s what I’m worried about too.”
Katie sat alone in the sprawling kitchen of Bianca’s family home, absently stirring together a bowl of yogurt, frozen fruit, and trail mix with the tip of her spoon. The kitchen itself was far too polished and pristine for the kind of half-hearted breakfast she was making - marble countertops, expensive fixtures, oversized windows overlooking the winter-gray streets of Pittsburgh.
The house still felt surreal to her, even after a couple of weeks. It was hard not to notice the difference between this and the cramped, cluttered home she had grown up in back in Aurora. Pittsburgh in late fall, bleeding into winter, felt different too. The skyline of scaling iron buildings pressed against the rivers gave the city a harsh, industrial beauty, so unlike the sprawling mountains back home. Aurora had its own kind of magic, the kind that made you feel small in the best way. Pittsburgh felt heavier, older. More worn down.
Katie figured she preferred home for the scenery, but she could certainly live without the people there.
Her thoughts drifted, as they often did lately, back to Colorado.
The last she had heard from her mother, Ellen, was during one of their rushed phone calls where Ellen casually mentioned that Katie’s father was entering yet another rehab stint for his alcoholism.
She had delivered the information with the same detached tone she used to talk about weather or grocery shopping, as if Katie should have been used to it by now. In the same breath, she had mentioned that she and Derek - Katie’s pseudo stepfather - wouldn’t even be around for Christmas this year. Derek had apparently won some all-expenses-paid trip to Cabo through a draw at work, and they were leaving right after finals.
Katie remembered asking what exactly she was supposed to do over the holidays, and Ellen had offered, almost too quickly, to pay her way if she wanted to come along. The way her mother had phrased it made it obvious enough that the invitation wasn’t really meant to be accepted. It was obligation, not desire.
Katie had declined.
So after heading back to Michigan just long enough to finish her final exams after Thanksgiving, she had packed her things and returned right back to Pittsburgh with Bianca to spend the holidays there.
Across from her now, Bianca sat at the kitchen table with her legs folded up into the chair, knees tucked against her chest. The plate in front of her that had once held eggs benedict was wiped clean, pushed off to the side. Her attention was buried in her phone, thumbs moving quickly as she scrolled and typed. Katie watched her for a second, the ease of Bianca’s posture almost making her jealous.
Katie dropped her spoon into the bowl with a soft clink.
Without looking up, she picked up her phone, stared at the blank screen for a second, and said, almost too casually, “I think I’m going to transfer out of Michigan.”
The words hung in the air.
Bianca stopped scrolling immediately and looked up, surprise flashing across her face.
Katie leaned back in her chair, setting her phone face down on the table before finally meeting Bianca’s gaze. She shrugged, trying to make it sound simpler than it felt.
“I just, I don’t know,” she started, exhaling. “I have such a hard time being on campus now.”
Her voice faltered slightly.
She didn’t say it outright. Didn’t name what had been done to her, who had done it to her, or what came afterwards. But the silence between them filled in the blanks.
She looked down at her bowl for a moment before continuing. “I don’t wanna deal with all of that every day. Walking past people, wondering who knows, wondering who doesn’t. Wondering if I’m gonna see them.”
Bianca nodded instinctively, understanding immediately. Then she shook her head, her face softening.
“I totally get it,” Bianca said quietly. “I do.”
She hesitated.
“But I can’t imagine being at Michigan without you.”
Katie gave a dry little laugh and shrugged.
“Then transfer with me.”
Bianca blinked. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise.
“Just like that?”
Katie tilted her head, thinking it through as she spoke, almost piecing the logic together in real time.
“What’s really keeping you there?” she asked. “Things with Bryce fizzled. Zane’s not coming. Is the track team really enough to keep you tied down there?”
Bianca sat with that.
The question landed heavier than Katie expected.
