#like there are players you already know or can make assumptions about

[yabagofmilfs]

i’m so thankful sidney crosby does not have social media and is so private he won’t even say the name of the gf he’s had for a decade out loud and had to pause for several uncomfortable seconds before he could bring himself to even share the name of his childhood dog. i’m so glad i will never have to see someone i think of as a good person prove to me he isn’t via a political post on social media. i love to live in ignorance thank you from the bottom of my heart for allowing me to still eke out some joy here. 🙏

[goldfades]

in her younger days, they called her delta dawn; prettiest woman you ever laid eyes on

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 8.7k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | (requested: Paige Bueckers x Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader reader since she might be going to the Wings) when paige is drafted to the dallas wings, she knows her life is about to change, but she doesn’t expect you. as a dallas cowboys cheerleader with your own set of rules and boundaries, the last thing you need is a distraction—especially not in the form of the star wnba player who seems to turn every gaze in the room. but as the season progresses and paths cross under the texan sun, paige's world of fast breaks and buzzer-beaters collides with yours, leaving neither of you the same.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | fluff! paige teasing the hell out of reader, description of homophobia, the dcc being sweet(? whoa), one mention of man flirting w reader (EUGHHH), nothing else!

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | here's 8k of a tease!paige fic for yall... i hope yall forgive me for the last 3 soulcrushing fics 🫶🏼😘

You’ve always said you’d never date an athlete.

It’s a rule born of practicality, not bitterness. Athletes move fast—on the court, on the field, and in life. Your job as a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader already demands a fine balance of composure and charm. The last thing you need is the whirlwind of someone else’s high-stakes career bleeding into your own meticulously crafted routine.

But tonight, standing under the hazy glow of the American Airlines Center lights, that rule wavers.

You’re here for one of those PR crossover events—a meet-and-greet between the Dallas Wings and the Cowboys organization, complete with forced smiles and photo ops. It’s the kind of gig you’ve done a hundred times, one where you’re used to being admired at arm’s length by players who rarely look past the sparkle of your uniform. You’re used to their lingering glances, their empty flirtations, and their assumption that you’ll fall in line with the rest of their carefully constructed narrative.

Paige Bueckers doesn’t look at you like that.

You notice her the moment she walks in, an air of effortless confidence preceding her like a tidal wave. She’s all sharp cheekbones and easy laughter, blending seamlessly into the room while somehow standing apart. Her presence feels unintentional, like she didn’t mean to be so magnetic but couldn’t help it anyway.

You try not to stare, but when her eyes catch yours—crystal-clear and curious—you know you’ve already lost.

"You're with the cheerleaders, right?" she asks, her voice low enough to feel like a secret, despite the bustling crowd around you. There’s no pretense in her tone, no undercurrent of ego or assumption. It’s disarming, the way she asks like she’s genuinely interested, not just making small talk.

"That’s right," you reply, lifting your chin with practiced ease. "And you’re with the Wings."

Her smile tilts, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like you’re the only two people in the room. "Guess that makes us teammates now. Sort of."

You tell yourself it’s just a conversation. Just an introduction. But deep down, you already know—it’s the kind of beginning that doesn’t let you walk away unchanged.

The noise of the event fades into the background, dulled to a steady hum that makes it easier to focus on Paige’s voice—and the way she leans just slightly toward you, as if shielding the moment from the room around you.

“Teammates, huh?” you reply, arching a brow and forcing a practiced indifference into your voice. “I don’t know if standing in the same room counts as teamwork.”

She chuckles, low and warm. “Guess we’ll have to work on our chemistry, then.”

It’s a simple remark, delivered with the kind of ease that shouldn’t make your cheeks feel warm. But it does, and the sensation creeps up faster than you can stop it. You glance to the side, pretending to check on one of your teammates who’s caught in a conversation with a reporter, but the smirk on Paige’s face tells you she’s already noticed.

“You’re blushing,” she says, not bothering to hide her amusement.

“No, I’m not.” You shoot back quickly, the denial sharper than you intend. You straighten your posture, willing the heat in your face to cool. “It’s warm in here. Lights and all.”

“Sure,” Paige says, drawing the word out like she doesn’t believe you for a second. Her grin widens, and she takes a slow sip of her water, somehow managing to make even that look like a calculated move.

You cross your arms, trying to steady yourself. “Do you always do this?”

“Do what?”

“Flirt with strangers at PR events.”

Paige lets out a soft laugh, her head tilting slightly as she considers your words. “Only the ones who pretend not to notice.”

The nerve of her. You fight the urge to look directly at her, keeping your gaze focused on the crowd instead. “I’m not pretending anything.”

“Right. And you’re also not blushing.” She leans in just enough for her voice to lower, her next words meant only for you. “But you are.”

Your resolve cracks slightly, enough for a small, involuntary laugh to escape. You quickly recover, shaking your head as you fix her with a look that you hope reads unimpressed—but the way Paige’s smirk deepens makes you think you’re failing miserably.

“You seem awfully confident for someone who just got here,” you say, trying to steer the conversation back into safer waters.

Paige shrugs, her shoulders moving in an easy rhythm that matches the cadence of her voice. “I’m just observant. And, you know, good at reading plays.”

“Plays?”

“Yeah,” she says, her grin turning almost playful now. “Like how you keep crossing your arms when you talk to me. Defense mechanism.”

You uncross your arms immediately, regretting the move the second her smirk shifts into something closer to triumph.

“See?” she teases. “I was right.”

“You’re insufferable,” you mutter, though the words come out more like a laugh.

“And yet,” Paige says, leaning back just enough to give you a moment’s reprieve, “you’re still talking to me.”

She’s not wrong, but you don’t let yourself linger on that thought. Instead, you square your shoulders, offering her a saccharine smile that feels like a small victory. “Maybe I’m just being polite.”

“Maybe,” she agrees, though her tone suggests she doesn’t believe that either.

Before you can respond, one of your teammates waves you over, motioning for you to join the rest of the group as the event shifts into its next stage. You give Paige a tight nod, as if to signal that the conversation is over, and turn to walk away.

“Hey,” she calls after you, her voice cutting through the din like it’s meant just for you.

You glance back, already halfway across the room.

“See you around, teammate.”

It’s casual, almost lazy, the way she says it. But the spark in her eyes as she meets your gaze makes it feel anything but.

You don’t reply. Instead, you turn back toward your teammates, heart pounding against your ribs in a way that you’re certain Paige Bueckers has no right to cause.

The next day dawns like any other—a pale sliver of sunlight spilling through the blinds, the soft hum of your alarm shaking you from sleep. Your phone buzzes with a notification as you swipe to silence the alarm: a practice reminder from the squad captain, a half-hour earlier than usual.

You groan quietly, already feeling the weight of the day settle onto your shoulders. Between your nine-to-five at the PR firm and cheer practice, your days rarely allow room for indulgence, let alone distractions.

Except today, there’s a distraction.

She flits through your mind the way sunbeams catch on the windshield during your drive to work—brief but impossible to ignore. Paige’s teasing smile, the easy way she leaned toward you as if she had all the time in the world to figure you out. You shake your head as you merge onto the freeway, cranking up the music to drown out the thought.

You’re good at focus. You have to be.

By the time you clock in, you’ve managed to push Paige into the back of your mind, hidden behind the mountain of emails that demand your attention. Meetings stretch into the afternoon, punctuated by a working lunch where you barely taste your food. Coworkers buzz about the latest office gossip, but you’re laser-focused on the client presentation you’ve been perfecting for weeks.

The hours blur together, and when you glance at the clock, it’s already 4:45. Just enough time to dart home, change into your uniform, and make it to practice.

The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader practice facility is a world unto itself—bright, sterile, and unforgiving. The walls echo with sharp counts, the squeak of sneakers on polished floors, and the biting critique of your coaches.

“Sharper arms, everyone! This isn’t a yoga class!”

You’ve been here long enough to tune out the tone and focus on the instruction, but it doesn’t mean the sting doesn’t hit when it’s directed at you. “You’re late on the second count, [Y/N]! Fix it, or you’re doing it alone!”

“Yes, ma’am,” you reply automatically, forcing the strain out of your voice. You adjust your footing, throw yourself into the next routine, and pretend you don’t feel your muscles screaming in protest.

Cheerleading at this level is a game of precision and endurance. Perfection isn’t just the expectation—it’s the bare minimum. Your coach’s voice drills into your head like a metronome, keeping you in line as sweat drips down your back.

And yet, even as you push through the routine for the third, fourth, and fifth time, Paige creeps back into your thoughts.

Her smirk, her voice, the way her laugh felt like a secret just for you. You bite your lip, snapping yourself back to the present. Distractions like this could cost you—your spot, your reputation, everything you’ve worked for.

“Alright, that’s enough for today,” the coach finally calls, her sharp tone softening just enough to feel like a reprieve. “Clean up the routine and be ready to run it full-out tomorrow. Dismissed.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and head toward the lockers, shoulders heavy with exhaustion.

“You’re quiet today,” your teammate Dana says as she falls into step beside you.

“I’m always quiet,” you reply, but she shakes her head.

“Not like this. What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” She smirks knowingly, bumping your shoulder with hers. “I saw you talking to Paige Bueckers last night.”

Your heart skips, but you keep your expression neutral. “It was nothing. Just small talk.”

“Oh, really?” Dana drawls, clearly not buying it. “She looked pretty interested for it to be just ‘small talk.’”

“She’s friendly. That’s all.” You tug open your locker, keeping your voice steady, but the blush creeping up your neck betrays you.

Dana’s grin widens. “Uh-huh. Friendly. Right.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “What do you want me to say? She was just being nice.”

“Sure. And you weren’t blushing at all.”

“I wasn’t,” you mutter, brushing past her, but Dana catches your arm, spinning you around just enough to read your face.

“You totally were,” she says, laughing. “I knew it. You’ve got a thing for her.”

“I don’t,” you insist, though the words feel flimsy even to you.

Dana studies you for a moment, her grin softening into something more thoughtful. “Hey, for what it’s worth, I think you should go for it.”

“Go for what?”

“Her. Paige. She seems cool, and you...” She pauses, shrugging. “You deserve to let someone in for once.”

You open your mouth to argue, to insist that you’re too busy, that it’s not practical, that Paige is just a passing thought. But the words don’t come. Instead, you nod absently, murmuring a quick, “See you tomorrow,” before heading out into the cool evening air.

As you drive home, Paige’s voice lingers in your mind, weaving through the cracks of your carefully constructed resolve. You don’t want to admit it—not to Dana, not to yourself—but something about her feels different.

And no matter how hard you try to focus on the road, the echo of her teasing smile keeps pulling you back.

Paige’s day started like most others: early alarms, cold showers, and an endless loop of drills designed to sharpen her skills to a razor’s edge. Practice with the team wasn’t just a routine—it was a second language, something she could move through on instinct alone.

But today, instinct wasn’t enough to keep her mind from wandering.

She tried to focus on the sound of sneakers squeaking on the court, the coach’s whistle cutting through the air, and the weight of the ball in her hands. Still, her thoughts kept drifting—back to the sharpness in your voice, the way your eyes flitted everywhere but her when she leaned in, and that faint blush you tried so hard to hide.

“Paige!”

The sharp call of her name jolted her out of her thoughts, and she turned just in time to see Aariyah toss her the ball. She caught it, but not without a stumble.

“Yo, where’s your head at today?” Aariyah asked, crossing her arms as Paige dribbled toward her.

“Nowhere,” Paige lied, attempting a casual shrug. She passed the ball back, forcing herself to stay in the present.

Her teammates weren’t convinced. Throughout the rest of practice, they kept stealing glances her way, whispering to each other when they thought she wasn’t looking. Paige pretended not to notice, but she could feel the weight of their curiosity as the session dragged on.

By the time practice ended, her nerves were frayed. She slung her bag over her shoulder and followed her team into the locker room, the sound of banter and laughter filling the space.

“So,” Aariyah started, leaning against a row of lockers. “What’s up? You’ve been weird all day.”

“Nothing,” Paige said, but Aariyah raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

“It’s not nothing,” Nyla chimed in, pulling her hoodie over her head. “You’ve been distracted since last night. What happened at that PR thing?”

Paige hesitated, debating whether to say anything at all. But the memory of your blush, your quick-witted deflections, and the way you seemed both intrigued and guarded all at once—it was enough to push her over the edge.

“Alright,” she admitted, leaning against the lockers. “There was this cheerleader there.”

“Ohhh, a cheerleader,” Nyla said, grinning. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“She’s… interesting,” Paige said, her voice casual but her mind racing. “What’s her deal?”

“She who?” Aariyah asked, curiosity piqued.

“I don’t know her name,” Paige admitted, running a hand through her hair. “She was there last night. Tall, sharp eyes, kind of guarded. You know her?”

Nyla’s expression shifted slightly, like she was putting pieces together. “You mean [Y/N]?”

“Yeah. That’s her.”

Aariyah let out a low whistle. “You’ve got your sights set on [Y/N]? Good luck with that.”

Paige frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She’s… complicated,” Nyla said, choosing her words carefully. “She’s been with the team for a while, but she’s always kind of kept to herself. No one’s ever seen her with anyone. Ever.”

“Like, dating?” Paige asked, intrigued.

“Yeah,” Aariyah said. “As far as we know, she’s single. Always has been. And, uh… probably straight.”

Paige tilted her head, unconvinced. “You don’t know that.”

“Come on, Bueckers,” Nyla said, rolling her eyes. “Just because you’re into her doesn’t mean she’s into you. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Paige shrugged, though the flicker of doubt in her chest was quickly overruled by something stronger. “Maybe you’re wrong. My gay-dar’s never failed me.”

Aariyah snorted. “Your gay-dar is not a superpower, Paige.”

“Feels like it sometimes,” Paige said with a grin, though her mind was already wandering back to you—your sharp tongue, your quick wit, and the way you seemed to light up just a little when you thought no one was looking.

She couldn’t explain it, but something about you felt… different.

“Alright,” Aariyah said, shaking her head. “You do you. But don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

Paige just smiled, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she headed for the door. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, guys.”

As she stepped out into the cool afternoon air, she felt a spark of determination settle in her chest. You might’ve been guarded, but Paige wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.

And something told her that getting to know you would be worth the effort.

The energy inside AT&T Stadium was electric, a sea of navy and silver filling the stands as the Dallas Cowboys prepared to kick off their first game of the season. The buzz of excitement was contagious, spreading through the crowd and spilling onto the field where you stood, stretching and loosening up with your team in preparation for the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders' first performance of the year.

Your routine was set to "Thunderstruck"—an intense, crowd-pumping track that had been drilled into your muscles and memory over countless rehearsals. The choreography was sharp, demanding, and thrilling, and as the minutes ticked down to showtime, you could feel the adrenaline beginning to build.

Stretching your hamstrings, you focused on controlling your breath, locking in. This was your ritual—shut out the noise, shut out the crowd, shut out everything except the beat and the moves.

But then you saw her.

Paige Bueckers, dressed casually yet effortlessly stylish, strolling into the VIP section with a small entourage. Her golden hair caught the stadium lights just so, and her signature self-assured smirk tugged at the corners of her lips as she scanned the crowd.

Your focus cracked, just a little, as her gaze passed over the field. You could’ve sworn she lingered on you for half a second longer than necessary, though it was probably your imagination.

“Oh, look who it is,” one of your teammates teased, nudging you playfully. “Miss Basketball’s here to watch you.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, trying to refocus.

“Someone’s blushing,” another teammate chimed in with a grin.

“I’m not blushing,” you shot back, but the warmth spreading across your face betrayed you.

“Alright, ladies,” your coach barked, clapping her hands. “Let’s lock in. Showtime in five!”

You nodded, shaking off the distraction as you straightened up. This wasn’t your first time performing on such a massive stage, but tonight felt bigger somehow. Maybe it was the buzz of the first game or the fact that Paige Bueckers was now seated comfortably in the VIP section, her eyes occasionally flicking toward the field.

You couldn’t afford to think about that. Not now.

When it was time to step onto the field, the roar of the crowd hit you like a wave. The drumline started, the booming bass syncing with your heartbeat as you marched into position with your squad. Your eyes locked forward, face set with a determined smile.

As the opening riff of "Thunderstruck" blared through the speakers, the adrenaline hit you full force. Every move was sharp, every beat perfectly timed. The routine was fast and furious, filled with high kicks, sharp turns, and intricate formations designed to wow the crowd.

You didn’t just dance; you performed. You poured everything into every move, channeling weeks of hard work, sweat, and discipline into the routine.

For a moment, you forgot about Paige entirely. You forgot about the teasing, the crowd, and even the VIP section. It was just you and the music, your body moving instinctively with every beat, every accent.

And when the final pose hit—arms stretched high as the crowd erupted into cheers—you felt a rush of pride. You’d nailed it.

As you walked off the field, your teammates high-fived and cheered, hyping each other up. “You killed it out there,” one of them said, slinging an arm around your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you replied with a small smile, glancing toward the VIP section despite yourself.

Paige was still there, leaning back in her seat, clapping along with the rest of the crowd. But unlike the rest, her gaze wasn’t on the team—it was on you.

The Cowboys had won, and with victory came celebration—a tradition as ingrained in the culture as the game itself. Even if it was meant to be a “lowkey” night, the so-called party still overflowed with boisterous laughter, the bass of music vibrating through the room, and the steady clink of glasses.

You stood in the corner of the dimly lit lounge, nursing a sparkling water. The oversized, lavish venue was packed with players, cheerleaders, and a smattering of VIPs. It was a mandatory-unspoken-rule sort of thing; showing face after a win was just part of the job. That didn’t mean you enjoyed it.

The football players were the worst of it. Sure, most of them were decent enough, but there were always a handful of rookies and cocky veterans who treated the cheerleaders like part of their post-game spoils. Your smile was polished and your patience saintly, but the constant attention grated on your nerves.

Tonight was no different. A rookie wide receiver with a too-white smile and a swagger far outpacing his résumé sidled up to you as if you’d been waiting your entire life for this moment.

“Hey,” he drawled, leaning in too close. The smell of his cologne—something aggressively woody—made your nose twitch. “You look incredible tonight.”

