More like ballhawk skills. But we know our biggest opp will always be the biggest opp.
Dying to Live
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17046
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
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Soapy
- Posts: 16919
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 8041
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
A degenerate 
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17046
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
y’all just be slandering our guy Ro
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17046
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Everyone Eats
The steel doors of Dixon Correctional Institute clanged shut behind Royce as he walked through the main entryway. The familiar sterile scent of the visitation area filled his nose, mixing with the distant sound of guards calling orders and inmates muttering amongst themselves. It wasn’t Royce’s first time here, but he always felt out of place—like he had one foot in a world that could’ve easily been his own had life gone differently.
He sat at the table in the dull, off-white room, tapping his fingers against the metal surface while waiting. The walls were lined with other families, hushed conversations mixing with the occasional outburst of laughter or frustration.
Then, his father emerged.
Kevon walked with the slow, deliberate steps of a man who knew there was no rush to anything anymore. Same sharp eyes. Same unreadable expression.
Kevon sat across from Royce, arms resting on the table, eyes level and firm as they scanned over his son. Royce looked just like him, even if he tried not to.
“You forgot how to get up here or you thought coming once was enough?” Kevon’s voice was gravelly, cutting through the dull hum of the room.
Royce exhaled, shaking his head. “Man, come on. You know it ain't even like that.”
Kevon leaned back, tilting his head slightly. “Then what’s it like? ‘Cause I told you to handle something for me, and from what I hear, it still ain’t done.”
Royce knew exactly what his father was talking about. Houma. His mother. Reg. The family he had spent years avoiding because the weight of Romeo’s death had built a wall he wasn’t ready to climb. A wall that they were manning to make sure he didn’t try.
“I ain’t had time,” Royce said, though even as the words left his mouth, he knew they sounded weak.
Kevon scoffed. “Ain’t had time?” He shook his head, laughing bitterly. “Boy, you got time for everything else, huh? Time to play football. Time to party. Time to be out here dealing with the wrong type of lil’ bitch and gettin’ yourself caught up. Sound to me like you just been spending your time doing the wrong damn thing.”
Royce’s jaw tensed.
“I heard about that little situation you got yourself into,” Kevon continued, his voice dropping lower. “And I’ll tell you this—that ain’t the last time it’s gon’ happen if you keep messin’ around with women who don’t understand where you from. They don’t know you, son. They don’t know what made you. And it ain’t no white, black shit either. That lil’ chick Romeo was fucking with was going to get him in the same shit. These suburban ass women suburban ass women whatever shade they come in.”
Royce clenched his fists under the table, his knuckles pressing against his jeans.
“I handled it,” Royce said flatly.
Kevon nodded slowly, his stare never wavering. “Yeah, and you lucky you did. But let me ask you this—how much longer you think luck gon’ be on your side? It don’t take but one bad game for them white folks to be ready to throw your ass under the bus. How many of them gonna look the other day when one of these girls make you go upside their head and you let Alabama score last week?”
Royce had no answer for that.
A beat of silence stretched between them before Kevon leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Look, I know you got a little money coming in now.”
Royce let out a humorless chuckle. Little was definitely the right word. Between the NIL deal and what Billy had lined up, he wasn’t starving, but he also wasn’t living like quarterbacks at places like USC.
Kevon studied him, nodding slowly. “What’s the point of having money if your people can’t eat too? You ever think about the fact that you not the only one struggling?”
Royce’s stomach tightened. The words settled heavy, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to feel guilt or anger.
“Fix what I told you to fix, boy,” Kevon said, pushing himself up to his feet and walking back toward the guard in the corner.
~~~~~~~~~~
Royce sat in the back of the lecture hall, arms crossed over his chest, his usual confident smirk absent. The Black Student Union meeting had just started, and he already felt out of place. The room was filled with a mix of familiar faces and strangers—athletes, scholars, activists, all gathered to discuss campus issues and upcoming initiatives.
Billy had set this up for him, framed it as "necessary optics" to land a deal with a prominent Black businessman in Baton Rouge. It wasn’t about community for him. It was about business. So here he was, sitting among a group of people who actually wanted to be here, while he was just trying to secure a check.
The speaker at the podium was deep into a discussion about the importance of representation on campus when Royce felt someone slide into the seat next to him.
“Ain’t expect to see you here,” a voice muttered.
Royce turned his head slightly to see Jamal, a track star he had seen around campus but never really spoken to. Jamal was lean, with sharp features and a knowing glint in his eye, as if he’d already figured Royce out before he even opened his mouth.
Royce exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “Yeah, my agent told me I gotta be here so I gotta be here.”
Jamal smirked. “Gotta?”
Royce shrugged, knowing he had no real way to spin it. “You know how that shit go. Motherfucker tells you that you gotta do this, that and the third to get a deal across the line so you do that shit.”
Jamal chuckled, shaking his head. “No, I don’t know nothing about that shit ‘cause they ain’t give us NIL deals like they giving y’all. Ain’t no ins and outs of everything when they just giving you a few hundred dollars.”