Bryce had become a dead end before it even really started. Whatever closure - or lack thereof - she had been hoping for with Zane had turned into something far messier and more unresolved than she could’ve predicted. And Michigan itself - when she stripped all the noise away - she wasn’t sure it felt like home anymore.
Bianca nodded slowly, processing it.
After a beat, she asked, “Okay, fine. If we left, where would we even go?”
Katie leaned back further in her chair, folding her arms with a small smirk tugging at her lips.
“The world’s our oyster,” she said. “And with the times we put up this season? If we play our cards right, we can damn near have our pick of the litter.”
That finally pulled a smile from Bianca.
A real one.
For the first time in a while, the idea of possibility felt bigger than the weight of everything behind them. New schools. New cities. A fresh start.
The Upper St. Clair gym sat in near-total silence that night, save for the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional metallic clatter of weights shifting in their racks.
It was late enough that the place had emptied hours ago, the polished hardwood dark and still beyond the weight room, the banners hanging overhead unmoving like relics of another life. Zane preferred it this way. Empty. Quiet. No eyes on him. No questions. No sympathy. Just iron and routine.
It had become all he did.
This was his second lift of the day.
He had fallen into a rhythm over the past few weeks that felt less like discipline and more like survival. He woke up, trained in the morning until his body ached, went home, and tried to fill the empty hours however he could.
He watched old game film - his Syracuse tape, his high school tape, sometimes even Pop Warner clips when he was feeling especially hollow. He answered emails from Tyson about transfer visits, NIL pitches, and schools lining up to court him. He returned texts from Marie when he had the energy. Johntay too. Sometimes Malik. Sometimes Bianca. Then he waited. Waited until enough time had passed that it felt acceptable to come back here and do it all over again.
Anything to avoid sitting still.
Anything to avoid thinking.
The barbell rested heavy across his shoulders as he stepped back from the squat rack, the familiar burden digging into the meat of his traps. He adjusted his footing carefully, shoulder-width apart, grounding himself through the arches of his feet. His breathing slowed, measured. Controlled. He rolled his shoulders once, bracing his core, and began the descent.
Slow.
Deliberate.
The weight pulled him down, his knees bending, hips sinking, every inch of movement calculated. At the bottom, where the tension was at its sharpest, he exploded upward with force, driving through his heels until he locked out at the top. Then again. And again. Each rep burned deeper into his quads, his glutes, his lower back. The ache was sharp and immediate, exactly what he needed. Pain he could understand. Pain with a purpose.
He kept the tempo.
Counted the reps.
Focused on nothing else.
By the time he hit his target, sweat had started beading down the sides of his face, his hoodie darkening around the collar. He stepped forward carefully and leaned the bar back into the rack. The metal slammed against metal with a loud, ringing clang that echoed through the empty room like a gunshot.
For a second, it felt almost celebratory.
Zane stepped away from the rack, breathing deeply through his nose, hands planted on his hips as he paced in a small circle, trying to regulate his heart rate. His lungs burned. His legs trembled.
This was the dangerous part.
Not the set.
The space in between.
The lulls.
That was when the dread always crept in.
During the set, his world was small. Controlled. All he had to think about was tempo. Depth. Breathing. Reps. The next exercise. The next set. The next movement. But now, with the bar racked and the gym quiet again, his mind started wandering into places he didn’t want it to go.
His grandfather was gone. His grandmother was gone. The two people who had raised him, anchored him, loved him without condition.
Gone.
His father had murdered a man.
He had looked him in the eye and admitted it and somehow, Zane still didn’t know what to do with that.
On top of all that, his future sat in limbo. Tyson kept flooding his phone with opportunities - million-dollar NIL packages, transfer pitches, visits to programs that wanted him to be the centerpiece of their offense. Schools he used to dream about. Schools he once hated. Decisions that would shape the rest of his life.
And then there was Bianca.
Her voice in the chapel still echoed in his head.
I love you. I never stopped.
And Marie.