“Thank you,” you replied politely, sipping your drink and taking a half-step back.

He didn’t notice, or he chose not to. “So, what’s a girl like you doing standing all alone at a party like this?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “Just enjoying the night.”

He took that as an invitation to lean closer, his grin widening. “Well, maybe you need someone to enjoy it with. How about I—”

The hand on your arm made your skin crawl.

You turned, polite facade dropping as you said firmly, “Back off.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, his grin faltering but still holding onto a thread of misplaced confidence. “Don’t be like that. I’m just being friendly.”

“I said, back off,” you repeated, stepping out of his reach.

“Hey, no need to get all uptight—”

“Is there a problem here?”

The voice sliced through the noise, cool and edged with steel. You turned your head, and there she was. Paige Bueckers, hands tucked casually into the pockets of her jeans, exuding an aura of calm dominance that was impossible to ignore.

“Who the hell are you?” the rookie asked, puffing up slightly, his bravado clashing with her unbothered demeanor.

“Doesn’t matter,” Paige said, her eyes narrowing. “What matters is she told you to back off. Twice.”

The rookie opened his mouth to retort, but Paige cut him off, her voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “I suggest you listen, or I’ll be happy to explain it louder.”

The rookie hesitated, looking between you and Paige before finally muttering something under his breath and slinking away into the crowd.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Paige smirked, her hands still in her pockets as she leaned casually against the bar beside you. “Yeah, I did. Looked like you were about to throw a drink in his face.”

You snorted, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Would’ve been satisfying.”

“Bet it would’ve,” Paige replied, her grin widening. “But then you’d have to deal with the PR fallout. Figured I’d save you the trouble.”

“Chivalrous,” you teased, trying to hide the fact that your cheeks were burning.

Paige tilted her head, her grin softening into something quieter, more genuine. “You alright?”

The question caught you off guard. You nodded, still holding her gaze. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”

“Anytime.” She glanced at the drink in your hand, then back at you. “So, are you always the life of the party, or is tonight a special occasion?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “Definitely a special occasion.”

Paige’s smile deepened, her gaze lingering just long enough to make your heart race. “Well, in that case, consider me honored to witness it.”

Paige stayed by your side after the rookie incident, the two of you easing into a conversation that felt refreshingly unforced. For the first time that evening, you didn’t feel the need to wear the polished, ever-smiling Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader mask. You didn’t have to calculate every word, every laugh, every polite sidestep.

It surprised you how quickly you relaxed around Paige. Her humor was sharp but warm, and the way she listened made you feel... seen. The kind of seen that wasn’t about the uniform or the role you played. She wasn’t looking at the cheerleader. She was looking at you.

“You seem different,” Paige said at one point, leaning on the bar beside you, her fingers tracing the edge of a napkin.

You quirked an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Different? Is that your way of saying I’m weird?”

She laughed, her head tipping back slightly. “Not what I meant. You’re... real. It’s nice.”

That comment stuck with you, warming you from the inside. You weren’t used to people looking past the glossy, larger-than-life image you were expected to maintain.

As the conversation flowed, you found yourself craving something sweet and light to cut through the night. You turned to the bartender. “Can I get a Shirley Temple, please?”

Paige’s eyes lit up. “No way. That’s my favorite.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Really?”

“Swear on it.” She held up two fingers in a mock scout’s honor pose. “No judgment, but it’s kind of perfect. Sweet, nostalgic, doesn’t try too hard. Exactly my vibe.”

You smirked, shaking your head as the bartender slid the drink over. “Didn’t peg you for the Shirley Temple type.”

“What can I say? I’m full of surprises,” she said, flashing a grin that made your stomach flip.

By the time the party began winding down, the room thinning out, you realized just how much you’d enjoyed yourself. You weren’t even sure when the usual edge of tension had melted away, replaced by a lightness that felt foreign yet welcome.

Paige cleared her throat, her hands slipping into her jean pockets. “Hey, um... before you go.”

You looked up at her, noticing a slight shift in her demeanor. She wasn’t the effortlessly confident star athlete now. There was something endearingly hesitant about the way she scratched the back of her neck.

“Can I, uh, get your number?” she asked, her voice dropping just a fraction, as if saying it too loud might scare you off.

You tilted your head, lips curving into a teasing smile. “You? Nervous?”

She chuckled, the faintest hint of pink coloring her cheeks. “Is it working?”

With a laugh, you pulled your phone out and handed it over. Paige entered her number quickly, double-checking it before passing it back. “Don’t leave me hanging, alright? Text me sometime.”

You nodded, feeling a strange flutter in your chest as her fingers brushed yours during the exchange.

As you turned to leave, you glanced back and caught Paige walking toward her teammates. She glanced over her shoulder at you, a cocky smirk spreading across her face as she mouthed, “Told you so.”

One of her teammates groaned and swatted at her shoulder, while another rolled their eyes, clearly unimpressed with Paige’s triumphant swagger.

You shook your head, grinning despite yourself. Somehow, you had a feeling this was going to get interesting.

A few weeks had passed since that night at the party, and in the time since, Paige had somehow woven her way into the fabric of your life in ways you hadn’t expected. It wasn’t anything dramatic, nothing earth-shattering. But you couldn’t deny it: she had become part of your routine.

Despite the whirlwind of your schedule—DCC practices, games, and the usual duties that came with being in the spotlight—the texts from Paige came often, little moments of respite during your otherwise hectic days. Sometimes it was a simple check-in: “How’s practice?” or “How’s the Shirley Temple holding up today?” Sometimes it was just something random, like a meme or a quote that had made her think of you. Every time you saw her name pop up, your heart did that little flip again, that same flutter that had been there since the first night you met.

The dates were simple and casual, which was just how you liked it. A quiet dinner, a walk in the park, the occasional movie, and for the first time in a long time, you could just be yourself. You weren’t the cheerleader. You were just you. No performance. No expectations.

You thought you had the balance down, figuring out how to make it work despite the craziness of both of your lives. Paige was patient, always understanding when you had to cancel last minute or cut the night short. She didn’t pressure you. And, for once, you didn’t feel like you had to live up to an image for anyone, especially her.

It surprised you how easy it was to be with her. You hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected her—but Paige was like a steady rhythm in the cacophony of your life. You found yourself looking forward to her texts, the way she’d always send a good luck message before your performances or a stupid meme to make you laugh on a rough day.

You didn’t mean to, but Paige was quickly becoming part of your routine.

But then came the photograph.

You hadn’t noticed the photographer—probably a fan at the café where you and Paige had been sitting, sipping iced coffee and laughing about some story she was telling. You only found out when the photo popped up on social media, your notifications blowing up with tags and mentions.

The picture was innocent enough: Paige leaning back in her chair, mid-laugh, while you rested your chin in your hand, looking at her like she was the funniest person alive. It was candid and warm, the kind of photo that screamed chemistry.

The next thing you knew, the photo of the two of you smiling, laughing, and holding hands was all over social media. The caption? "Paige Bueckers and the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader: New Couple Alert!"

You didn’t think it was that big of a deal at first. After all, both of you were public figures in your own rights, and being seen together wasn’t exactly a crime. But as the hours passed, the post went viral. Comments flooded in. Some were supportive, some not so much. And as the days went on, you started seeing more articles and posts about the two of you, your names being linked in headlines everywhere.

It felt like a dream at first—something light, playful. But then reality sank in.

The next morning, as you walked into the DCC practice facility, you could feel the weight of it. You hadn’t even spoken to your coach yet, but you could tell. She was watching you as you walked in, her gaze sharp, calculating.

Coach Anderson didn’t waste any time. After practice, she called you into her office, her expression hardening as soon as the door clicked shut behind you.

“Close the door, please.”

You did as instructed, your heart beginning to race as you tried to brace for whatever was coming.

“Listen,” she started, her tone measured but firm, “you’re one of our best, and I don’t want this to come off as harsh. But... the photo. It’s everywhere. And it’s not great for the team’s image.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Not great?”

She leaned forward, her elbows on the desk. “You know how this works. The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders represent a certain... ideal. We have an image to maintain, and this? People are already making assumptions. It’s distracting.”

The knot in your stomach tightened, anger starting to bubble beneath the surface. “What assumptions?” you asked, your voice steady but edged.

She hesitated. “You know what I mean. People are speculating. And it’s not... on-brand.”

You stared at her, disbelief mingling with frustration. This was exactly what you’d feared—the constant balancing act of being what everyone expected you to be. But as much as you hated confrontation, something inside you refused to back down this time.

“I’m not straight,” you said, the words clear and unwavering.

Your coach froze, clearly not expecting you to address it so directly.

“And I’m not going to pretend to be,” you added, leaning forward slightly. “I’ve given everything to this team. I’ve worked my ass off to be here, to be the best. My personal life doesn’t change that.”

She blinked, visibly stunned. You’d always been a “yes, ma’am” kind of girl—polite, compliant, eager to please. But now, your voice was steady and your gaze unyielding.

“This.” She sighed, gesturing vaguely, her lips curling into a tight line. “The public—our fans—they have an image of you. And this”—she motioned to the photos on her phone—“does not fit that image. You’re part of the Dallas Cowboys brand now, and I need you to understand that.”

You felt your stomach drop. You knew where this was going. This wasn’t just about the photos. It was about the implications.

“You’re a cheerleader, and you’re expected to maintain a certain image. You can’t just… throw that away because of a relationship,” Coach Anderson continued, her voice harder now, almost condescending. “This is about professionalism. Your image. Do you understand?”

You stared at her for a moment, feeling the familiar, suffocating weight of expectations pressing in on you. For a second, you almost nodded, almost let yourself fall back into that mold of obedience, that role you were supposed to play.

But then, you remembered something. You remembered what Paige had told you about being real, about not pretending. You remembered the feeling of being yourself in her presence.

And suddenly, you couldn’t stay silent any longer.

“No,” you said, the word sharper than you intended. Your heart was pounding now, but there was no going back. “I don’t think I do understand.”

Coach Anderson blinked, clearly taken aback by your tone. You took a step forward, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not going to pretend. Not for the team, not for anyone. If you think I’m going to sit here and fake being something I’m not for the sake of image, you’re wrong.”

Her eyes widened slightly, clearly shocked by your response. You were the quiet, obedient one. The one who never rocked the boat. The one who followed orders. To see you—to hear you—talk back like this was completely foreign to her.

“You’re talking about who I am,” you continued, your voice gaining strength. “And I’m not going to apologize for it. I’m not straight, Coach. I don’t owe you, or anyone else, an explanation for who I’m dating. If this”—you pointed at the photos again—“is a problem, then I guess I’ll have to deal with that.”

Coach Anderson stared at you, open-mouthed, for a moment, as if processing what you had just said. She blinked a few times, her face hardening into a tight, inscrutable mask. You could feel the weight of her gaze on you, assessing, perhaps judging, but you didn’t flinch.

For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader. You felt like you.

Finally, she spoke, her voice cold. “I never thought I’d hear those words from you. You’ve always been… so compliant.”

“Well, not anymore,” you said firmly, not backing down. “I’m not going to play by your rules if they’re going to make me pretend to be something I’m not. I’m sorry if that’s a problem, but that’s who I am.”

The silence that followed was heavy, your coach’s face unreadable as she regarded you. For a moment, you wondered if you’d gone too far, if you’d just tanked your entire career with a few sentences.

But then she sighed, rubbing her temples. “Just... keep it low-key, alright? We can’t afford unnecessary drama.”

You nodded once, standing. “I always do.”

And when you left her office, you felt lighter than you had in ages, like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. The familiar tension that had always been there when you wore that uniform was gone.

You weren’t just a cheerleader anymore. You were you.

The soft glow of the TV illuminated the room as you curled into the plush couch, a blanket thrown lazily over both your legs. Paige sat at the other end, her legs stretched out, socked feet occasionally brushing against yours. Some random movie was playing, one neither of you had really been paying attention to. The kind that served as background noise more than entertainment. It had been a long day, and this—just sitting together, the world quiet—was exactly what you needed.

You hadn't mentioned the conversation with your coach earlier. It wasn’t worth souring the moment, and besides, the heaviness from earlier had already lifted, replaced by the comfort of Paige’s presence. She had a way of making everything else feel smaller, less significant, like her calm confidence could shield you from anything outside these four walls.

She reached for the bowl of popcorn sitting between you, tossing a piece in the air and catching it expertly in her mouth. She smirked, satisfied, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at her playful display.

“Show-off,” you teased, nudging her foot with yours.

“What can I say?” she replied, her grin wide and unabashed. “Natural talent.”

The movie’s dialogue droned on in the background, but Paige muted it with a flick of the remote, letting the quiet settle over you. She shifted slightly, resting her head against the arm of the couch, and looked over at you with a soft expression that made your chest feel warm.

“You know,” she began, her voice casual but carrying that undertone of something deeper, “when I was a kid, I used to think being good at basketball was enough. Like, if I could just be the best, everything else would fall into place.” She laughed softly, a self-deprecating sound. “Turns out, it’s a little more complicated than that.”

You tilted your head, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I guess… I started realizing that it’s not just about being good. It’s about how people see the game. Women’s basketball doesn’t get the respect it deserves, you know? I want to change that. I want little girls to grow up seeing us on TV, in the spotlight, and thinking, I want to do that too. Not as some second-tier option, but as the dream.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment, and you felt your heart do that stupid fluttering thing again. There was something so earnest, so fiercely passionate in the way she spoke, like the sheer force of her determination could bend the world to her will. You could see it—the little girl Paige, dribbling a ball on some driveway somewhere, dreaming of being a trailblazer, not just a player.

“That’s…” you started, struggling to find the right words. “That’s incredible. You’re incredible.”

Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she smiled, brushing it off with a wave of her hand. “It’s just a dream.”

“Yeah, but you’re living it,” you insisted. “You’re out there, doing exactly what you said. You’re making it happen.”

She looked at you for a moment, her smile softening into something more vulnerable. “Thanks,” she murmured, her voice quieter now. “That means a lot.”

The conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence, and after a moment, Paige nudged you with her foot. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Your dream,” she clarified. “What was it? Little you, running around in pigtails or whatever, what did she want to do?”

You laughed, leaning back into the couch cushions as you thought about it. “I always loved dancing. I think I was four when I begged my mom to put me in ballet classes. I was obsessed. And when I got older, it wasn’t just about the dancing anymore—it was about the performing, you know? The way it felt to be on stage, like for those few minutes, nothing else mattered.”

Paige listened intently, her gaze fixed on you in that way that made you feel like the most important person in the world.

“The DCC gave me a place to do that,” you continued, your voice softening. “I know it’s not perfect—God knows they’re not exactly progressive—but it’s still a dream. Getting to do what I love, to perform for a crowd… it’s everything I wanted.”

Paige smiled, a small, thoughtful curve of her lips. “You’re good at it,” she said simply.

You raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t even seen me dance.”

“I’ve seen enough,” she countered, her tone teasing but warm. “And besides, you wouldn’t be where you are if you weren’t incredible.”

You felt your cheeks heat, and you ducked your head, pretending to adjust the blanket so she wouldn’t see. “You’re just saying that.”

“Maybe,” she said with a grin, leaning back against the couch. “But I mean it.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything, the quiet between you filled with an unspoken understanding. It was rare, you realized, to have a moment like this—where everything felt easy, natural. Where you could just be.

As the credits rolled on the muted movie, Paige stretched, her arm brushing against yours, and you felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the blanket draped over you.

“You know,” she said, her voice light but with a playful edge, “I think little-you and little-me would’ve been friends. Or at least rivals.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling up before you could stop it. “Oh, definitely rivals. I would’ve wiped the floor with you in a dance-off.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, her smirk returning. “Bold claim, cheerleader.”

“True claim,” you shot back, grinning.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, and as the night stretched on, you found yourself leaning into the comfort of her presence, the weight of the world falling away, if only for a little while.

Paige grinned, leaning back against the couch cushions with a kind of effortless charm that made your stomach do somersaults. “What can I say? I’m a woman of many talents.” She winked, and it was ridiculous how easily she could fluster you with the smallest gestures.

You shook your head, a soft laugh escaping before you could help it. “That’s what you’re going to lead with? Popcorn tricks?”

“Hey, don’t knock it,” she shot back, her grin widening. “This could’ve been my party trick if basketball didn’t work out.”

You raised an eyebrow, playing along. “Oh yeah? And where does ‘world-class popcorn catcher’ rank next to WNBA superstar?”

She pretended to think, tapping her chin dramatically. “Probably right under future Hall of Famer and your biggest fan.”

That last bit caught you off guard. Paige said it so casually, like it wasn’t the kind of thing that could make your heart skip a beat. She didn’t even look at you after, just grabbed another handful of popcorn like she hadn’t just said something that would live rent-free in your mind for days.

You tried to play it cool, focusing on the screen and not the way your cheeks felt like they were on fire. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you like it,” she teased, nudging your leg lightly with her foot.

And damn it, she wasn’t wrong.

The sound of her phone vibrating against the coffee table pulled both of you out of the easy rhythm of banter. Paige reached for it, glancing at the screen. The shift in her expression was subtle, but you caught it—the way her brows furrowed just slightly, the ghost of a smirk softening into something more reserved.

“Press conference clips,” she muttered, tossing the phone back onto the table without opening the notification. “Guess they’re making a thing out of it.”

It didn’t take a genius to know what “it” was. The photo, the headlines, the endless speculation. You felt the weight of it again, creeping in at the edges of this quiet moment. But before you could say anything, Paige turned her attention back to you, her expression steady.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, her voice firm but warm. “People are going to talk. Let them. It’s not going to change anything.”

You studied her, the way she always seemed so sure of herself, so unshaken by the noise. It was one of the things you admired most about her—the way she carried herself with this quiet confidence, like she knew exactly who she was and didn’t owe anyone an explanation.

“Doesn’t bother you?” you asked softly, the words coming out before you could second-guess them.

She shrugged, her lips curving into that easy, self-assured smile that felt like a safety net. “Why would it? I get to date you. Let ‘em be jealous.”

And just like that, the tension dissolved, replaced by the warmth of her words and the steady, unflinching way she looked at you. Paige Bueckers, always cool under pressure, had a way of making everything else fade into the background.

