failure is not an option

Sterling || he/him || 21 & #23 || backliner

[asterlingfox]

rosietommasi‌:

Maybe it was due to her being an only child, being adored by both her parents, flaws and all. She grew up close as she could to them, living in an RV for pretty much her entire life with them meant no real alone time. So Rosie couldn’t deny that being doted on was something she lived for, the craving to have someone like her was one that was never satisfied. She didn’t like to feel forgotten about, or like she wasn’t enough, so she poured herself entirely and built homes out of people seeing as she never really had one until she was eighteen. But right now, with the way Sterling laid eyes on her, intense and unmoving, she felt her body tingling a warm current that the alcohol surely was ramping up. A small smirk spread up into the corner of her plush lips, shrugging as her head lulled to the side, “Maybe.” Rosie admitted in a smooth, taunting tone of voice as he extended a hand to help her down.

And she took it without a second thought. Sterling didn’t seem like he was all to serious about locking her down after one night, and after the shitty ass week she’d had, she deserved to have a free night of doing whatever the hell she wanted. Hopping down off the counter, she smoothed out her skin tight dress and tossed her hair back over her shoulders. Even in heels, she didn’t compare to his height, and she glanced up at him with the tiniest smile, “And you seem like a man of your word.” She confirmed, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she glanced down the hall, and she wondered for a moment what people would say if they saw her dragging him into her room. Wondered what Fox Watch would say, what Patch would think. Patch. Anger boiled beneath the surface of her skin, and she nodded at his question while she rolled her shoulders back and moved in front of him to begin walking backwards. Her fingers toyed with his hand as she swung his arm back and forth slowly, “it’s right down that hall, actually. Care for a tour?”

“I’d love one,” Sterling replied, and his voice somehow managed to sound smooth despite his nerves, despite how true the statement was. He wanted more than flirting, more than always looking and never touching, more than barbed wit. Following her at an equal pace - letting his feet drag a little so he wouldn’t appear too eager, despite his galloping pulse - he let her guide him without looking away from her. Her unadulterated attention was headier than the shots they’d downed, the gravity he’d always felt for her constantly pulling him in. 

“Private tour?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth in a self-assured way that implied he already knew the answer. He didn’t - not truly, and he wouldn’t assume - but just like much of high school, he’d keep acting more confident than he truly felt, right up until it wasn’t faking it anymore. And he’d always risen up to her challenge, gone toe to toe with her confidence and refused to back down. “VIP, clearly.” Her fingers felt cool and light against his, and brushed his thumb against the back of her hand.

[asterlingfox]

alvstvn‌:

location: airport ( after first delay ) date: march 29th open

Alis opts to sit while others begin milling around. The news of the delay leaves her heart racing; they’ll have enough time before the game despite it, but the what ifs linger, a precursor to familiar spiraling. And she’s not keen to becoming paralyzed by her own nerves, not in the middle of the airport. 

There’s nothing any of them can do about the delay. She can’t change the circumstances as much as she wishes she had the power to do so. All she can do is wait, and try to pass each agonizing second by remaining busy.

And where this would cue mounds of homework, she, for once, completed her work earlier in the week. Instead, she reaches into her carry-on, drawing out materials for the sudden curiosity that gripped her attention over the last few weeks. Latch hook rugs appear —- a little messy, but there’s a certain charm to the method. She didn’t quite expect to be so hooked, but she’s been watching different videos for so long, she finally convinced herself to purchase a few mini canvases. And the fox designs on each are not only adorable, but absolutely fitting.

She didn’t pack the boatload of yarn that arrived with the kits, but she brought along two colors to use along the way. And lucky her, security didn’t confiscate the hooks, so she doesn’t have to painstakingly use her fingers to loop the short pieces of yarn through the squares. She figures she’s got about an hour or two’s worth of something, be it fun or something distracting.

But right as she starts, that nagging sense of being watched causes her pause. “You can join in if you want,” she says without looking up. There’s hesitance and a hint of strain wrapped in her words; she doesn’t wish to see the gaze of someone judging her for this craft, even if that may not be the case. She can handle a few jabs — nobody stayed on the team for long if they couldn’t —- but she’d rather avoid immediately seeing who’s teasing her for this. “I have enough materials for two if you want something to do.”

“I don’t even know what the fuck that is,” Sterling admits immediately. Sure, it’s obviously some sort of craft, but it’s not like anything Sterling’s seen before, but fuck if it isn’t weirdly soothing to watch, like those oddly satisfying videos he watches on Snapchat sometimes. “Looks like something my grandma would do, though.” 

Or his mother, who’d spent the majority of his childhood painting. There’d been nights in the commune where it had been the highlight of his day, the colors and changes, as quickly or slowly as they happened, the most interesting thing in his world amongst the drudgery of everyday life. Coming back to the real world had been a culture shock, with all the technological changes that had developed while he’d been away. Bhe’d quickly learned how much people had preferred to play video games or sports with him things they’d deemed far more interesting than anything he and the small group of kids at the commune had developed amongst themselves. 