Who had stood by his side and presented a steady presence for him. She didn’t complicate things. She was upfront with what she needed from him. She didn’t give up on him when things had gotten hard.
She loved him too.
He knew it.
How the hell was he supposed to carry all of that?
How did one person hold grief, rage, guilt, expectation, love, and uncertainty all at once without collapsing under it?
Zane stared at the clock mounted high on the wall above the rack, the red digital numbers ticking away with cruel indifference.
One minute.
Thirty seconds.
Twenty.
It was almost time to go again. He found himself grateful for it.
Grateful for the interruption.
For the chance to shove all of it back down beneath weight and repetition.
He stepped back under the bar, ducking beneath it and settling it across his shoulders once more. The steel felt colder now, heavier somehow, but familiar.
He unracked it and stepped back into position.
Feet planted.
Breath steady.
He dropped into another squat and this time, like every time, he thought only about the tempo.
And for those few seconds, he was thankful for that.
Johntay sat sprawled across the couch in his apartment, one leg kicked over the armrest, a half-finished plate of wings and fries sitting on the coffee table in front of him. The television glowed in the dim room, throwing flashes of violence and shadow across the walls as The Punisher played.
Frank Castle was on-screen, mid-standoff, armed to the teeth and seconds away from unloading on a room full of enemies. Johntay leaned forward, invested, when his phone began buzzing against the coffee table, rattling beside the remote.
He glanced down at the screen and smirked when he saw Malik’s name.
Johntay grabbed the remote first, pausing the show right before Frank could light the room up, then snatched the phone and immediately hit speaker.
“What’s hannenin’, fuck nigga?” he sang into the phone, grinning to himself.
Malik’s laugh came through instantly, warm and sharp. “You a bitch for answering the phone like that, my nigga.”
Johntay barked out a laugh, sinking back into the couch. “Man, shut the fuck up.”
The two sat in the easy comfort of familiar banter, the kind built over years of football, competition, and shared chaos. Johntay wasted no time before steering it into football.
“Congratulations on one hell of a season with the Hurricanes though,” he said, more genuine now.
Malik clicked his tongue. “I appreciate it. Would appreciate it more if I actually did anything.”
Johntay laughed immediately.
“Oh, I forgot you still holding that nigga Judd Anderson’s pocket.”
Malik gave a fake sarcastic laugh through the speaker. “Yeah, yeah. Fuck you too.”
Malik shifted the conversation, asking how NFL prep was going. Johntay shrugged on instinct before realizing Malik couldn’t see him, then leaned his head back into the couch cushion.
“It’s aight,” he said. “Agent says I’m probably looking like a Day Two pick right now. Depends how the first day shakes out though. Might be a long-ass day for wide receivers.”
Malik hummed in understanding. “Yeah, I hear that.”
Johntay sucked his teeth and smirked. “Woulda went Top 50 for sure if that nigga Zane ain’t come through last year and take all my shine.”
The grin on his face betrayed the joke.
Malik laughed hard at that.
“That ain’t Zane fault he just better than you.”
Johntay sat up, offended in the theatrical way only close friends could be.
“Shut your bitch ass up.”
Malik kept laughing for a second before the humor settled. Then there was a pause.
The kind where the real reason for the call started creeping in.
Malik’s voice dropped.
“You heard from Zane?”
Johntay nodded automatically before catching himself.
“Yeah,” he answered. “He been better at hitting me back when I text him.”
He rubbed at his jaw as he thought about it.
“He in the gym all the damn time, man. Sounds like he coping aight.”
Malik was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, there was something heavier behind his words.
“That’s what he do,” Malik muttered. “He pour himself into something so he don’t gotta deal with what’s really going on.”
Johntay listened.
Malik sighed.
“You should’ve seen him when his grandfather died last year. Nigga was a mess.”
Johntay nodded slowly, staring at the paused frame of Frank Castle on the TV.
“Type shit,” he murmured.
The room grew quieter after that, both of them thinking about their friend in their own ways.