The next couple of weeks pass surprisingly smoothly, at least on the surface. Coach Anderson hasn’t said a word about the photos since your last meeting, and it’s not hard to figure out why. You’re the top cheerleader, the face of the squad, and the one she relies on to land those impossible stunts and lead the team’s routines. Letting you go now would only create a whirlwind of drama she clearly wants to avoid.

But that doesn’t mean everything is perfect.

Your teammates—most of them, anyway—don’t go out of their way to make life easy for you. There’s no outright hostility; it’s all subtle, quiet, passive-aggressive. Like when you’re practicing the pyramid, and someone “accidentally” tightens their grip too much on your ankle, or when you call for a run-through and the response is a too-sweet “Of course, captain,” followed by exaggerated sighs and barely concealed eye-rolls.

It doesn’t happen all the time, but often enough that you can feel the weight of it. Even when no one’s saying anything, the whispers just outside of earshot, the exchanged glances, and the forced smiles remind you that the photos are still fresh in their minds.

You grit your teeth and keep going. Every time you land a clean tumble or nail the timing on a routine, you know you’re proving them wrong. Performance after performance, you remind everyone why you’re the one leading this team.

Then, one Friday night after a big game, the dam breaks—but not where you expect it.

The team’s win had been huge, a tight match that came down to the final seconds. The cheer squad had been flawless, their chants and stunts keeping the crowd alive and electric. As you gather with your squad on the sidelines, still buzzing from the game’s energy, the reporters swarm in.

The questions start innocent enough. Someone asks about the routine, another about the game’s atmosphere. You answer them like you always do—polished and professional.

But then a reporter steps forward. A man with a smirk that makes your skin crawl, and a voice dripping with fake politeness. "Great work tonight," he starts, holding his mic out to you. "But I have to ask—given all the controversy around those photos recently, do you really think you’re the right person to represent this team?"

The question catches you off guard, even though maybe it shouldn’t. You feel the weight of it settle like a rock in your chest, heavy and sharp. Around you, the other girls stiffen, and the camera lenses zoom in, waiting for your reaction.

You take a breath, keeping your expression calm even as irritation simmers just beneath the surface. "Well," you say, your voice steady, "those photos have nothing to do with my role here. What matters is the work we put into this team—on and off the field. And if you watched tonight’s game, I think the results speak for themselves."

Your response is measured, professional. But it’s not enough for him. "Still," he presses, his smirk widening, "don’t you think it sets a... questionable example for young girls watching?"

It’s such a loaded, condescending question that the irritation flares into anger. Before you can reply, though, one of your teammates steps forward. "Excuse me," she says sharply, her voice cutting through the tension. "What kind of example are you setting by asking that question? Maybe focus on our performance instead of gossip."

The reporter’s smirk falters, and another cheerleader speaks up, her arms crossed. "Yeah, seriously. We just worked our butts off out there, and this is what you want to talk about? Seems like a ‘you’ problem."

A few of the others chime in, their voices firm and united. For the first time in weeks, you don’t feel like you’re standing on shaky ground. The reporter stumbles over his words, trying to regain control, but someone from the PR team steps in and quickly ends the interview.

When the chaos dies down, and you’re gathering your things, one of your teammates catches your eye. "We’ve got your back," she says simply, offering you a small smile.

The others nod in agreement, and it’s all you can do to keep your voice steady when you reply. "Thanks. That means a lot."

It’s not a perfect resolution, but as you leave the field that night, you feel lighter. For the first time, it feels like you’re not fighting this battle alone.

The atmosphere shifts after the interview ends. The biting coldness that had lingered for weeks, the pointed whispers and passive-aggressive smiles, seems to melt away. For the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel like an outsider among your own team.

One by one, the girls gather around you. At first, it’s tentative—an awkward shuffle of sneakers on the turf as if they’re testing the waters. Then someone breaks the tension by stepping closer and wrapping their arms around you.

It’s unexpected, but the gesture cracks something open inside you. Before you can process it, another cheerleader joins in, and then another, until you’re at the center of a warm, chaotic huddle.

The hug isn’t perfect. Arms bump into shoulders, someone’s pom-poms tickle your cheek, and there’s a faint whiff of sweat and body spray mingling in the air. But none of that matters. What matters is the sincerity in the way they hold you, the murmured “We’ve got you” and “Don’t let them get to you” that make your throat tighten with unexpected emotion.

“Look,” one of them says with a grin as the group hug breaks apart, “we may not always be the easiest people to deal with, but you’re our captain. No reporter or stupid photos are gonna change that.”

Another girl chimes in, smirking. “And if they ask anything dumb again, we’ll handle it. You just focus on flipping in midair like it’s nothing.”

The laughter that ripples through the group is light, genuine, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like part of the team again. The weight of their support, of their acceptance, feels like armor you didn’t know you needed.

When the moment starts to fade and the team begins gathering their things, you feel a familiar hand slip into yours. Paige is there, her grip warm and steady, her smile soft in a way that’s meant just for you.

“Ready to go?” she asks, her voice low enough that only you can hear.

You nod, glancing around at the others. The team is still buzzing, joking and chatting as they trail toward the locker rooms, but a few of them shoot you quick, encouraging smiles.

As you and Paige step out of the arena, hand-in-hand, the crisp night air greets you. The world outside is buzzing, reporters still milling about, cameras flashing as fans cheer and chatter. You know they’re looking. You can feel the weight of their stares, the subtle tilt of a camera lens in your direction, the whispers that follow wherever you go.

But tonight, for once, you don’t care.

You hold Paige’s hand tighter, her fingers lacing through yours in a way that feels unshakable, grounding. You catch her eye, and there’s something fierce in her smile, a kind of defiance that mirrors your own.

“Let them look,” she says, her voice firm but laced with humor. “What are they gonna do? Take more photos?”

The words make you laugh, a sound that feels freer than it has in weeks. Together, you walk through the crowd, the world around you blurring into the background as you focus on each step forward.

People snap pictures, murmur among themselves, and even call out questions, but none of it matters. Not the flashes of cameras, not the speculative headlines that will follow. What matters is the solid warmth of Paige’s hand in yours and the knowledge that, for the first time in a long time, you’re not walking alone.

As the two of you disappear into the night, you feel lighter. Stronger. You’re still the same person who weathered the worst of the storm, but now, you have people at your side who will weather it with you. And that makes all the difference.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[azzifuddslover]

༯ OFF THE COURT — CHAPTER FOUR 𝜗𝜚

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

themes: angst, pining, light jealousy

word count: 3.6k

tw: swearing, talks of alcohol use

a/n: very proud of myself for finishing this as quick as i did. ngl i was so giddy writing this chapter, it might be my favorite so far! please lemme know how y’all are liking it, enjoy! 🩷

paige wakes up in her bed, in the same clothes as the night before. her pounding headache is evident, and her memory is foggy. she recalls drinking far too much, but there’s still a gap in her mind regarding the last few hours. how did she end up in her dorm?

she came to the conclusion that nika or aubrey had brought her back home. i mean, they did witness her drinking more than she should on a thursday night, so it’s a solid assumption.

paige reaches for her phone; there’s three missed calls from nika, two from aubrey, and one message from coach auriemma. fuck. she’s late for practice.

the memory of azzi rejecting her floods her mind, which makes paige contempt staying in her bed for the remainder of practice.

as paige scrambles to get dressed and head out, she’s physically off balanced, still dizzy from all the alcohol she had consumed. she grabs an advil and quickly shallows out before throwing her basketball bag on and rushing out the door.

heads turn to look at paige as she strides through the gym door, already out of breath.

nika is the first to pull paige aside; “girl, where were you? are you good?” she questions, concerned.

paige fakes a smile, “i’m good nik. i just overslept.”

“you sure you’re okay? you were drinking a lot yesterday.”

“really, i’m okay.”

nika gives paige a reassuring squeeze on her shoulders, “alright. if you say so.”

paige begins to walk to the lockers rooms, purposefully avoiding coach, who calls her over anyway.

“where were you?” he asks, clearly furious at paige’s absence.

“i’m sorry coach, i overslept.”

“you should know better, paige,” he says firmly, “everyone, run 10 laps.”

loud groans come from each of the players. coach auriemma’s eyes widen in challenge, “don’t like that? make it 20.”

paige’s lips curl; she receives dirty looks from her teammates, annoyance bouncing off them. she desperately wants to run away, go anywhere but here, yet she sets her bag down and runs with her team.

practice is the slowest it’s ever been for paige. and the pounding headache she continues to have doesn’t help one bit. she remains out of sync, constantly missing easy layups and wide open 3 pointers. all she wants is for this damn practice to end so she can sleep the rest of the day away.

she’s been intentionally avoiding azzi, not meeting her eyes, building distance between the two, not even passing her the ball, regardless if she was open or not.

but when azzi throws a soft glance at paige does she meet her eye contact. azzi wears a concerned, light expression on her face, with an ounce of sadness in her gaze.

paige shoots a glare at the younger girl as she remembers the events of yesterday. azzi and paige’s bodies flush together. their lips inches apart. azzi’s rejection. azzi running away from her.

paige is first the break eye contact, going back to shooting. or atleast, attempting to shoot.

once practice comes to an end, everyone is eager to leave. it’s been a long day, and they all needed rest.

as azzi was about to exit out the gym door, paige pulls her into the locker room, quickly and swiftly.

“jesus, paige—“

paige places her hand on azzi’s forearm, “look, azzi. about yesterday,” she begins.

azzi’s cheeks flush, “paige—“

“listen, i was drunk out of my mind. i didn’t realize what i was doing or who i was doing it with. i hope you’d know i would never do that sober.”

pain hits azzi like a brick. she knew paige would regret it in the morning.

although azzi had been the one to pull away, it didn’t mean she didn’t want to kiss paige— she did. she desperately did. she still does.

“i.. okay,” azzi whispers, eyes flicking to the floor.

paige pulls her hand away from azzi’s arm, while continuing to look at the brunette.

“alright then,” she nods, “we good here?”

azzi opens her mouth, then shuts it and nods as well.

paige flings her bag over her shoulder and casually moves for the door. azzi’s not far behind her, placing her bag on her own shoulders and leaving the locker room.

the two girls walk in opposite directions, not bothering to glance back. paige closes her eyes as regret strikes her hard. she had lied to azzi. she wanted to kiss her yesterday, still wants to, but what else could she do? azzi pulled away. she pulled away. she had to at least try to act like it was a mistake.

later that evening, paige is in bed, with her phone in her hand. ever since practice earlier in the day, she had been completely worn out, still suffering from a terrible headache.

paige scrolls on tiktok for while, before switching over to her favorite app, instagram. she views her teammates stories and likes a few posts. she sees caroline posted a photo dump, and as she scrolls through the photos, observing each one, she notices azzi in the last photo.

it was a picture of her and caroline in one of their dorm rooms, arms around each other, and azzi’s lips on carol’s cheek, in a friendly manner. it doesn’t settle the blinding jealousy paige feels, though. her fingers tighten in her hands, causing marks on her palms.

god, azzi looks so good in that photo. her hair was loose at her shoulders; she had on a bright pink hoodie paired with black leggings. paige never wished more to be someone else in this given moment.

paige clicks on caroline’s photo, causing azzi’s instagram page to pop up. she quickly hits it to reveal lots of posts from throughout the years.

she scrolls through all her posts, way back to 2015, and she’s reminded of USA basketball days. when azzi dmed her about accidentally liking an old photo of hers. red covers her cheeks in embarrassment.

she views azzi’s most recent photo dump; it was a few pictures of her playing basketball and some with their teammates.

with a slip of a finger, paige likes the photo. again.

“god fucking dammit!” paige exclaims, shifting up in a sitting position while nerves stir in her stomach.

she shuts her phone off and tosses it on the bed. paige covers her face with both hands, shaking it head at her stupidity.

her phone buzzes against her bed; paige already knows what it’s going to be. and as expected, it’s an instagram dm.

i’m getting deja vu, it read. paige’s lips tilt up, somewhat pleased that azzi still remembers their interaction from years prior.

would u believe me if i say it was another glitch? paige texts.

anxiously waiting for azzi’s respond, paige fiddles with her fingers, a nervous habit of hers.

i’d say these glitches are awfully convenient, aren’t they?

a soft giggle escapes the older girl’s lips, as she swiftly replies.

they most definitely are, she sends.

after a couple minutes, azzi finally replies: sooo watcha doing?

paige arches an eyebrow, surprised to find azzi continuing the conversation.

laying in bed, what about u? she types almost instantly.

yeah same, i’m so bored, azzi’s message read.

an idea arises in her mind: same. wanna maybe come over? dorka isn’t here rn.

minutes pass without a respond from azzi. was that too much? does azzi not want to hang out with her? does azzi still hate her?

and do what? azzi finally sent.

paige tilts her head— what would they do? she hadn’t thought that far ahead.

not really sure. we could watch a movie or something, whatever you want.

seconds later azzi responds. sounds good, i’ll be there in 5.

paige scurries off her bed, frantically trying to make her room look somewhat presentable for the younger girl. not that she wanted to make an impression, or anything.

she stuffs dirty clothes in her bed, throws away old water bottles and miscellaneous wrappers before lowering the lighting to appear slightly darker.

as she replaces her current hoodie for a cuter one, she hears a quiet knock at the door. her head whips in that direction while nerves erupt in her stomach.

she opens the door to reveal a smiling azzi. she has on a simple white sweatshirt, baggy black sweatpants, with a pair of nike slides.

“hey,” azzi says, looking into paige’s eyes.

“hi,” paige replies, holding eye contact, “come on in.”

paige moves to the side, allowing azzi to enter her dorm room, cautiously. azzi observes her room better than she previously had when they were first in here alone, taking in the posters, books, decorations. it was all so paige.

paige gently shuts the door before going to sit back on her bed.

“you played really well yesterday, you know,” paige compliments.

azzi’s smile grows, revealing her dimples that paige loves a little too much, “thank you. that means a lot.”

blush reaches paige’s face, “yeah, of course. but i’m sure you already knew that.”

azzi arches a brow, “what do you mean?”

“how coach compliments your game all the time. you’re the team’s princess, practically,” paige notes.

“well, i wouldn’t—“

“not that i can blame him, though. your skills are undeniable, az,” paige cuts her off, the tips of her lips lifting.

azzi brings a hand up to cover her wide grin at paige’s compliment and the use of her nickname.

“getting soft on me, bueckers?”

paige playfully rolls her eyes, “you wish.”

paige shifts over on the bed, making enough room for azzi to sit as well. “you can come sit, y’know.”

azzi is hesitant, but regardless, walks over to paige’s bed and sits alongside the older girl. their thighs brush against each other’s, sending butterflies to azzi’s stomach.

the two girls settle on a movie, the notebook, to watch for the evening.

“want something to drink?” paige offers.

“um, water is fine, thanks,” azzi answers.

paige simply nods and walks out the bedroom, out to the small kitchen her and dorka share. while she’s gone for a quick moment, azzi decides to get more comfortable, allowing herself to lay out in paige’s medium sized bed.

paige comes back to the room and brings herself to a halt. god. azzi laying on her bed was not one she’d imagine actually happening, but is damn grateful it is.

“thought i’d get more comfortable for the movie,” azzi says, like the answer is obvious.

“that makes sense,” paige replies, breathlessly. she sets down azzi’s requested water and her own on the bedside table, while she carefully crawls in bed next to azzi, laying out as well.

the two girls bodies’ are side by side, full on touching one another’s. and paige couldn’t be happier.

“y’know, you’re a really great player too, paige,” azzi whispers, a couple minutes into the romantic film.

“thank you,” paige begins, “i thought i’d never hear those words come out of your mouth.”

azzi snorts, “yeah, well, me either to be honest. i’ve always hated you.”

paige’s lips turn slightly downward, yet is unsurprised at azzi’s comment. she knew azzi had hated her, ever since USA basketball. she hated azzi, too. well, tried to hate her.

“i hated you, too,” paige lies right through her teeth.

azzi turns her body to face paige, “do you still hate me?”

paige scoffs, because how could she, or anyone for that matter, ever hate someone like azzi? paige shifts her body, facing the brunette’s; “i don’t know, my opinion on you changes everyday,” she teases.

azzi smiles— her brown eyes roam paige’s face, then drop to her pink lips. she knows better; paige literally said mere hours ago she would never kiss azzi sober.

“i’m kidding. i don’t. i could never hate you,” paige mutters, barely loud enough for azzi to hear.

just as azzi’s about to respond, exhaustion washes over her, causing her to drift to sleep. in paige’s dorm. in her bed.

paige’s eyelids flutter open as the remnants of sleep faded. the warmth of her bed surrounds her as she was the first to wake. she glances at the body in front of her, taken aback at the sight of the curly headed brunette. her breathing is steady and peaceful, lips slightly ajar. paige lays motionless for a moment, listening to the gentle rhythm of her own heart, before carefully, slowly reaching around to grip her phone.

paige’s eyes widen as she views the current time— 3:01 am in the morning. they had been asleep for several hours at this point, right alongside of each other.

paige looks over at dorka’s empty bed and is surprised not to see her. she figures she’s staying at one of their teammates room.

paige sets her phone back on the bedside table, takes a swig of water, before returning to her laying position in front of azzi, who remains asleep. she slowly reaches her hand out to graze azzi’s cheek, then twirl a loose curl around her finger, careful not to wake the younger girl.

minutes later, with paige continuing to stare at azzi, her eyelids finally open. she stretches slightly, lets out a faint yawn, before making eye contact with the blonde.

“hi,” azzi whispers, still dazed from her long rest.

paige gently smirks, “hey.”

“we fell asleep?”

“guess so. i don’t think i watched past 10 minutes of the movie,” paige laughs.

“same,” azzi shares the laughter.

the two girls shift into a sitting position, not caring enough to move when they touch one another.

“pass me my water?” azzi asks.

paige nods, grabbing azzi’s water bottle, as well as her own.

“thanks,” azzi says once paige hands it to her. she downs the entire bottle as paige silently watches in admiration.

“thirsty?” paige teases.