Royce arched an eyebrow. “Better trade in that track shit for a spot at receiver then, my nigga. Go and get you some paper.”
“Shit, you ain’t lying. You gotta be Squirrel or Livvy to get them big deals and not be playing football.”
Royce smirked slightly. “Could always just go fuck the next average looking gymnast bitch that white dudes decide is fine and use her money.”
The meeting dragged on, discussions bouncing between plans for a campus rally and ways to support Black-owned businesses in the area. Royce nodded along when appropriate, but his mind was elsewhere. This wasn’t his scene. He respected what they were doing, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was just a guest in a space that wasn’t really his.
When the meeting finally wrapped up, Royce stood and stretched, ready to bolt, but before he could make it to the door, a familiar face stepped into his path.
Natalia.
She was standing near the exit, scrolling through her phone, oblivious at first—until she looked up and froze, her brow furrowing as she studied him.
“You look familiar,” she said, tilting her head slightly.
Royce nodded slowly. “Yeah, you’ve probably seen me around the city.”
Natalia squinted slightly, like she was trying to piece together a puzzle. “Did you go to high school around here?”
“Yeah, U-High,” Royce said smoothly. He wasn’t about to remind her where she had actually seen him—outside the Blue Store, face-to-face with Poochie, ready to swing.
Natalia’s eyes flickered with something—curiosity, maybe recognition, but not quite clarity.
“You ever hang around Poochie?” she asked, her voice light but probing.
Royce shrugged. “Not really.”
Not a full lie. But not the truth, either.
Natalia nodded, not pressing further, though something about her hesitation told Royce she was second-guessing what she thought she knew.
She shifted gears quickly, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Anyway, we’re planning some events next month—fundraisers, workshops, all that. If you’re gonna be involved, we’ll need you to show up for some of them.”
Royce exhaled through his nose, realizing there really wasn’t an escape from this. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”
Natalia smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes before she turned back toward the hall. Royce lingered for a second, watching her walk away, before heading back to his car to go home and get some sleep after a long day.
The steel doors of Dixon Correctional Institute clanged shut behind Royce as he walked through the main entryway. The familiar sterile scent of the visitation area filled his nose, mixing with the distant sound of guards calling orders and inmates muttering amongst themselves. It wasn’t Royce’s first time here, but he always felt out of place—like he had one foot in a world that could’ve easily been his own had life gone differently.
He sat at the table in the dull, off-white room, tapping his fingers against the metal surface while waiting. The walls were lined with other families, hushed conversations mixing with the occasional outburst of laughter or frustration.
Then, his father emerged.
Kevon walked with the slow, deliberate steps of a man who knew there was no rush to anything anymore. Same sharp eyes. Same unreadable expression.
Kevon sat across from Royce, arms resting on the table, eyes level and firm as they scanned over his son. Royce looked just like him, even if he tried not to.
“You forgot how to get up here or you thought coming once was enough?” Kevon’s voice was gravelly, cutting through the dull hum of the room.
Royce exhaled, shaking his head. “Man, come on. You know it ain't even like that.”
Kevon leaned back, tilting his head slightly. “Then what’s it like? ‘Cause I told you to handle something for me, and from what I hear, it still ain’t done.”
Royce knew exactly what his father was talking about. Houma. His mother. Reg. The family he had spent years avoiding because the weight of Romeo’s death had built a wall he wasn’t ready to climb. A wall that they were manning to make sure he didn’t try.
“I ain’t had time,” Royce said, though even as the words left his mouth, he knew they sounded weak.
Kevon scoffed. “Ain’t had time?” He shook his head, laughing bitterly. “Boy, you got time for everything else, huh? Time to play football. Time to party. Time to be out here dealing with the wrong type of lil’ bitch and gettin’ yourself caught up. Sound to me like you just been spending your time doing the wrong damn thing.”
Royce’s jaw tensed.
“I heard about that little situation you got yourself into,” Kevon continued, his voice dropping lower. “And I’ll tell you this—that ain’t the last time it’s gon’ happen if you keep messin’ around with women who don’t understand where you from. They don’t know you, son. They don’t know what made you. And it ain’t no white, black shit either. That lil’ chick Romeo was fucking with was going to get him in the same shit. These suburban ass women suburban ass women whatever shade they come in.”
Royce clenched his fists under the table, his knuckles pressing against his jeans.
“I handled it,” Royce said flatly.
Kevon nodded slowly, his stare never wavering. “Yeah, and you lucky you did. But let me ask you this—how much longer you think luck gon’ be on your side? It don’t take but one bad game for them white folks to be ready to throw your ass under the bus. How many of them gonna look the other day when one of these girls make you go upside their head and you let Alabama score last week?”
Royce had no answer for that.
A beat of silence stretched between them before Kevon leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Look, I know you got a little money coming in now.”