Johntay finally broke the silence, saying he was planning on pulling up on Zane after the holidays ended, just to check on him and see where his head was at.
“Make sure his mental good,” Johntay said. “Nigga been through too much too fast.”
Malik agreed, then Johntay added that Tyson had let something slip. Since they shared the same agent, Tyson had mentioned that Zane was trying to lock in on his transfer decision.
That got another pause out of Malik. A heavier one.
He let out a slow breath.
“I just hope he in the right mindset this time,” Malik said finally. “That kind of decision - man - you can’t make it while you drowning.”
Johntay stared at the TV for a moment longer, the frozen image of war and violence feeling strangely fitting.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s what I’m worried about too.”
***
Katie sat alone in the sprawling kitchen of Bianca’s family home, absently stirring together a bowl of yogurt, frozen fruit, and trail mix with the tip of her spoon. The kitchen itself was far too polished and pristine for the kind of half-hearted breakfast she was making - marble countertops, expensive fixtures, oversized windows overlooking the winter-gray streets of Pittsburgh.
The house still felt surreal to her, even after a couple of weeks. It was hard not to notice the difference between this and the cramped, cluttered home she had grown up in back in Aurora. Pittsburgh in late fall, bleeding into winter, felt different too. The skyline of scaling iron buildings pressed against the rivers gave the city a harsh, industrial beauty, so unlike the sprawling mountains back home. Aurora had its own kind of magic, the kind that made you feel small in the best way. Pittsburgh felt heavier, older. More worn down.
Katie figured she preferred home for the scenery, but she could certainly live without the people there.
Her thoughts drifted, as they often did lately, back to Colorado.
The last she had heard from her mother, Ellen, was during one of their rushed phone calls where Ellen casually mentioned that Katie’s father was entering yet another rehab stint for his alcoholism.
She had delivered the information with the same detached tone she used to talk about weather or grocery shopping, as if Katie should have been used to it by now. In the same breath, she had mentioned that she and Derek - Katie’s pseudo stepfather - wouldn’t even be around for Christmas this year. Derek had apparently won some all-expenses-paid trip to Cabo through a draw at work, and they were leaving right after finals.
Katie remembered asking what exactly she was supposed to do over the holidays, and Ellen had offered, almost too quickly, to pay her way if she wanted to come along. The way her mother had phrased it made it obvious enough that the invitation wasn’t really meant to be accepted. It was obligation, not desire.
Katie had declined.
So after heading back to Michigan just long enough to finish her final exams after Thanksgiving, she had packed her things and returned right back to Pittsburgh with Bianca to spend the holidays there.
Across from her now, Bianca sat at the kitchen table with her legs folded up into the chair, knees tucked against her chest. The plate in front of her that had once held eggs benedict was wiped clean, pushed off to the side. Her attention was buried in her phone, thumbs moving quickly as she scrolled and typed. Katie watched her for a second, the ease of Bianca’s posture almost making her jealous.
Katie dropped her spoon into the bowl with a soft clink.
Without looking up, she picked up her phone, stared at the blank screen for a second, and said, almost too casually, “I think I’m going to transfer out of Michigan.”
The words hung in the air.
Bianca stopped scrolling immediately and looked up, surprise flashing across her face.
Katie leaned back in her chair, setting her phone face down on the table before finally meeting Bianca’s gaze. She shrugged, trying to make it sound simpler than it felt.
“I just, I don’t know,” she started, exhaling. “I have such a hard time being on campus now.”
Her voice faltered slightly.
She didn’t say it outright. Didn’t name what had been done to her, who had done it to her, or what came afterwards. But the silence between them filled in the blanks.
She looked down at her bowl for a moment before continuing. “I don’t wanna deal with all of that every day. Walking past people, wondering who knows, wondering who doesn’t. Wondering if I’m gonna see them.”
Bianca nodded instinctively, understanding immediately. Then she shook her head, her face softening.