“you have no idea,” azzi replies, out of breath, “can i have some of yours?”

paige’s eyebrows rise, kind of surprised at the question. “yeah, ‘course.”

she passes her water off the azzi, who gratefully takes it. she takes several sips.

“what time is it?” azzi questions the older girl.

“3 am,” paige replies.

azzi turns her head at paige in surprise, “are you joking? we slept for that long?”

“i know right,” paige says, equally as shocked.

“i should probably get going then,” azzi says, beginning to get off the bed.

paige turns her head to azzi, “what? you don’t have to. it’s the middle of the night, azzi.”

“you want me to stay?”

paige looks away, flustered, “um, i didn’t say that. i’m just saying you’re allowed to stay if you want to. dorka’s probably at one of the girls’ room, so we have enough space.”

“alright then,” azzi nods, “do you have a shirt i can borrow? i hate sleeping in sweatshirts.”

“didn’t seem to have a problem with it earlier,” paige notes, “but yeah, i do.”

the blonde rises off her bed, scrambles in her messy closet, blocking it with her body to avoid azzi seeing the clutter. she pulls out an old USA basketball t-shirt that she figures azzi would be fine with.

“this good?” paige questions.

glancing at the shirt, azzi’s lips turn up, “that’s great. thanks, paige.”

she throws the shirt to azzi, who also pushes herself off the bed, easily catching it. paige exits the room, going to get more waters for the two of them. azzi lifts off her sweatshirt, tosses it to the ground when paige quickly returns.

paige nearly drops the bottles of water at the sight of azzi’s bare back. her eyes widen, her breath hitches. she wasn’t wearing a bra this entire time?

azzi pulls on the t-shirt paige kindly let her borrow, before turning around, noticing paige staring at her with her jaw dropped.

“i— i’m sorry…” paige stammers, shaking her head at herself.

azzi’s heart is basically beating out of her goddamn chest. she smiles gently, “you’re fine.”

paige finally moves from her spot at the door and places the bottles down. she stares at azzi, wondering if they’d continue to share the bed or if one of them would move to dorka’s.

azzi stares back at the older girl, thinking the same think but not voicing it.

eventually, paige breaks the silence. “i can sleep on dorka’s bed.” she walks over to the empty, made bed, slightly disappointed azzi isn’t protesting against it.

panic soon sets in for azzi, “what? no, it’s your bed, paige. you should sleep it in.”

“really, it’s fine, i don’t mind,” she lowers herself on the bed.

“paige, cmon. i’m not making you sleep in a different bed,” azzi argues.

“okay then..” paige says, confusion setting in.

azzi plops back onto paige’s bed, moving over so there’s enough room for the older girl, “just come back over here.”

paige’s cheeks blush against her will, a smirk settling on her face. “if you insist.”

the two girls get comfortable on the bed, legs touching ever so slightly.

“night,” azzi whispers.

“night, az.”

azzi, this time, is first to wake. paige is much, much closer to her than she had been when they first fell asleep. azzi suddenly feels an arm wrapped tightly around her waist that has her pulled practically flushed against paige’s body. paige’s hand is underneath azzi’s shirt, on her bare back. azzi allows herself to admire a sleeping paige for a quick moment.

she checks her phone— 8:30 in the morning. azzi carefully takes paige’s arm and places it gently on the bed, then crawls out of the warm bed, trying her best not to disturb the blonde.

with her phone in her hand, she glances back at paige, and exits the room.

later that day, in the afternoon, the entire uconn women’s basketball team is scattered in paige and dorka’s room. there’s players on both beds, on the small couch, on the floor. azzi is planted against paige’s bed, while paige is seated on the couch.

the team had been chatting about a variety of things when kk comes up with an idea for the girls.

“guys, we should play spin the bottle!” kk announces, loudly.

“what are we, 10?” paige scoffs, rolling her eyes at the game idea.

“cmon, p, don’t be blame. plus, i’m so bored,” kk whines.

“i’m down,” nika agrees.

“same, why not,” jana says.

soon, each player agrees to a game of spin the bottle, even though paige is convinced it’s a stupid idea. they all sit in a circle, tight enough so they’re all touching, due to the size of the dorm. kk places a bottle in the middle of the circle and gives it a gentle spin.

it lands on aubrey and lou. nika lets out a soft chuckle, causing aubrey to laugh as well.

“pucker up, lou lou,” aubrey smiles before swiftly placing a kiss on lou’s lips, not lasting more than 2 seconds.

the bottle is once again spun, fast this time. it lands on nika and jana, who smirk and touch lips.

paige shifts in her seating, silently wondering if the bottle would ever land on her. she doubts it.

kk gives the bottle a good spin, making it travel faster than before. paige anxiously watches the bottle, fidgeting with her fingers as nerves take over her body.

the first spin lands on azzi. oh jesus. whoever this next spin lands on should consider themselves lucky, paige thinks. she then takes in account that azzi still is wearing her USA basketball shirt.

it’s azzi’s turn for nerves to overpower her. her heart quickens, palms begin to sweat in anticipation for whoever she’s about to kiss.

the next spin seems to last an eternity. paige swears it goes in slow motion. but eventually, it points directly at the blonde.

azzi’s eyes practically bulge out of socket. her jaw drops as she locks eyes with paige, who looks equally as surprised.

ignoring the o’s and ah’s she receives from her teammates, paige makes her way over to the curly headed brunette, careful not to show how nervous she is to kiss azzi.

the older girl settles comfortably in front of azzi. her gaze roams azzi’s flushed face, which causes paige to smirk knowingly.

there is a heavy silence, the air between them electric, both eager and tentative. slowly, paige places her hand on azzi’s hot cheek, and leans in. when their lips finally brush, it was gentle— hesitant at first— but the warmth between them quickly grew, the kiss only deepening as both hearts speed up. a soft, trembling sigh escapes azzi’s mouth while paige’s deepens the kiss even further. she slips her tongue into the younger girl’s mouth, swirling and testing the waters.

after what feels like forever but not nearly enough, paige pulls away, disconnecting their lips. she removes her hand off azzi’s waist— which uncontrollably moved there from her cheek— and crawls back to her original spot, besides dorka and jana.

she glances back at azzi, who’s lips are pluffy and a darker shade of pink, while her cheeks are a softer pink.

the room continued to buzz with energy, the laughter of her teammates echoing from the game, but all paige could hear is the steady of her own heart. her pulse quickens when azzi meets her gaze, heat and want in her lingering eyes. for a moment, the noise of their friends fade away, leaving only the weight of a shared silence between the two.

the blonde didn’t take her focus off azzi. she didn’t smile, didn’t do or say anything. just watched.

azzi clears her throat, trying to act as casual as possible, but her hands betray her, nervously fiddling in her lap. she quickly flicks her eyes to the ground, but not before noticing paige’s lips twitch softly, as she was fighting off a grin.

then, without a word, paige turns her attention back to the silly game her teammates were continuing to play, yet azzi couldn’t shake the warmth in her chest or the growing electricity still intensely present between them.

[before-it-felt-like-a-sin]

hiiii can you write about precrash nat and reader. reader moves to wiskayok and moves to nats trailer park. her and nat don't really talk much because reader attracts more of a popular crowd. reader hides the fact that she lives in a trailer park from her new popular friends. reader joins the soccer team and starts to become more friendly with nat. one day after practice nat offers reader a ride home and she accepts. nat and reader become closer after that. reader develops a crush on nat but doesn't like that either because she feels like its wrong. readers friends notice that shes been hanging out with nat and getting rides with her and they dont like that so they follow nat and reader and realize that reader lives in a trailer park. so the next day they bully tf out of reader and tell everyone. reader goes to nat for comfort and thats when reader reveals her feelings for nat

lololol this is my first time requesting so i hope its good

What a Shame

Natalie Scatorccio x Fem! reader

5.9k words

Warning(s): Bullying, drug use (weed), internalized homophobia, slut shaming, blatant homophobia, bi! Nat, ambiguously queer reader

Quick note that I know almost nothing about sports in general, let alone soccer (I haven't played sports in 4 years and I haven't even touched a soccer ball since 2nd grade)

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Moving right before your senior year of high school was not your idea of a good time. Moving to a trailer park right before the start of your senior year was your nightmare.

Sure, you knew why you'd moved. Your dad had lost his job, and your mom wasn't in the picture. So, moving it was. Hopefully, your dad would find a new job, and at least here no one would know what happened. You didn't have much going for you, but you had that.

The only downside was, in fact, the trailer.

But you were determined to make the best of it. Make friends, get good grades, and not let anyone, literally anyone, find out where you lived. You just had to make it through one year. How hard could it be?

One small hitch in that plan was Natalie Scatorccio. She knew exactly where you lived. Because apparently the two of you were neighbors. Which was... not ideal.

Somehow, though, you'd made it through the entire first semester without word getting out about your housing situation. Your friends had no idea, and somehow you even managed to be somewhat popular.

"I'm thinking about joining the soccer team," you say offhandedly at lunch one day.

"I mean, it's not a bad idea. You played at your old school, right?" One of your friends asks, looking at you.

"Yeah, I was the goalie. I've heard they already have one, but I don't mind being second string." You shrug, picking at your lunch.

"Doesn't hurt to try! Plus, the team's like, really good. Not like you have anything to lose. Besides, you're probably better than the current goalie. I heard she's a total d-" Before she can finish the sentence, the bell for the end of lunch rings.

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Two days later, you're standing on the soccer field, listening to the head coach go over the rules and expectations for tryouts. Nothing you haven't heard before, so it's pretty harmless when you tune him out to scope out the players already on the team.

And- Shit, was that..?

Natalie. Your Neighbor.

Because of course it was. Honestly, she didn't seem like the type to play sports, let alone soccer. But you knew that you probably didn't look like a soccer player either, so it wasn't the most valid assumption.

Soon enough, you're being ushered into groups based on the position you're trying out for. There's only one other girl trying out for goalie, so you're fairly sure that you'll make the team. If only to play backup to the redhead that you'd seen in a couple of your classes.

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Tryouts go about as smoothly as expected, and you're even more confident about making the team by the end. The poor girl who was also trying out had clearly never played soccer in her life. You almost felt bad for her. Almost.

You weren't the best at any sort of dribbling or shooting drill, but that wasn't exactly necessary for the position of goalie. What you lacked in those skills was made up for in agility and your goalkeeping abilities.

Officially, though, you don't know if you've gotten the position for another week. Which, fine. It's not like you needed practices to start immediately or anything. You were just kind of bored. And maybe a little sick of your friends. But you could wait. It would at least give you time to prepare to interact with Natalie at practice.

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Two weeks later, you find yourself on the soccer field after school. As expected, you made the team. Also as expected, you weren't a starter. Which wasn't the worst possibility. At least you had made the team. And Van, the starting goalie, seemed really funny. She wasn't a bitch to you, either. Which was honestly unexpected. since you were her backup. Certainly seemed nicer than your friends.

Honestly, the whole team seemed nicer than your current friends. Sure, you could already tell that Jackie was going to be a lot to deal with, and Taissa was a bit intimidating. But that's better than complete assholes. Even Natalie at least seemed indifferent to you.

You're standing out on the field, talking to some other new recruits. And by talking, it was more like standing there and listening to them talk to each other. Almost everyone else had moved up from JV, while you were the only new student on the team. Everyone else knew each other, it seemed. It was kind of expected, though, and you had gotten used to being the new girl.

None of the other seniors really talked to you, each of them already having formed friend groups. You could see the factions now. Lottie, Taissa, and Van were all talking together. About what, you had no idea. Shauna and Jackie were practically attached at the hip, so there was no way you were going to be able to get in the middle of that. Natalie was nowhere to be seen, which didn't exactly surprise you. Which left Laura Lee, a sweet, devout Christian girl. You could work with that.

Before you could approach Laura Lee, though, Lottie walks up to you.

"Hi, you're the new girl, right? I'm Lottie, the starting center back." she's smiling, which is a good sign. It's a bit odd that she's talking to you, though, considering her reputation as the richest girl in school.

"Oh, hi. I'm y/n. Second string goalie." You smile back at her, trying to appear more confident than you're feeling. Despite being somewhat popular, you weren't really a fan of trying to navigate talking to new people, which is why you stuck with your friends despite you not always getting along with them.

"No offense, but I kind of already know who you are. Not everyone transfers schools their senior year." Lottie seems almost smug, but it's more confidence than anything. She knows how to charm people, that's for sure.

It feels like she knows exactly why you moved to Wiskayok, which is odd. No one knows why you moved except for you and your dad. And you certainly didn't tell her.

Despite the weird aura coming from her, Lottie actually seems really nice. As much as you want to trust her immediately, you know its probably best to keep your guard up, at least for the time being. Maybe if you get closer, you can explain your living situation.

Suddenly, you wonder if the Yellowjackets soccer team knows that Nat lives in the trailer park. It's a decently small town, and you assume that most of these girls have lived in Wiskayok for their entire lives. How did they take it when Nat revealed where she lived, if she did? Do they care? Has everyone just always known?

Lottie's looking at you kind of weird, and you realize you must have zoned out for longer than you thought. Before you can say anything, though, Coach Martinez has everyone pair up for drills. Lottie grabs your arm before you even have a second to think about who you'll pair with.

"You're with me, new girl. Van and Tai always pair up and leave me to partner with Nat, but not today. You're stuck with me." She's smiling, which puts you at ease. She's not as intimidating as she seems from afar.

She starts passing you the ball, and you silently wonder if maybe you're not supposed to be doing this drill, since you're a goalie. But Van's passing with Taissa, so you don't say anything. Besides, it's not like you're the coach.

You spend the rest of the drills paired with Lottie, until you have to be separated for your respective positions. It's weird, only having Van there with you. She's really talkative, though, which is a good distraction from your general nerves surrounding practice

"You've played before, right?" She's talking to you now, as you're shuffling back and forth for agility training.

"Yeah, all through high school," you reply, trying to focus on your footwork.

"How's it feel being second string your senior year?" She's clearly not being mean or insensitive. She honestly sounds a bit teasing, and you can appreciate that.

"Better than nothing." She laughs at that, and you feel like you won something. All of these girls seemed so nice. Maybe you'd be able to start ditching your friends.

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An hour and a half later, you're starting on your walk home. Silently, you're cursing yourself for showering in the locker room. You had hoped your dad would be able to pick you up, but he was working late. Which you appreciated, of course. But it was a little annoying.

Suddenly a shitty, old Toyota pulls up next to you. One that you recognize from the parking lot at school and the trailer down the street. Natalie.

"Need a ride?" She's looking at you through the open window, looking simultaneously bored and smug. Part of you wants to refuse, tell her to fuck off and leave you alone. But she doesn't seem to be pitying you, just genuinely asking if you want a ride home.

So, instead of ignoring her and walking to your trailer, you get in the damn car. Its not like she doesn't already know where you live.

Natalie doesn't say anything as she puts the car back into gear and starts driving. You're grateful for that, not exactly wanting to make small talk with her. She wasn't exactly the type that you'd normally hang around. Too rough around the edges, has too much of a reputation. Your friends wouldn't approve.

Nirvana is playing over the car's shitty speakers, and it's so typical of Natalie. You barely know the girl, yet you couldn't have guessed her music choices with more accuracy.

She's pulling up next to your trailer, and she looks over at you as you get out of the car.

"From now on, I'll drive you home." Natalie leaves no room for arguing, and you're not sure that you want to. Sure, she's not exactly someone you'd choose to spend a lot of time with. But she's not terrible, and driving home with Natalie definitely beats walking home by yourself.

You just give her a nod in response, not exactly sure how to react to a statement like that. And she wasn't exactly giving you an opportunity to say no.

Nat drives off, down the street to her own trailer, and you walk into yours.

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A month of soccer practice and rides home with Nat after, and the two of you are actually starting to become friends. The first two weeks, neither of you spoke, opting to just listen to whatever was on the radio. That is, until you finally got bored and started talking to her around the third week. Nothing crazy, just stuff about the team.

At this point, though, you've started talking about yourselves. What you like to do, how you feel about certain people. Nat's funny, and sarcastic, and honestly just someone you really like being around.

"Jackie's been driving me crazy this week. I get that our first game is on Saturday, but come on. It's not like I'm slacking off on purpose." She doesn't seem genuinely pissed off, just a bit annoyed. You have noticed that Jackie puts more pressure on Nat than almost anyone else on the team.

"Did you do something to piss her off?" you ask, looking at Nat as she drives.

"I mean, I showed up to homeroom high on Tuesday. But that doesn't mean I'm slacking at practice."

"I mean, I guess I can see why that would piss her off. It is kind of unwarranted, though. You've been practicing just as hard as everyone else."

She nods at that, and you fall into another comfortable silence for a few little while.

"Speaking of being high..." Natalie trails off, and you get a little giddy, although you don't show it. You'd been hoping that she would want to hang out outside of your car rides.

When you give her a little nod, she grins, looking triumphant. Clearly, she wanted to be around you just as much as you wanted to be around her.

Instead of dropping you off at your trailer like usual, she brings you to hers.

"My mom's probably asleep or staring at the TV, so we won't have to worry about her." Natalie gets out of the car, gesturing for you to join her. She doesn't say anything about her dad, and you know why, even if no she hasn't told you. It was hard to avoid the rumors, how people would look at her sometimes.

Honestly, it didn't matter to you if the rumors were true or not. Natalie wasn't the sort of person to resort to violence without good reason. And from what you heard, she would've had a very good reason.

You climb out of the car and follow her through the trailer, into her bedroom. It's so Nat, with posters all over the walls, stacks of CD's on her desk and on the floor. A beat-up acoustic guitar sits in the corner, and you make a mental note of it. Clothes are in piles all over the floor, but you honestly couldn't care less about the state of her room. It felt good, to be somewhere lived in. To be around someone that understood your living situation

Natalie sits down on the edge of her bed, smiling at you. The gesture was enough to make you feel a bit more comfortable, and you found yourself sitting down next to her.

"Have you smoked before?" She pulls out an old Altoids container, opening it up to pull out one of the pre-rolled joints inside.

You shake your head no, pulling your legs up on the bed so you can sit more comfortably.

