#answer the questions you give the player within the game

[frostbite-the-bat]

ok nvm no other rant parts but i have more thoughts on this im not that dumb or demanding about this stuff and ik there is a story in this event but again STORY LOCKED IN...EVENT.................................................................... IDK make me care for it if u want me to read it on a wiki but then again its not like its useful for any future big lore stuff but im haunted by this always bc i know some smart ass nerd emoji ahh mother fucker is gonna come to me and go BUT ERMMM IN THIS ONE DIALOGUE IN THIS EVENT BETWEEN SILLY WITTY NONSENSE DIALOGUE WAS SOME... KIND LORE STUFF IDK AND IT GOES AGAINST THIS oh my gofdddhdhhdddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd

[countdown-til-sanders-take-over]

this is a formal apology for every time i've read ur fnaf theories, gone "ah... of course! yes!" and then forgotten to respond

This is a formal apology for every time I've read one of your asks, not immediately had a TQ&/E, and forgotten to respond

[prokopetz]

"But doesn't having a notion of 'balanced' combat inherently imply that all combat encounters are expected to be fair and winnable" well, no – it implies only that the GM has the ability to know whether a given combat encounter is fair and winnable.

There's a story that's been going around for decades about a Dungeons & Dragons party who encountered a large room full of treasure while exploring a dungeon. Immediately suspicious, they asked their GM a series of detailed questions about the room, but no obvious dangers were identified. Satisfied, they moved into the room – and were immediately set upon and eaten by the dragon that had been sitting atop the pile of treasure the whole time, which the GM hadn't mentioned because the players never specifically asked about the presence of living creatures within the room.

While this is obviously an extreme and ridiculous case, it illustrates an important point: as GM, you're the group's eyes and ears. If you don't describe something, the player characters literally can't see it – that dragon was effectively invisible from their perspective. The trick is that active malice isn't the only way to invisible-dragon your players; a group can also find themselves invisible-dragoned because the GM simply failed to provide sufficient information for the risk in question to be identified. This can happen through neglect, but it can also happen because the GM themself was unaware that the risk was present.

Now, hold on, you might be saying: the GM "plays" the entire world. How is it possible for the GM not to know that a risk is present? Well, that brings us back around to the subject of combat balance.

A game in which "balanced" combat is a meaningful thing to discuss is typically going to be one in which both the players and the GM are actually making strategic, tactical, and/or logistical decisions, rather than merely producing a description of their characters making such decisions. Without a good handle on the interplay of these decisions, it's completely possible for the GM to be wrong about the level of risk the scenario they've constructed entails.

That's actually pretty critical, because even if you don't care about the game being fair and winnable (and that's a perfectly valid stance), your players are still depending on you to be their eyes and ears, and to give them enough information to make good decisions about whether the fight in front of them is one they can win. A game where not every fight is expected to be winnable needs to be a game where the players have the opportunity to walk away.

No matter how objective you try to be, your own sense of the answer to that question is inevitably going to colour how you communicate about it. You being wrong about the level of risk at hand inherently increases the chance that your players will make bad choices. The party eating a TPK because they made a stupid decision is one thing; the party eating a TPK because they made a decision that looked reasonable from their perspective based on your unwitting miscommunication of the level of risk involved is quite another!

Sure, once the dice hit the table I'm probably going to realise that I fucked up, and I can adjust things on the fly to bring the level of risk that's actually present in line with the level of risk I communicated – but that's extra work I don't need with everything else that's on my plate. And that's a best-case scenario; if I'm running the game for a hardcore let-the-dice-fall-where-they-may group (and such groups tend to have a pretty significant overlap with groups that are cool with not every fight being winnable), I may not be able to adjust the fight's parameters on the fly without violating the social contract of the table.

Basically, whenever I see an OSR game with tactically crunchy combat brag about how its author never even thinks about "balance", what that's telling me is that running this game is going to create a whole lot of extra work for me as a GM. This is not a selling point.

[rimzaaa]

The Order, No One Dared To Question

Oneshot! (Request)

Pairing: Frontman(young-il) x Female reader (y/n)

Fandom: Squid Game (오징어 게임)

Summary: What happens when Player 110 — the girl the Frontman secretly loves — loses a game by just one second?

Will he let her die like the others… or break character to save her? And if he does, how will he cover his tracks when all eyes turn to him?

Warnings: Mild violence, death mentions, canon-typical tension, manipulation, secret identity, intense gaze & protective behavior, morally grey character, suggestive power dynamic.

Author's Note: This one was actually a request, and honestly, it was a bit tricky to pull off — but somehow, I made it through! Think of player 196 as y/n or it's your choice. I really hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Reblogs and comments mean the world to me 🤍

Words Count: 911

Tag list: If anyone wants to get tagged, lemme know in the comments.

@salesmancarddd @marymun @astronomicalastro-blog1

The moment Frontman saw Y/n — Player 110 — during Red Light, Green Light, something inside him shifted. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt the urge to protect her. To shield her from the horrors of the game and… keep her for himself.

He told himself he was joining as Player 001 to keep an eye on Gi-hun, who had returned for the second time to take the whole system down. But deep down, he knew — it wasn’t just about Gi-hun anymore.

It was about her.

He could’ve stayed in the shadows, sipping whiskey and give orders to protect her. But he didn’t want distant control.

He wanted closeness.

To earn her trust with his own hands.

So the Frontman became Player 001, giving himself a new name: Oh Young-il.

•••

The game hall buzzed with tension. Everyone awaited the next round.

Frontman — now just another numbered contestant — was watching her. Always watching her.

Then came the first spark.

“You got a death wish, or you just dumb?” sneered a tall, purple-haired thug known among players as Thanos.

He had y/n cornered, mocking her for accidentally bumping into him.

Y/n didn’t reply. She was clearly trying to de-escalate, her eyes cast low.

But then, a calm voice cut through the thick air.

“Is there a problem here?”

Everyone turned.

Player 001 — Young-il — had stepped between them.

Thanos scoffed. “What, old man? You gonna protect your little girlfriend?”

Young-il’s fist answered the question.

It was fast — too fast for a man of his supposed age. One punch, right to Thanos jaw, and the purple-haired bully was on the floor. The nearby guards glanced over but didn’t interfere. Too minor to matter.

Y/n stared at him in disbelief.

“You okay?” he asked, voice softer now.

She nodded, stunned. She didn’t even ask how or why he did that. She just… felt safer.

And from that moment, a seed was planted.

•••

Later that day, all the players were gathered in a big game hall. The robotic voice echoed through the room.

“Form teams of five.”

Frontman moved instinctively toward her — but she had already joined a group: an old woman and her son, plus Hyun-ju and Young-mi.

He ended up in a team with Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Junhee, and Dae-ho.

Then, the game started.

Six-Legged Pentathlon.

Each team member had to complete a traditional game — Dakji, Gonggi, Spinning Top, Jegichagi, and Flying Stone — within five minutes. If one failed, the entire team died.

Y/n took Jegichagi. She was confident — until it was her turn.

One by one, her teammates succeeded.

Now, it was on her.

Thirty seconds left.

She tossed the shuttlecock.

Missed.

Tried again.

Missed again.

Ten seconds.

She was trembling now. Her fingers cold. Her team holding their breath.

Finally — she tried one more time — and it worked. The shuttlecock bounced

One

Two

Three

Four

Fi..

Beep.

“FAIL.”

Y/n’s eyes widened. What? Didn't she make it?

She looked up at the clock. Had she been just a second late?

The guards moved forward. Guns raised.

Panic swept her team. They screamed, cried, begged for the guards to double-check. But the decision was made.

Or so they thought.

“WAIT!”

Everyone froze.

Player 001 was on his feet.

“Lower your guns” he ordered — and the guards obeyed.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Why were guards listening to a player?

Y/n blinked at him, heart thudding. Again… he was protecting her.

Sensing the growing suspicion, Young-il added quickly:

“She finished in time. I saw it. Check your cameras — you do have footage, don’t you?”

The guards — who knew exactly who he was — didn’t question it. They knew what he was doing—saving her, though she had actually lost by a second. But who would dare to question him?

One of the guard quietly called it in.

A pause.

Then the robotic voice returned:

“PASS.”

A masked overseer stepped in.

“We apologize. This team has passed. A technical delay caused the error.”

Relief flooded the room.

Y/n collapsed to her knees, breath ragged. Her team surrounded her, crying in joy.

But she? She looked up, locking eyes with Young-il again.

Young-il turned his head, sensing a few players still eyeing him with suspicion.

He narrowed his gaze, voice cool and sharp as a blade.

“What?”

The single word, laced with quiet danger, was enough to make them snap their heads away. No one wanted trouble—not after what he did to Thanos.

He scoffed under his breath, adding just loud enough for those nearby to hear,

“Incompetent staff… always too eager to pull the trigger. That girl was faster than she looked.”

He made it sound offhand, casual—like he was just another player with a sharp tongue, not the man behind the entire game.

•••

That night, back in the sleeping quarters, she found him sitting alone in a corner.

“Mr. Young-il!”

He turned.

She stepped toward him with a nervous smile. “Thank you. Again. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you didn’t speak up.”

He looked at her gently. “You don’t have to thank me..”

“I’ll protect you..”

“Always.”

Something about the way he said it — as if it wasn’t just about the game — made her heart skip.

“C-Can I… Can I join your team for the next round?” she asked hesitantly.

Young-il’s lips curled into a smile.

“Of course. I’d be honored.”

He motioned for her to come closer.

“I’ll introduce you to the others.”

And as she walked beside him — trusting, smiling — he knew it.

He had her trust now.

And soon… he’d have her.

Forever.

[outsideratheart]

You didn’t fail me (Alexia Putellas x reader)

A/N: My first fic in a while. I hope you all like it. In the name of honesty this has been in my drafts for about a week but I forgot to post it.

Very few times in your life had you found yourself speechless. Never like this and never whilst watching Barcelona play. You had a brutal case of Broncitus that had left you on the sidelines for a few weeks now which was the reason why you wasn’t in the starting line up.

Jana's goal was fair and you would die on the hill protesting that there was no offisde in the play. When the ref made the call the bench was on their feet ready to storm the pitch.

Then Real Madrid scored. They had the lead for the second time in this game and quite frankly you had had enough.

Breathing was painful at times but you were almost back to full health. You were on the bench but the plan was never to have you play, in fact it was advised against, but you found yourself in Pere's face demanding him to put you on.

"Y/N, I cannot allow that" Pere tried to talk you down but it wasn't working.

"No! You cannot allow that shit show to continue. Sub me on. Now"

Pere looked at you and you could tell he was thinking about it. His features softened and his eyebrows furrowed. In that moment you knew he was trying to workout who best to bring off.

"Ale" you answered the question for him "Straight sub, me for her. Let me get control of the midfield. Besides I won't be able to play with her worrying about me. Plus by the looks of it she is seconds away from getting a second yellow"

Both of your attentions went back to the pitch were Alexia and Esme were still argueing with the referee. You were just as mad as they were but they needed to move on. In football you needed to be a goldfish.

"She will worry. We all will" You were one of his players but he also knew you were human who wasn't 100%.

"Let her worry from the bench"

He nodded and those were the last words exhcanged. You went back over to the bench to grab your shin pads and take off your quarter zip. 

Meanwhile Alexia was growing more and more frustrated with the way the game was being played and deep down she knew she wasn't having the best game. When she saw the board go up she saw her number but didn't even pay attention to the number beside it. Quickly she ran over to Patri to give her the armband only for her to refuse it.

"I'm not the captain. Y/N is" Patri said which was common knowledge within the team.

"She isn't playing and now neither am I. Take it so we can get on with the game" Still, Alexia was oblivous.

It is only when Patri turns Alexia's shoulder to the sidelines does she release who is replacing her. The balon d'Or winner was ready to kill her coach for playing you.

You could see the furiousity on your girlfriend's face but now wasn't the time. The clock was running down and there was less than ten minutes left in the game.

"Y/N, you aren-"

"Give me the band Ale" 

You were mad and Alexia knew you had every right to be. Your mood didn't bother her but your condition plus the weather was a reason for concern. 

She watched as you ran onto the pitch quickly. Misa was trying to run down the clock as she went down but it works in your favor. You gather the team and rip into them. There was no way for Alexia to know what you said but if the team’s reaction was anything to go by it just might have been your most motivating speech yet.

The clock was ticking and it was something you were fell aware of. You knew going onto the pitch that you wouldn't be playing your best so you used your time and energy wisely. You only made a run when you knew it could pay off and a couple of minutes in you saw the first opening. Caro and Aitana were linked up on the right and you shouted for Ewa to keep near you and in line with you. There was no way in hell that you would going to even come close to being offisde given the latest decision made by officals.

"CARO!!" you scream for the ball as you run with her further and further into the final third. She plays a ball perfectly into the box and the newly wet grass gave you the extra inches you needed to get your foot on the ball and into the back of the net.

"Get the ball" Salma does as you say and the team runs back to their half. The game was tied.

Alexia couldn't beleive what she was watching. Your presence has turned the game on it's head. You had done was she failed to do in 80 minutes. 

Regular time had come and gone. There were mere minutes left in the game. Barca were hunting but Real Madrid were fighting. Both teams had chances but neither could score. You were out of your feet, your lungs on fire but the desire to win pushed you. You focused on the quality of your passes instead of making the runs.

With seconds left you send a ball into the box from near the half way line. It was a last ditch effort but it's all you had in you. The ball was flying through the air almost as if in slow motion. You knew who the target was and she was in the perfect position. Ingrid got her head to the ball with the perfect connection only for it to hit the crossbar and go over for a goal kick.

The whistle was blown and the game ended 2-2. The team might not have lost but a draw was like a win to your opponents and that pissed you off.

The energy at Montuic was stale with most of the fans already having left. That could have been due to the weather but it could also have to do with the team's performance.

Pere gave a speech during the huddle yet no one was listening. They all knew today wasn't good enough but still they took the time to do a lap of the pitch. Normally this is to thank the fans and today's was for that and an apology. Alexia walked next to you but she wouldn't look you in the eye. She did that when she was mad or upset, right now it was a mixture of the two. No words were exchanged as you wrapped your arm around her shoulders. 

"You're not well" your girlfriend's words were barely above a whisper.

"I was needed on that pitch"

Again, silence fell on you two until she saw Pere near the tunnel. 

"He shouldn't have played you" and with that she stormed into the locker room knowing full well that you didn't have the energy to chase after her.

The locker room was louder after you lost the champions league than it was now. Nobody was rushing to get changed. They sat in their kit and thought about how things went so badly.

"That shouldnt have happened" Pere began to spoke but Alexia cut him off. You knew this was coming and you also knew it would end very very badly.

"No!" the Catalonian rose to her feet "I don't care what the score was, you should never have put Y?N on. She has been ill for weeks. You were with us at the medical test, the doctor said she wasn't fit"

"Alexia, he said he advised against it"

"Alexia is right" Mapi was also on her feet walking towards Pere "He put his player at risk"

Pere looked at you. He told you this would happen and you knew it would be up to you to handle them, to handle the team.

"Both of you sit down" you didn't ask but they didn't do it "Sit down now" upon seeing the stern look on your face they did as they were told.

You stood up and looked at each player in the locker room before turning your attention to the two woman who were adament on defending you.

"Now I am going to be very very honest with you, with you all. That our there was abmismal. We pride ourselves on our ability to play at a world class level yet that our was fucking amateur hour"

"But the goal was-"

"A goal. Nobody in this world will argue with you on that one but we shouldn't have been in that position in the first place. We went down to Real Madrid not once but twice. That is not good enough. That is not us. That is not Barcelona" You take a second to catch your breathe "As for the decision to sub me on, that wasn't his, it was mine. Never have I seen us have to adapt to the way they play and I wasn't going to sit on the bench and watch it happen for a second longer. Pere didn't want me to come on but deep down he knew I had what it took to regain control of the game" 

Alexia listened as you broke down the game. Play by play she realised as you pointed out mistake and mistake. To other teams it wouldn't come off as bad but you were right when you said the performance wasn't Barcelona level of football. 

"I should have been on that pitch" Alexia still wasn't ok with the change.

"No you shouldn't" It was a harsh truth but it had to be said "You couldn't find a way through them and you were seconds away from getting a second yellow. You let them get under your skin and the moment that happened you were no longer of use to the team. I needed to be on the pitch without worrying about you worrying about me"

"So I got benched because I'm your girlfriend. That hasn't stopped us before" Alexia sunk into her locker. Even after your explanation, she din't agree with it.