“I totally get it,” Bianca said quietly. “I do.”
She hesitated.
“But I can’t imagine being at Michigan without you.”
Katie gave a dry little laugh and shrugged.
“Then transfer with me.”
Bianca blinked. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise.
“Just like that?”
Katie tilted her head, thinking it through as she spoke, almost piecing the logic together in real time.
“What’s really keeping you there?” she asked. “Things with Bryce fizzled. Zane’s not coming. Is the track team really enough to keep you tied down there?”
Bianca sat with that.
The question landed heavier than Katie expected.
Bryce had become a dead end before it even really started. Whatever closure - or lack thereof - she had been hoping for with Zane had turned into something far messier and more unresolved than she could’ve predicted. And Michigan itself - when she stripped all the noise away - she wasn’t sure it felt like home anymore.
Bianca nodded slowly, processing it.
After a beat, she asked, “Okay, fine. If we left, where would we even go?”
Katie leaned back further in her chair, folding her arms with a small smirk tugging at her lips.
“The world’s our oyster,” she said. “And with the times we put up this season? If we play our cards right, we can damn near have our pick of the litter.”
That finally pulled a smile from Bianca.
A real one.
For the first time in a while, the idea of possibility felt bigger than the weight of everything behind them. New schools. New cities. A fresh start.
***
The Upper St. Clair gym sat in near-total silence that night, save for the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional metallic clatter of weights shifting in their racks.
It was late enough that the place had emptied hours ago, the polished hardwood dark and still beyond the weight room, the banners hanging overhead unmoving like relics of another life. Zane preferred it this way. Empty. Quiet. No eyes on him. No questions. No sympathy. Just iron and routine.
It had become all he did.
This was his second lift of the day.
He had fallen into a rhythm over the past few weeks that felt less like discipline and more like survival. He woke up, trained in the morning until his body ached, went home, and tried to fill the empty hours however he could.
He watched old game film - his Syracuse tape, his high school tape, sometimes even Pop Warner clips when he was feeling especially hollow. He answered emails from Tyson about transfer visits, NIL pitches, and schools lining up to court him. He returned texts from Marie when he had the energy. Johntay too. Sometimes Malik. Sometimes Bianca. Then he waited. Waited until enough time had passed that it felt acceptable to come back here and do it all over again.
Anything to avoid sitting still.
Anything to avoid thinking.
The barbell rested heavy across his shoulders as he stepped back from the squat rack, the familiar burden digging into the meat of his traps. He adjusted his footing carefully, shoulder-width apart, grounding himself through the arches of his feet. His breathing slowed, measured. Controlled. He rolled his shoulders once, bracing his core, and began the descent.
Slow.
Deliberate.
The weight pulled him down, his knees bending, hips sinking, every inch of movement calculated. At the bottom, where the tension was at its sharpest, he exploded upward with force, driving through his heels until he locked out at the top. Then again. And again. Each rep burned deeper into his quads, his glutes, his lower back. The ache was sharp and immediate, exactly what he needed. Pain he could understand. Pain with a purpose.
He kept the tempo.
Counted the reps.
Focused on nothing else.
By the time he hit his target, sweat had started beading down the sides of his face, his hoodie darkening around the collar. He stepped forward carefully and leaned the bar back into the rack. The metal slammed against metal with a loud, ringing clang that echoed through the empty room like a gunshot.
For a second, it felt almost celebratory.
Zane stepped away from the rack, breathing deeply through his nose, hands planted on his hips as he paced in a small circle, trying to regulate his heart rate. His lungs burned. His legs trembled.
This was the dangerous part.
Not the set.
The space in between.
The lulls.
That was when the dread always crept in.
During the set, his world was small. Controlled. All he had to think about was tempo. Depth. Breathing. Reps. The next exercise. The next set. The next movement. But now, with the bar racked and the gym quiet again, his mind started wandering into places he didn’t want it to go.