"No. Well, once I took a hit from some guy at a party, but it was shit and I couldn't stop choking."

Nat laughs at that, lighting up the blunt as the two of you talk.

"That's probably because you just took a hit and had no idea what you were doing. Watch what I do." She makes sure that you're looking at her before inhaling the smoke from the blunt, holding it in for a few seconds before exhaling. "You're gonna want to cough your first couple of hits. That's normal."

She held the joint out to you, and when you took it, your fingers brushed together. The contact you feel weird, but you chalked it up to the nerves of smoking weed for the first time. This kind of thing wasn't normally something that you'd do.

Tentatively, you brought the blunt to your lips and took a hit. The smoke burned your throat as you inhaled, but you managed to keep from coughing. Nat grins as she notices you holding back a cough, and she holds her hand out for the joint.

You pass it back to her, this time trying to keep your hands from touching. Natalie takes another hit, longer this time, and part of you wants to just stare at her.

As soon as that thought crosses your mind, you immediately snap out of it. You don't want to stare at her, she's your friend. People don't stare at their friends. Get a grip.

Nat holds on to the joint for a little longer this time, taking a couple more hits before she offers it back to you. This time, you get a bit bolder, taking a deeper pull. It takes you a little more effort to keep from coughing, but you manage it.

The two of you stay like that a while, passing the joint back and forth between each other, just enjoying the fuzzy feeling of being high, and enjoying each other's company. At some point, Nat puts a record on, something grungy that you recognize, but don't remember the name of.

You're lying flat on your back in the middle of the floor, and Nat looks down at you, clearly holding back a laugh.

"You doin' okay?" She lightly kicks your shoulder, trying to get you to have some sort of reaction. You nod in response, completely zoned out. The floor just feels so nice.

She looks good, you think. Something about the way she was a bit messy was so beautiful for her. You chalk these thoughts up to the weed, to never really being friends with someone that looks like Nat.

"Can you talk?" Nat's full-on laughing now, obviously finding your position hilarious.

"Do you want me to?"

"Just seeing if you could."

You're not egregiously high or anything, a nice buzz, really. Part of you knows that you should probably go home soon, make sure your dad isn't wondering where you are.

There's just something comforting about Nat's bedroom, about being around someone in the same situation as you. There's no judgement, no fear.

You do end up leaving, eventually. Once your eyes are no longer red and the smell of weed has mostly dissipated. Nat walks you to your trailer, claiming that she's better at defending herself. You don't have it in you to argue. Plus, it's nice that she still wants to spend time with you.

She walks you up to the door, and the two of you stand there awkwardly for a moment, waiting for the other to say something.

"See you tomorrow?" Nat almost looks nervous, like you're going to say no for some reason.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow." With that, you smile and walk inside.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been a few weeks since you first smoked with Natalie, and it had become a routine for the two of you. Go to practice, drive to Nat's trailer, and light up.

You should've known your friends would notice at some point.

"How's soccer, y/n?" one of your friends stares pointedly at you, like she knows something. Something you don't even know.

"Oh, it's going really well! The girls on the team are all so nice, and we all play really well together." You stay as natural as possible, trying to gauge what's happening.

"That's sweet," she remarks, in a tone you know means she thinks it's anything but sweet.

"You've been hanging out with the slut a lot recently," another girl chimes in, "Is there something that you wanted to tell us?"

You nearly choke on your water when she says that, and you're sure that you must have misheard her.

"Who?" It takes a moment to compose yourself, looking over at your friend.

"You know who I'm talking about. The burnout? The slut?" When you still look confused, she rolls her eyes, h8uffing at your obliviousness. "Natalie Scatorccio? Pretty sure she's fucked half the school. And it isn't entirely the male half."

Now it's your turn to roll your eyes, but you don't say anything to defend Nat. You know that you should, that she's your friend. But fighting with these girls could cause them to turn on you. And you were hiding too many things for that to happen.

For some reason, your friends don't push further. Why, you're not sure. But you sure aren't going to push it.

Everyone goes back to talking about other things, boyfriends, movies, music. You aren't interested, though. You're too busy thinking about what your friend said. About Nat not just sleeping with guys. Was she gay? She hadn't said anything to you.

Did that mean you had a chance?

Wait. You didn't want a chance with her. You weren't into girls. That was weird. It didn't matter that you felt at home with her, or liked the way she'd laugh at your shitty jokes, or talk about her favorite musicians for hours. You weren't into girls. You weren't into Nat.

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Practice was weird. You kept fucking up, which wasn't at all normal for you. Coach Scott even started yelling at you, which was a blow.

It got so bad that Coach Martinez kept you after practice to run laps, and you expected that Nat would have left by the time you finished. Instead, you found her waiting by her car, looking concerned.

"Hey, are you okay? You seemed really out of it today," she asks, clearly worried about you.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. My friends just said some shit at lunch today, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

"What did they say?" And she looks so upset that you want to tell her, but you just can't. You don't want her to confirm that she's gay, but for some reason, you don't want her to tell you she isn't, either.

"Just being assholes. Honestly, I don't know why I'm friends with them. I don't like them very much. Or at all."

Natalie laughs at that, and you feel a little bit better.

"You could, I don't know, not be friends with them anymore?"

"I mean, I could. But you're my only friend besides them. Plus, if I piss 'em off too bad, they'll make my life hell. Not taking that chance."

Nat nods, seemingly understanding.

"Would just hanging out with me all the time really be that bad?" She's obviously joking, but you can't help but imagine, just being around Natalie all the time. Smoking, listening to music, making out-

Wait, what?

There's no way, right? No way that you want to kiss a girl, let alone Nat. Let alone make out with her. You're straight. Always had been, always will be. You were normal. You liked boys. Not girls. Didn't matter how pretty Natalie was. Kissing her was weird. And wrong.

You laugh, trying to shake that image from your head. One person says that Nat may be gay, and all of a sudden you're losing your mind. You aren't gay.

"No, It wouldn't be that bad. Could be kinda fun."

Your mood has lifted significantly from just being in the car with Nat, and you think about what could happen if you just... ditched your friends.

Today is one of the rare days where your dad is home in time for dinner, so Nat drops you off at your own trailer today.

"If they're dicks again, tell me. I'll kick their asses." She's grinning at you, and you stare at her for a moment before it hits you.

You're in love with her. Absolutely whipped. And there's absolutely nothing you can do to stop it.

Instead of a response, you give a tight-lipped smile before basically sprinting into your trailer.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Going to school the next day might be the most difficult thing that you've ever done. Even more difficult than pretending everything was normal over dinner with your dad the night before.

At least today, your dad could take you to school, and you didn't have to face Nat. And you didn't have practice that afternoon, so you really didn't have to see her much. Which was ideal. You didn't know how you'd be able to deal with being around her. Especially being alone with her.

Your morning is uneventful, and for once, your friends are actually a good distraction. Talking about new movies, new music, being generally entertaining instead of annoying.

Unfortunately, Nat is still driving you home. And there's nothing you can do to avoid it, unless you want to walk. Which you definitely don't.

You're quiet the whole ride, and you know Natalie can tell that something's off. The good thing about Nat, though, is that she wouldn't push. She had her own secrets, and she didn't expect you to share yours.

"D'you want to smoke?" You want to say yes so badly, to just spend as much time with her as possible. Yet there's this fear that the weed will make you spill your secret, and you just can't do that.

You weren't supposed to like her. You weren't supposed to want her. And there was no way in hell she was ever going to know that you did. Never.

"Can't. I have to study." It's a bad lie, and you know it. Nat does, too. But she doesn't call you on it, even though you can tell that she wants to.

"Yeah, alright. See you, then." By now, you've pulled up to your trailer, and you thank her before getting out of the car. It almost hurt to leave her. There was just no conceivable way that you'd be able to act normal around her, especially if you were high.

As soon as you're in your room, you just lose it. You don't get how one girl can have you undone so quickly, but somehow Nat did it. And you hated it. You weren't supposed to want her like that. It was wrong.

Pulling your blanket up to your shoulders, you just cry. You have no idea how to deal with this, how to make yourself normal again. What would people think? What would your friends think? What would your dad think?

What would Nat think? Would she think you were weird for liking girls? Would she judge you? Would she be grossed out that you were into her, of all people?

Of course, there was the high possibility that she was queer. Sure, she hadn't said anything explicit, but there was a vibe about her. Not to mention all the rumors.

Despite the comfort of Natalie potentially being gay, you couldn't keep from crying. You knew mascara was staining your pillow, but you couldn't quite care.

The rest of the night was spent crying, until you eventually cry yourself to sleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two weeks.

Two weeks of pretending that you weren't in love with Nat, two weeks of pretending you weren't gay, two weeks of struggling by yourself.

You couldn't tell anyone, and it was absolutely killing you.

Sure, you thought about telling Van. You noticed the way that she looked at Taissa. But telling someone made it real. Telling someone solidified the abnormality of you.

So, you kept it to yourself. Sure, it was torture. But at least it was safe.

Nat was still driving you too and from school, and you had gotten the courage to smoke with her again. Things were almost normal, despite you knowing that they weren't.

Today was different, though. And you could feel it.

The weird part was that the difference wasn't with Nat. The ride to school was the same as always. Both of you quiet, still waking up.

No, the weird part was your friends. As soon as you got to school, you could tell that something was off with them. Everyone was giving you weird looks, and they were all barely talking to you. It scared you, the thought of them finding out your secret.

Turns out that they did figure your secret out. Just not the one that you thought.

"Surprised you can afford food," one girl says as you sit down at your usual lunch table.

"What?" You're confused. Why would they think that you can't afford to eat?

"You know, it's just that usually people with your... financial status... get free lunch. That doesn't look like free lunch." She smiles, a sickly sweet sort of look that makes your stomach drop.

You're silent, not exactly knowing what to say in this situation.

"Oh, don't be embarrassed! It's not your fault that you're trailer trash," another girl chimes in, that same fake kind look on her face.

It takes so much strength to keep from completely breaking down, knowing that if you did, they'd just get worse.

"Is that why you never want to go shopping with us?" A different voice is added to the mix, and you hate that they have this kind of power over you.

They keep berating you, insulting your trailer, your clothes, your lack of a car. Even your looks get commented on, and you hate it more than anything.

How they even found out where you lived was a mystery to you. You were so careful, and Nat would never tell them. She knew how badly you wanted to keep your living situation under wraps.

Eventually, lunch does end, but you don't go to class. There's absolutely no way that you could face anyone. Not your now ex-friends, and absolutely not Natalie.

Instead, you hide in the bathroom, spending the remaining two class periods locked in a stall. You know that you'll have to see Nat when she drives you home, but being alone for an hour and a half will hopefully give you enough time to calm down before you have to see her.

You cry. Of course you cry. Your life is falling down around you, and you're sitting in a bathroom stall. There's nothing to do but cry. You cry over your friends being horrible, you cry about the trailer you're living in, you cry about leaving your old friends behind to move. Mostly, though, you cry about being in love with a girl.

It's midway through last period when you pull yourself together, and by the time your face is back to its normal color, you've got ten minutes to get looking like yourself.

It doesn't take long to fix your makeup, and by the time the final bell rings, you look normal. Nat won't be able to tell that you were crying in the bathroom for half the day.

When you walk out to her car, Nat's waiting for you. As soon as she sees you coming, it's like she knows that something's wrong. She doesn't say anything, but she changes the music to something that she knows you like, which is her equivalent to giving you a hug.

While you appreciate the gesture, it just makes you lose it all over again. You're in the passenger seat of Nat's car, sobbing for the second time today.

"Shit, are you okay? What's wrong?" She glances over at you, still driving. "Do you need me to pull over?"

You shake your head in response, urging her to keep driving. It's impossible for you to get words out through your tears, and Nat doesn't try to get you to talk anymore. Instead, she drives you to your trailer and walks you inside.

Natalie leads you to to your bedroom, sitting you on your bed. For the first time in your friendship, she wraps her arms around you and gives you a real hug.

The contact doesn't keep you from crying, in fact it almost makes it worse. But you feel safe in her arms, like the words from your former friends can't touch you here. You have the vague thought that your mascara is staining Natalie's shirt, but she doesn't seem to care.

Both of you stay like that until you stop crying, Nat holding onto you like you're the only thing in the world that matters. Its uncharacteristically soft for her, and it feels special. Like you're someone she trusts with softness.

When you're finally calm enough, you pull away from her and start to explain what happened. Her arm stays around your waist, and you don't attempt to move it.

"My- my friends, they, uh, they found out... where I live." You're stuttering and tripping over what you're saying, and luckily Nat gets it from just those words.

"And they were asses about it?" she asks, and you nod. Her grip on your waist tightens, and she looks pissed.

"You don't deserve that shit. It's not like you can control where you live. Not to mention you're twice the person any of those girls will ever be." Nat somehow pulls you closer, and you feel such a strange mix of emotions.

"That- isn't everything." Maybe it's the contact, maybe it's how sweet she's being right now. Maybe you're just sick of hiding.

"What else?"

"I think I'm gay." The words come out in a rush, and you're not sure Natalie even understood what you were saying. That is, until she responds.

"Why do you think that?" Her response isn't at all judgmental, and you feel a little better saying your next words.

"I like a girl."

Natalie laughs, and for a moment, you internally freak out. Is this where the judgment comes in?

"Yeah, I guess that'll do it."

You can't help but laugh at her answer, and everything feels so much better. As much as you're grateful that she's not asking who the girl is, you almost want to tell her that it's her. Almost.

"I thought you might hate me."

"For being gay? You know I'm bi, right? Bisexual?"

The confirmation doesn't exactly shock you, but it's still a bit of a surprise. How easily she says it.

"I didn't. Know that."

"Surprise, I guess. I'm queer too."

"Did you... feel weird about it? Like when you first... figured it out, I guess."

She nods, and you feel a sense of relief. That you weren't the only one who found your own queerness a bit jarring.

Natalie doesn't try to reassure you that you're normal, that there's nothing wrong with you. She knows it's not going to make anything better immediately.

You sit in comfortable silence for a while, just decompressing from the insanity of your day. That is, until you speak up.

"I can't believe I told you that." The panic had started to set in at this point, and you regretted saying anything to Nat.

"It's not like I'm going to tell anyone, dude."

"Yeah." That makes you feel a bit better, although you're still freaking out a bit. You look up at her, giving a small smile, and there's a look on her face that you can't exactly put your finger on.

For some reason, neither of you seem to be able to look away from the other. It's almost as if you're in a trance, or like someone put a spell on you.

Suddenly, the two of you were kissing. It happened so quickly that neither of you could say who initiated the kiss, but neither of you pulled a way.

Nat's lips were chapped, and a bit rough against your own. Despite that, the kiss was soft. Something you didn't exactly expect from Natalie. One of her hands is still on your hip, and the other moves to run through your hair. Your own hands cup her cheeks, feeling her soft, pale skin under your fingers.

Every thought of how wrong loving Natalie is leaves your head. It's like she's kissing away all of your fears, and you're so grateful to her.

Eventually, you break apart so you can take a breath, and Natalie looks so beautiful. Somehow even better than she normally does.

"So, the girl you like..?" Natalie's smirking, and she clearly knows that you were talking about her.

In lieu of a response, you roll your eyes and flip her off. She laughs, clearly enjoying fucking with you. You aren't annoyed, not really. You're too giddy for that.

Nat pulls you down onto your bed so that you're lying down next to each other, and you feel so content in that moment.

"You know those girls are the worst, right?" You can tell that Nat is both trying to make you laugh and being completely genuine.

"Yeah."

"Good. You deserve to be treated better than that."

You nod and press a quick kiss to her lips, as if to say "thank you." She grins, pulling you into her side.

"Feeling like smoking now?"

[pitchsidestories]

After Midnight II Sydney Lohmann x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 1377

summary: Sydney wants to confess her love to reader as the clock strikes midnight on New Year's Eve. requested

author's note: thank you, anon for sending us the request, enjoy. ❤️❤️

The New Year’s Eve party was well underway in the picturesque old flat which offered a wonderful view of Munich. Dance music was blasting from the speakers. 

The balloons with 2025 printed on them were either on the floor or the ceiling.

Laura Freigang had set up a little photobooth in the corner of the living room where the guests could take photos with a Polaroid camera. 

“Tonight, I’ll tell her.”, Sydney Lohmann thought.

The Bayern Munich footballer only realised that she had said it out loud when the Frankfurt player replied to her sentence. An unconvinced laugh left the forward’s lips: “Sure, Syd.”

Her doubtful reaction only made it clearer to Sydney that tonight was about telling you about her feelings for you or keeping quiet about them forever.

“What? You don’t believe me?”, she asked the German national teammate.

With an amused twinkle in her blue eyes, Laura shook her head: “You’ve been saying that for months.”

Each of the Bayern Munich players who attended the New Year’s Eve party had an opinion on Sydney’s crush. The crush which was you was the only guest who hasn’t arrived yet.

“Literally. It got to the point that it was annoying.”, Klara teased her.

In a jokingly tone, Georgia added: “And that’s coming from Klara herself.”

“Excuse me? So rude. Maybe I should consider joining Barcelona in the summer.”, she pouted.

“No, you won’t do that.”, Sydney observed smiling.

Excitedly, the Scottish Sam Kerr intervened: “Girls, Syd’s crush is coming!”

“Perfect time, we can finally continue drinking.”, the English midfielder remarked in good spirits.

“I’ll get us a new round.”, Laura announced cheerfully.

You entered the room slightly ashamed, knowing full well that you were the last to arrive, even though it wasn't your fault. While you apologized your cheeks turned hot: “I’m so sorry, I know ‘m late, you can blame the MVG for that, but at least I got the dessert to make up for it.”

“Oh, no problem”, Sydney waved it off before helping you take off your winter coat and revealing your New Year's Eve outfit underneath.

The fellow football player admired the view, then she cleared her throat awkwardly: “Just glad you’re here.”

Her truthfulness caught you off guard, so the next words tended to stumble out of your mouth.: “ Me too. What I mean is.. I’m glad to be here with all of you.”

“Uhm, would you like a drink?”, Syndey offered, licking her lips nervously.

“Yes, please.”, you agreed.