"You got benched because things wasn't clicking with you on the pitch" 

It was like a kick in a gut.

“A decision needed to be made and given how the game turned around it was the right one” 

You looked at Alexia and disregarded everyone else in the room. In your mind it was just the two of you.

“I know” Alexia was disappointed in herself.

The rest of the locker room began changing whilst still thinking about what you said. Everyone was showered and changed within half an hour. By the time you game out of the shower Alexia was gone. You assumed she would take a minute then shower herself but clearly she had other plans and whatever they were you would respect them. You shoot her a quick message telling her you’ll be at home waiting for her when she’s ready. This happened quite a few times and you knew she would go to her mother’s. This was confirmed an hour later when you got a text from Eli saying Alexia was with her and Alba. 

It didn’t hurt you that she went to them. Alexia was very close to her family and she was the one that helped her process her feelings or at least do so enough so that when she came to you she had some understanding of what was going on in her head.

You were sprawled out on the sofa under a blanket watching the latest series on Netflix when you heard the door open. 

“Y/N” Alexia called out for you. In her mind she wasn’t sure if you would be at home and if you wanted to see her. 

“In the living room” 

She stood in front of you like a school kid who knew they had been naughty. Alexia carried the weight of the team on her shoulders since you were off and it had been weighing her down at times. She never let anyone see this but with you it was obvious. You knew your girlfriend better than she knew herself.

“Come here” you opened your arms and Alexia buried herself under the blanket and into the crook of your neck. A couple of seconds pass and as they do her breathing evens out. The pressure did consume her at times and when that happened she just needed some time.

“I’m sorry I played so badly that you had to go against what the doctor said” This is what bothered Alexia the most. Sure losing against Real was infuriating but the fact that you, who wasn’t full fit, felt the need to play affected her more.

“Baby, that’s not it at all” your fingers trace lines up and down her spine “Madrid were targeting you and it was working. They aren’t a team that’s worth you getting a red card. You’re better than them, Ale”

“Why couldn’t I be on the pitch with you?” 

“Because as hard as you tried you wouldn’t be able to look at me as your team mate. You would look at me and see the girlfriend who you have been looking after for over a month”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. I always look at you and see my girlfriend because that’s what you are. Instead I had to watch from the bench as you ran yourself into the ground and you didn’t even do that much. You put the team before your own health and I don’t like that”

“Alexia” you wait until she looks at you “I’m ok. My chest is a little sore and the cough is still there but I’m ok. I’m no worse than when I stepped foot on that pitch”

It took you a couple of seconds but you saw it. There was something else going on in her head, something she wasn’t telling you.

“What is it? What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?” You waited and hoped alexia would stay something only she didn’t “Please tell me” you said softly.

“I failed you today. This morning when we left the house I told you we would win and I told you I would score”

She did tell you these things as you sat at the kitchen table, Alexia finishing her breakfast whilst you sipped on your coffee.

“Can I ask you a question?” Your girlfriend nods slightly “Did you give it your all on that pitch?”

Alexia thinks about it for a second. Every play she made on the pitch ran through her head like a homemade movie. Every pass of the ball, touch at her feet and shot at goal or more so lack of shots on goal.

"It wasn't my best performance" She was defeated, not just in the game today but also in mentality.

"It wasn't the team's best performance Alexia. You might be the captain but you weren't the only player on that pitch" You were aware how hypocritical you sounded but in this very moment you didn't care.

The woman laying in your arms was quiet for a couple of moments. She knew you were right but she was never going to admit that. Her stubborness wouldn't let her. 

What you said next got her attention straight away.

"Besides that offside call was bullshit" you said with a smirk on your face.

"Por Dios! How was that offside? No one was anywhere close to being offside and definetley not Jana. She was miles off"

Alexia jumped to her feet and played the moment out right there and then in your living room. One minute she was her, the next Caro, Ewa and then Jana when she acts out the shot. You loved it when she talked football to you and her passion for the sport you both loved only made you love her more.

"See! Am I offside at any point?" She wasn't looking for an answer so her cutting you off before you can reply isn't a surprise "No, never, not a chance"

"No amor, none of you were" 

"We'll be better next week. We'll be back to our Barcelona, I promise you" Alexia got serious all of a sudden and you knew why. She never liked to lose and whilst you weren't out for long, every game you spend in the stands she told you that she played for you. In her eyes she failed to make you proud that and that meant she failed you. What Alexia didn't understand is that even in the worse losses she could never fail you.

[would-you-punt-them]

I just want to tell you this:

Thank You So, SO Much for informing people about the horrid Mr. Beast situation occurring within his Squid Game Beast Games.

I don’t think would’ve known about this awful and disgusting event occurring as much as I do now if you didn’t post about it on this blog.

Thank you.

I do think it isn't something that should be brushed under the rug, and I also feel that the more people know about it, the worse it becomes for Jimmy when the Beast Games show actually comes out.

One thing I forgot to include in the post is that the Las Vegas shoot is going to be uploaded on YouTube as an extended qualifier to the actual show on Amazon Prime.

It's worth noting that the contestants didn't know that until they arrived at the stadium. They'd been told that the Las Vegas shoot was the Amazon show, and there would only be 1,000 competitors (which is how it is marketed by Amazon). They only learned that the player-count had doubled and this wasn't going to be on Prime once they were on set, and were shown a video message from Jimmy saying he forgot to mention that actually there were 2,000 people and this wasn't the Amazon show (though MrBeast later claimed that this was always the intent).

I don't know when the video(s) will be uploaded, but I honestly can't wait because I'm dying to know how they're planning on editing the footage to cut out the horrors that took place during the challenges.

Like, how are they going to show the Red team losing the first challenge with the rope and pulley? On the one hand, surely they've got to show the 400 people who were eliminated in that challenge. But on the other hand... what exactly do they have to work with?

The production team refused the Red team's pleas to stop the challenge and demanded they keep going to the end, presumably because they needed them to do it for the sake of the video. Instead, anti-capitalist icons that they are, the entire team abandoned the challenge mid-way anyway so they could go help their teammates who were literally being strangled, throwing the game. And once they'd abandoned the rope, they never picked it up again.

Obviously, the producers can't show competitors being throttled. But that means that they also can't explain why the Reds lost the challenge. If the throttling happened toward the end, maybe they'll be fine, but if it happened closer to the middle, there's no way for them to explain why those 400 people just gave up so early.

It also presumably means any overhead shots of all the teams are ruined, because that would require them to explain why the Reds just aren't participating.

Maybe they could show the Reds giving up, but give a different reason. But no reason I can think of works. If they say they "tried their best but knew they couldn't win", they would then also have to answer the question of why the challenge was impossible for them - the reason being that their team of 400 consisted of about 380 women, while their opposing teams consisted almost entirely of the youngest and strongest male competitors.

And I'm not sure how they're going to explain that, because if they show the challenge of everyone going for coloured jerseys, they can't reveal why the teams ended up so unbalanced, as the actual reason is that the male contestants were hoarding jerseys and were physically violent against the female and elderly contestants, and organised themselves to guarantee they were all on the same team, resulting in a gender split.

I'm also not sure how they plan to edit around challenges like the briefcase game, where in the middle of the cramped field the male contestants were attacking and trampling the women. It's going to take a lot of editing to cut around that. And while they can edit out the injuries occurring they can't edit out the fact that by the end of the challenge there are suspiciously fewer female contestants remaining than there were to begin with.

Additionally, they're going to have to justify why the contestants started off so diverse in gender and age, only for the 1,000 who made it to the actual Amazon show predominantly being young and male, without it becoming clear that no one else had any chance. They can't introduce new contestants to re-diversify the cast, because 1,000 were promised by Amazon, 1,000 qualified, and people will complain if they try to fudge the numbers or cheat by introducing last-minute entries, which is especially bad now that he's currently under fire for allegedly faking and rigging competitions.

Jimmy also can't just not upload it at all, because then he'd have to explain that as well, and this is such a massive event people, both fans and detractors, are going to notice.

The more people know about it, the worse his situation becomes, because there's just no way out of it without inviting questions he doesn't want people to know the answers to.

While this is obviously too much to hope for in this timeline, in an ideal world enough people start talking about this that Amazon cancels his show due to the controversy - Jimmy has said Beast Games is intended to be his break into more traditional media, and I think it would be nice to shut that down.

[desperate-gay]

christmas request for leah williamson:

"Just because we’re stuck under mistletoe doesn’t mean I have to kiss you.”

“Scared you might enjoy it?"

A Christmas Tease

Leah Williamson x fem!reader

summary: your teammate has quite the reputation and she will do anything to catch your attention

a/n: just a quick blurb i thought id write due to a sleepless night

“There she is!” Katie shouts, arm extended with a beer in hand, announcing your late arrival at the party.

“Yes, here I am. My tires are horrible with the snow and everyone drives like there’s a whole blizzard outside.” You roll your eyes, removing your outdoor gear to throw on the coat rack and embrace the warmth of the house.

You greet everyone with a smile and catch up to all the conversations that have happened within the last 20 minutes you have missed. You’ve gotten extremely close with many of your teammates despite only playing for Arsenal for only a couple of months. Once your USWNT teammate, Emily Fox, was signed, you weren’t too long after.

You had already known a lot of your teammates from international games and previous clubs you had played for, so there weren't too many people to get used to.

Besides one very obnoxious player.

Leah Williamson.

She has a reputation for sleeping around and placing girls in her trophy case. The team jokes that she’s challenging herself to sleep with every girl in London, and, unfortunately, her new target is you.

“Were you too busy answering prayers, angel?” A thick british accent breaks you out of your trance, making you jump in surprise.

“More like digging myself up from hell.” You say, giving her a plastered grin before taking a sip of the champagne that rests in your hand.

“I’ll have you one day, you know.” Leah states confidently, earning herself a sharp glare from you in which she only returns with a cocky smirk.

Not even wanting to argue with the girl, you scoff and walk over to where Lia and Mariona sit and join them in conversation. You’d never admit this to the blonde, not wanting to make her ego swell bigger than it anyway is, you used to have the biggest crush on her before you transferred to Arsenal.

You always found the blonde extremely attractive, especially on the pitch, but when you finally met her and found out about her off-the-pitch affairs, your crush faded away.

“You still there, amiga?” Mariona asks softly, noticing your silence.

“Yes, of course. Sorry, just a bit distracted.” You smile apologetically, twisting the glass in your hand for distraction.

“No need to apologize, but if I may, does this have anything to do with a certain english blonde defender?” Lia smirks teasingly as you roll your eyes and shake your head rapidly.

“Absolutely not. You know my feelings about that, Lia.” The swiss girl allows the conversation to disappear although she doesn’t believe you one bit.

—

“Next question, what is everyone’s favorite christmas song?” Kim asks the team who all are huddled around in the living space, you coincidentally smushed on a loveseat with Leah.

Many shouts are thrown across the room from voices trying to top each other, debating on what christening song is the ultimate song, including your voice.

Noticing the girl next to you zoning out and not participating, you bump your shoulder into hers, asking, “What about you? What’s your favorite christmas song?”

“Rockin’ around the christmas tree.” Leah nods in confidence.

“Why that one?” You immediately regret asking when that familiar cocky grin stretches along the older girl’s face.

“Because I know I can rock your world when you finally let me.” She whispers, leaning closer to you so no one else can hear, and quickly snapping back when you push her in disgust, making the girl chuckle and take a sip of her drink.

Many hours pass by with more questions, movies, karaoke, and so on before people start to trickle out to head back to their destined homes. It was only you and a few people left, cleaning up the snacks that were on display and garbage littered in small areas.

Leaning against the wall of the archway, someone clearing their throat grabs your attention next to you. You quickly see the blonde locks and huff in annoyance before turning back to look at what you were.

She taps your shoulder and points above the two of you, causing you to scoff when you notice the holiday plant hanging down by a string. Leah’s white teeth shimmer at you before puckering her lips and making exaggerated kissy noises.

“Just because we are under a mistletoe does not mean I have to kiss you.” You declare, watching the older girl with squinted eyes.

“Afraid you may enjoy it, darling?” Leah questions, pulling herself off the wall and moving slightly closer to you with a wide grin plastered on her face.

A weird shock runs through your body from hearing her husky tone, but you shake it off as the thought of a cold shiver. You swiftly look around to make sure no one is around before closing the gap between you and Leah, grabbing her arms and placing them on your hips while yours wraps around her neck.

The blonde’s smile fades and instead is replaced with a huge face of shock.

“I know I’ll enjoy it. I have been dreaming of you railing me into the mattress over and over again, having your way with me on every surface of every room, and making my legs shake violently with every orgasm you give me.” You whisper, lips brushing against the girl’s ear as her hands grip your hips together with every word.

“Yeah?” Leah’s voice shakes.

“Oh yeah, but this won’t ever happen except in your daydreams.”

With that, you down the rest of the drink in your hand and strut off to help Kim with the rest of the cleanup, leaving the defender in complete bewilderment and arousal.

Merry christmas indeed.

[project-lumen]

Project LUMEN: APPLICATIONS ROUND 2 OPENING SOON!!!!

As you can see on our lovely lil poster (made by @pinkish29) we're opening applications for the next round on the 30th of April! The period the apps are open will be for nearly three weeks (ending on May 20th) to give anyone plenty of time to apply. See below the Project Lumen banner for more info on the roles we have open!

Have you ever wanted to know what the life series would look like as a video game? Well we've got the answer for you! Project Lumen is an RPG-like game revolving around all the series of the life smp, with twists and turns, multiple storylines that can possible diverge from the 'canon' timeline. There will be mini games, quests related to each episode of a season, and much more!

Here's a basic rundown of what we're doing:

You, the player, are introduced as the Watcher Child (WC for short. They're the character in the poster above!). You are an apprentice within the Watchers, and your job is to follow and guide the champions chosen by the Watchers themselves through challenges and enemies. Featuring unique leveling systems, DnD inspired classes, and, most importantly, the ability to impact the story with the choices you make… because, after experiencing all the Life Series seasons from both the Watcher and the Player side, maybe you’ll have a change of mind. After all is said and done and seen, the world is yours to shape, Watcher Child.

We are looking for both writers and background artists!

Writers will be in charge of helping getting the script together, creating dialogue and helping create both canon timelines and alternate timelines. Your job is to make the world real through the characters, the story, and the world. You don't need script writing experience though, you'll be given opportunities to learn if you're selected. We're just looking for those willing to learn and dedicate time towards this beautiful game!

Background artists, which are the most awesome people ever you should really become a background artist, will create the backgrounds for things like fights and loading screens. It's your job to mold the world of the life series for this project. You get to draw things like the Secret keeper from secret life, the relation-ship from double life, the forest burning and the desert deserting in third life, and everything in between!

Please keep in mind this project is a long-term project that takes many months to complete. The workload, though, is extremely manageable and everyone currently working on it is having a blast!

If you have any questions at all, give us a shout (an ask)! We'll be extremely happy to answer any questions, especially of what it's actually like creating for this project (it's awesome), because we're already partway through third life.

Looking forward to seeing all of your applications, and meeting all you lovely people who manage to get in!!!

-Team LUMEN

[reingkings]

Why do you ship inhun? Does the ship make sense? I don't kinda see it but I guess there is something between them, I'd really like to know your thoughts about it

Hmm. Interesting question. I do think they “make sense” in a shippable way.

Note that if you’re not into not-entirely-sane ships then it might not appeal to you. However, I can try to answer what appeals to me. I’ll try to put screen caps or links but ngl I’m not gonna try hunting down all of it. Here’s the manifesto:

1. The narrative casting them as character foils

So each character in the show often not only represent themselves, but to some extent the show’s themes. Since before Gi-hun becomes a victor, he is shown to be discongruent with the nature of the games. The first “true” meeting between In-ho and Gi-hun happens to be at this point in S1:

Mind you when this occurs, it’s after the gamemakers deliberately starve the players to incite violence between them. Deoksu/101 just killed a man. This outcome is exactly desired.

In a way this is a microcosm of the rest of their ideological struggle — that being whether or not humans are inherently selfish and cruel.

We later see the theme again during the last fight scene, when Gi-hun reaches his hand out to Sang-woo. Not only is this a moment of ultimate compassion, but for In-ho who we see is an avid lover of the arts. What else does this resemble?

The painting, The Creation of Adam. Aka the creation of man. (Stick with me on this, I promise I’ll explain).