His grandfather was gone. His grandmother was gone. The two people who had raised him, anchored him, loved him without condition.
Gone.
His father had murdered a man.
He had looked him in the eye and admitted it and somehow, Zane still didn’t know what to do with that.
On top of all that, his future sat in limbo. Tyson kept flooding his phone with opportunities - million-dollar NIL packages, transfer pitches, visits to programs that wanted him to be the centerpiece of their offense. Schools he used to dream about. Schools he once hated. Decisions that would shape the rest of his life.
And then there was Bianca.
Her voice in the chapel still echoed in his head.
I love you. I never stopped.
And Marie.
Who had stood by his side and presented a steady presence for him. She didn’t complicate things. She was upfront with what she needed from him. She didn’t give up on him when things had gotten hard.
She loved him too.
He knew it.
How the hell was he supposed to carry all of that?
How did one person hold grief, rage, guilt, expectation, love, and uncertainty all at once without collapsing under it?
Zane stared at the clock mounted high on the wall above the rack, the red digital numbers ticking away with cruel indifference.
One minute.
Thirty seconds.
Twenty.
It was almost time to go again. He found himself grateful for it.
Grateful for the interruption.
For the chance to shove all of it back down beneath weight and repetition.
He stepped back under the bar, ducking beneath it and settling it across his shoulders once more. The steel felt colder now, heavier somehow, but familiar.
He unracked it and stepped back into position.
Feet planted.
Breath steady.
He dropped into another squat and this time, like every time, he thought only about the tempo.
And for those few seconds, he was thankful for that.
-
Soapy
- Posts: 15737
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Invictus
The Punisher is a decent shout, I surprisingly enjoyed that show
I have a hot take about grandparents that might be too hot for the site so I'll keep it to myself
(for the most part, they're already "old" when you're born and they're definitely, for the most part, old by the time you're 18+ so them dying shouldn't be some big shocking thing that requires grieving)
I have a hot take about grandparents that might be too hot for the site so I'll keep it to myself
(for the most part, they're already "old" when you're born and they're definitely, for the most part, old by the time you're 18+ so them dying shouldn't be some big shocking thing that requires grieving)
-
Caesar
- Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16259
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Invictus
Caestradomus.Captain Canada wrote: ↑27 Jun 2026, 15:15After a beat, she asked, “Okay, fine. If we left, where would we even go?”
Zane a pussy ass bitch. they gonna bully the shit out of him if he go to the SEC or Big Ten. Every corner against him next season
-
Soapy
- Posts: 15737
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Invictus
Gonzo so cold manCaesar wrote: ↑27 Jun 2026, 18:43Caestradomus.Captain Canada wrote: ↑27 Jun 2026, 15:15After a beat, she asked, “Okay, fine. If we left, where would we even go?”
Zane a pussy ass bitch. they gonna bully the shit out of him if he go to the SEC or Big Ten. Every corner against him next season
-
Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7394
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
The stench of hate radiates off this one.Caesar wrote: ↑27 Jun 2026, 18:43Caestradomus.Captain Canada wrote: ↑27 Jun 2026, 15:15After a beat, she asked, “Okay, fine. If we left, where would we even go?”
Zane a pussy ass bitch. they gonna bully the shit out of him if he go to the SEC or Big Ten. Every corner against him next season
This is a dialogue for another day. We got football to get to. (Y'all niggas need help).
Career-long Patriot if you asking me.Soapy wrote: ↑29 Jun 2026, 06:44Gonzo so cold manCaesar wrote: ↑27 Jun 2026, 18:43Caestradomus.Captain Canada wrote: ↑27 Jun 2026, 15:15After a beat, she asked, “Okay, fine. If we left, where would we even go?”
Zane a pussy ass bitch. they gonna bully the shit out of him if he go to the SEC or Big Ten. Every corner against him next season
We almost there, brudda.
-
Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7394
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
Don't mind me.
-
Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7394
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