With a silent nod she turned towards Laura who was in charge of the drinks that night: “Lau, can you make her one too?”

“Of course!”, the Frankfurt player replied happily, getting up to start mixing another drink.

“Thanks.”

A few moments later, she came over to you with your finished drink. As Laura handed you the glass, she winked and whispered: “Do everything I would do too.”

“That’s horrible advice.“, Sydney chuckled.

“Honestly.“, you agreed, taking a sip of the sweet drink to hide the blood rushing into your cheeks.

Sydney shook her head with a dismissive hand gesture: “Ignore her, she already had a few drinks.”

You watched as Laura retreated and sat back down with Klara and the other Bayern players: “Laura sounded pretty sober to me. How are you?”

The midfielder seemed to be surprised by your question, her eyes widened slightly and she blinked a few times: “I’m fine. Why?”

“You look a bit nervous. Don’t you like fireworks? Klara said we can do some sparklers later…”

“I’m not nervous, I’m totally fine.”, she said but she started to look even more horrified at your assumptions which made it hard to believe her.

“Okay.”

“Anyone wants some snacks?”, she suddenly changed the topic and your heart dropped at an instant, hoping you didn’t offend her.

“I do!”, Klara yelled from the other side of the room.

You watched quietly as Sydney disappeared into kitchen, followed by a concerned looking Laura.

While Sydney plated some pre-made snacks on a tray, Laura watched her with her arms crossed in front of her chest: “The operation Truth isn’t going too well so far, right?”

“I can’t do it right now, that would be weird.”, Sydney replied with her back to her German teammate.

“Weird? Why? For how much longer do you want to wait, Syd? Forever or until midnight?”

“Laura!”

“You know it’s true.”

Finally, the Bayern midfielder turned around and sighed: “I will tell her at midnight, don’t worry.”

Laura gave one satisfied nod, her facial features relaxing: “Good.”

“Here, take those snacks outside.”, Sydney said and put the tray into the Frankfurt players hands.

“Okay, but it’s getting closer to midnight.”, Laura reminded her.

One more frustrated sigh from Sydney made clear that she didn’t want to talk about it: “Laura, I got it all under control.”

That was the only thing you heard from their conversation.

“Under control? Kitchen emergency?”, you grinned as you walked in.

Sydney quickly shook her head: “No, all good. Would you like Laura to make you another drink?”

“Oh, I’m fine.”, you assured her.

The midfielder sighed relived: “Okay, great.”

“But can we talk?”, you asked her, nervously playing with a strand of hair and waiting for her answer.  

She looked at you, taken by surprise: “Now?”

“I guess it has time until after the countdown.”, you bit your lip.

“Are you sure?”, Sydney raised an eyebrow at you.

“You tell me.”, you replied and passed the ball back to her.

“Okay, let’s talk about it in the new year.”, the blonde decided and ran a hand through her loose hair.

Suddenly you heard yourself speaking your inner thoughts out loud :”Do you think it’s better to be quiet than to speak up?”

 “What do you mean?”, she frowned in confusion.

You shrugged your shoulders, slightly frustrated: “Doesn’t matter, let’s join the others on the balcony.”

To your great surprise, Sydney held on to your upper arm with her hand so that you couldn't go on to the other women, who could hardly wait for it to be 2025 and for them all to start a new chapter in their lives.

“Why are you being so secretive tonight?”, she wanted to know from you alarmed.

You glance calmly into her blue eyes: “I’m not, you’re so weird tonight too.”

“I’m not weird.”, the midfielder huffed.

Your heart sank as you questioned: “When what is it what you’re not telling me?”

“Who said I do?”, Sydney returned the question.

There was a touch of helplessness in your voice while your friends counted down the minutes until it was midnight in the background: “Syd..”

“Fine. I like you, y/n. I really like you.”, she admitted.

You gently framed her face with your hands and confessed: “Sydney, I like you the same way.”

“Wait, you do?”, the light-haired woman mumbled in astonishment.

Your mouth felt dry once you confirmed: “Yes.”

“You mean, not just like friends.”, Sydney pressed on.

“More like lovers.”, you clarified, your heart pondering hard against your chest.

The blonde sheepishly smiled at you: “Can I kiss you?”

A nod of the head was enough to make her do exactly what she had asked. The lights of the fireworks outside and the one inside you caused by the kiss rang in the new year.

“Happy New Year.”, you heard Georgia yelling.

The two of you were in your own world. “Y/n, Happy New Year.”, Sydney whispered into your ear, giving you chills all over your body before kissing you again.

“Oh my God, Klara, get the champagne out”’, Laura first spotted you two, her voice filled with excitement. 

A loud laughter escaped the younger forward’s lips: “Laura, the champagne is already out.”

“Yes, but now we’ve to celebrate Sydney’s confession.”, the Frankfurt player explained smirking.

Sydney tried to sound nonchalantly:” Girls, it’s not a big deal.”

“Yes, please ignore us so we can go back to kissing.”, you added with a mischievous smile.

Klara observed delighted about what just has happened: “Great start into the New Year.”

“We agree.”, Sydney and you said at the same time, each of you erupting into a warm laughter as the sparklers were lit mirroring the lightness you felt when your lips touched hers.

gif source: https://www.tumblr.com/glimmerofawesome/691962444197855232?source=share

[stormlight-drafter]

Was reading through the Cosmere RPG preview and found some interesting lore bits in the Safety chapter. Maybe these things were already known (I haven't read the novellas) but there were some I wasn't aware of.

"Asexuality. All populations on Roshar, regardless of species and culture, include a spectrum of asexual people. Herdazians have a long tradition of valuing people who aren’t interested in sex or producing offspring. Singers, excluding when in mate form, are not expected to show any interest in sex."

I don't think I've ever seen Asexuality specifically called out like this, instead of it just being a footnote in Sexuality sections. Good on Brotherwise. The Singer thing was pretty obvious from Venli's chapters, but I didn't know that about Herdazians. Loving all the lore I'm learning about them from the rpg. Absolutely the most based ethnicity on Roshar.

"Discrimination Based on Eye Shade. The spectrum of eye colors for humans on Roshar is different from our own. Both darkeyes and lighteyes can have violet, blue, green, yellow, gray, or brown eyes."

Full list of possible eye colors. Though idk I'd probably just let my players have red, orange, or pink eyes if they really wanted it, why not. This section didn't mention if it's possible to have a medium shade that makes people confused on whether you count as darkeyes or lighteyes, but I'd assume so.

"Gender Identity. Breathing in Stormlight over time passively heals Radiants to their true genders."

I did know this, but it's nice to have it spelled out instead of buried in a novella.

"Gender Roles. Vorinism is one of many ideologies that impose strict gender roles on followers. Will your game include details such as female safehands, male illiteracy, and so on? Is being an ardent the only way for gender nonconforming characters to avoid social persecution?"

That was something I was wondering about, how Vorinism handles trans and non-binary identities. I'd assume "poorly" but I was curious if there were any quirks, considering it's pretty mild about same sex relationships. I don't know if the trans character talks about their life pre-transition or not, but this passage kind of implies that being an ardent is the only way for non-binary people to feel safe, but I'm not sure if it's just addressing the obvious assumption or actually stating its canon.

"Mental Illness. The Stormlight Archive features many characters with mental illnesses. While some might correlate mental illness with becoming a Knight Radiant, they would be missing the point."

Lol "please don't force your fanon on other people."

[torchship-rpg]

Dev Diary 19 - State of the Union Part 1

It’s been a while, cosmonauts, but we’re back at it. This last week has been an incredibly productive one for Torchship, solving a ton of longstanding issues holding up the Alpha, and digging back into the art.

But you’re here for the mechanics, and boy, we have some pretty cool ones for you this Diary. Today we’re going to be talking about the meta-campaign and the core of what drives a multi-episode run of Torchship; playing not just to encounter little morality plays out in the stars, but to find out how the resolution of those issues changes things back home.

To be clear; this is campaign mechanics, and long campaign mechanics at that. You can play short campaigns and one-shots too, but we want to write a game that’ll hold up to truly epic campaigns, or sequential campaigns if you ever wanted to do Torchship: The Next Generation.

Your campaign can take you a great many places, but all of them revolve around one question:

The Star Union & Representative Agents

As we’ve mentioned before, the players are not just playing the crew of their spacecraft as they go trekking around the stars. That crew is the product of a society, and when the players are out making decisions in the stars, we assume that similar choices with similar reasoning are being made by the people back home.

For that reason, players get to have a lot of influence over the direction of the Star Union both through their actions in the actual episodes, and through decisions and votes they hold over what the Star Union does. This isn’t actually their characters deciding what’s happening unilaterally; it’s the assumption that your crew are, in a sense, the median voter. When the players decide to invest the Union’s resources into a certain upgrade path or project, this represents the Union’s population settling on that course of action for all the same reasons the characters would make that decision in their place.

For this reason, while you can be many things in Torchship, you can’t really be a rebel. If you try, you will be part of an enormous rebellious movement that will very quickly become the new authority and now you’re right back to your day job as a government employee, looking wistfully at your old leather jacket as you file a T-18 Use Of Telemat Report.

I can already hear your protests that you want to be a bold iconoclast that strikes out in defiance of the norms of society. I regret to inform you that you want this because it is a norm of your society to be a bold iconoclast striking out in defiance of things.

It’s The Economy, Stupid

The Star Union is mechanically represented with its own character sheet and its own stats; changing that sheet over time is your job. It’s relatively simple, with stats primarily acting as ways of gating your access to the cool upgrades that improve your capabilities, make your rocket better, and get you shiny new toys, but it matters a lot.

At the end of every Episode, you go into a mode of the game called Resupply. This quite literally represents the time passing as your rocket flies from one star to another, usually taking about one week before arriving at the next planet/on the television sets of households across the nation.

Resupply is a portion of the game which can be resolved immediately after the start of one episode or before the start of another, but one of the best ways to do it is during the time between your play sessions; it’s designed to be something easily hashed out over chat programs and the like. We’ll go into more detail about what you do there and how in the future, but the important part is knowing that this is when the Union’s economy starts mattering.

The Union has two sets of Economic stats. The first contains just a single stat, Productivity. This is how many Credits the Star Union generates at the end of each Episode because it has a bunch of factories and farms and stuff. Productivity is difficult and costly to increase; you can do so by starting Projects, with the amount of time and Credits required varying depending on what kind of Project it is. 

Getting infrastructure in place to exploit a rich belt of Very High Rotation asteroids for the valuable quark nuggets inside is a relatively quick and cheap project; it just requires you the players to find and secure such a resource. By contrast, building up Production through modernization and expansion of existing industrial capability is slow, hard work that will take multiple episodes to complete.

The second set of stats is the Infrastructure stats, covering all the stuff that production is used to maintain. These are Social, Technological, Military, and Redundant Infrastructure. Respectively, this is the Union’s standard of living, how shiny and new its stuff is, how big Star Force has gotten, and how many warehouses you have. You increase all of the stats by paying into funds for them, investing your Credits when you have a surplus until you’ve paid them off.

For the most part, these are used to gate access to upgrades; if you want that shiny new laser, you need to get Technology and Military Infrastructure to a certain point first. Redundant Infrastructure is the odd-man out; it doesn’t really give you access to many new Upgrades, but it has a vital function we’ll get to in a second.

Every point of Infrastructure costs 1 Credit per Episode to run, and at the start of the Campaign, the Star Union is overextended; it’s trying to take on all the costs and responsibilities of being the leading power of Local Space while simultaneously managing an enormous humanitarian crisis partially of its own making, and integrating a large number of refugees from the aforementioned enormous humanitarian crisis. Infrastructure will be higher than Production, and that means the balance has to be paid by none other than the Star Union’s exploration, diplomacy, and prospecting service.

That’s you.

This difference is called your Union Dues, and it's very important that you pay them. If you fail to pay, you’ll have to roll on the WHOOPS I FORGOT TO PAY THE POWER BILL table. Regrettably, this is not its final name, but it is what’s in the document right now.

You might think that this isn’t too big a threat; you’ll just always make sure to save up enough Credits to pay your Union Dues even if you have a bad Episode. That’s where we smile maliciously and tell you that you can’t. Societies don’t typically like sitting on huge amounts of surplus production and not using it on things that people want and need, so for that reason, the amount of Credits you can store between Episodes is limited by your Redundant Infrastructure. You know, Infrastructure you also have to pay for.

If your Dues aren’t out of control, you aren’t running too many Projects that you don’t want to fail, and you’re not burning your expensive consumables, then yes, you can usually meet your Union Dues no problem using the banked Credits from Redundancy. But a streak of bad episodes or out of control spending can send your campaign into a death spiral. The good news is that eventually, the Star Union will contract until it reaches equilibrium, either voluntarily or through terrible rolls.

The bad news is that the Star Union will contract until it reaches equilibrium, and you live in the Star Union! And so do a great many people who are going to have opinions about that.

Speaking of…

Getting Political

The Star Union is more than just a series of economic stats. All the people those stats represent have hopes and dreams, and more importantly, they have voting power on local councils. Being a direct democracy, the Star Union has a tendency to undergo pretty seismic political shifts very quickly when circumstances change, and any good campaign is going to have a lot of Circumstances.

To represent this, we use a series of Movements. You may remember us talking about these way back, or rather an earlier version of them; we’ve since expanded how they work and set up a system which allows them to exist alongside others.

So… let’s meet a Movement.

The Centralists are the Leading Movement at the start of your Campaign; they’ll be largely unopposed for the moment, but the Civil Anarchists and the Neo-Trotskyites are waiting in the wings and can join them in a coalition fairly easily.

What that means in practical terms is that they have the highest Power Rank at 5. As both a Major Power and the Leading Power, the Centralists give you two passive effects. Their Major Power bonus relates to Stability, which we’ll talk about in a moment, while their Leading Movement Effect is the benefit you get for being at 10-12 Unity on the Unity track. You’ll remember that from Dev Diary 15; that universal rule is actually just the default you get from these guys being in charge!

They also have a Taboo, which represents a value of this Movement, the violation of which discredits their influence; it’s stuff that makes them look hypocritical or disgusts their followers. For the Centralists, that’s failing to keep Promises made to groups in negotiation; their reputation is built around being the trustworthy and reliable ones that follow through on their deals.

Here’s some examples of other Movements’ Major Power Effect, Leading Movement Effect, and Taboo:

Progress Triggers

Movements advance in Power Rank by gaining Progress; that’s what is tracked on that neat little circular dial. At the end of each Episode, you go through the Triggers for all the active Movements and add Progress based on which ones got done. As a Movement rises in Power Rank, the Triggers are reduced in strength proportionally; at Rank 5, the only Trigger which actually gives the Centralists Progress is bringing new Members into the Union. Don’t worry, though; they have another means of keeping power.

You’ll notice that the 4 Progress trigger, Focus on Fundamentals, triggers when you miss Union Dues. A lot of Movements have triggers like this; this is where we put the stuff that the Movement specifically believes they’d do better. So when the Centralists are out of power, they get a boost from the economic mismanagement of whoever is, but once they have influence in government, failing to balance the budget isn’t going to work in their favour.

By extension, lower-value triggers tend to be things that drive or revitalise a weak Movement, while high-value triggers are triumphs or threats that validate them, either mobilizing a weak movement with a victory, or cementing the authority of a strong one.

For another example, here are the Neo-Trot Triggers. You can see how their lower triggers, the first ones to fade, are the relatively small fundamental issues that form the emotional foundation of the Movement; the Neo-Trots won’t be irrelevant so long as we keep finding planets ruled by jerks and evil computers, and their quest for increased military spending grows more pressing every time a Star Patrol rocket limps back full of holes.

The #4 trigger here ceases to help the Neo-Trots once they take power; it’s expected of them. Both the Centralists and Civil Anarchists get this trigger at 5 instead, which creates an interesting contradiction; once they’re in power, winning battles empowers their rivals because, through victory, they are making themselves obsolete. If they keep winning their fights, why do we need to shovel more resources into Star Force?

That’s why their highest triggers are stuff that give them more material power directly instead. Producing and distributing weapons increases the size of those sectors in the Union’s economy and bureaucracy, increasing their influence, while a war breaking out mobilizes the economy and places all their experts in positions of authority. This also, of course, gives them an incentive to keep arming people and fighting wars once they’re in power…

Stability

Each time an Opposition Movement (that’s any Movement which isn’t the Leading Movement) goes up by a Power Rank, it prompts a Stability Check. You also have to roll Stability Checks if you fail to pay your Union Dues. This is pretty simple; Stability is a number from 0-6 representing people’s faith in the current leadership of the Star Union. You roll 1d6 for each Stability Check; if the result is above your current Stability, the Leading Movement loses 1d6 Progress, potentially sliding back to lower Power Levels. If that happens enough, they’ll be displaced as the Leading Power.

Note that passing Stability Checks has an effect; each test you pass lowers Stability by 1. Fortunately, restoring Stability is pretty easy; every Credit put into the Social Infrastructure fund raises Stability by 1, and incidentally also gives the Leading Movement 3 Progress. 

So basically, the Leading Movement can have whatever ideologically it wants, but once it's actually in power, it only stays in power by raising people’s standards of living, though it does benefit from a slow decay of everyone else’s Progress. If the Centralists spend the entire budget on giant golden statues of Yuri Gagarin, then they won’t be in power for very long, and if they really screw it up… well, that’s what Crises are for.

Endgames

Each Movement has a number of Endgames; the five major movements all have a sort of soft ‘win’ condition that cements their power in some way and makes a lasting change on your game. For example, Federation-Builders basically cements the Centralists’ power for the foreseeable future by having them make good on their promises, and in the process gain a new and fiercely loyal following.

Well, I say soft win condition; they aren’t always.

A ‘lose’ condition deactivates or disempowers a Movement, representing the movement breaking apart, being thoroughly discredited, or otherwise losing their ability to carry on. For the Centralists, the only thing that’ll knock them out of the game is the Cybernetic Democrats actually getting their wild experiment off the ground and fully implemented, which is a huge and expensive Project.

How severe these lose conditions are will vary. Some movements will be outright destroyed, either instantly or by fading out, but others are more resilient.

