Requiem for a Broken Dream.

[Soapy]

It's going to be nasty work when Kam fucks some bleach bottle blonde with fake titties and a 0.01% OF account in Las Vegas behind Yassy's back.

if its snowing he aint going

[Soapy]

Season 8, Episode 26
The Rose Bowl's pristine grass tickled Kam's ankles as he jogged in place, his cleats digging into the soft turf. The stadium's grandeur enveloped him, its iconic arches framing the setting sun that painted the sky in hues of orange and pink. The scent of freshly cut grass mingled with the crisp January air, filling his lungs with each deep breath.

Despite having played there just weeks prior, Kam was still breathless. He wasn’t one for pageantry or history but this was different. He could vividly remember watching Christian McCaffrey break off that long run against Iowa and De’Anthony Thomas’ exploits against Russell Wilson’s Wisconsin team. It was the one bowl game that he had always made sure to watch, no matter who was playing.

The hatred that had fueled him all week leading up to the game had dematerialized and instead, he was overwhelmed by a feeling of gratitude as he went through his pre-game warm up.

“Against all odds, squabbled up for the dividends,” Kam muttered to himself, “Against all odds, showed up as a gentleman.”

Kam closed his eyes, letting the cacophony of pre-game sounds wash over him. The rhythmic thud of footballs being punted, the sharp whistle of coaches directing drills, and the distant roar of early arriving fans all blended into a symphony of anticipation. He focused on his breathing, finding a steady rhythm that matched the beating of his heart.

Around him, his teammates buzzed with nervous energy. Some bounced on their toes, others slapped each other's shoulder pads, their voices rising in excitement. But Kam remained still, an island of calm in a sea of motion. He opened his eyes, gazing at the empty seats that would soon be filled with a sea of maroon, orange, nave and maize.

As he stretched, Kam's mind drifted to the journey that had brought him here. The pain, the struggles, the moments of doubt – they all seemed to fade away in the face of this moment. He thought of his mother and Cory, wondering if they could see him now. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he imagined Anna's excitement if she were here.

The weight of his past, which had so often threatened to drag him down, now felt like a foundation beneath his feet. Each step of his warm-up routine was deliberate, grounding him in the present. The ball felt perfect in his hands as he caught a few passes, the familiar texture a comfort against his skin.

As the stadium slowly filled and the energy began to build, Kam remained in his bubble of tranquility. He whispered another line to himself, "No juice inside of my cup, I sober up and knock em all off." The words settled into his bones, a reminder of how much self-discipline had got him here.

In this moment, on this hallowed ground, Kam felt a sense of belonging he had rarely experienced before. The game, the stage, the opportunity – it all aligned in a way that made him feel like he was exactly where he was meant to be. As his teammates gathered for their final huddle, Kam took one last look around the stadium, savoring the moment and letting the peace he felt fuel his determination for the challenge ahead.

---

VT (11-3, 7-1) | 0 | 14 | 6 | 0 | 20
MICH (13-1, 9-0) | 21 | 14 | 0 | 10 | 45

VT QB Davi Belfort: 25-42, 267 yds, 2 TD, INT, sacked twice
VT WR Chance Fitzgerald: 7 rec, 96 yds
MICH QB CJ Carr: 16-21, 250 yds, 4 TD, INT, sacked 3 times
MICH HB Kamaldeen Seidu-Harris: 28 car, 173 yds, TD, 5 rec, 68 yds, 2 TD

Season Stats 372 att, 2837 yds, 24 TD, 26 rec, 315 yds, 4 TD
Next Game Orange Bowl vs. #5 LSU (14-1, 8-0)

[Caesar]

LSU crushing this man's dreams. Poetic.

[djp73]

Lit em up! Heisman pose was poetic AF

[Soapy]

Season 8, Episode 27
The crystal chandelier sparkled overhead as Lana raised her glass for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. The rich burgundy liquid sloshed dangerously close to the rim before she tipped it back, draining half in one long gulp. Across the intricately set table, Richie caught her eye and gave an almost imperceptible nod of approval.

Jack's booming laugh echoed through the spacious dining room, bouncing off the mahogany-paneled walls adorned with abstract paintings that probably cost more than even Richie's entire apartment. "Another round?" he asked, already reaching for the bottle of Château Margaux.

"Should I?" Lana demurred half-heartedly, her words slightly slurred. But Richie's hand was already there, sliding her glass towards Jack for a refill.

"Come on, honey," he said, his voice uncharacteristically light. "You can’t turn down a glass from a bottle like this one.”

Miranda, Jack's wife, raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow but said nothing, instead taking a delicate sip from her own barely-touched glass. The candlelight flickered across her face, casting shadows that seemed to deepen the lines of concern etched around her mouth.

As the conversation flowed around her, punctuated by the clink of silverware on fine china, Lana found herself drifting. The room seemed to tilt and sway, the edges of her vision blurring like an impressionist painting. She blinked hard, trying to focus on the elaborate centerpiece of orchids and lilies, their heady scent mingling with the aroma of roasted lamb and rosemary.

Richie's hand found hers under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. But instead of the usual warmth, his touch felt cold, almost calculating. Lana turned to look at him, searching his face for... something. What, exactly, she couldn't say. His features, normally so open and familiar, seemed alien in the soft glow of the dining room. There was a glint in his eye she'd never seen before, a hardness to the set of his jaw.

…

Kyrie's hands trembled as he gripped his phone, the blue light illuminating his tear-stained face in the dimly lit bathroom. The polished marble countertop felt cold against his bare forearms as he leaned heavily on the vanity, his eyes fixed on the screen where his own image flickered. The muffled roar of a distant crowd filled the small space. On the screen, a younger version of himself weaved through defenders, his movements fluid and purposeful.