Notice that this shot not only resembles the painting on a superficial level but in spirit. Adam is in repose and God is the one who reaches out, the one making the most effort to make a connection. In-ho’s face isn’t visible but imagine how he, looking down on it, feels at the very moment:

It’s giving new religion. Later on, In-ho will say something along these lines:

Race horses. And yet, besides his brother, at this point Gi-hun is the very first person In-ho takes his mask off for, something he does not do for even the VIPs. This scene also comes after he kills a guard because “when they find out who you are, you die.”

This treatment marks In-ho’s transition into seeing Gi-hun as his only equal (and yes, In-ho is arrogant that’s kind of his appeal, I don’t believe he thinks that highly of the VIPs either).

Another aspect is that in their final scene at Il-nam’s death bed, they are kind of marked at the inheritors of Il-nam’s system.

Gi-hun leaves Il-nam to witness his one failure. In-ho closes Il-Nam’s eyes.

So it’s the end of S1. We don’t know a lot about In-ho. However we can assume a few things. Both he and Gi-hun are both victors and victims of the oppressive system. Both of them went through anguish after their victory (In-ho’s is mostly inferred, but there’s a deleted scene paralleling Gi-hun’s). Both of them failed to save what mattered the most. Both of them can’t move on from the games and returned. They both abandoned everything in their life for this pursuit.

In a way, there is no other person in the world than can understand them more than the other.

And here is where the character foil aspect comes in. Despite their similarities, their character arcs are the opposite. Gi-hun at the beginning was kind but flawed, an impulsive gambler who could steal money from his mother and disappointed his daughter at many turns. In-ho seemingly was a well-loved, upright citizen who made sacrifices for his family.

And yet, of the two the one who became cruel and heartless was In-ho. The one who became more self-less and compassionate was Gi-hun.

How does In-ho react to meeting his polar opposite? It could easily be hatred or disdain. Instead it’s well, my next point.

2. In-ho’s subtextual obsession with Gi-hun

Season 2 within the games is when most of us really saw the ship’s potential but there are many hints beforehand.

I and others have made some posts about In-ho’s wildly inappropriate actions towards Gi-hun even in S1. Why does he have to stuff the bank card in Gi-hun’s mouth, why does he send the invitation through a bouquet of flowers (actually he sends this invitation twice), why does he decide to physically be there when meeting Gi-hun in a limo on his birthday? A day, mind you, that he needs to be prepping for the games. In-ho doesn’t have to be there, he literally talks to Gi-hun through a speaker he could be in a nice hotel room. Somehow, it’s important for him to be there.

Can this be read as anything but a fixation?

Even when he joins the game his sole focus is on Gi-hun. He makes a concerted effort for Gi-hun to like him (playing hero, baring his true wounds, defending him from the ire of other players, even coming up with an flimsy excuse because he slipped up and called Gi-hun by his name). If he wanted to torture Gi-hun, he could easily turn the players against him. According to the director, his goal is:

But in front of our eyes he does shit like this:

He even bullies his guards:

Does that look like a hit to you 😭 I dare anyone to say that a different player would have passed. Especially when In-ho interceded in the first place.

Another victim:

And the looks. so many looks. You’re not behind a camera anymore, In-ho. Gi-hun can see you.

The one that makes me laugh the most is in the last episode of S2. Gi-hun is stressed about the vote, trying to come up with a plan, and In-ho is staring so hard he’s not even blinking, to the point where Gi-hun has to look at him.

And then again. Gi-hun is explaining about the control room upstairs. Meanwhile, In-ho:

He doesn’t even glance up. He just stares at Gi-hun until Gi-hun finally looks at him. Honestly this isn’t even all of them but I don’t have everything saved.

And the ending. Honestly this part is a bit heartwrenching and I think a few of us fans ignore it (I do too), but I’m trying to contextualize canon here. It’s interesting that despite how dangerous Gi-hun is – causing the disruption of the game, killing guards, and aiming to end the games on the whole – In-ho does not kill him. He has plenty of opportunities to. He even shoots his own guards to keep Gi-hun alive (despite Gi-hun in that moment running the rebellion). But he shoots Jung-bae instead and gives Gi-hun this last lingering glance.

Arguably, you can say In-ho does all this because he is sadistic. However, if that were the sole reason, then he has 400+ people he could similarly torture every year. Hell, he could have joined the games any year he wanted, too.

If it’s just an ideological struggle, then Gi-hun lost when he decided to sacrifice the X players for the greater good. Then, we are left to wonder what else he can want with Gi-hun that he has kept him alive.

The fact that the motivations are never stated and are subtext adds a layer to how fans are free to interpret it. Lots of kindling for our fire.

(I’m not necessarily planning to prove if it’s canon in this part, it’s just a treatise on why we see their potential due to this subtext).

3. Gi-hun’s reciprocity

I think if it were just a one-sided fascinating then there would still be shippers but simply not as much. The part that hits with Inhun is that In-ho’s efforts are not necessarily “unrequited.”

In the beginning of Season 2, Gi-hun has no one. He had been isolated for three years. He has no friends. He has no home. Consider this heartwrenching shot:

Gi-hun’s on the phone, calling the only person in the world he has a connection to, and he can’t even say a word to her.

Even before this, he was largely unappreciated. His mother was disappointed in him. His ex-wife resents him. Jung-bae his friend did not help him in his time of need. Sae-byeok was only in his life for a few days, but she was rude to him for a good part of that. Sang-woo – well Sang-woo is complicated. I don’t think he meant everything he said in the fight before the end, but I do think Gi-hun is the last person on earth he wants to meet after his failures. No one really talks to him kindly besides Ali which is more of polite friendliness than looking after him.

So as a #1 Gi-hun fan, it’s really nice to see someone just genuinely seem to want Gi-hun there? Not as a last resort or as an alternative, but the first pick (in a twisted way).

And Gi-hun is so receptive to it? I made a post about this before, but Gihun is starved for affection and I don’t think all that used to being treated gently. Despite knowing In-ho for a short time, he seems so. He just kind of… opens like a flower?

The first time he laughs in this season is over In-ho’s corny last name joke.

The look in that scene in general:

How he reacts to In-ho calling by hist first name:

Or when In-ho confides in him about what happened with his wife:

Or this one, when he’s dealing with the guilt of misleading all the players, and In-ho says this:

But also the moment in mingle where Gi-hun is so worried about In-ho, Jung-bae has to drag him into a room before the timer runs out. He wanted to risk it all I tell you.

And then, when everyone is calling out to him, In-ho only calls out for Gi-hun’s attention. Literally he couldn’t care about the others. He bee-lines to Gi-hun.

Or how he looks when In-ho shoots the guard for him:

Look at his face, and In-ho’s face when he gives In-ho the gun. They’re going to kill me.

4. The versatility

Finally, this is more of a meta point but it’s kind of fun that this ship doesn’t always have to be that serious? We can go from writing about deep at times darker themes of obsession and manipulation and whatnot and then turn around and clown on them for being total losers with a crush (affectionate). Usually, it’s the same person doing it. Like me in this essay. We can also just make AUs with no squid games and still have the freedom with keep the parts we like (be it obsession or devotion or a mutual understanding) and toss out the rest, and they still make sense. They just always make sense (to me).

Honestly there are stuff I had leave out because it would just maybe at tad too long-winded (as if I didn’t talk your ear off lmao).

Again, this is not an argument on whether it’s canon or not, it’s just an explanation of fanon perspective.

[anim-ttrpgs]

Announcing a Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy Game Jam!

We're hosting a game jam over on itch.io! Submissions open in March, 2025 and will remain open until April, 2025!

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is a groundbreaking TTRPG that revolutionizes mystery investigation of all kinds! The rulebook is available at this link for free! This community event gives long-time fans and newcomers alike a chance to flex their mystery-writing muscles. 

Leave behind the days of "We walk into the room and roll Investigate." Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is a TTRPG all about investigation, and its purpose-driven mechanics let players take initiative, use their characters' unique strengths to find clues, and deduce conclusions themselves. This game jam will bring the community together to write more mysteries for their characters to solve, put together in adventure module form. You can find a helpful guide to writing Eureka mystery modules in Chapter 7 of the Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy rulebook linked above.

This game jam is non-competitive, but the developers' favorites will be linked on the Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy store page so everyone can play through your creation! You can work alone or in a team, as long as you follow these basic rules.

While you're working, and especially if you have questions, join us on the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club Discord Server. It's a club for discussing and playing all kinds of RPGs, not just Eureka, run by the creators of Eureka. You can also join our "Top Secret" Patreon Discord server and further support the A.N.I.M. team by subscribing for any amount to our patreon. We'll be happy to answer your questions about this game jam or Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy either way.

(Full submission rules below the Read More)

Rules

Submissions Must Be Adventure Modules and Be Compatible with Eureka: This game jam is for mystery adventure modules to be run with Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy. If you're unfamiliar, an adventure module is a guide for game masters to running a specific scenario for their gaming group. You can find an example of one made for Eureka alongside the rulebook linked above.

Follow the Theme: The theme/prompt picked out by our patreon subscribers is "The Call." By design, this prompt is flexible and leaves room for interpretation - are the characters beset by mysterious phone calls? answering a mysterious call for help in the forest? or something far stranger? (Just remember not to make it about mind-control - Eureka doesn't have that.) Your submission can be about any sort of mystery, as long as it is obviously inspired by this prompt in some way, however you interpret it. Just also make sure to follow the rest of the rules below.

Third-person Verbiage: Avoid saying "you" when referring to player-characters.

Separation of Player and Character: Ensure that your module says "investigators" when it is referring to the player-characters, and "players" when it is referring to the real people sitting around the table, and don't get them mixed up.

Characters Can Be Bigoted, but We'd Rather You Weren't: NPCs in your module may express hateful attitudes, but we do not approve of hateful attitudes from submitters themselves. 

Stay Grounded in Eureka's Lore: Please keep your module roughly within the bounds of what the world of Eureka offers. You can read more about this within the first half of Chapter 8 in the rulebook linked above. (And remember, your submission doesn't have to be a paranormal mystery!)

Submissions Must be 5,000 Words Minimum: There is no upper limit, so be careful not to overdo it, as long as your submission has at least 5,000 words. This is the bare minimum size. Most good Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy adventure modules are about 50-100 pages, as Eureka really stresses providing detailed information to the GM and players alike.

No Generative AI: Do not submit anything that has been created in whole or in part through the use of generative "AI."

We Don't Own Your Submission: Your submission is still your property. You can even sell it after the game jam is concluded if you want. Though if you do, we recommend you keep working on it a bit to polish it up, since one month is plenty of time to get a first draft out, but even the best submissions will benefit from some critique and further refinement and editing!

[couch-potato28]

Imagine being a Blue Lock manager! ⚽️

VERSION XVIII.

(a/n: he’s a DIVA and tbh this ep is a chaos. anyways we’re getting closer to the end guys, tyy for ur support ❤️)

Warning-none

wc: 0,8k

also: @ttheggrimrreaper @irethepotato @ohagiyoo 🔥

——————

FROM THE PROLOGUE:

"Congratulations L/N Y/N! Based on your results, you've earned your place in Blue Lock as the manager of player number…

...2, Aryu Jyubei.”

“Wow...”

That was your very first thought after taking a look at his little icon before going out the waiting room to gather your things from Anri as everyone else did.

After finishing some tasks, you went straight to where his team was currently playing, quickly reading through his profile sheet on the way before your eyes stopped at his height. Rereading it for the third time, you quietly let out a scream at the paper in your hands.

“A h-hundred…a 195 CM TALL?!” your jaw hit the floor as you slowly dragged your body to the field.

Imagine being Aryu Jyubei’s manager.

——————

Aryu Jyubei who’s practically a freaking tower, stands tall—his height giving him a clear advantage in the current match and making him easy to spot even from the furthest benches. His stats are insane, and it’s kind of amusing to watch him from a distance, especially when he throws in a pose or two for his teammates. Before you know it the match comes to an end as his tall, majestic, and definitely fit body stretches with a casual confidence.

“Uhum.” You clear your throat, coughing lightly into your fist, which causes him look down at you. It makes you wonder if he sees you as some tiny creature beneath him but before your thoughts can wander too far, you introduce yourself.

“I’m L/N Y/N, your new manager. Pleased to meet you. Are you Jyu—”

Within a second, he interrupts you mid-sentence, a finger gently placed on your lips as he dramatically puts his other hand to his forehead.

“Sssshhh. My name is not osha.”

——————

•Aryu who immediately compliments how soft your hair is, and barely a minute later, he’s already asking how you maintain your gorgeousness. It’s definitely an interesting way to start a conversation, you think, while awkwardly answering his questions, throwing in a few of your own here and there.

•You two quickly become friends, and you soon realize just how much he really takes care of himself. You have a monthly list of what he’s requested starting from hair-, body-, and skincare products, each item precisely described, making you cry a little every time he tries to add another one.

•Has the most dramatic sighs ever, and the way he rolls his eyes reminds you of every single mean girl from a Hollywood movie ever made.

•If you don’t disturb his beauty sleep, Aryu’s actually capable of waking up by himself. Athletic af, he takes training quite seriously, and is always up to new ideas. He also does a very thorough stretch after each game before moving on to the next task.

•Incapable of not gossiping with you—be it early in the mornings or late into the night, he always finds a way to share the hot piping tea he collected throughout the day. Don’t ask about his sources, just simply nod and agree.

•Always has to bend down a little when you’re talking, and it’s an absolute must to have his hands placed on his hips. Has the best runway walks in general, you really wonder how he isn’t a model yet.

•It might be a surprise but he pays great attention to small details, such as how you like to organize your papers, or seasoning your meals. Takes great responsibility in making sure you’re flawless and not sleep deprived.

•You already knew he was gonna make it to the official team, so pushing him to train harder was natural. He would sometimes complain about the late-night trainings not being “osha,” but did them nonetheless.

——————

AFTER THE U20 MATCH…

•Aryu is practically thriving with his new team, telling you that they’re pretty fun to play with although living with them is not so osha osha.

•He’s doing fine as expected, practice matches going smoothly, and he doesn’t seem to struggle that much. Actually shares a tight bond with the players on his team.

•Has the habit of calling Barou, Princess Barou which always earns him a nasty glare from the boy but at this point it has become a part of his daily routine now.

•The moment he got his new jersey, he glanced at it, then turned his head to scan your outfit, and said with a straight face:

•”Once we get out of here I’m gonna buy you a new wardrobe. Can’t let my osha manager look like a roach.”

•”Thanks, Aryu...I guess.”

•Loves the fame and the glamour of being on national tv. Immediately gains the attention of many companies who reach out to collab with him—lives for the stylish photoshoots, and always gets you free things as well.

•Whenever you try to take a picture of him after a win, he always tells you to get his good angle—before realizing his face is flawless from every angle.

•Let’s just say that night analyses with him are definitely different from the usual. It’s the time when you find yourself relaxing yet technically still working.

•Rewatching his plays while wearing face masks and cozy pajamas is his way of bonding.

•Ego doesn’t know about this, and neither of you intends to reveal it to him anytime soon.

•Aryu who likes to paint your nails—or his own—while you take notes with your free hand, carefully explaining to him the day’s performance in detail.

•Cute hair clips usually hold both of your hair in place while you two do your oddly comforting night routine.

•You know you’re close enough when he drags you to a Buddhist temple on his free day while secretly taking very osha pictures of you. P.S. one of them earns their spot as his new wallpaper.

[witchingwithscissors]

Agathario WNBA AU Fic | They kept it private. Until love made a scene. Words: 6,421 (Not super sports-heavy, if that’s not your jam.)

🏀 🦐 🏀 🦐 🏀 🦐 🏀 🦐 🏀 🦐 🏀 🦐 🏀 🦐 🏀

The new season opened under a sky that couldn’t decide if it was spring or still clawing through winter. Newark was like that—clinging to chill, even when the flowers had started fighting through the cracks.

Rio Vidal stood outside the arena tunnel, bouncing a ball in her palm, earbuds in, jawline sharp with focus. The Pistol Shrimps’ new media director wanted a shot of her walking in, tall and aloof and magnetic, headphones on like she couldn’t hear the world begging for a piece of her.

She gave the camera a flash of grin and walked through the doors, alone.

By the time she hit the locker room, her teammates were already chirping.

“Oooh oooh Rio Vidal,” called Alice from her locker, fake swooning. “Your sneaker deal get upgraded again or is that just a new diamond earring?”

Rio flicked her head toward the mirror and tugged her hoodie down. “What can I say? People like my face.”

They laughed, and she smiled, even if the inside of her chest felt like the hollow of a basketball. Echoed.

Empty.

She was twenty-eight. Her jersey sold the most. She had a signature shoe, a line of lotion with Fenty, and a sneaker closet that would make grown men weep. She dated casually, got flirted with more than she wanted, and got laid a lot less than people assumed.