“Instagram too good for you, or-?” 

[sagamemes]

crucial muse development questions.   send a number in my inbox to find out more about my character as a person  ( because often, the most important things about character development have nothing to do with their shoe size or netflix queue ).

what would completely break your character?

what was the best thing in your character’s life?

what was the worst thing in your character’s life?

what seemingly insignificant memories stuck with your character?

does your character work so they can support their hobbies or use their hobbies as a way of filling up the time they aren’t working?

what is your character reluctant to tell people?

how does your character feel about sex?

how many friends does your character have?

how many friends does your character want?

what would your character make a scene in public about?

for what would your character give their life?

what are your character’s major flaws?

what does your character pretend or try to care about?

how does the image your character tries to project differ from the image they actually project?

what is your character afraid of?

[asterlingfox]

akira-sxto‌:

Location: Parking Lot Date: March 29 Time: 9:32 p.m. (OPEN)

Akira isn’t ashamed to admit that when the Foxes converged on him on the court…he’d cried. He’d hugged anyone who would let him throw his arms around them and then he hugged them all again. Screw the game. They could lose tonight and Akira wouldn’t care an ounce. They were going to the death match. They’d made it. The Foxes were going places. And the Foxes did lose but…Akira didn’t care. Barely even noticed the scores as they walked off the court, sticks on their shoulders. They’d made it. He felt weak in the knees just knowing it.

It’s a struggle to separate himself from the mass of celebrating Foxes and Vixens in the locker room, but he hurts and, if he’s being honest with himself, he needs a moment to himself. Needs a moment to breathe, to tell himself that this is real. That it isn’t a dream. And the warm water on his shoulders feels fantastic. He lingers there, water running down his body, head resting against the wet wall. Thinking of everything and nothing all at once. He plays the game over and over in his head, reliving the rush of scoring  over and over again. By the time he gets out of the shower the rush hasn’t faded. His hair is damp when he gets dressed and walks back out into the fray, gathering his gear and heading out to the bus to drop it off. 

He shoves it in the storage compartment and spends a little bit of time with Wymack by the bus. They don’t talk much, Wymack never does, but he puts his hand on Akira’s shoulder as he turns to leave and smiles at him an Akira’s heart soars. He’s on cloud nine as he leaves, headed for the nearest person he can find. He doesn’t even care who it is as he slides up next to them, still riding high. “I still can’t believe that we made it. It’s like…like I’m going to wake up and it’s all just a…dream. You know?” Akira fidgets, shifting from one foot to another and shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. “You’re going to the party, right?” He smiles. “Come with me?”

Sterling looks up from his phone, surprised - albeit pleasantly - that Akira’s opted to talk to him. They’ve always seemed to exist in such different planes, but exy is one of the very few things that make up the sliver of overlap in their Venn diagram. He slides his phone into the pocket of his windbreaker as he shoves his hands into his pockets; he can’t even get his mom to reply to his texts - and if the delay in his aunt’s usually quick responses is anything to judge by, she and his uncle hadn’t watched the game. The only people in his life who care about this accomplishment are the ones standing around him, making their way out of the lockerroom or milling about around the bus, reveling in the success, even if it comes on the back of a loss. 

“You saying you didn’t think we’d do it, Sato?” Sterling ribs him, cocking an eyebrow even if the jibe is good-natured; he’s in far too good a mood so soon after the relief of the score to pick fights about others’ doubts. “Pretty sure it’ll stop feeling like a dream when Coach has us running ragged on Monday.” He laughs at the possibility that he wouldn’t be attending a celebratory Fox party and claps a hand on Akira’s arm. “One condition,” he warns, holding a finger up with a serious expression. “You have to play pong with me.” He adds quickly, preemptively waving away any argument with his hand, “I’ll drink yours cups or whatever, but I need to know if all that aim works off the court.”

[asterlingfox]

Sterling → HSC 😂

louis: I have an EMERGENCY

louis: anybody that knows anything about makeup and shit pls help 😭😭😭

sterling: if you're trying to get it off your clothes good fucking luck

[asterlingfox]

Sterling → 🌹🌹

ROSIE: good, well not good bc you should probably be getting sleep, but good bc im awake too

ROSIE: that's fine, if you wanted to drive my jeep all you had to do was ask (;

ROSIE: look, this is a give and take deal between you and i, i highly doubt you regret my favor enough to throw a fit.

ROSIE: do you not want to spend time with me or.....?

STERLING: sounds like you want me to drive your jeep. is that you asking?

STERLING: who's throwing a fit?? not me

STERLING: no I do

STERLING: you gave last time, so now it's my turn, I get it

STERLING: you want me to come by the den?