Kyrie's chest tightened, a fresh wave of tears spilling down his cheeks. He swiped angrily at his face, smearing the moisture across his skin. His gaze drifted to the side, lingering on the object he had placed on the bathroom sink before snapping back to the phone.

Another highlight played. This time, Kyrie watched himself catch a pass out in the flats, slowing himself down before cutting back inside and leaving the defenders in the dust as if he was on a different playback speed than them.

Kyrie took a shuddering breath, closing his eyes against the onslaught of memories and emotions. The bathroom suddenly felt too small, the walls closing in around him. With a trembling hand, Kyrie reached out, his fingers clinching on the only thing he imagined could fix all of this.

…

The living room was bathed in a soft, amber glow from the antique floor lamp in the corner. Richie lounged on the plush leather sofa, his fingers absently tracing the rim of a crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid. The ice clinked softly against the glass, a quiet counterpoint to the muffled sounds filtering through the closed bedroom door.

A floorboard creaked, and Richie's gaze snapped up. Jack emerged from the shadows of the hallway, his shirt untucked and hair mussed. A lazy smile played across his lips as he sauntered into the room, the scent of expensive cologne mingling with something more primal.

"Quite a night, eh?" Jack's voice was low and husky, a hint of satisfaction coloring his words. He paused, eyes glinting in the dim light as they fixed on Richie. "You know, there's always room for one more. If you're interested."

The invitation hung in the air, heavy and charged. Richie's grip tightened imperceptibly on his glass, his expression unreadable in the half-light.

"I'm good here, thanks," Richie finally replied, his tone carefully neutral. He raised his glass in a mock toast, the amber liquid catching the light like liquid fire.

Jack shrugged, the movement fluid and unconcerned. "Suit yourself," he said, padding towards the bar. The ice clinked in the decanter as he poured himself a drink, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

Jack raised his glass, mirroring Richie's earlier gesture. "To unforgettable nights," he said, his smile never quite reaching his eyes. The crystal clinked as they toasted, the sound echoing ominously in the cavernous room.

…

Ashley stood motionless in the driveway, her eyes fixed on the coroner's van. The world around her seemed to blur and fade, leaving only the stark white vehicle in sharp focus. She barely registered the gentle voice of the woman speaking to her, the words washing over her like waves on a distant shore.

"...county morgue for examination..." The woman's voice faded in and out, punctuated by the soft rustling of papers. "...need you to sign here..."

Ashley blinked slowly, her gaze dropping to the clipboard thrust into her trembling hands. The form swam before her eyes, the lines of text blending together into an incomprehensible mess. She felt a pen being pressed into her fingers, the cool metal a stark contrast to her clammy skin.

A sob caught in her throat as she scrawled her signature, the usually neat cursive now a shaky, barely legible scrawl. The clipboard was gently taken from her, replaced by a small white card. Ashley stared at it blankly, unable to process the information printed there.

The slam of the van's doors jolted her, and she looked up in time to see it pulling away, carrying with it the last physical remnants of the life she had known. As the taillights disappeared around the corner, Ashley felt something inside her shatter, leaving her hollow and adrift in a world that no longer made sense.

…

Richie leaned back in his ergonomic chair, the leather creaking softly as he stretched. The corner office, with its sweeping views of the city skyline, felt more like a gilded cage than a symbol of success. He rubbed his eyes, trying to focus on the spreadsheet glowing on his computer screen.

A sharp knock broke the silence. Jack strode in without waiting for a response, his presence filling the room like a storm front. "Richie, my boy," he boomed, clapping a hand on Richie's shoulder. "Got a minute?"

Richie nodded, his face carefully neutral as he had waited all morning for this. Jack perched on the edge of the desk, his expensive suit wrinkling slightly. "Listen," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I've been thinking. Starting next quarter, I want you to take over the Peterson and Goldstein accounts."

Richie's eyebrows shot up. Those were two of the firm's biggest clients. "That's... quite an opportunity," he said cautiously.

"You've earned it," he said, then paused, his gaze sharpening. "Lana's quite the gem, isn't she?" He chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. "She’s a lot of fun, we should do…that more often. A few of my friends, we’re always looking for…new people to meet and socialize with. You should bring her around more often, do both of us a lot of good.”

[Caesar]

From crackwhore sugar baby to crackwhore being pimped out at Diddy parties, life come at you fast. Bro been watching too much Tyler Perry.

[Captain Canada]

Fam, what are you DOING to this woman?

[Soapy]

From crackwhore sugar baby to crackwhore being pimped out at Diddy parties, life come at you fast. Bro been watching too much Tyler Perry.

this is very anti black

Fam, what are you DOING to this woman?

she don't got agency bro? lol

[Soapy]

LSU (14-2, 8-0) | 0 | 3 | 7 | 10 | 3 | 23
MICH (14-1, 9-0) | 7 | 3 | 7 | 3 | 6 | 26

LSU QB Eli Holstein: 15-22, 268 yds, TD, 2 INT, sacked 3 times
LSU HB Troy Leigber: 18 car, 118 yds
MICH QB CJ Carr: 16-22, 205 yds, 2 TD, sacked 4 times
MICH HB Kamaldeen Seidu-Harris: 26 car, 159 yds, TD, 5 rec, 67 yds, TD

Season Stats 398 att, 2996 yds, 25 TD, 31 rec, 382 yds, 5 TD
Next Game National Championship vs. #4 Colorado

[Captain Canada]

Goddamn

From murder to the National championship is one hell of a path.