She’d been called a player, and maybe she had been one, once.

But now she just wanted to win.

And maybe be held. Occasionally. Briefly.

Quietly.

Media Day felt like a blur of bright lights and the same five questions. She fielded them with ease. She knew which angles to tilt her chin for. Which smile to give the rookie newsletter reporter vs. the ESPN one. She joked, charmed, winked. Played the game within the game.

She was six interviews deep when she saw her.

At first, it was the hair—glossy, dark, pinned back like she didn’t want anyone touching it. Then the mouth: a knowing curve, a little cruel, the kind that made you want to chase the smirk just to see if you could catch it. The jaw came next, cut sharp and proud. And then the suit—cream, pinstriped, tailored like it had a personal grudge against wrinkles. She looked like money and control and danger in heels.

But it was the eyes that got her. Cool. Detached. Watching from the media suite above the court like she owned the whole damn building—and maybe she did.

Rio didn’t care for the suits. Barely skimmed the emails. Okay, didn’t read them at all. The business side of basketball never interested her. She was here to play, to win, to move.

But now she couldn’t stop looking up.

Rio’s voice stuttered mid-answer. Just for a second. She kept talking. But her eyes flicked back. And that woman didn’t stop looking.

“Who’s the hottie shark in heels?” Rio asked an assistant coach later, half-joking, half-not.

Coach raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t met her yet?”

“Should I have?”

“She’s your boss. Or… close enough I guess.” A pause. “Agatha Harkness. Majority stake in the team, new blood from the business world. She’s why your pre-season charter flights are double the size.”

Rio blinked. “She doesn’t look like she likes basketball.”

“She doesn’t. She likes investments. This one just happens to run on sneakers and lesbians.”

Rio barked a laugh.

The first time they met, it wasn’t on the court. It was in the elevator lobby.

Rio was heading up to the executive floor to shoot a quick welcome promo—something about team values and hometown pride. She hadn’t read the script.

Agatha was stepping out of the elevator, phone to her ear, mid-sentence. Her voice was low and clipped, professional with just enough edge to make someone on the other end sweat.

Rio almost bumped her. Agatha didn’t flinch.

They both stopped. Rio raised a brow.

Agatha gave her a once-over that wasn’t flirtatious—wasn’t anything, really. Just cool appraisal.

“I assume you’re Ms. Vidal,” she said, as if she’d never watched a game in her life but had read every clause of Rio’s contract.

Rio tilted her head, offered a small smile. “That’s me. Rio’s fine, by the way.”

Agatha’s lips twitched like she wanted to smirk but refused. “You’re taller in person.”

“And you’re kinda scarier.”

“I get that a lot.” Agatha’s eyes flicked to the camera crew down the hall. “You’re needed.”

“Apparently.”

She moved past her. Rio let her, watching the swish of her suit and the subtle click of those goddamn heels.

That night, Rio lay in bed, half-scrolling, half-thinking. She could still feel Agatha’s gaze from the glass suite. Not judgmental. Just… seeing. Watching.

Her phone buzzed with the day’s media content. She tapped through the set and paused on a frame—she was walking off court, laughing, water bottle in hand.

And there, in the far-right corner, just barely caught in the frame: a perfectly manicured hand gesturing mid-sentence. Cream suit sleeve. A shimmer of silver rings.

Agatha’s hand.

Rio cropped the image. Zoomed just enough.

She posted it—no caption, no filter. She couldn’t explain why. Just… the photo.

Within thirty minutes, the comments had started.

“Who’s hand??”

“Wait… Rio are we soft launching???”

“👀👀👀👀👀”

Rio turned off her phone and dropped it face down beside her. She couldn’t explain it. Just knew it felt like something worth keeping.

Agatha Harkness didn’t clap. That was the first thing Rio noticed.

Even when the team won by thirty. Even when Rio sank the game-winner like it was muscle memory. Even when the rookie center threw down her first dunk and the bench lost its mind like they’d just clinched the Finals.

Agatha didn’t flinch. Stayed seated in the owner’s box, sunglasses on, expression untouched. Regal. Untouchable. Like she was watching an art exhibit, not a game.

She didn’t clap. But she didn’t leave, either.

She sat there long after the final buzzer, legs crossed, elbows balanced against the glass rail, as if she were still waiting for something. Or trying not to leave too soon.

Rio tried to ignore it. Pretend she didn’t see her.

But her eyes kept drifting back, like they had a mind of their own.

It wasn’t until week two that she started clocking the tells. At first, it was subtle. A glance, maybe. But Rio had sharp eyes, and Agatha was a creature of control. Which meant that any deviation stood out.

She bit the inside of her cheek during Rio’s free throws. Picked at her cuticle—just the pinky, always the pinky—even though her nails were immaculate. When Rio hit the floor hard in the third, Agatha didn’t flinch. But her fingers stilled.

And later, when Rio cracked a throwaway joke at the press table, Agatha tilted her head. Just slightly. Just enough.

It was always like that. Small things, barely there—meant for Rio and no one else.

And Rio noticed. Every time.

She didn’t know if it meant anything. But it made the game feel warmer. Like she wasn’t just playing for fans or teammates or ego.

She was playing for someone watching her too closely. Someone who mattered—not in basketball terms. Not in business either. Something else. Something harder to name.

Agatha was always visible but never reachable.

The owner’s box was a different world—glass and brass and executive detachment. And Agatha wasn’t exactly hanging out in the hallways. She ghosted through the building in heels and hard-to-read stares, always two steps ahead of wherever Rio thought she might be.

But Rio could feel her watching.

One night in Atlanta, after a brutal back-to-back stretch, Rio came back to her hotel room sore, sweaty, and starving. She peeled off her team hoodie, dropped her bag by the door, and blinked.

Sitting on her pillow: a bouquet of lavender azaleas.

Fresh. Still cool from whatever fridge they’d been stored in. Wrapped in butcher paper, tied with a thin silk ribbon. No tag. No card.

Just that particular, dark-sweet scent. Like something private.

Rio stared for a long moment.

Then she took a photo. The petals were almost blue in the dim hotel light.

She didn’t post it. Just looked at the photo once more, then locked her screen.

If she was right, she already knew who sent the flowers. And if she was wrong—well. She could live with a little embarrassment. Disappointment too.

She picked up her phone, typed the message, and hit send without pausing.

She sent it to one contact. Just “A.”

She’d saved the name a month ago, after a single text from the team’s new owner about media protocol. Nothing since.

Rio: Thank you.

Agatha read it. And sent back a single period.

A: .

Rio laughed—out loud, alone in the room. Shirtless, barefoot, still sweat-damp from the game and grinning like an idiot.

So it was her. Flower gifter confirmed.

She texted again.

Rio: You always this romantic?

Read. No reply.

Three hours later, Rio was clean, fed, and in pajamas, her muscles mellowed from a balcony joint and a halfway decent room service dinner. She was nearly asleep, phone slipping in her hand, when it buzzed.

A: Only when it’s deserved.

It started like that.

Nothing scandalous. No late-night calls or whispered confessions. Just… words. Simple. Intentional.

Midnight messages that slipped into 2 am.

Jokes that turned into philosophy.

Sarcasm that curled into softness.

Rio never said she liked the quiet between games. But somehow, Agatha knew.

She started sending her articles—long reads with no real urgency. Pieces on women in power. Queer athletes. A deep dive into the color theory behind WNBA uniforms.

Agatha never asked if she’d read them. But somehow, she always knew. And Rio liked that—liked the quiet feeling of having done something right. Not for her boss. For her.

She never asked how Agatha knew her hotel room number, either. Some part of her didn’t want to.

It felt better this way. A little mysterious. A little sacred.

Late one night, three cities into a road trip, Rio sent a text.

Rio: Tell me something true.

She expected a deflection. Or silence. Or worse: a quote from some dead French poet.

Instead, Agatha replied instantly.

A: I’ve been watching you longer than I should have.

Rio stared at the screen.

Not smiled. Not laughed. Just… felt it.

She typed back.

Rio: That supposed to make me sleep better or worse?

This time, it took five minutes.

A: Both.

They still hadn’t touched.

Hadn’t shared a room. Hadn’t even been seen speaking again. But something was happening. Something real.

When Rio walked off the court after games, her first instinct was to look up. Not at the scoreboard. Not at the press.

Just at the woman behind the glass.

She didn’t always see her.

But she always felt her.

On a travel day, Rio tucked her phone into her carry-on and leaned back against the plane window. Alice was snoring beside her. Her earbuds buzzed with soft music.

She thought about lavender azaleas.

About tight suits and sharp sunglasses.

About power and restraint and the way Agatha had looked at her—really looked—when she laughed too hard on camera and tilted her head back like she wasn’t famous, just happy.

Rio knew the line she was toeing.

Owner. Player.

It wasn’t just risky—it could look bad. To the media. To the team. Maybe even to herself.

But she also knew the truth.

Some people make silence feel like a love song.

And she was already humming it.

The text came at 7:16 pm.

A: If you’re free tonight, I’d like to run some numbers by you. Sponsorship breakdown, that sort of thing.

Rio stared at the message for a second longer than necessary, towel draped over her shoulder, her gym clothes still sticking to her skin. Her heart did a thing—small, quick.

She typed back.

Rio: You always discuss business after dark on a Friday?

Three dots. Then four. Then nothing.

Finally, she texted.

A: Only when I’m trying to hide how much I’m looking forward to it.

Agatha lived in a building that required two separate door codes and an elevator that knew your name.

Rio stepped out of the lift into quiet luxury. Hardwood floors that muffled footsteps. A glass console table that looked like it cost more than Rio’s car. The door was already ajar.

Inside, soft light spilled across cream-colored walls. There was music playing—jazz, not too slow, not too moody, just… rich. A saxophone threaded through the air like it knew secrets.

Agatha was barefoot.

She was in a navy wrap dress, sleeves pushed up, hair half-down like it couldn’t decide if it was hosting a gala or going to bed. Her legs were bare, and her toenails were painted the same color lavender as the flowers Rio couldn’t stop thinking about.

She didn’t look like a team owner. She looked like a woman trying not to look like she cared.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Agatha said, turning from the stove without smiling.

“I didn’t think I’d get asked,” Rio replied.

They looked at each other too long. Then Agatha moved.

Dinner was salmon, perfectly cooked. Broccolini, slightly crisp. Wild rice. A single chilled glass of white wine placed in front of Rio with zero fanfare.

There were no papers on the table.

“I thought we were talking sponsorships,” Rio said, stabbing her fork into a bite.

“We are,” Agatha said gently, swirling her wine. “Feeding you something real. Not just whatever keeps you moving.”

Rio laughed. It surprised them both.

Agatha looked down, then met her eyes again. “Rio… is this okay?”

Rio nodded. “Yeah. It’s nice.”

They didn’t sit on the couch after. They ended up on the balcony, the spring air sticky with that just-before-rain heaviness. The city shimmered under a slate sky. Somewhere below, the hum of distant traffic played backup to the music inside.

Rio leaned against the railing. Agatha brought out a blanket. She didn’t sit close. Not yet. But she handed Rio a cardigan—her own—and said, “In case you get cold.”

Rio looked at her. “You always have this planned?”

Agatha didn’t answer.

The rain started slowly. A gentle tapping against the glass, a silver blur in the streetlights. They didn’t move.

Agatha curled her legs under her. Her hair frizzed just slightly at the ends. The silk collar of her dress fell open, just enough to see the line of her clavicle, sharp and soft at once.

Rio wanted to kiss her.

She didn’t.

Instead, they talked.

About the team. The season. Sales. Marketing. Pressure.

Then about nothing—music, books, places they’d never been.

At some point, Rio told a story about high school—missing prom for a regional tournament and winning MVP instead of a corsage.

Agatha was quiet, then said, “I went to prom with a boy who asked the smartest girl in school because he thought it’d make him look interesting. He called me a dyke when I wouldn’t sleep with him.”

Rio blinked. “Jesus.”

Agatha shrugged. “It was a good dress, though.”

Rio laughed. Then, softer, “Did you know then?”

“I knew before then. I just stopped hiding it after that.”

A long silence.

Then Rio: “You hide now?”

Agatha didn’t look at her. But her voice was calm.

“I don’t hide. I protect. That’s different.”

Rio almost pushed—almost. But Agatha looked tense, like a question might crack something open she wasn’t ready to share.

So Rio shifted gears, and Agatha’s shoulders dropped a fraction. Relief, maybe. Or gratitude.

It was well past midnight when Rio finally stood to leave.

Agatha walked her to the door, barefoot and quiet again. She didn’t offer a car. Didn’t ask her to stay.

But when they hugged—brief, polite, the kind you could pass off as professional—Agatha’s fingers curled gently into the back of Rio’s shirt.

Not forceful. Not needy. Just long enough to say something she didn’t.

Like maybe she didn’t want to let go.

Rio didn’t say anything. Just held on.

They pulled apart. Agatha didn’t meet her eyes.

“I’ll see you at the game,” she said, already half-turned away.

“Yeah,” Rio said. “See you.”

It started quietly.

A touch on the arm during a post-game meeting. A glance held a second too long. A shared car ride after an away win, when Rio asked if Agatha was hungry and Agatha said, simply, “Come over.”

No champagne. No candles. No dramatic undoing of clothing.

Just Agatha, barefoot again, her dress unzipped halfway down her spine, standing at the window of her penthouse like she was already ashamed of what she wanted. Rio moved toward her slowly, fingers grazing skin like it might disappear if she touched it too hard.

Their first time didn’t feel like the beginning of anything.

It felt like a confession.

They made love with the lights off, at first.

Agatha pulled her in with a hunger she didn’t know how to name. She took control—gently, reverently—but with finality. As if she’d waited too long to be careful now.

Her hands trembled. But her mouth didn’t.

She kissed Rio like she was starving. Like this was the one thing she hadn’t been able to buy, broker, or bury.

And Rio let her take everything.

She liked giving in. She liked the strength in Agatha’s thighs, the weight of her palm on Rio’s lower back, the way her voice dropped when she said Rio’s name in the dark—like it was a language only she was fluent in.

There was no dirty talk. Not yet. Just sounds. Breaths. Stolen time.

After, they lay tangled in silence.

Rio almost said something—just to fill the space—but Agatha stayed still, quiet in a way that didn’t feel cold, just careful.

She didn’t ask Rio to go. And Rio didn’t move.

Later that first night, Rio woke at 4:13 am to find Agatha asleep beside her, hand curled loosely around her wrist—like she needed something to hold onto.

Like she might drift without it.

Rio didn’t move.

But her heart tightened, quietly, around the shape of it.

The routine settled in like weather.

Private hotel rooms when they traveled. Quiet mornings at Agatha’s place, Rio padding barefoot through the marble kitchen in Agatha’s oversized robe. One time, Agatha cooked eggs without a bra on and Rio nearly dropped her protein shake.

Practice. Games. Appearances. Sponsorship meetings. Then: her.

Always her.

Soft hands. Sharp eyes. A body Rio could trace from memory. A mouth that never said “I love you,” but always, always came back.

But in public? Nothing.

No eye contact. No smiles. No acknowledgement.

At a press event, Rio cracked a joke about team bonding and Agatha walked right past her without even a flicker of recognition.

At practice, Agatha stood in the corner like a statue while Rio ran drills hard enough to sprain something.

It made Rio restless. She didn’t need a billboard. Didn’t need to be paraded around.

But she wanted to be seen.

To be looked at like she mattered. Like she wasn’t a secret. Like whatever this was between them could stand in the light and still be real.

So she did what she always did when her heart felt too loud.

She posted.

First, it was a photo of two wine glasses on a marble counter. One was lipstick-smudged. The other, untouched.

Then: a blurry mirror selfie, her hair messy and damp, the outline of a woman in the background—spine arched as she reached for a towel.

Later: a shot of the floor. Rio’s scuffed Breakthrus side by side with a pair of sharp red-soled Louboutins.

The comments came fast.

“Whose back is that???? 🥵👀”

“Soft launch getting softer”

“Um okay wifey heels 💍”

Agatha didn’t say anything or look at her for two days. Then, at 2:11 am a single text.

A: You can’t post me.

Rio read the message three times. She didn’t reply right away. She waited until the ache in her chest settled into something steady. Something defiant.

Then she typed.

Rio: I don’t want to keep hiding the best thing that’s ever been mine.

Agatha didn’t respond.

But the next morning, when Rio stepped into her place after practice, something had shifted.