Royce let out a humorless chuckle. Little was definitely the right word. Between the NIL deal and what Billy had lined up, he wasn’t starving, but he also wasn’t living like quarterbacks at places like USC.
Kevon studied him, nodding slowly. “What’s the point of having money if your people can’t eat too? You ever think about the fact that you not the only one struggling?”
Royce’s stomach tightened. The words settled heavy, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to feel guilt or anger.
“Fix what I told you to fix, boy,” Kevon said, pushing himself up to his feet and walking back toward the guard in the corner.
~~~~~~~~~~
Royce sat in the back of the lecture hall, arms crossed over his chest, his usual confident smirk absent. The Black Student Union meeting had just started, and he already felt out of place. The room was filled with a mix of familiar faces and strangers—athletes, scholars, activists, all gathered to discuss campus issues and upcoming initiatives.
Billy had set this up for him, framed it as "necessary optics" to land a deal with a prominent Black businessman in Baton Rouge. It wasn’t about community for him. It was about business. So here he was, sitting among a group of people who actually wanted to be here, while he was just trying to secure a check.
The speaker at the podium was deep into a discussion about the importance of representation on campus when Royce felt someone slide into the seat next to him.
“Ain’t expect to see you here,” a voice muttered.
Royce turned his head slightly to see Jamal, a track star he had seen around campus but never really spoken to. Jamal was lean, with sharp features and a knowing glint in his eye, as if he’d already figured Royce out before he even opened his mouth.
Royce exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “Yeah, my agent told me I gotta be here so I gotta be here.”
Jamal smirked. “Gotta?”
Royce shrugged, knowing he had no real way to spin it. “You know how that shit go. Motherfucker tells you that you gotta do this, that and the third to get a deal across the line so you do that shit.”
Jamal chuckled, shaking his head. “No, I don’t know nothing about that shit ‘cause they ain’t give us NIL deals like they giving y’all. Ain’t no ins and outs of everything when they just giving you a few hundred dollars.”
Royce arched an eyebrow. “Better trade in that track shit for a spot at receiver then, my nigga. Go and get you some paper.”
“Shit, you ain’t lying. You gotta be Squirrel or Livvy to get them big deals and not be playing football.”
Royce smirked slightly. “Could always just go fuck the next average looking gymnast bitch that white dudes decide is fine and use her money.”
The meeting dragged on, discussions bouncing between plans for a campus rally and ways to support Black-owned businesses in the area. Royce nodded along when appropriate, but his mind was elsewhere. This wasn’t his scene. He respected what they were doing, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was just a guest in a space that wasn’t really his.
When the meeting finally wrapped up, Royce stood and stretched, ready to bolt, but before he could make it to the door, a familiar face stepped into his path.
Natalia.
She was standing near the exit, scrolling through her phone, oblivious at first—until she looked up and froze, her brow furrowing as she studied him.
“You look familiar,” she said, tilting her head slightly.
Royce nodded slowly. “Yeah, you’ve probably seen me around the city.”
Natalia squinted slightly, like she was trying to piece together a puzzle. “Did you go to high school around here?”
“Yeah, U-High,” Royce said smoothly. He wasn’t about to remind her where she had actually seen him—outside the Blue Store, face-to-face with Poochie, ready to swing.
Natalia’s eyes flickered with something—curiosity, maybe recognition, but not quite clarity.
“You ever hang around Poochie?” she asked, her voice light but probing.
Royce shrugged. “Not really.”
Not a full lie. But not the truth, either.
Natalia nodded, not pressing further, though something about her hesitation told Royce she was second-guessing what she thought she knew.
She shifted gears quickly, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Anyway, we’re planning some events next month—fundraisers, workshops, all that. If you’re gonna be involved, we’ll need you to show up for some of them.”
Royce exhaled through his nose, realizing there really wasn’t an escape from this. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”
Natalia smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes before she turned back toward the hall. Royce lingered for a second, watching her walk away, before heading back to his car to go home and get some sleep after a long day.
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17046
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Two to the Good Guys
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 8041
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
May as well switch to safety now, all this dude does is get interceptions
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Soapy
- Posts: 16919
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Dying to Live
boy got two tackles, a finesse backerCaptain Canada wrote: ↑03 Feb 2025, 18:31May as well switch to safety now, all this dude does is get interceptions
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17046
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Ed Reed Jr in linebacker form.Captain Canada wrote: ↑03 Feb 2025, 18:31May as well switch to safety now, all this dude does is get interceptions
They knew better than to test ya boy after that pick. If he catching picks like that, imagine how he hitting (ayo if necessary, ask ya baby mama because Royce seek ‘em out.)Soapy wrote: ↑04 Feb 2025, 07:54boy got two tackles, a finesse backerCaptain Canada wrote: ↑03 Feb 2025, 18:31May as well switch to safety now, all this dude does is get interceptions
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The JZA
- Posts: 9445
- Joined: 07 Dec 2018, 13:10
Dying to Live
Kinda light on the involvement. Whit Weeks putting up desirable numbers Royce needs to put up