Finally, we have the Crisis. Crises are triggered if Stability hits 0, and they’re bad. The most survivable ones prompt multi-episode arcs in a mad scramble to save the Union; the worst functionally end the campaign. The Centralists being in charge when the state they build fails means that it all comes apart in their scramble to save it; the cordial competition for the future of the Union becomes a shooting war. This might be where you end your campaign, or it might be where you throw in with another Movement and try to win it for them!

Many Crises will be internal…

… but not all of them.

Expanded Movements

The five core movements we mentioned before are all primary Movements, with a full set of triggers, effects, and endgames. Each of them represents a potentially valid direction for the Union that you, as players, can choose to back or suppress. 

However, the nature of this system makes it very easy for us to add new Movements to the game. Most of these Movements are Minor Movements, with reduced triggers and rules which are usually single-issue and whose Endgames are simplified and easier to hit. Minor Movements don’t cause Stability hits when they gain Power Ranks and can’t take the Leading Faction slot, they can slot easily into a ruling coalition without breaking things, or fade once their purpose is achieved.

For an example, if you integrate the Nariene into the Star Union (either by defeating its current government or making an alliance that bypasses that; we’ll be talking about them in the next Dev Diary), you get the very pressing Minor Movement “Nariene Green Movement”, which is clamouring, quite reasonably, to have their planet saved from the runaway greenhouse effect they’re under. They’ll gain power quite quickly with triggers firing based on the Union’s economy growing, and once they hit Major they’ll mandate the funding of their Project. Once their homeworld is saved, their endgame is triggered and the Movement fades, leaving you with a nice permanent bonus as everyone in the Star Union gets a bit better at reducing, reusing, and recycling.

Not all late-joining Movements are Minors, though; some of them can very much become the Leading Power and change your game accordingly.

Finally… not all the Movements are intended to be viable paths forward. Movements can emerge in dire circumstances, reflecting adverse pressures, but they can also come out of your actions as Star Patrol, if you feed the worst impulses of the Union and give material power to bad actors.

Which is why you don’t start your campaign with five moments. You start with six.

[trifargo]

proposing some kind of alternate 2/2, where the thieves decided to check on joker just to make sure he's not tempted by maruki's deal, barged in to the cafe, and found out that akechi's life on limbo. more in cut

so if you ask me, i actually enjoyed their rivalry relationship a lot! but i also think it's placed in an awkward situation: the thieves don't hate him, especially because he wasn't fully at fault, but also i'm sure some of them will hold grudge or mixed feelings about him (and i think this bleeds into the writers too*). or in case of royal trio (which interactions i also enjoyed, but have a catch:), it's kinda funny how sumire doesn't actually know what happened to akechi in depth.

it makes sense for their relationship to be more "secluded/secretive" from the team, but also this is why i find it to be rocky if their relationship continue further, be it platonic or romantic, whatever you prefer. i can't imagine how will futaba feel if she found out, for example – given how much she seems to not care much about akechi**. and the game (understandably, for pacing reasons) keeps on avoiding to explore the nuance of akechi-joker's relationship effects deeper in the game.

the concept is not only for joker to be even more torn seeing his friends arguing & akechi's fate, but also to see the polarization among the thieves, akechi being conflicted between disgusted and teammate care (boiler room but worse?), and maruki regretting seeing that he's not making things any better or easier for everyone, especially joker (hoo may be interesting to see how the thieves feel about maruki too after this).

well, i still wish for a P5RST game that reunites them all, one of them because i want this to be explored..... oh well. i know his arc has a closure already, but... yeah. i'm honestly more of a platonic akeshuake guy because of this (i've also always been a platonic guy in general, though), but i also don't like the crowd who thinks the PT hates him and thinks they only see them as a killer. and i think resolving the awkward situation between the PT and akechi could make more players open up about the dynamics between them that can be explored, instead of being stuck thinking the extremes.

* a prominent example of this was ryuji. ryuji brought up akechi a lot as one of the reasons upon confronting shido (he even banged the boiler room door), but then said "uh it was for joker" when akechi thanked them for taking shido down in 3rd semester mementos. while i think this is possibly because ryuji has a bigger affinity for joker because well, he's the team leader, close friend, and akechi is still at wrong, i thought it was a bit... backlashy tone wise? i was under the assumption that he did it both for akechi and especially joker, but the mementos dialog made it sound like he only did it for joker. just felt kinda rough in showing the nuance on how he feels.

** like the talk when they all found out the effects of maruki's reality wearing off. when the topic was about realizing akechi "dies" once again, she ignored it and brought up about her mother instead. though, i think this is still more of the consistent examples in writing how each thieves feel about akechi. she has always been bringing up about her mother more often in shido arc, while still can understand where akechi came from.

[villa-dellamorte]

Who Said What in the Cut Romance Post Fade-Prison Dialogues

So I couldn't stop thinking about the cut dialogues from what I assume is a data dive that @merrinla posted. I wanted to take a swing at figuring out who each line belongs to.

First: Why it was cut

My best guess as to why this was cut is maybe there was supposed to be another quest between the fade prison and the final battle against Elgar'nan. Maybe the possible cut rescue quest that people have speculated about? Anyway, I think that having this dialogue, then the quest, then the bow-chika-wow romance scene, then the final quest would have made for good pacing, but who knows 🤷‍♀️

Opening Dialogue

Rook: Solas? (?): We're not sure. Probably searching for some way to defeat Elgar'nan. (?): We don't know. Not really. We were so busy looking for you we… lost track.

I think that these two (?) lines have to be between Emmrich and Lucanis for logistical reasons (i.e., the only three that are definitely going to be in the party/Lighthouse after Tearstone Island are Emmrich, Lucanis and Taash, but these dialogues just... aren't written in Taash's voice lol).

[Paraphrase] option: It's been two weeks. Rook: I was… what? Two weeks? option: A two-week long day. Rook: Apparently my hard day lasted two weeks.

My thoughts about this: the first option is probably the crying/empathetic option or thumbs up/agreeable option, and the second one is obviously the purple option. I wonder if a stoic/stern or otherwise third option would have been added or is buried in the data somewhere?

LI Worries About Rook

(?): Yes, you were gone two weeks. Which means you need rest, food, and water.

My assumption is that this is the dialogue that the player gets if the player hasn't romanced anyone. This has got to be Lucanis. Here's my reasoning: one, again, for logistics, the best choice for this line is between Emmrich, Taash, and Lucanis. This is not written in Taash's voice, and while I could see this as something Emmrich might say, it fits Lucanis so well. He is the mom of the group, and already is coded as Rook's BFF even in a non-romance playthrough, and the quick-to-the-chase attitude works for him, I think.

(Emmrich?): Yes, my love. Which is why you shouldn't rush out just yet.

I agree that this is mostly likely Emmrich's line. It seems like the logistic-safe companion dialogue options are placed first in this list, which makes sense, and Emmrich is notorious for his terms of endearment for Rook.

(?): Enough of this. You need food and rest. We'll talk business later.

I think this is Lucanis. This is Lucanis's way of caring for a romanced Rook-- making sure they are fed and taken care of. Plus, it leads into the follow-up line well (see below).

(Taash?): Yeah. So you need rest. We can talk about the other crap later. Davrin: We'll talk about this later. You need some rest and Assan needs feeding.

Yeah, this is definitely Taash and Davrin.

(?): Everyone please stop. Rook needs rest, and… food, probably…

So, with Davrin we're getting into the list of characters who are not logistically safe. That means this one is likely Bellara: the tone fits a shaken Bellara who has just lost Rook AND Neve, and also fits the clear followup well (see below).

(?): Yeah. A lot happened. But it can wait. Until you've had some rest. (?): Yeah. There's a lot to catch up on. After you rest, anyway.

If my guesses are right so far, that means this is either Neve or Harding. These last two lines could really fit either of them. I think that the slightly more hesitant tone of the latter one makes it fit Harding better.

LI Follow Up

Rook: Thanks, Bellara. Bellara: Of course. I'm here for you. Whenever you're ready.

This one is why the "everyone stop" line seems like Bellara's to me. Rook has got to be overwhelmed and hungry and exhausted after everything, and is thanking Bellara for noticing that.

Rook: Lucanis… Lucanis: Go get some sleep before you collapse. If anybody knows how bad that is, it's me.

This Lucanis follow up is why I think his line is the "enough of this" one. Again, he is putting Rook's wellbeing first-- which, is also SO sweet for "crow-always-puts-the-contract-first" Lucanis. Ugh!

Rook: Taash… Taash: You need rest. I'll make you tea. Do you want ginger or lavender? Rook: Emmrich, I can't… Emmrich: Please. For the sake of one who's missed your company.

These are quite obvious and fit the preceding lines well, and are both equally sweet and caring. I love them!!

Rook: Rest? There's so much… (?): There always is. Don't worry. I won't start without you.

Rook: I can't rest, there's too much— (?): Who knows you best?

I'm tossing these back and forth between Neve and Davrin. I'm assuming the first one is Davrin: because what would anyone else be starting? So I'm thinking it's Davrin talking about feeding Assan? LOL. And the second one feels like Neve, best detective in Minrathous.

Rook: But there's so much to— (?): Please, Rook. For me.

This leaves the last one to be Harding. But it could easily fit any of the companions, really.

Player Dialogue Choice

option: Then let's all take a break. Rook: Everything you've done, you all deserve a rest as much as I do. option: Not too long Rook: The gods can wait a little while longer. Rook: Not for too long. But fine, I'll go rest. And hey, it's nice of you to care.

I would guess the paraphrases here are for the thumbs up/agreeable choice and the second is the stoic/stern one. The "hey, it's nice of you to care" is probably coded to happen no matter which choice, because of the next lines:

Close

These all seem to be written to occur no matter who is romanced, because of Taash's:

(?): You're quite welcome.

Polite, well-mannered speech? Yup, it's Emmrich.

Davrin (?): Assan will be happy to see you.

Definitely Davrin.

(?): It didn't feel right with you gone.

This feels like something Bellara would say, especially with how emotional she already is in this scene.

(?): Yep. What they said.

I'm stuck on this one between Taash and Harding. One on hand, the clippy, aloof attitude seems like Taash. But the little "Yep" could be Harding, too.

(?): It's good to have you back. (?): I'm so glad we got you back. (?): Rest well, Rook.

That leaves these three a toss-up between Neve, Lucanis, and Harding/Taash. If the "yep" is Harding, I think the "it's good to have you back" would fit Taash, and since the theme of Lucanis's lines here seem to be focused on sleeping, the "rest well" may work for him.

(?): I'll see you in a bit.

This is probably a catch-all line for all companions to say depending on who's romanced.

[power464646]

The way people talk about non-mammalian pets on this website is crazy. You could post a video of a pet tarantula perfectly walking up and down the keys of a piano to play the right hand to the opening of Firth of Fifth by Genesis and still there'll be some jerk in the notes going like "EWW GROSS KILL IT". Ignore this person. You have to post the video anyway. When you do, that'll be our sign to send someone to meet you at the corner of Williams and First at 11 P.M., sharp. Look for a woman in a brown parka. Make sure you weren't followed, and don't bring a phone or credit card. Take a bag containing twenty thousand dollars in cash only. Help her count it, too, numbers aren't her strong suit. She actually dropped out of high school and became a junior hockey player, in fact. She'll say, "but now that you know that, I have to kill you!" Then she'll see the look on your face and passive-aggressively apologise and tell you it was only a joke. You'll say then why didn't she laugh, then, and she'll say she thought it was funnier than it actually was. Then she'll lead you to an abandoned back-alley tattoo parlour and tell you to take off your shirt. You'll explain that you're shy, but she'll insist, and promise that she won't laugh or anything. When you do take off your shirt she will chuckle slightly. She won't explain what she's tattooing into your back as she does it, but you can feel it might be a QR code. Then she'll take the money and bid you adieu, and you'll put your shirt back on and, other than the pain of having a fresh tattoo, won't think about it any further until three days later when two men knock on your door. They will look nearly identical, but they aren't actually related. "But we are married!" the taller of the two will explain. "To the job," the shorter will reply. "Precisely," the taller will answer, to which the shorter then concludes, "yes, we are precisely married, to the job". Don't underestimate these men, though. They kill people for a living. The shorter will remove your shirt and begin asking you a series of personal questions, such as whether or not you have ever seen something which had compelled you to turn to the supernatural for explanation, or whether or not you had ever felt more guilty for failure to apologise for something than you had for doing that thing in the first place. You must answer these questions truthfully and without hesitation. The taller will struggle with the QR reader on his phone, and occasionally ask your help here and there. The shorter will stall for time while the taller figures this out by very obviously improvising more questions. You must still answer quickly and honestly. At one point he will ask you how you taught a spider to play Dance on a Volcano: he is testing you. You must explain that it's playing Firth of Fifth in the video, even if it happens that you have also taught it to play Dance on a Volcano. The taller will finally get the app working and scan your back. The two will then be on their way, but ah, before they go, could they grab a bite to eat? You'll say sure, why not, and they'll find a bowl of homemade guacamole in the fridge that you were really proud of and take it, bowl and all, even though you were saving it for a party that night. The following day you will find one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in cash by the foot of your bed. The person who left unnecessarily rude comments on your video will never show up in your notes again. You will presume they were merely a front for organised crime and no longer need you. This is true, but built on a faulty assumption. You will find your tarantula that morning already on the piano, suddenly able to play Al Stewart's Year of the Cat.

[bunnyreaper]

everyone looks at johnny and sees someone happy go lucky--a little clueless and a lot flirtatious.

none of them really know johnny at all, you included. at least that's how you feel when he tells you he's a virgin.

(cw: noncon)

you're in completely disbelief at first, considering how much he flirts and seems like a complete ladies' man. you'd gotten the confession out of him during a private game of truth or dare, and he'd been so blushy and embarrassed. but he explains that he's just been busy, raised with the fear of god put into him about sinning and pregnancy and infections. said he's only recently learned to move past those things, but he's waiting for someone he can trust.

the look he gives you seems so fucking meaningful, his eyes sparkling and pleading and tugging at your heart strings and your cunt. you'd often rejected johnny's advances under the assumption he's a player, but this changes everything.

before you can reconsider you find yourself diving right in to kiss him, clearly something he's done before as he's so fucking good at it (and you've teased him enough for the amount of women he's stuck his tongue down the throat of during dirty dancing sessions when you go out drinking)

his hands however, move more cautiously, guided by you. the entire time as you smirk wolfishly and show him how to touch a woman, how to grope your breasts and caress your waist. he seems to pick up every lesson eagerly and easily, though asking for permission before be moves on to the next thing.

he fingers you cautiously, blue eyes fixed upon you as he gauges your every reaction, adjusts his touch to match your moans and the feedback you give him. he mutters to himself in disbelief that he can make you moan so much already, can make you feel so good.

and then you tell him you're ready, and you watch him try to hide the nerves as he rolls on a condom and positions himself over your hole.

"you ready?" you ask, and he nods, slowly sinking in and almost whining at overwhelming sensation of it all.

your own eyes flutter shut as you adjust to johnny's size, and you take a moment to reflect on how big of a deal it is, that playboy johnny is giving his virginity to you.

and then you find yourself flipped over by strong hands, his cock even deeper in your cunt as he forces your head down into the pillow and ruts into you harshly.

"thought ya were smart, bonnie. but ya really fuckin' believed me?"

his hips move furiously, his thrusts unrelenting as his hand tugs at your hair, forcing you to look at him as he snarls above you and takes you.

"of course am not a virgin, but thanks for finally letting me fuck ya." his laugh is a mix of something sinister and shocked, like he can't quite believe himself that his plan worked.

he lays over you, his muscular body trapping you between him and the mattress as the tip of his cock taps at your cervix.

"now be a good girl, lie there, and lemme show yer what you've been missin'"

[kingdoms-and-empires]

Adoriel's Tears Review

I recently had to go travel and read a few works that I never got around to reading but was interested in.

PLEASE REMEMBER THIS REVIEW IS DONE BY ME AS A READER AND IS MY OWN OPINION.

This means I will review in accordance to my own tastes, how the game caters to me, and what I feel. Do not take my word as gospel, what I may not be interested in or dislike, may be what YOU are interested and love!!!

@adoriels-tears-if

Synopsis:

Adoriel's Tears are a gift.

A light offered to the inhabitants of Terrybiël to end the conflicts that oppress the Four Peoples and eradicate the evil that was crawling on the continent.

But every light has its shadow and sometimes gifts are poisonous. For if magic comes from the heart, it takes a soul to master it, and fortunate are those who manage to find it. Without a counterpart, without a familiar, a Tear is nothing.

Just a curse. A child of madness. The darkness on Terrybiël. What must be destroyed before they destroy you.

Adoriel's Tears are a gift. At least for the others.

You're long past the point where your heart and soul should be singing together, and yet you're gifted. That's what made you lose everything you had as a child. Now, an opportunity presents itself. Should you take it, is it the right thing to do?

Without a soul and with a magic you can't control, the journey will be a risky one.

Especially since the smell of madness and blood is getting heavier and heavier on Terrybiël. Will you be able to fix everything, to find what you're looking for? Nothing is less sure.

And yet, this voice is calling you, whispering:

Come ! Come to me ! Come to me and don't be afraid.

Review:

The Good: Tobias is Ken, do not fight me on this.

Also, i wasnt aware what Snow was until i looked it up:

SO FREAKING CUTE!

Anyways, I had a lot of fun with this one. It lures you into a false sense of security and wholesomeness only to abruptly show the player and MC the reality of the world. That their mother had been protecting them for a reason. The family dynamics, relationships between characters, and drama crafted got me in my feels enough to care! I also got to name my plushie rabbit Optimus Prime, which was fucking hilarious:

Also i had alot of fun with the parental drama the MC can have with their father

Ashleyn:

And with his fuckboi bros:

Adoriel's Tears does that thing really well, that thing that lets the reader fill in the blanks and make up their own assumptions for the characters until we actually meet them. Plus it lets us act out and be brats so we can break the hearts of all the adults around us that try their best!

Also there's moments like this:

That honestly just adds that bit of humor that works without cause friction for the rest of the tone.