The kitchen light was on. A fresh jar of juice waited on the counter—cold, sweating gently. Her bedroom door stood open. And on the pillow beside her, nestled into the silk sheets, was a small bouquet of azaleas.

No note. No explanation. Just a quiet answer, left in bloom.

Sometimes Rio thought she should end it.

Not because she wanted to.

Because she didn’t want to.

Because this—these midnight fucks, these bruises kissed into her hips, these unread messages and untagged photos—this wasn’t sustainable.

She could feel herself falling, faster than she meant to.

What terrified her wasn’t the fall—it was not knowing if Agatha would be there when she landed. Or if she’d be left to break on her own.

One morning, after they made love slow and soft and silent, Agatha reached for Rio’s hand without looking and said, almost absentmindedly, “You always smell like sunshine.”

Rio blinked. “You always taste like red wine and bad decisions.”

Agatha smiled. But she didn’t deny it.

They never talked about the future.

They talked about next time.

About cities.

Schedules.

Flight delays.

But never about what would happen if the season ended and Rio wanted more than flowers and twilight.

Rio didn’t need everything. She just wanted something real. Agatha had already given her that. But Rio was starting to wonder if maybe she’d need more than “almost.”

The night she said it, the sky outside was the color of overripe peaches, and Agatha had just made eggs.

Not fancy eggs. Not truffled or poached or folded into omelets. Just simple, warm, buttery scrambled eggs on mismatched plates. Rio stood barefoot in the penthouse kitchen, swaying like an idiot to a faint Beyoncé remix while fishing orange juice from the fridge.

Agatha didn’t laugh. But she didn’t tell her to stop either.

She just watched. Elbow braced on the counter, robe open over a cotton tank, legs bare and one heel cocked up behind her like she wasn’t posing, just… there. Comfortable. Home.

And Rio—sweaty, tired, still in practice shorts—looked at her and felt everything at once.

She didn’t plan to say it. But the words burned in her chest until she couldn’t breathe around them.

So she said it.

“I love you.”

The words dropped into the space like a shot clock buzzer—loud, unavoidable, final.

Agatha didn’t move.

She didn’t blink. Didn’t sigh. Just stared at Rio like the world had shifted and no one warned her.

Rio softened. “You don’t have to say it back if you’re not ready,” she added. “I just… I needed you to know.”

Still, Agatha said nothing.

Then she turned.

Walked to the sink, rinsed her plate, set it down.

And kept walking.

Out of the kitchen. Down the hall. The click of her door closing echoed louder than anything she could’ve said.

Rio sat there, eggs going cold on her plate, barely touched.

She waited. Two minutes. Five. Ten. No text. No sound from down the hall.

She blinked hard, trying to hold it together. But the tears came anyway—quiet, hot, impossible to stop.

She’d done everything right. Played it cool. Played by Agatha’s rules. Put herself out there.

And still, she lost.

Silence stretched, cruel and final. At fifteen minutes, she stood up, grabbed her things, and left.

She cried in her car—ugly, angry, helpless. Then lit up to numb it all down.

She had a game tomorrow. She had to show up. Be sharp. Be locked in.

No one gave a shit about her feelings.

Fucking feelings.

The next day, Rio played like hell.

Fast, messy, teeth-gritted basketball. She charged down the court like it owed her something, like if she ran hard enough, she could leave last night behind. Coach yelled at her twice. Alice tried to get her to laugh during warm-ups and got an angry snarl in return.

Rio was not herself.

She was trying to outrun the moment her heart hit the floor and no one picked it up.

Third quarter. Tie game. Rio had just blown an easy assist and gotten elbowed in the ribs.

She didn’t feel it.

The adrenaline was too thick. The noise too loud.

She moved through the next play with fire in her gut, legs pumping, vision narrowed to a blur of sneakers and sweat. The ball hit her palms, she pivoted, and—

Pop!

Rio felt it before she heard it. The way her knee twisted wrong, shifted out of socket. A blink of a second where the world kept moving but her body didn’t follow.

Then: the ground. Her scream. Pain, hot and immediate, ripping up her thigh like lightning.

She clutched her knee, gasping.

And through the chaos, through the blur of whistles and sneakers and shouts—

Agatha.

Not in the box.

On the court.

In heels, in black, in panic.

She dropped to her knees beside Rio, both hands on her face.

“Baby,” she whispered. “Rio, baby, look at me.”

Rio’s eyes welled. “Agatha—”

“You idiot,” Agatha said, her voice shaking. “You don’t get to…”

Rio couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. Her knee was on fire and her chest ached worse.

Agatha leaned in, one hand stroking Rio’s damp temple, the other pressed to her chest like she was afraid Rio might vanish.

“I love you too.”

Cameras flashed.

All around them, the game had stopped. Teammates stood still, circling Rio with towels, trying to shield her from the cameras—trying to protect her pain. The crowd was screaming. And a thousand phones caught it all: the moment the team’s star went down… and the owner of the franchise gave everything away.

The story broke before Rio made it to the hospital.

Clips flooded online. The kiss to her forehead. Agatha cradling her. The raw look on both their faces. Commentators stammered. Threads popped up.

“Wait. Are they…?”

“AGATHA HARKNESS DROPPED TO HER KNEES FOR HER STAR PLAYER???”

“That was NOT just a ‘concerned owner’ reaction I’m sorry”

Someone slowed the footage. Enhanced it. Paused at the exact frame where Agatha whispered “I love you too.”

The media had a field day.

And Rio?

Rio was high on painkillers and half-asleep in the hospital bed when Agatha came in.

No security. No entourage. Just her. Hair undone, blazer wrinkled, lavender azaleas in her hands.

“You didn’t have to come,” Rio whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

“Of course I had to,” Agatha said, sitting beside her. “I couldn’t not.”

Rio studied her, eyes heavy. “You really mean it?”

Agatha didn’t answer. She leaned in. Kissed Rio’s knuckles like they were vows.

“I think I’ve loved you since that first night,” Agatha said quietly. “The wine, the way you made me laugh… how you actually saw me.”

She hesitated, then looked at Rio like she meant every word.

“I just didn’t think I was allowed to want something that good. Let alone keep it.”

Rio blinked slowly. “You are.”

Agatha nodded, brushing hair back from Rio’s damp forehead.

“Then let me be good to you,” she murmured, voice soft but steady. “Out loud. No hiding. Just… us. Can we try? For real this time?”

Rio exhaled, hand curling into Agatha’s.

“Only if you wear my jersey to games,” Rio whispered, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Agatha laughed under her breath, eyes crinkling. “I’ll wear anything,” she said, squeezing Rio’s hand. “Your jersey, a shirt with your face on it, I don’t care.”

She looked at her, warm and completely in love.

“As long as I get to be yours.”

Rio grinned, hopeless. “You already are.”

And then they were laughing—quiet, happy, a little breathless—as if falling in love could be easy, after all.

Agatha didn’t leave the hospital for thirty-six hours.

Not even once.

She kicked off her heels at the foot of Rio’s bed and didn’t put them back on. Changed into black leggings and an old oversized Pistol Shrimps pullover that looked comically soft and out of place on her—except it wasn’t. Not anymore.

She held Rio’s hand through scans, met with the team doctor herself, and talked to the league’s press manager with a tone that made a grown man flinch.

But she didn’t cry.

Not until Rio was asleep and the nurse walked in on her with her head bowed against the bed rail, one hand clenched in Rio’s and the other gripping a azalea stem so tight the petals were crushed between her fingers.

The nurse said nothing.

Just handed her a tissue and walked out.

When Rio woke, the pain was a dull roar beneath the morphine. Her knee felt like it was made of lead. Her throat was dry. Her mind was fogged.

But her hand was warm.

Because Agatha was still there.

Sitting beside her, makeup worn off, hair tied up like she’d stopped pretending hours ago. Eyes red, but open. Shoulders tense. But steady.

“Hey,” Rio rasped.

Agatha looked up.

“I’m here,” she whispered, brushing hair from Rio’s face. “I’m right here.”

Rio blinked slowly. “Still not used to seeing you in Shrimp gear.”

Agatha’s voice caught, but her smile was unstoppable.

“Yeah, well… my girlfriend’s the starting point guard,” she said, then looked straight at Rio. “And I’m really, really proud of you, so—”

She gave a helpless shrug. “You’re kind of hard not to brag about.”

Rio smiled, then flinched.

Agatha moved instantly, gently adjusting the pillows behind her with practiced hands and a furrowed brow.

“You okay?” she murmured, already checking again.

Rio shook her head, just a little. “No. But I’m better.”

She glanced up at Agatha, smiling again—smaller this time, but real. “You make it better.”

Agatha didn’t answer right away. Just looked at her for a quiet moment—like something in her had settled.

Then she leaned in and kissed her.

Soft. Steady. Not rushed or showy. Just full of feeling.

Love.

Agatha looked at her for a long moment, like she was still trying to believe it was real. Then, quietly—almost like a confession—she said, “You brought me out of hiding, Rio. I… I didn’t think anyone could… but you did.”

Rio blinked. “What?”

“I thought if I let myself love someone, I’d lose everything I’ve built,” she said softly. “My name. My control. All of it.”

She looked at Rio, open now in a way she rarely let herself be.

“I didn’t think I could have both.”

She swallowed hard.

Rio waited.

“When you hit the floor… I ran without thinking,” she said, her voice low, steady. “But later, when I realized how long I’d been hiding the rest of it—us—I hated that it took something like that to wake me up.”

She looked at Rio, eyes full of everything she hadn’t said until now.

“It made everything clear.”

She reached for Rio’s hand, held it like it anchored her.

“I thought I couldn’t have both—love and control. But the truth is…”

A pause. A breath.

“I’d rather lose everything than lose you.”

The photo went up that night.

Rio’s Instagram post had no edits. No cryptic caption. Just a square, dimly lit photo: her in a hospital bed, shoulder bare beneath the thin gown, head tilted slightly back. And there—tucked against her chest, eyes closed, lips parted in sleep—was Agatha.

Her arms wrapped tightly around Rio’s waist, her face soft, hair loose, cheek pressed to Rio’s sternum like she belonged there.

The caption was simple: My love.

The world had opinions.

Some sent love. Some sent hate.

And some just flooded the post with hearts, headlines, and noise.

But Rio didn’t care.

She was done hiding. Done twisting herself to fit someone else’s comfort zone. This was her life.

Her knee might be wrecked. Her season might be over.

But her heart?

Her heart was wide open, and finally being held like it deserved.

Recovery sucked.

There was no way around it.

The pain was constant. The frustration worse. Physical therapy became her new religion. She cursed her own muscles. Screamed into towels. Cried once—only once—when she couldn’t make the bike pedal turn all the way around.

But Agatha was there.

Every appointment. Every ice pack change. Every moment she thought she was going to break.

She never hovered. She never baby-talked. She just showed up. Quiet, firm, steady.

A chair pulled close. A hand on her thigh.

Fresh azaleas by her bedside every week.

A new pair of sneakers laced gently beside her rehab mat. Rio once caught Agatha wiping them clean herself with a towel, muttering, “She’s not putting her foot in that filthy thing.”

One morning, as she limped from one end of the PT room to the other, Rio paused beside the full-length mirror and caught Agatha watching her.

Not like an owner watching a player.

Not like someone waiting for her to be useful again.

Just… watching.

Eyes soft. Chin tilted. Expression raw.

“You’re staring,” Rio said.

Agatha lifted a brow. “You’re limping attractively.”

Rio smiled. “You’re so in love with me.”

Agatha walked over. Brushed sweat from her forehead.

Agatha smiled, slow and certain. “You’re damn right I am,” she whispered, then leaned in and kissed her—soft and sure, like it had always been true.

Later that night, Rio posted a video: Agatha at the stove, barefoot, back to the camera, wearing nothing but Rio’s oversized jersey and a subtle, smug wink. She flipped the salmon like she did this every night—like it wasn’t a big deal.

But to Rio, it was.

She watched the clip three times before posting, smiling like an lovestruck idiot.

The caption read: MVP girlfriend 🏆🔥 can’t believe I get to come home to this.

Later, in bed—glasses on, Rio’s hand tracing invisible shapes on her thigh—Agatha liked the post. Then she left a comment.

@agathaharkness: FYI jersey’s mine now. Don’t start something you can’t finish.

Rio laughed into her pillow and kissed her shoulder, already planning the next post.

Weeks passed.

Rio got stronger. The limp faded. Her strength came back with a vengeance.

Agatha stopped sleeping at her penthouse.

Not because she didn’t want to. Because she didn’t have to.

Rio’s place had fewer frills, fewer wine glasses, no valet—but Agatha claimed the spare drawer like she was never giving it back.

“You’re building me a shrine,” she teased, folding her lingerie beside Rio’s sports bras.

Rio kissed her neck. “A shrine wouldn’t roll over and steal my covers.”

Agatha smirked. “You love it.”

Rio buried her face in her neck.

“I love you.”

Their first public appearance together came during a charity event hosted by the WNBA Players’ Union. Rio was still in a knee brace. Agatha wore tailored lavender slacks, low heels, and a silver pendant Rio had once kissed between her breasts.

They walked in together.

No one said anything.

But the flashbulbs went wild.

Someone asked a question. Agatha paused. Then took Rio’s hand, laced their fingers together, and said, “Yes. She’s mine.”

Four years later…

The Newark arena was on its feet.

The final seconds ticked down like a held breath. Rio Vidal, all sweat and precision, crossed half-court with the ball. She barely glanced at the clock. She didn’t need to. Her rhythm was perfect.

Step back. One dribble. Pivot. Rise. Release.

The buzzer sounded just as the ball sank through the net—clean, final, electric.

The crowd went wild.

And Rio—heart racing, muscles screaming, lungs burning—looked up, through the noise, to find the only thing that mattered.

Agatha stood in the owner’s box, glowing.

Custom Pistol Shrimps jacket, lips ruby red, gold hoops, her signature diamond “R” necklace. But the flashiest thing on her wasn’t the accessories—it was her visible, five-month baby bump beneath a sheer black blouse and her wide, stunned smile.

Her hand moved instinctively to rest over her stomach, then the other hand lifted high.

She blew a kiss toward the court, eyes locked with Rio’s.

Fifteen minutes earlier…

In the tunnel, as Rio tightened her shoes and tugged her jersey straight, Agatha had appeared.

“No cameras,” she murmured, tucking herself into the shadowed wall.

Rio blinked. “Thought you hated this part.”

Agatha stepped in close. Close enough that Rio caught the soft scent of azaleas on her skin.

“I do.” She reached up. Smoothed Rio’s hair. “But I didn’t want you playing without this…”

And then she kissed her. Slow and sure. One hand on Rio’s cheek. The other on the curve of her belly.

Mid-kiss, Agatha froze.

Rio pulled back, instantly concerned—until Agatha grabbed her wrist and pressed it low against her bump.

Rio gasped.

A kick.

A real, honest-to-God kick.

“She knows her mami’s about to drop thirty-five,” Agatha whispered.

Rio cupped her face, eyes burning. “You are the coolest thing I’ve ever loved.”

“Go win,” Agatha said softly, brushing her lips against Rio’s again. “We’ll be waiting.”

After the game, Rio skipped the tunnel interview. Agatha would cover the fine—probably with an eye roll and a sigh—but she wouldn’t actually be mad. Rio didn’t care about the cameras. She jogged straight for the stairs, cutting through the sideline chaos, eyes locked on the one person who mattered.

Agatha met her halfway.

Pregnant, glowing, grinning.

And when Rio wrapped her in both arms, the whole world got the headline shot: sweaty star athlete in a jersey, forehead pressed to her elegant, lipsticked wife’s—both of them laughing like the world couldn’t touch them anymore.

And maybe it couldn’t.

A few years ago, Rio hadn’t known if she’d ever play again. Heck, Agatha hadn’t believed she could be loved in the light.

Now?

They were building a life. A future. A family.

At the next game, as she walked onto the court, Rio looked up. Agatha was there, smiling. One hand on her belly. The other hand in the air waving.

And the screen above lit up with the shot.

The Jumbotron read: Agatha Vidal - Owner. Wife. Mother-to-be.

Rio blew her a kiss.

Yeah, she’s still got court vision.

[prokopetz]

You've talked before about how "generic" ttrpg systems still contain hidden assumptions about genre, story, playstyle, etc. (e.g. gurps and military scifi/fantasy) how do you figure out what those assumptions are? what should you look for in the rules to find them?

That's a fairly involved question for which a full answer is beyond the scope of a Tumblr post (even my notoriously long-winded ones!), but I find that a good place to start is with the "who gives a shit?" principle.

For example, suppose that the first piece of mechanically significant information on a game's character sheet is a statistic called "Strength", rated on a scale from one to ten.

Who gives a shit?

That is, why do we care how strong player characters are? Why do we care about having a definite, codified answer at our fingertips to the question of which characters are stronger than other characters, to a fair degree of precision? Why does any of this matter? What assumptions are we making about the nature of the conflicts that will be present within the game's narrative?

That's a fairly trivial case, but the principle can be extended to more fundamental features of a game's rules. Let's consider the classic Dungeons & Dragons style skill check, for example: roll a die, add a stat, compare to a target number, pass or fail. What assumptions are we encoding about the nature of conflict in this game?

Well, for a start, these assumptions might include:

The assumption that generating binary pass/fail outcomes for performing discrete physical, mental and social tasks is how most conflicts will be resolved;

The assumption that your game will benefit from these outcomes having a high degree of player-facing uncertainty;

The assumption that your game will benefit from this uncertainty containing a relatively high likelihood of complete failure;

The assumption that your game will benefit from the principal determinant of that likelihood of failure being some intrinsic and objectively measurable attribute of the acting character;

... and so forth.

If you're only familiar with Dungeons & Dragons and its very close imitators, these may seem like things you have to assume in order to have a functioning game, but there are a fairly specific set of conventions being expressed here. Why do we care about any of these things? Who gives a shit?

Even the first bullet point can easily be knocked down: one can imagine, for example, a game which simply assumes players can always choose to have their characters succeed at anything it's within the realm of possibility for them to do, and whose rules instead focus on providing a codified game-mechanical answer to the question of what that success will cost them, with the only uncertainty being whether the player is willing to pay that cost.

It's clear that a game which approaches conflict resolution in this way is expressing a strong set of genre assumptions. The trick is recognising that the industry-standard alternative (i.e., the D&D-style skill check) is equally laser-focused on a specific set of genre assumptions, in a way that's often rendered invisible by how common it is.

All of which is a very long-winded way of saying there isn't a simple checklist you can go down to identify a game's genre assumptions. But then, I warned you way up in the opening sentence that this would be the case – I hope I've at least given you a place to start!

[pbaz7]

It’ll Always Be Her Chapter 16

AN: There’s going to be three more chapters after this one so it’s coming to an end soon! Let me know what you think about this chapter and if you have any ideas on what kind of story I should write next

TW: Slight stalking

Word Count: 4.2k

The buzz of March Madness was at its peak. After months of grueling practices, early mornings, and late-night film sessions, UConn had once again cemented their dominance, cruising past their first four opponents with ease. The bracket was shrinking, and the stakes were rising. Each victory brought the team closer to their ultimate goal: the championship.

The team’s current hotel felt less like a retreat and more like a basketball hub. Everywhere you turned, there was the squeak of sneakers on polished floors, the murmur of strategizing coaches, and the occasional cheer from impromptu watch parties in the lounge. For fans, this was heaven. All their favorite players, from rival schools to perennial powerhouses, were just an elevator ride away.

UConn’s squad had quickly become the center of attention. Paige, as the face of the team, drew a constant stream of admirers. Azzi, with her sharp wit and undeniable talent, wasn’t far behind. And together, the two were practically magnetic.

After wrapping up a spirited practice on the hotel’s private court—a sleek space reserved for tournament teams—Paige and Azzi walked off the court, their water bottles in hand, their laughter echoing through the corridor.

"Nice shot at the buzzer," Azzi teased, nudging her lightly. "You just had to show off huh."

Paige grinned, wiping the sweat from her brow. "What can I say? I like to keep things dramatic."

As they made their way back to the hotel lobby, the inevitable happened. A cluster of fans, already waiting near the elevators, spotted them. The murmurs quickly turned into excited whispers, and within seconds, a small crowd had gathered.

"Paige! Azzi!" someone called, holding up a phone. "Can we get a picture?"

Paige exchanged a quick glance with Azzi, both silently acknowledging that this was becoming their new normal. With a nod, Paige smiled. "Sure thing."

The next few minutes were a whirlwind of selfies, sharpies, and enthusiastic chatter. The fans were a mix of ages, from wide-eyed teenagers clutching jerseys to older enthusiasts recounting their favorite moments from the tournament so far.

"You guys have been killing it!" a young man said, holding out a basketball for Azzi to sign. "That three-pointer in the last game was insane."

Azzi smirked as she signed her name. "Thanks. Just trying to keep things fun."

As the fans grew more comfortable, the questions started to shift from game strategies to more personal territory.

"So," a young woman with a UConn cap began, her tone playful, "you two are always together. Are you, like, inseparable or what?"

Paige chuckled, her posture relaxed. "We spend a lot of time together, yeah. Comes with the territory."

The woman wasn’t deterred. "Okay, but the chemistry? On and off the court? Come on, spill."

Azzi raised an eyebrow, glancing at Paige with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Chemistry’s important," she said, her tone light. "Makes for a good partnership."

"Best partnership," Paige added smoothly, her smile not faltering.

The fans weren’t letting up. Another girl leaned in conspiratorially. "You’re not denying it, though. We see the way you look at each other."

Azzi’s smirk deepened. "Oh really?" she said, leaning slightly toward Paige. "What do you think, P? Do we give off vibes?"

Paige laughed, a soft, genuine sound that seemed to light up the room. "You guys are relentless."

The group erupted into giggles, sensing they were onto something but knowing they wouldn’t get a direct answer. That didn’t stop them from trying.

"So, you’re saying you’re not hiding anything?" someone pressed, their phone still recording.

Azzi tilted her head, pretending to ponder the question. "We’re just private people," she said with a casual shrug.

Paige nodded, leaning back against the wall with an easy confidence. "Exactly."

Just as the laughter reached a crescendo, one seemingly eager fan stepped closer to Azzi, holding up their phone for a selfie. In their excitement, they brushed against Azzi’s hip, their hand lingering way too long and way too low under the guise of adjusting the angle.

Azzi’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, and Paige’s sharp eyes caught it immediately. Though the fan’s touch seemed innocent enough, there was something about it that didn’t sit right with Paige. She smoothly stepped in, putting herself between them, placing a hand on Azzi’s back and gently guiding her a step away.

"Alright, guys," Paige said, her tone still friendly but with a hint of finality. "That’s enough for today. We’ve got to rest up for tomorrow."

The fans, sensing the shift, quickly backed off, murmuring their thanks and waving as Paige and Azzi headed toward the elevators.

"Sorry about that," Paige said softly once they were alone, her hand lingering on Azzi’s back.

Azzi shook her head, her expression already relaxed again. "It’s fine. Probably just an accident."

Paige gave her a small smile. "Maybe. But we’ve got to stay careful."

Azzi leaned slightly against Paige as they waited for the elevator. "Good thing I’ve got you to step in."

The elevator doors opened, and they stepped inside, leaving the noise and chaos of the lobby behind. As the doors closed, Paige let out a quiet sigh.

"Crazy day," she said, glancing at Azzi.

…

The energy in the hotel was electric. UConn had just secured their spot in the Final Four, and the team was riding high on the wave of victory. The players exchanged grins and light-hearted jabs as they made their way through the lobby, their adrenaline still buzzing from the game. Plans for a low-key celebration were already in motion—a gathering in one of the rooms to decompress and revel in their success.

As the group piled into the elevator, Azzi and Paige lingered behind, as they often did walking next to one another. The lobby had thinned out since their arrival, but a dedicated group of fans remained, eager for a chance to meet their idols. Paige and Azzi never rushed these moments. Despite their growing fame, they were grounded, valuing every interaction with the people who supported them.

“Congrats on making the Final Four!” a young woman beamed, clutching a sharpie and a UConn poster. “You guys were amazing out there.”

“Thank you!” Azzi said, her smile warm as she signed the poster. “We couldn’t do it without you guys.”

Paige leaned in for a selfie with another fan, grinning. “Hope you’re ready to see us in the championship,” she said, her confidence radiating.

The fans laughed and cheered, feeding off the duo’s energy. Everything felt normal—until Paige noticed a familiar face in the crowd.

At first, she couldn’t place him. He was tall, wearing a cap pulled low over his eyes, and hovered near the edge of the group. There was something about his posture, the way his gaze lingered on Azzi, a beat too long, that tugged at Paige’s memory. Her brow furrowed as she signed another shirt, her mind racing trying to remember where she recognized him from.

Then it clicked.

He was the same guy from a few days ago—the one who’d gotten too close to Azzi during their impromptu fan meet-and-greet. Paige’s jaw tightened. She’d chalked up the earlier incident as an overenthusiastic fan crossing a boundary unintentionally. But seeing him again, his presence felt calculated, deliberate.

Paige’s eyes flicked between him and Azzi, who was still engaged in conversation with a group of fans, seemingly oblivious. Her protective instincts kicked in, and her posture subtly shifted as she kept the man in her peripheral vision.

Paige excused herself from her current conversation and approached Azzi, lowering her voice. “Hey, we should head up. The team’s probably waiting on us.”

Azzi glanced at her, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. “Already? We just got started.”

Paige gave a small, tight smile. “Yeah, but we’ve gotta shower and get ready for the celebration.” Her tone was light, but her eyes told a different story.

Azzi studied her for a moment, sensing something beneath the surface, but she didn’t press. “Alright,” she said, nodding. “Let’s go.”

They slung their gym bags over their shoulders and began weaving through the crowd. Paige kept her body angled slightly toward Azzi, positioning herself as a barrier between her and the man. He didn’t approach or say anything, but his gaze followed them as they walked away.

The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped inside. Paige hit the button for their floor and exhaled, her shoulders relaxing slightly as the doors closed, sealing them off from the lobby.

Azzi turned to her, her brow arched in curiosity. “What’s going on? You’re acting... different.”

Paige hesitated, weighing her words. She didn’t want to alarm Azzi unnecessarily, but she also couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling in her gut. “Remember that guy from the other day? The one who got a little too close?”

Azzi frowned, the memory surfacing. “Yeah. What about him?”

“He was down there again,” Paige said, her voice steady but firm. “Kind of watching you it seemed like.”

Azzi’s expression shifted, a mix of surprise and discomfort. “Seriously?”

Paige nodded. “I didn’t want to make a scene, but I didn’t like the way he was hanging around. Like I said we just gotta be careful.”

Azzi sighed, leaning back against the elevator wall. “It’s probably nothing, but thanks for looking out.”

“Always,” Paige said, her voice softening. She reached out, giving Azzi’s hand a quick, reassuring squeeze.

The elevator chimed, signaling their floor. As they stepped out and headed toward their rooms, Paige couldn’t shake the unease lingering in the back of her mind. She made a mental note to keep an eye out, knowing they couldn’t afford to let their guard down.

…

The team’s makeshift celebration was in full swing by the time Paige and Azzi walked into the large hotel room. The energy was contagious, with players letting go of the tension that had been building up over the last few weeks. Paige leaned against the empty bar, surrounded by her teammates, her eyes constantly flicking toward Azzi, who was perched on a stool, laughing with Ice and KK.

“Come on, Paige! You’re not gonna leave me hanging here!” KK called over, raising her gatorade in the air, a grin plastered on her face.

Paige grinned, joining the group. “Sorry, I’m just trying to catch my breath,” she teased, her eyes glinting with mischief. “You know, winning a championship is hard work.”

“Hard work?” Ice snorted, leaning back in her chair. “If by hard work you mean basically dancing on the court and trying to rizz the cameras, then yeah, you’re right.”

Azzi smirked, tossing a playful look toward Paige. “I think Ice just gave you credit for all the fun you had.”

Paige winked, “Oh, I know what’s important.” She leaned over and whispered in Azzi’s ear, her breath warm against her skin. “I’d say you’re my MVP tonight.”

Azzi’s lips curled into a smile, her eyes darkening slightly as she leaned back, crossing her arms. “Well, then, maybe you should show me how much you appreciate me.”

“Later,” Paige said with a wink, before turning back to the group, where Ice was trying to start a karaoke challenge.

“Alright, who’s up next?” Ice asked, her tone playful but full of mischief. “I’m feeling some classic 90s throwback music. Paige, you in?”

Paige raised an eyebrow, mock-seriously considering. “What do you think, Azzi? You up for a duet?”

Azzi grinned, shaking her head. “I can’t sing, but I’ll watch the chaos unfold.”

Ice was already pushing the button for the first song. “Alright, it’s time! Paige, you’re up first!”

“Me?” Paige laughed, standing up to the mic, clearly reluctant but not about to back down. “Okay, okay, but if I mess up, you all have to take the blame.”

The first few notes of a Britney Spears song rang out, and the group erupted into laughter. Paige tried her best, voice a little off-key but full of energy. Azzi cheered her on, her laughter mixing with the rest of the team’s as Paige attempted a few dance moves to match the beat.

When the song ended, Ice immediately followed with a high-pitched screech. “That was AMAZING! Now it’s time for your turn, Azzi!”

Azzi shook her head, laughing. “No way, I’m not going after that amazing performance.” But the team wouldn’t let up, chanting her name until she finally relented.

Azzi took the mic, feigning reluctance, but her eyes sparkled with mischief. As she began her turn, she played up the dramatic flair, giving the song an exaggerated performance. Paige watched her with a grin, leaning against the back wall, completely captivated. The playful banter continued throughout the night—karaoke, jokes, and laughter filling the room until their voices were hoarse and their stomachs ached from all the fun.

Eventually, as the night wore on, the energy began to wind down, and the team slowly started to trickle toward the elevators.

“We need to get some sleep if we’re going to survive morning practice,” Ice said with a groan, her shoulders slumping. “Tomorrow’s going to be brutal.”

Paige caught Azzi’s gaze across the room and smiled, shaking her head. “I’m definitely not ready for that.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but didn’t miss the way Paige looked at her, her smile soft and her eyes lingering. “We’ll survive.”

As the team finally made their way upstairs, the energy in the hotel hallway was still high, but the excitement was winding down. Paige glanced over at Azzi, who was walking beside her, a playful smile still tugging at the corners of her lips.

As Paige and Azzi step into their room, the door clicks shut behind them. The buzz from the celebration is still in the air, but there’s a new tension between them, one that seems to always linger beneath the surface of their interactions. Azzi looks at Paige with a teasing smirk.

"You know," Azzi says, her voice low and playful, "you called me the MVP earlier, but you didn’t show me much appreciation."

Paige’s lips curve into a teasing smile as she steps closer. "I’ve been thinking about that. Guess I owe you a little something."

Azzi leans in, her breath warm against Paige’s skin. "Oh, do you now?"

Paige’s fingers brush against Azzi’s side as she presses herself closer, their faces inches apart. "I do," she murmurs, voice dripping with promise. "I really do."

Before Azzi can respond, Paige leans in and captures her lips in a kiss. It’s slow, deep, a quiet intensity that builds between them, their connection undeniable. As the kiss deepens, Paige pulls away just enough to whisper, "Later, I told you."

Azzi’s eyes darken, her lips parting slightly as she looks at Paige. "No more waiting," she breathes, pulling Paige back toward her.

Paige smiles against Azzi’s lips, her fingers curling into Azzi’s shirt. "Later," she repeats, her voice teasing as she breaks the kiss. She steps back, breathing heavily, eyes full of intent.

Azzi, momentarily caught off guard, smirks. "Guess I’ll take what I can get for now."

Paige grins as she walks toward the bed, pausing to give Azzi one last smoldering look. "Oh, you’ll get plenty," she promises, her voice barely above a whisper.

…

The next day, after morning practice, they were back in the hotel courtyard, surrounded by fans. Paige usually thrived in these moments, enjoying the buzz, the attention, and the opportunity to connect with the people who admired her. Today, though, her focus was split. While Azzi revealed in the interaction, laughing and playfully showing a young fan how to mimic her shooting form, Paige’s gaze kept drifting to the edges of the crowd.

Her eyes locked onto him again. Same cap. Same distant posture. He was perched on a bench at the edge of the courtyard, phone raised, but Paige didn’t need to guess what he was doing. He was watching them.

She kept her stance casual, letting the easy flow of interaction with the fans continue, but her mind was working overtime. Her pulse quickened, but she didn’t let it show. She didn’t want to make a scene, didn’t want to make Azzi feel uneasy or draw attention to herself. Still, her protective streak flared. She moved a little closer to Azzi, her hand resting lightly on her back in a way that seemed natural, but which was just enough of a shield. What Paige didn’t realize was that her natural instinct to protect Azzi and be near her girlfriend was exactly what was setting the man off.