There was also a specific passage that felt emotionally charged and intense. Youll know what im talking about once you reach it, because it is very memorable. Without spoiling, it feels like justice coming forth to smite those that have wronged you.

The Bad: I know that Chapter 1 is a transfer from the original Choicescript, and it shows. The author has already expressed wanting to polish and clean it up, which i think is the right step as the second chapter and onwards have a clear jump in quality. There were numerous spelling and grammatical errors, but given that chapter 1 is four years old, and that the author is not a native English speaker (is French) that can be excused and fixed. I was able to submit errors I came across, so the author will be able to fix what i found in a future update. I do recommend that those who play any IF out there to submit anything they find as authors need us to beta test! Their eyes literally begin to glaze over the words theyve seen for the thousandth time lol.

The Ugly: I encountered moments where the MC feels very sensitive and too friendly, or the opposite where the choices can give an extreme negative reaction in response. I'd like for the inclusion of a more middle ground MC. In addition to that, there where times where my immersion (self insert, remember) broke as my boy MC felt too "feminine" without letting us choose to act it or not. Idk how to describe it other than that lol, but it stood out to me.

The Aftermath: I would recommend this to anyone that wants a good family dynamic/drama, and if characters and their relationships with each other are important to you. There's a lot of promise, potential, and "oh shit" moments that can/will happen (18+ tag, remember?) that only leaves me wanting more. The worldbuilding done allows for some really gripping story telling, and from what we see so far, itll impact the story. Seriously, the worldbuilding here is unique, and WILL stand out as we keep seeing the same ole same ole elsewhere in this genre. It's a fantasy story that keeps itself grounded by using likable characters who have realistic flaws that provide entertainment for us.

[zedecksiew]

How To Play The Revolution

So: I do not like the idea of TTRPGs making formal mechanics designed to incentivise ethical play.

But, to be honest, I do not like the idea of any single game pushing any particular formal mechanics about ethical play at all.

So here I am, trying to think through the reasons why, and proposing a solution. (Sort of. A procedure, really.)

+

Assumptions:

1.

Some genres of game resist ethical play. A grand strategy game dehumanises people into census data. The fun of a shooter is violence. This is truest in videogames, but applies to tabletop games also.

Games can question their own ethics, to an extent. Terra Nil is an anti-city-builder. But it is a management game at heart, so may elide critiques of "efficiency = virtue".

Not all games should try to design for ethical play. I believe games that incentivise "bad" behaviour have a lot to teach us about those behaviours, if you approach them with eyes open.

2.

The systems that currently govern our real lives are terrible: oligarchy, profit motive; patriarchy, nation-states, ethno-centrisms. They fuel our problems: class and sectarian strife, destruction of climate and people, spiritual desertification.

They are so total that the aspiration to ethical behaviour is subsumed by their logics. See: social enterprise; corpos and occupying forces flying rainbow flags; etc.

Nowadays, when I hear "ethical", I don't hear "we remember to be decent". I hear "we must work to be better". Good ethics is radical transformation.

3.

If a videogame shooter crosses a line for you, your only real response is to stop playing. This is true for other mechanically-bounded games, like CCGs or boardgames.

In TTRPGs, players have the innate capability to act as their own referees. (even in GM-ed games adjudications are / should be by consensus.) If you don't like certain aspects of a game, you could avoid it---but also you could change it.

Only in TTRPGs can you ditch basic rules of the game and keep playing.

+

So:

D&D's rules are an engine for accumulation: more levels, more power, more stuff, more numbers going up.

If you build a subsystem in D&D for egalitarian action, but have to quantify it in ways legible to the game's other mechanical parts---what does that mean? Is your radical aspiration feeding into / providing cover for the game's underlying logics of accumulation?

At the very least it feels unsatisfactory---"non-representative of what critique / revolution entails as a rupture," to quote Marcia, in conversations we've been having around this subject, over on Discord.

How do we imagine and represent rupture, to the extent that the word "revolution" evokes?

My proposal: we rupture the game.

+++

How To Play The Revolution

Over the course of play, your player-characters have decided to begin a revolution:

An armed struggle against an invader; overturning a feudal hierarchy; a community-wide decision to abandon the silver standard.

So:

Toss out your rule book and sheets.

And then:

Keep playing.

You already know who your characters are: how they prefer to act; what they are capable of; how well they might do at certain tasks; what their context is. You and your group are quite capable of improv-ing what happens next.

Of course, this might be unsatisfactory; you are here to play a TTRPG, after all. Structures are fun. Therefore:

Decide what the rules of your game will be, going forward.

Which rules you want to keep. Which you want to discard. Jury-rig different bits from different games. Shoe-horn a tarot deck into a map-making game---play that. Be as comprehensive or as freeform as you like. Patchwork and house-rule the mechanics of your new reality.

The god designer will not lead you to the revolution. You broke the tyranny of their design. You will lead yourself. You, as a group, together. The revolution is DIY.

+++

Notes:

This is mostly a thought experiment into a personal obsession. I am genuinely tempted to write a ruleset just so I can stick the above bit into it as a codified procedure.

I am tickled to imagine how the way this works may mirror the ways revolutions have played out in history.

A group might already have alternative ruleset in mind, that they want to replace the old ruleset with wholesale. A vanguard for their preferred system.

Things could happen piecemeal, progressively. Abandon fiat currency and a game's equipment price list. Adopt pacifism and replace the combat system with an alternative resolution mechanic. As contradictions pile up, do you continue, or revert?

Discover that the shift is too uncomfortable, too unpredictable, and default back to more familiar rules. The old order reacting, reasserting itself.

+

I keep returning to this damn idea, of players crossing thresholds between rulesets through the course of play. The Revolution is a rupture of ethical reality like Faerie or the Zone is a rupture in geography.

But writing all this down is primarily spurred by this post from Sofinho talking about his game PARIAH and the idea that "switching games/systems mid-session" is an opportunity to explore different lives and ethics:

Granted this is not an original conceit (I'm not claiming to have done anything not already explored by Plato or Zhuangzi) but I think it's a fun possibility to present to your players: dropping into a parallel nightmare realm where their characters can lead different lives and chase different goals.

+

Jay Dragon tells me she is already exploring this idea in a new game, Seven Part Pact:

"the game mechanics are downright oppressive but also present the capacity to sunder them utterly, so the only way to behave ethically is to reject the rules of the game and build something new."

VINDICATION! If other designers are also thinking along these lines this means the idea isn't dumb and I'm not alone!

+++

( Images:

https://forum.paradoxplaza.com/forum/developer-diary/victoria-3-dev-diary-23-fronts-and-generals.1497106/

https://www.thestranger.com/race/2017/04/05/25059127/if-you-give-a-cop-a-pepsi

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/WarGames

https://nobonzo.com/

https://pangroksulap.com/about/ )

[thewisecheerio]

Subversive Design in Soulsborne Games

There are a lot of mechanisms to induce fear in horror games. Lighting (or lack thereof), soundtrack, jump scares, and a myriad of other things all work well to make you feel unsettled.

But my favorite strategy is to establish a pattern for the player and then break it.

Soulsborne games are infamous for this subversive game design, which is part of why they have a reputation for being "unfair". But it's important to remember that the pattern was formed from your assumptions about what the rules of the world are; no accord was ever actually made nor broken. The devs are simply anticipating the pattern you are likely to pick up on, and then breaking it to induce fear. These are horror games, after all.

I tend to find this subversiveness hilarious, so here are some of my favorites:

Boss Phases

Soulsborne games use 2-phase bosses so often that you begin to expect that the most phases a boss will ever have is 2. Thus, the second that you vanquish a foe's second phase, you breathe a sigh of relief. However, there are at least two times that Soulsborne games have broken this promise: Sister Friede of DS3 and the Scadutree Avatar of Elden Ring.

Both came equipped with 3 phases, which catches people out the first time that they encounter it. You may have exhausted resources during Phase 2, not realizing you had miles more to go. As such, it's great at inducing an immediate sense of panic due to feeling underprepared.

Guiding with Diegetic Lighting

Soulsborne games love to use diegetic lighting to guide players where to go next or what to notice. This often takes the form of a carefully placed item that glows to draw your eyes, forcing you to notice something you might have otherwise overlooked. Below is Auriza Hero's Grave with an item-bearing body (already looted in this screenshot, but circled in red) hinting at a drop off point to a floor below:

However, sometimes the game abuses your trust in the diegetic lighting. As you walk toward it to investigate and see what it might be signaling (if anything), an enemy might pop out and attack, or throw a molotov cocktail at your head. It's a trap!

Possibly the funniest incarnation of this is Patches. Patches will leave glowing markers to draw you toward an edge. There might even be devnotes suggesting "Something amazing this way!" to tempt you even more. But the second you get close, off the cliff you go!

Pincer Attacks

Another way Fromsoftware abuses diegetic lighting and your own paranoia is pincer attacks. Because so many enemies like to hide behind corners and jump scare you, players get used to checking corners before entering a new room to grab a clearly visible item. However, sometimes you check those corners dutifully, think you're in the clear after having vanquished the corner foes, and still get attacked on your way to the item.

This is because the trap was never about the enemies hiding behind the corners. They are a distraction, there to make you feel that you have been sufficiently paranoid when you have not actually been paranoid enough.

Rather the problem was never the corner enemies, but the two new enemies that drop off walls in front of you (before you get to them) and behind you (only once you've passed them), forming a pincer that is much harder to escape. Elden Ring's Fanged Imps often do this in catacombs, and the Giant Ants sometimes pull this off in Ainsel and Siofra.

Boss Doors

Sometimes a "rule" Soulsborne games break actually has nothing to do with in-game rules, but rather expectations devs know you have from other games. For example, boss arenas are often very well-signaled so that you can prepare. Either there is Grand ArchitectureTM to tell you something big is about to happen, or you have to explicitly interact with an item to enter the boss arena.

And then there is Bloodborne, who will happily let you get frightfully lost in the Forbidden Woods only to stumble into the boss arena by accident:

(It's me, I stumbled in.)

Sure, there are some big stones there. But by nature of being a multi-tiered level, the Forbidden Woods is FULL of underpasses that go below broken logs or fallen graves. This one doesn't look much different at a glance. You have little reason to believe that this underpass is different from the one you saw earlier that goes underneath a gigantic fallen tree. Consequently, you might walk right in only to be surprised with a boss bar popping up on your screen.

Closing Comments

What every single one of these tactics has in common is that it's playing on your expectations of how the game universe should work, and then subverting it. And when you fall for their antics, it can be hilarious.

It's a very clever design strategy to keep players constantly on their toes. It can get you to learn a new skill or break out of a routine. Overall, it's there to maintain player interest in the game and keep things from feeling stale. And I'd say the Soulsborne games are exceptional at using it to keep you interested.

[tyrantisterror]

A couple months ago, one of the kids at the daycare brought in a D&D starter set and asked me to DM a game for him and some of the other kids in my class. Now, I had considered doing this in the past, but written it off for a variety of reasons, mainly asusming it'd be a couple days of chaos before the kids get sick of all the math involved and lose interest. But if a kid broaches an idea and others seem on board, I feel it's kind of my duty to at least try it.

So far my assumptions have been... mostly correct? Like, 70% of my predictions have come true, it is chaos, ten-years olds are the most murder-happy murder hobo PCs you could possibly imagine, and they've really been pushing my improv skills to their absolute limits with the choices they've made (and the constrictions I have on me as a daycare teacher). But they haven't gotten bored with the math, and they absolutely love playing the game still, which is nice. I like it when my students are passionate about something.

Anyway, I bring this up because seeing how children play with D&D canon has made me realize one critical fact:

D&D needs a Mons Game spinoff.

Kids love monsters. This is not my bias, it is something that has been categorically proven to me in my four years of working at a daycare. Every kid loves the idea of weird, impossible creatures, and they love the idea of befriending a whole horde of those creatures even more so. One of my kids in the daycare D&D campaign is making it his goal to find and tame every monster he can find in the kid-friendly monster manuals I bought for the class. He wants a Tarasque and a Bullete and an Owlbear and on and on and on, and keeps proposing tactics for capturing them based on his time playing Ark: Survival Evolved, a game where you can tame dinosaurs and mythic beasts while trying to survive a wild world full of danger and obstacles.

And it turns out that, while the mechanics of D&D don't support this, the philosophy of how its settings are structured according to those mechanics does. D&D is filled with hundreds of wild and imaginative monsters, all with distinct appearances, habits, adaptations, and environmental needs. The need to make the "dungeons" part of D&D interesting has required it to build really interesting monster ecosystems, and, much like mons games, the need to keep players buying new content has resulted in them building a vast library of creatures, because selling $50 books containing a slew of new monsters is a pretty guaranteed way to get money. D&D may not be a mons game, but it's accidentally made its setting perfectly suited to be one.

And what a money-maker that would be! Skew it more towards a child audience in tone, use simpler mechanics so kids can hop into it without spending, say, three solid weeks of afterschool daycare time crafting character sheets more or less one on one, and you'd have a game that would easily hook a younger audience while planting seeds of interest into the bigger game.

Of course, there are already indie TTRPG mons games, and I imagine some of them are actually good, but unfortunately they're not exactly easily obtainable on a daycare teacher's budget. And, you know, they wouldn't let you make a team of a bulette, an otyugh, a gray render, and an owlbear.

But then again, Wizards of the Coast continues to be absolute bastards, so maybe this idea is too good for them. Which makes it a good thing they're never going to read this blog post.

[maochira]

dad!ego's child meets the bllk team? theyre not a soccer player and are actually very not into it </3 thanks!

I have to enter my dad!Ego era again jskjfh (I never left it I just write so little for him lately I'M SORRY)

Synopsis: You never cared much for soccer and don't understand much about it, but of course you still want to be on your father's side during the U-20 match - that includes meeting the Blue Lock Eleven before that.

Requests open! - dad!Ego masterlist

Tags: gn!Ego's kid!reader, aged up Ego so him having a teenager kid makes sense

For months, you listened to your father talk about Blue Lock and the players, even though you rarely understood anything about it. During that time, you picked up the names of a few players like Isagi, Bachira and Rin, but you don't even know what they look like. All you know are the bits and pieces of information your brain picked up from your father's rambles whenever you had dinner together.

Despite your lack of interest in soccer, you immediately knew you wanted to come along to watch the U-20 match. Not necessarily because you were interested in seeing the match, but mostly to be at your father's side.

The entire time, you don't really know where you're going. You're either following Anri or your father wherever they go and try to not be a bother. And then, you find yourself in the Blue Lock Eleven's locker room.

At first, none of the players notice you because you're hiding behind Anri and everyone is focused on the speech Ego is holding, but when he's done with that, you're just kind of standing there, leaning against the wall and trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.

The first player to approach you is Karasu. As he walks towards you, you can feel yourself getting slightly nervous. Because of what your father has told you about the Blue Lock participants, you feel rather intimidated by all of them. "Aren' a bit too young to be an assistant?" Karasu asks as he takes a step closer to you.

"Oh uh... I'm not an assistant," you let out a little nervous laugh, "I'm just here because of my dad."

"Oh? And who is that?"

You gesture over to Ego, which has Karasu speechless for a moment. He takes an even closer look at you. "You don't really look like him." Karasu shrugs, but then you move some hair that's fallen in front of your eyes to the side and Karasu immediately catches the only thing you have in common with your father, appearance-wise at least.

"YO GUYS EGO HAS A KID!" Karasu yells through the entire room which immediately catches everyone's attention. Well, everyone's except Rin's. He doesn't seem to care at all.

Besides that, everyone has the same reaction: surprise. The thought of Ego having a kid that's their age has never crossed their minds.

The next person to walk up to you is Otoya. And he immediately starts flirting with you which gets him a death stare from Ego. That's not what makes Otoya back off, though. It takes Karasu to drag him away from you - which you're really thankful for because, on top of being nervous, you donn't want to get flustered as well. You just don't want to embarrass yourself in front of the Blue Lock team.

Bachira and Isagi are the next ones who talk to you, in the hope they can make you feel more comfortable after Otoya tried to flirt with you.

"Which soccer position do you play? Are you a striker as well?" Isagi asks, assuming you play soccer - which isn't a bad assumption, considering who your father is.

"Oh eh... I don't play soccer. I barely know anything about it." You answer with another nervous laugh.

Isagi already feels bad for making that assumption and he's about to apologize, but before he gets to say something, Barou, who's standing a few meters away but heard what you said, asks in a mocking tone: "Why are you here, then?"

This makes you feel even more nervous. Looking at Barou, he intimidates you more than the othee players, so you don't know how to defend yourself. Luckily Bachira does that for you.

"Oh come on, they can still watch us play!" He says to Barou before turning to you with a bright smile that quickly lets your nervosity fade and makes you feel more comfortable.

You really want to continue the conversation Isagi and Bachira tried to start with you, but before you come up with something to say, the team has to go outside because the match is about to start.

A bit later you find yourself sitting with the players who don't get to play right now. You wanted to sit next to Anri, but somehow ended up with the rest of the Blue Lock players.

The one you're sitting next to just happens to be Barou. Occasionally, you hear him mumble little complains about what's going on in the match and how it would go much better if he was on the field right now.

"I bet you'd do great..." You look at Barou with a soft smile in attempt to lighten his mood a little bit.

"Oh shut up." Barou responds without looking in your direction at all. "You don't even know anything about soccer."

"But I just said you'd do great-"

"I'd do much better than 'great'," Barou's eyes wander over to you with a condescending gaze for a moment before he returns his eyes to the field.

"Tell me," you continue talking, "What would you do if you were on the field right now?" Even though he still intimidates you, something about Barou is just so interesting, it makes you want to talk to him more.

Without any hesitancy, Barou goes on a whole rant about what he'd do on the field. You don't understand most of it, but still listen closely to everything he says. It doesn't take long until some of the other players who sit with you join in and you find yourself stuck in a conversation with them.

They're mostly rambling and ranting, but the more they talk the more you find yourself understanding what exactly they mean.

And as odd as it is, you feel like you want to get to know the Blue Lock players better. Not because of soccer, but because you want to know what they are like as people. Maybe your father will let you enter the players' areas in the facility some time so you can get to know them better.

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