The fans around them seemed to notice the subtle change in Paige’s energy, but they didn’t comment on it. Most of them just assumed Paige was tired from the intense practice. Azzi remained blissfully unaware of Paige’s alertness, continuing to smile and joke with the kids.

Paige kept one eye on the man, who hadn’t moved, still just sitting there with his phone up. But a few moments after Azzi whispered something in Paige’s ear making her smile, he slowly stood up, casually walking toward them in a way that made her chest tighten. Her protective instincts kicked into overdrive. It was time to wrap this up.

“Alright, guys, we’ve got to head in,” Paige said, her tone easy but final, her body language firm as she moved closer to Azzi, subtly guiding her toward the exit.

Azzi looked at Paige confused but allowed her to guide her away.

Paige kept her voice steady as they began walking away, staying close to Azzi, her hand still resting lightly against her back. “Yeah, just tired, I guess.” Her tone was light, but she couldn’t shake the tension. She glanced back to see the man still following at a distance, his gaze fixed on them. “But I did see that guy again. The one I mentioned before, the one hanging around in the lobby.”

Azzi’s brow furrowed. “Where?”

Paige kept her focus ahead of them, but her eyes still flicked back to the man, who seemed to be lingering on the outskirts of the courtyard. “He was on the bench earlier. Same spot. Same phone up like he’s texting. But I swear he was watching us, and now he’s following.”

Azzi’s eyes darted over to the side, looking back toward the courtyard. She didn’t see him immediately, but she knew Paige well enough to know when something was off. “You think he’s following us?”

“I don’t know what his deal is, but I’m not taking any chances,” Paige muttered, a low edge to her voice.

Azzi nodded, understanding the weight behind Paige’s words. They walked quickly, Paige staying close, her hand never straying far from Azzi’s back. The fans around them continued to cheer and wave, none the wiser to the sudden shift in Paige’s demeanor.

When they reached the hotel door, Paige pushed it open, keeping herself slightly in front of Azzi. Her body language remained alert, ready to act if the situation took a turn.

Azzi glanced over at her. “We’ll be fine,” she said quietly, more to reassure herself than anything. But she didn’t miss how Paige’s grip tightened ever so slightly.

“Yeah,” Paige said, her voice soft but certain, “I know. But I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

…

After the unsettling encounter earlier, Paige and Azzi, not wanting to take any chances, decided to let Geno and CD know about the man following them. They were back in their hotel room, the door shut to the rest of the world. Paige sat on the edge of the bed, her head in her hands, still trying to process everything that had happened. Azzi, seated on the couch, was quiet, her legs stretched out in front of her as she absentmindedly scrolled through her phone, but her gaze often flickered to Paige.

“You think we did the right thing?” Azzi finally asked, her voice breaking the silence.

Paige looked up, her expression troubled. “I don’t know… but I’m not taking any chances. We had to tell someone. It was getting weird.” She let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed her temples.

Azzi shifted, sitting up straight. “I know. It’s messing with my head too. I’m worried it’s gonna get worse.”

“I feel that too,” Paige replied, her voice lower now, the protective streak inside of her flaring up again. “I didn’t like how he was looking at you. It felt like he was calculating what he was gonna do next.”

Azzi frowned. “I don’t even know who he is. But what if he keeps doing this? Following us everywhere?”

Paige stood up and paced the room for a moment, trying to shake the unease, but it wouldn’t leave. “I’ll make sure you’re safe. I’m not letting anyone mess with you, Azzi. I’ll hire private security for you if I have to.”

Azzi’s eyes softened as she watched Paige. There was something about the fierceness in her tone, the way Paige was always there for her. Azzi didn’t know what she’d do without her, especially with everything starting to feel so overwhelming.

Before Azzi could say anything more, there was a knock at the door. Paige froze, When she opened the door, Geno walked in, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a subtle tension. Behind him, two officers stood, their expressions neutral but serious.

“What’s going on?” Paige asked, immediately sensing that something more was happening.

Geno stepped in, closing the door behind him as he glanced at the officers. “We called the local authorities after you two told me about that guy. They tracked him down. And… they found out a lot more than we expected.”

Paige’s heart skipped a beat. “Wait, what? Who is he? What did you find?”

The officers exchanged a brief look before one of them stepped forward. “After looking at the cameras we found him individual lingering around your hotel several times, Paige. After looking into his social media, we discovered a disturbing pattern. He’s been fixated on you for some time now.”

Paige shook her head, still trying to process what they were saying. “I’ve never seen him before… How is that even possible?”

“His obsession with you seems to have escalated in recent months,” the officer continued, “but there’s more to it. He believes that you two are in a relationship, and he’s fixated on you being together.”

Azzi’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But he’s been watching me. He took pictures of me and even seemed to focus on me specifically.”

Geno stepped in, his voice stern. “I’m not sure how he spun it in his mind but somehow he sees Azzi as a threat to his idea of being with you. He thinks she’s the one standing in his way.”

Paige’s protective instincts kicked in again. Her gaze shot to the officer. “He thinks Azzi is in his way?” she repeated, her voice strained. Her fists clenched at her sides, the anger flaring. “This is insane.”

Azzi stood up, her body language defensive, her arms crossed as if to protect herself from what she was hearing. “I didn’t even know the guy existed. How does he think I’m stopping him from being with Paige?”

The officer sighed, clearly trying to explain a warped perspective. “The individual believes he can finally be with you, Paige, if Azzi is removed from the picture. It’s… irrational, and frankly disturbing. But that’s how he’s seeing things.”

Paige felt a mix of emotions: disbelief, anger, and most of all, a deep sense of responsibility to protect Azzi. “So this whole time… he thought Azzi was the issue?” Her voice was rising now, but she tried to keep herself under control. “And now he’s stalking us?”

Geno placed a firm hand on her shoulder, a grounding presence. “We’ve got it under control. He’s been detained. He won’t be able to get to either of you.”

Paige looked at him, still trying to digest the situation. “So… he’s locked up now?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Yeah,” the officer confirmed. “He’s been arrested and will be held until trial. For now, you’re safe.”

Paige exhaled sharply, but the tension still gripped her. It wasn’t enough for her to just hear that he was locked up—she needed to know he was gone for good. The thought of him obsessively following them from Connecticut made her skin crawl.

“How do we know this is over, though,” Azzi murmured, her voice low and filled with concern. “What if he gets out?”

“I’ll make sure no one else gets near you,” Paige assured her, the protective fire inside her reigniting.

Geno turned to them, his voice serious. “We’re going to make sure you’re both safe. From here on out, whenever you’re out in public, the team’s going to have security with you.”

Paige nodded, her mind still racing with a thousand thoughts. “Thanks, Geno. We appreciate it.”

The officers nodded and gave them a brief farewell before leaving. As the door clicked shut behind them, the room fell into a heavy silence.

Azzi sat down on the couch, her eyes distant. Paige joined her, sitting close but not quite touching. The weight of the situation settled in between them.

“This is a lot to take in,” Azzi said softly, her gaze drifting toward the window. “I’m just… glad it’s over.”

Paige slid her arm around Azzi’s waist, pulling her closer. “It’s not over until I know you’re safe.”

Azzi rested her head on Paige’s shoulder, her body relaxing against hers. Paige squeezed her tighter, her protective instincts still on high alert.

“I’ll always keep you safe, Az,” Paige whispered, her voice filled with quiet resolve.

Azzi closed her eyes and nodded, but there was a hint of worry that still lingered in her posture.

[lissyneedstopissy]

tuna mayo ! miya osamu

chapter nine – a bouquet of flowers

wc 4609

MDNI.

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Four days after the meeting, the day of MSBY’s home game.

Multiple events, positive and negative, had occurred throughout the past couple of days. Who would’ve thought that going to one of Osaka’s most popular bars could result in a scandal? Especially one that you were involved in. Thankfully, as word got around that it was Osamu that had done the damage for your safety, many social media audiences began to ease up on MSBY, and although past events have yet to die down permanently, it’s been steadily decreasing in popularity.

Reason one, because it quickly turned into a non-celebrity issue, and reason two, there are now more important things for everyone, including yourself, to focus on. Specifically MSBY's home game against EJP Raijin, from Shizuoka.

You were currently overseeing the pre-game interviews alongside a few of your coworkers. Multiple news reporters and journalists were present, asking multiple questions to a couple of the older MSBY players.

It had been going on for about forty minutes, unfortunately increasing your boredom as every second passed.

buzz!

Since you were on the side, and out of camera view, you pulled out your phone from your black MSBY jacket, and looked to see who had texted you.

As you silently sighed of relief, a thought of confusion ran through your mind.

‘It’s like he knew I was bored… weird…’

You put your phone back into your pocket, and eyed the room full of people, making sure nobody had their eyes on you. Once the coast was clear, you began to walk against the wall and to the door in a hurry, making minimal noise.

The reason you asked Hinata if Atsumu was present or not created a small feeling of guilt within you. Ever since you, and both twins had to meet with MSBY’s publicist, you haven’t spoken to Atsumu since that day, giving him the space he desired. Practices hadn’t all been that weird, but moments of awkwardness would arise if you happened to get a bit too close to him.

Moving on to Osamu, the both of you essentially decided to continue your situationship with each other, yet agreed to take a small break to let everything sink in. Everything was made easier due to the fact that Osamu had to take a small trip to Tokyo to solve a small conflict at his somewhat newly opened Onigiri Miya for about a week. Regardless of this, you both still made an effort to text each other at least once a day to check up on the latter.

You thought that a bit of separation would help let everything ease in, but truth to be told, you miss him. A lot more than you would’ve liked.

As you opened the doors with the sign ‘Gym 2,’ you immediately noticed three men standing towards the middle of the court, two of which were wearing a lively yellow jacket, different from the standard gold that MSBY wears. The other was none other than Hinata, who had an intrigued expression on his face.

When you stepped inside, all attention was immediately turned towards you, with Hinata acting as excited as ever.

“[L/N]!” he shouted, lightly jogging over to you.

You lifted up one of your hands and slightly waved as a greeting towards the ginger, with a smile on your face.

He quickly grabbed onto your shoulders as soon as he became within reach, and almost instantly, a serious expression plagued his face.

“Listen, I told you I wanted to introduce you to one of my friends, but one of my other friends came out of nowhere, so now you get to meet both of them. Okay?” He asked, slightly shaking your body.

“Yes sir.” You rolled your eyes, and answered sarcastically, taking his hands off your shoulders.

The both of you quickly walked over, and were greeted by the two other men with a bow, to which you reciprocated.

“This is Komori Motoya, he’s EJP’s libero, and surprisingly enough, Sakusa’s cousin.” Hinata pointed at the brown haired man, who in your opinion, was tall for a libero.

“Wait, you’re Sakusa’s cousin?” It was now you that spoke, a surprised look on your face. He looked nothing like him, physically, and mentally, to the best of your judgement. 

Komori chuckled, and rubbed the back of his head with a happy, carefree expression on his face. “Yes, I am. We both went to Itachiyama together. It’s nice to meet you, [L/N]!” 

“Ah, I see. It’s nice to meet you as well, Komori.”

“Aaaand this lanky guy is Suna Rintaro!” Hinata moved his pointed finger to the left of Komori (your right), and continued. “He’s EJP’s middle blocker, and he went to high school with Atsumu and Osamu at Inarizaki.”

As you kept that same welcoming smile on your face, you could feel your heart drop and slightly begin to pound due to the mention of the Miya twins. As you quickly observed the man in front of you, you couldn’t help but notice he kept his eyes on you in a way you didn’t know how to describe. He stared at you like… he already knew you?

Assuming that you’re just being paranoid for no reason, you muttered out a small “Nice to meet you, Suna.” yet he kept his eyes on you as he hummed for a response.

“Um…” You started, looking at the three volleyball players in front of you. “You guys excited for the game?”

“Yes, I can’t wait to beat EJP!” Hinata shouted, with two thumbs up accompanying his short stature. You giggled as Komori lightly slapped Hinata’s shoulder as a response to his statement, responding with a small “You wish!”

The four of you began to engage in small talk, moreso, Hinata, Komori, and yourself were talking with a few small remarks from Suna here and there. Knowing that Suna was, and probably still is, friends with Osamu changed everything for you, as he hadn’t properly introduced you to his circle yet. 

A couple minutes passed by, and Komori had asked Hinata to show him where the bathrooms were. Your muscles stiffened at this, realizing you and Suna would have to be left alone, which was not ideal at all.

As the two of them exited the practice gym, you were left shifting from one foot to the other, waiting for Suna to say something.

Anything.

Yet, that never happened.

You watched as he looked around the gym, hands in his pockets, most likely staring at some of the nearby banners on the walls, as you were just utterly shocked by the audacity. The audacity of him not even trying to speak to you.

“So…” You started, resulting with him immediately turning his whole face to you, maintaining eye contact. The previous smile on your face was meant to give off a relaxed impression, yet that was quickly replaced with a tight-lipped gesture of uncomfortable acknowledgement. 

You looked around the gym hoping to gain inspiration from anything, and that’s when your eyes landed on a banner showing a certain blonde-haired setter. You slightly grimaced at this, but was thankful for it because of the inspiration you gained.

“What was highschool like with Atsumu?” You had finally continued your sentence, firmly placing your hands behind your back.

Suna had raised an eyebrow at this. “It was whatever. Atsumu hasn’t changed a bit, so…”

“Oh yeah? How?” You countered.

“Atsumu’s still a big fat jerk.”

You snorted with laughter, almost instantly covering your mouth. Before you could internally berate yourself, Suna had finally shown an expression of comedic relief on his face.

“Atsumu can be a jerk sometimes.” You agreed, letting out some of your past emotions. “But he’s still a nice guy. He was my first friend when I got hired to work for MSBY.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You confirmed, but hesitated for a bit before speaking once more. “He was a jerk at first, though.” This time, a small chuckle was brought out of Suna. Obviously, you hadn’t known him for long, but he didn’t seem like an easy guy to elicit a reaction from. As he had calmed down, silence took over once again.

This time, it wasn’t as uncomfortable as before, but you would’ve liked to start another conversation with him about something.

“So, how’s Osamu doing?” The same voice from earlier spoke.

For some reason, you could feel yourself glitch internally. A confused smile was placed on your face as multiple thoughts began to run through your head.

“How’s– what?” You asked, keeping that same expression on your face.

“How is Miya Osamu doing? Ya’know, Atsumu’s twin?”

“I know who Osamu is.”

“Then why didn’t you answer my question when I first asked it?”

You deadpanned, pausing to think of an answer. “Well… he’s your friend, right? You should know how he’s doing.”

A small, yet mischievous smirk appeared on Suna’s face as he leaned closer to you, dropping his hands to his side. “You’re right. Yet, you seem to be much closer to him than I am.”

You stared at the middle blocker directly in the eyes whilst swallowing a lump in your throat. He knows about you and Osamu? Since when? As numerous thoughts about the situation popped up, you could see a slight glimmer of amusement in Suna’s eyes.

“Calm down, [L/N]. Why are you tensing up?”

“I’m not tense.” You replied in that instant.

“Osamu told me about you when you guys first met.” He responded, putting his hands in his pockets. A feeling of increased confidence suddenly surged through your body, causing your eyes to widen ever so slightly. Yet, you stayed silent, thinking about your recent lack of communication with one another.

“It’s not my place to really say anything but, um,” Suna took his hands out of his pocket, and began to zip up his EJP jacket. “He likes you. A lot.”

A hint of pink began to creep upon your cheeks, but you didn’t care.

“Is that so?” You asked softly.

“He talks about you whenever he gets the chance, and frankly enough, it’s getting irritating.” 

You scoffed lightly at this, crossing your arms. “Wow, thank you!”

“Yeah, no problem.” 

Suna looked towards the clock on the wall, signalling that it was time for him to leave. He politely bowed to you, and as he turned on his heel to walk towards the door. You watched him walk away, and as he approached the door, you suddenly blurted out a question you weren’t even thinking about.

“Wait, has he talked about me these past few days?” You slightly shouted, loud enough for Suna, and only Suna to hear. He looked at you over his shoulder, same neutral expression on his face as you began to speed walk over to him.

“Yeah. He said he felt bad about the whole club thing.”

You sighed lightly at this, looked down at your feet and muttered out a small ‘fuck.’ An internal realization came to you at this moment: You truly didn’t want what you have with Osamu to end at all. 

Looking back up at Suna, a small smile appeared on your face. “Good luck during the game. You’re gonna need it.” Suna rolled his eyes, and turned back towards the door, opening it and exiting the gym. “Yeah, right.” He loudly scoffed.

Now that you were by yourself in the gym, you began to reflect on the past month, perhaps a bit more, you’ve been with Osamu. Having been to Onigiri Miya more times than you could count, you became extremely aware of the fact that you’ve actually never gone on an actual date with him. How could you not have noticed this until now? I mean, you’re both busy people with jobs, but regardless, you both simultaneously made time for FaceTime calls.

Pulling out your phone, you hesitated for a moment, before ultimately texting Osamu and attempting to break your distance with one another.

Immediately putting your phone on do not disturb, you exited the gym and began to walk towards the main arena, since the game was set to start in one hour. You had decided on the way that you would deal with Atsumu’s antics later, and now begin to focus primarily on doing your best to monitor the game.

15:17.

Score: MSBY, 3. EJP, 2.

The crowd watching erupted into cheers, celebrating MSBY’s victory against EJP Raijin. As all of the sweaty men shook hands with each other, you stood by Coach Foster, clapping due to the victory, as well as the amusement you’ve been given from this game. It was a pretty close game, but thanks to Atsumu’s quick thinking in the last set, MSBY was able to gain a two-point lead, guiding his team to victory.

As the announcer thanked the audience for coming to watch the game, everybody had soon begun to disperse, except for the Black Jackals. This was your cue to leave the gym, and if you would like, the stadium in general, since you weren’t tasked with creating any content for this game. Usually, you would wait for your friends to come out so you would congratulate them, but, there’s different circumstances. Letting out a small groan, you made your way through one of the doors on the court, and exited through a small hallway, leading you to the first floor of the main area, showing some audience members waiting to take a picture with the players. Ultimately deciding you would wait for your friends, you began to walk around for a bit. 

After remembering that your phone was on DND, you swiftly grabbed it out of your back pocket, looking through your notifications, with a couple standing out to you.

‘osamu; 4 missed calls.’

As you stared at these calls, you could feel your heart begin to swell with nervousness. Did something happen? You quickly pressed on one of the missed calls and held your phone up to your ear, speed walking to a more deserted part of the commons area.

[bold is y/n, bold + italics is osamu]

“[Y/N].”

A male voice was heard on the end of the receiver. The male voice you’ve been craving to hear for days caused your heart to flutter.

“Osamu, what’s wrong?” You asked with genuine concern.

“Are ya still in the stadium?”

“Uh, y-yeah.” You coughed away from the phone to clear your throat. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but listen, do ya’know where my concession stand is?”

“It’s by the yakitori concession on the second floor, right?”

“Right. Can ya start making yer way there?”

Your chest began to grow tight, heat flowing throughout your body. “Why?” You quietly questioned. “I think the floor is closed.”

You could hear a small chuckle from the other end. “Yer a JVA employee, ain’t ya?”

“Well… yeah, but–”

“No buts. Go to the second floor.”

click!

You stared at your phone, which now showed your lock screen. Taking a deep breath in, you walked towards the escalators, which were being guarded by two hefty security men. As you showed them your JVA badge, they let you up with no problem.

As you slowly ascended to the second floor, your heart kept the same, fast-tempo beats you were feeling earlier. Internally, you were absolutely bouncing up and down.

Reaching the second floor, you looked to your right, as you had forgotten which side Onigiri Miya was on. It’s also to be noted that the floor was completely empty. Like, nobody around at all since it seemed that all the concession stands were closed. Realizing Onigiri Miya wasn’t on the right, you turned towards the left, only to be met with an all too familiar male figure in the distance.

He was standing in front of Onigiri Miya, facing towards you holding something rather large… and pink in his hands. From what you could tell, he was wearing baggy black jeans, with a grey sweater, and underneath, a white undershirt which slightly peeked out. You were half admiring the outfit, half scolding yourself for not looking as presentable.

Overwhelmed, you stood still. Almost immediately, you recognized the male figure as Osamu, whom you have craved to see for days.

As he began to walk towards you, your body almost instantly followed his movements. The closer the two of you got, the more you could see clearly. He was holding a bouquet, with all of the most gorgeous flowers, such as stargazer lilies, baby’s breath, daisies, and pink peonies, wrapped in a beautiful pale pink paper, tied with a silk, white ribbon.

Soon enough, the two of you stood in front of one another, mere inches apart.

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. In truth, you didn’t know what to say. He had a toothy grin on his face, as well as a small amount of red painting his cheeks. The smell of his cologne was intoxicating you in the way that you liked, re

“Hello, [Y/N].” He spoke first, radiating euphoric energy.

Finally, words came out. But, not the words you expected. “I thought you were in–”

“Mmhm, I was.” Osamu interrupted, still smiling lightly.

“What are you doing here, Osamu?” 

He looked down towards the flowers, then back up to you. He stared into your eyes as if he was hypnotized by you. “Well, I’m here ta’ ask ya on a date.”

As much as you wanted to take this situation seriously, your lips began to upturn into an uncontrollable smile. “Oh?”

He nodded once.

“This isn’t how I wanted ta’ ask ya, but I wasn’t gonna let ya beat me to it.”

Without realizing it, your bodies moved together, closer to one another as though you were being pulled to each other. As you looked down, eyeing the flowers, and admiring their beauty, Osamu’s gaze stayed on you, holding an affectionate intensity towards you. As he held out the flowers with both hands, you looked back up at him and accepted, your hands brushing against his.

You put the flower in between your left arm, and waist as a way to balance it, finally hooking your right arm around your neck and pulling him into a hug. A hug that he wasn’t going to deny. As he wrapped both of his hands around your waist, leaning into the crook of your neck, you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in.

“I can’t believe you came from Hyogo just to counter ask me out.” You lightly huffed, whispering affectionately in a joking manner. “You could’ve waited until you finished business, ya’know.”

Osamu began to pull away, keeping one hand on your waist, and moving the other to your face, brushing a stray lock out of the way and moving it behind your ear, his hand remaining on your cheek.

“Yeah, but I couldn’t wait.” His voice hushed, as a way to express tenderness.

As the energy between the two of you shifted to something more intimate, your gazes locked, and time seemed to pause. It was just the two of you in this very moment as your faces grew close together, until your lips interlocked in a soft, yet passionate kiss. The movements between the two of you were synchronized. Your pulse raced as butterflies flew throughout your stomach, noticing how soft Osamu’s lips were. 

Even though there was nothing in the world to describe how badly you wanted this kiss to last for eternity, you slowly pulled away as your eyes fluttered open. Immediately noticing the red hue on his cheeks, your smile grew larger.

“So, uh–” Osamu cut himself off, coughing as an attempt to clear his throat from the newfound nervousness he was experiencing. “How ‘bout that date?”

“What?”

“The date… ya didn’t say yes or no.”

Almost instantly deadpanning, you lightly slapped his chest. “I just let you kiss me. If that’s not enough for a ‘yes,’ then I don’t know what is.”

Osamu hummed amusingly as he wrapped his muscular arm around you, guiding you to the escalator to descend to the first floor.

“My mom taught me ta’ never assume.”

You sighed dramatically, looking back at the bouquet once more. “Yes, I’ll go on a date with you.” Without warning, Osamu kissed your forehead lightly, eliciting a pink tint on your cheeks. 

“What was that for?” You asked accusingly.

You could feel the man beside you shrug. “Dunno. Yer very kissable.”

Letting out a small ‘ugh,’ the both of you stepped on the escalator, using this opportunity as a way to look over the handle to see if any fans were still around, and to your (somewhat) surprise, there was nobody. Except, as the closer you got down to the first place, the closer several male voices got to you and Osamu. These voices were easily recognizable as members of MSBY.

“Guess I should congratulate ‘Tsumu.” Osamu muttered, noticing the voices as well.

Humming in approval, and looking back at the bouquet for the nth time, you pointed out a very obvious fact. “He’s gonna ask about the flowers.”

“Yeah.” Osamu paused for a second, looking over the railing on your side of the escalator. “I’ll just tell him I asked ya out on a date.”

Averting his eyes towards you, he could see your nose slightly scrunch up, knowing that you were most likely thinking about the reaction Atsumu was going to give this time.

“I don’t think he’ll be upset, [Y/N].”

You looked up at Osamu, slight confusion plaguing your mind. “Really? I still feel kinda bad, to be honest.”

“He’s a grown man, ya’know.”

Simultaneously stepping off the escalator, Osamu removed his arms from your body as you both walked to the right, to be met with Inunaki, Hinata, Atsumu, and Barnes about to walk directly past you. Unfortunately for you, that wasn’t an option as they all immediately noticed Osamu, yourself, and the big bouquet of flowers you were holding.

A moment of silence passed, as all men besides Atsumu let out a “OOOOOOOOOOO!” in a teasing manner. You didn’t focus on them, as you were eyeing Atsumu’s facial expression. He looked faintly shocked, yes, but he wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at his brother. 

As the blonde walked towards his brother, arms open as an invitation for a hug, you took that as a hint to make your way over to the men who were still hooting and hollering.

“Did Osamu get that for ya, [L/N]?” Barnes asked, eyes alight with joy.

“He did. Isn’t it so pretty?”

The three men agreed, words overlapping one another as they all discussed the beauty of each individual flower.  You took this as a quick opportunity, and turned your head over your shoulder. The twins were exiting the hug, and you could hear a bit of their conversation, mainly Atsumu expressing his surprise for Osamu being in town for the game. Turning back, your eyes landed on the ginger in front of you, eyes full of curiosity. You tilted your head slightly.

“So, are you and Atsumu like…?” He asked quietly, being cautious of the setter hearing him.

“We haven’t really, uh, spoken yet.” You answered, a sad smile took over your face. Ever since the meeting with the publicists, the whole team was able to sense the tension between you and Atsumu, knowing you both were very close, but now distanced due to this small issue.

“You want to talk to him?” Now it was Inunaki speaking, looking like he had a solution in mind. You nodded at this. “Alright, the three of us will leave, and then–” The libero cut himself off, looking at the dark haired man behind you, walking towards the four of you.

“I’m not gonna lie…” Osamu started, the corner of his lip turned upwards, leaning in to hug you. “I have ta’ get back ta’ Hyogo soon to finish up everythin’.” You shook your head, letting out a small ‘tsk tsk.’ as you mirrored his movements. “I told you you should’ve just waited until you finished.” 

“Blah blah blah.” He muttered jokingly as he pulled away from your warm embrace, waving at the three other men, making his way towards the exit of the arena. 

“We’re gonna head out as well, then.” Barnes confirmed as he put both of his hands on either shoulder of his two teammates.

“Good luck!” Hinata whisper-shouted, two thumbs up on display as the three followed shortly after Osamu, towards the exit. With that, you finally turned around, immediately catching wind of Atsumu’s eye contact on you. Walking towards him, you noticed his hands were in his pocket, with an apologetic look on his face.

A brief period of silence passed. “I–” The both of you spoke at the same time, immediately interrupting yourselves.

“Go ahead.” You offered to Atsumu, to which he nodded and took a deep breath.

“Nice flowers.” He nodded towards the bouquet resting in your arms. “‘Samu got ‘em for ya?” As a response, you nodded, unable to contain the jittery smile you’ve been holding in, merely wanting to express this with your best friend.

“Listen, [Y/N],” He started, moving his hand to rub the back of his nape. “I’m sorry if I overreacted and pissed ya off the other day. If you and ‘Samu wanna be together, then who am I to hold y’all back?”

“Thank you, Atsumu. I’m sorry for going behind your back and meeting up with your brother. He’s too nice of a guy for me to back off of.”

He chuckled. “Yer all good. I never wanted ta’ stand in the way of yer love life or whatever in the first place, but I just wasn’t too happy that you fell for ‘Samu.”

You giggled at this, creating a comfortable silence between the two of you for a couple of seconds.

“We still besties?” Atsumu asked, opening his arms the same way he did for his brother. “Of course, ‘Tsum.” Accepting his invitation, hugging him tightly just as best friends do to one another.

“Don’t you still have to get on the bus?” You questioned, gesturing your head towards the doors of the arena. The blondie sighed dramatically, nodding, and beginning to walk as you followed him, having to also make your way to your car.

As you both exited, the light breeze immediately blew on the two of you. The weather was beautiful, which is better than you could’ve ever asked for, especially after such an exciting day. “Nice game, by the way. You played well.” You spoke once more, acknowledging the earlier event.

“Um, just well?” He challenged, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh, excuse me. Might I say thou’s playing style art akin to a masterpiece, possessing an unparalleled essence of singularity, my good sir.”

Atsumu snobbily laughed, and waved his hand out in front of him. “Why, thank you madam [L/N]!” The two of you regularly laughed at the medieval speech, ever wondering how you could’ve gone days without speaking to one another.

“Also, by the way.” You started once the two of you calmed down. “What made you change your mind about me and Osamu?”

“Oh.” It seems like he was taken a bit back by this, yet had an answer ready. “Frankly enough, I don’t mind ya bein' my sister in-law.”

You choked on your saliva, but in a good way. “Woah, we’re not even official yet.”

Atsumu hummed at this, putting his hands back into his jacket pockets. “Didn’t ‘Samu tell ya?”

“Tell me what?”

“He only dates ta' marry.”

author's notes !

𐙚 sorry for the small break , but if you're a college student , you'll understand .

𐙚 i may or may not be uploading a chapter next week as well ... woops

𐙚 THEY FINALLY KISSED YAHOOOOOOO !!! (me acting like i don't control the plot)

𐙚 reblogs are always appreciated !

taglist: @reuka1 @enepsigosthelast @arwawawa2 @miruac @loveelylani @ohgodthevoices @pickuptruck01 @haechansbbg @nixilyy @origamipivo @arteful @luv-toruu @mizzmarmar @p4lli @amterasuu @k0z3me

(some of the tags might've not worked , sorry !)

[shepscapades]

Howdy! Forgot to ask this on the quiz, so I'll ask here:

Do you ever get tired of the worldbuilding in your works? Like, do you ever want to include some whimsy magic, but the pre-set rules of the world don't allow you?

Also, I might have missed it, but is the concept of the "players code" a thing in your story? We talking admin panels, lag, etc

Just curious, have a nice day!

Ouuu those are two really good questions! I'll answer the code one first, since i think it's important to the dbhc story and something people should know if they didn't previously notice it:

My understanding/headcanon/conceptualization for Hermitcraft (and dbhc, by extension), is that the world and players are very much comprised of code. Code is to the fabric of their minecraft reality like atoms are to the fabric of our reality, and Admins (opped players, i suppose) have special access to and responsibility over this code: they can see into it and adjust or fix errors to ensure players are kept safe and worlds are managed well.

This is perhaps most obviously seen in the "A Delightful new Partnership begins!" Comic in which Xisuma notices something isn't sitting right in the code around him and takes out his 'control panel/admin panel/console/etc' to investigate. I talk about it in a little more detail in my breakdown post of this comic, where I talk about the possibility of 24 getting access to the code, scrambling it up, and not really knowing how it works enough to put things back right. It's also implied that he may be manipulating/messing with Xisuma's memories by deleting parts of X's player code (I note that i didn't want the glitch effects to necessarily be associated with android-y effects), as we see him forget parts of this encounter and constantly shifting in and out of place as he gives unsettlingly neutral/positive/encouraged answers to a manipulative and intimidating Android 24.

I also love incorporating like, console commands into the comics and au :D such as '/clear queued visual cache' from Don't Let It Reach The Heart :] Though i know it's different since he's an android hehe

I also just think code integration into a 'realistic' interpretation of Minecraft-based stories opens the door for really fun translations of Video Game experiences (i.e., interpreting lag as something like disorientation, disassociation, or misalignment between a player's code and the world's). It's super fun to think about so I love making it part of these stories :D

Regarding worldbuilding! I don't think I've really grown tired of it, as far as I know (assuming you're primarily asking about dbhc, but i would say the following goes for my original works, too): When it comes to storytelling and worldbuilding, I have a very very, uh, logically-tracked mind about things? The reason things happen and the way things work all need to make sense within whatever system i've chosen/come up with/been working in, so I often have a lot of fun (or experience a lot of turmoil) trying to make events and characterizations fit within that world. If I ever have a new idea that doesn't fit in that pre-determined set of rules, I either: move on pretty quickly, not lingering on things that wouldn't be possible so I can find ideas or variations of the non-conforming thought that *would* work, OR try to think of fun ways to make a non-conforming idea work by developing a new rule that still coexists with previous ones (i.e., maybe there's an exception in the way the world works for reason x/y/z, and the more i develop that possibility, it could make previous characters or ideas more complex in turn! It's like a very fun puzzle to me, and it's why i love storytelling so much :D