[asterlingfox]

jenbrookhart‌:

Location: Fox Party Date: Friday, March 29 Time: Late Night (open)

When Wmyack told them all to enjoy the night, Jen took it to heart. While the Foxes didn’t win, they’re acting like they did, and Jen is reveling in it. That’s part of being a Vixen, just kind of going with the mood of the team they cheer for. They’re grateful there’s a party tonight, because it’s always a little disappointing when they spend their away games in their hotel rooms, especially in a cool city like Chicago. 

The night is kind of a blur, but Jen knows they spent the majority of it dancing between celebratory shots. Now their skin is tacky with sweat, and their makeup is smeared underneath their eyes, but they’re the kind of drunk where everything is too fun to worry about little things like that. At some point, someone must’ve ordered a pizza, because now Jen has a slice of Chicago pizza in each hand, one for themself and one to pass on to anyone who may need it. 

They weave through the crowd, shaking their hips to the beat as they navigate their way around the room until they bump into someone. “Pizza delivery!” Jen exclaims as they hold up the slice they haven’t bitten into yet. “It’s important to soak up the alcohol, and I hear it’s against the law to go to Chicago without eating pizza so…” Jen ungracefully shoves the slice in their direction, a too big smile on their flushed face. 

“Jen,” Sterling gasps, elation in his expression as they appear, seemingly out of nowhere, with a massive piece of pizza. He’s quick to take the pizza and even quicker to bite into it with gusto, eyes closing briefly as he chews, clearly enjoying the experience tremendously. The fact that he’s high certainly enhances the experience - but even without that, they’re moving on. They’re in Chicago, they’re moving on in playoffs, there’s people and alcohol and music, and he’s chosen to not let the fact that they lost be a point of contention. He’ll pay his dues in the gym when they get back. 

“You’re an angel, by the way,” he says by way of thanks, then cranes his neck to look around the party to identify the source for a second piece before he’s even halfway done with the first. “Where the hell did you get that?” Something about the way Jen is moving, carefree and fluid, brings out his own urge to move - even if it’s more swaying side to side and nodding than dancing. “We should get more later. You’re gonna drink more, right? So we’ll need more pizza. I bet there’s places open 24-7.” 

[asterlingfox]

striker-brayden‌:

“Yeah, yeah,” Brayden rolled his eyes in response. He’d never admit it, but it was kind of nice that there was someone here who knew when his birthday was and put in so much effort to celebrate it, even if the end goal was to just annoy the shit out of him. He didn’t like being the center of attention, and he didn’t like holidays, so obviously he was fine spending this day like any other, but maybe, deep down, he liked that Sterling wouldn’t let it go by uncelebrated. 

“Something like that,” He replied with a raised brow. He definitely had his phase in high school, but luckily he never reached the dying his hair black part of it. It was mostly full of black clothes, studded belts, and angry music. 

Once inside, Brayden let go of the balloons and let them bob around, resting against the ceiling. It’s not like the ceiling was high enough to lose them, and even if it was…good. He frowned down at the package before discarding it on the counter. Yeah, he was curious to know what was inside, but he wasn’t ready to ruin his day yet either. Joining Sterling on the couch, he sprawled out, taking up as much as he could. It was his birthday, so he was allowed, obviously. “Aw,” Brayden cooed sarcastically. “You wanted to take me on a birthday date?” 

“Whenever you say ‘something like that,’ I hear ‘no,’ just so you know,” Sterling pointed out, getting out his phone in an unsubtle attempt at getting a picture - or better, a video - of Brayden with the balloons. Unsurprisingly, Brayden released them as soon as possible, and Sterling had to content himself with a blurry picture of proximity. 

“I’m pretty sure that’s not my job, but I’ll take one for the team if Arlo’s not picking up the slack,” he shrugged, pushing at Brayden with his knee and quickly ceding the majority of the couch to him. But if Brayden wanted to sprawl and not touch him, he’d have to be the one to do the adjusting. “Birthday gift?” he asked, jerking his chin towards the abandoned package. “Op-en it, op-en it,” he chanted, separating the syllables as he went through the effort of retrieving the package from the counter and tossing it to Brayden before returning to his spot on the couch. “If you aren’t gonna have a party the least you can do is open a present.”

[asterlingfox]

Sterling → 🌹🌹

[current timeline]

ROSIE: pssssst, are you awake?

ROSIE: i think...we should go on a late night drive because i can't sleep (:

ROSIE: and you owe me for being so nice the other day and bringing you a coffee.

STERLING: yeah I'm up

STERLING: if you wanna drive we're taking your car

STERLING: so youre gonna hold your favor against me? I see how it is wow

[asterlingfox]

 rosietommasi‌:

The way large hands gripped at her waist and lifted her like nothing was a rush, plopped down on the edge of the counter where she easily crossed one toned leg over the other, leaning back on her hands. It was a comfortable position as she kept her gaze trained easily on him, head tilting slightly to the side as she watched him silently answer her question with a gesture. It only made a smirk turn on the corner of her full lips, she had to hand it to him, he was confident by the truck load. But when you looked like that, well, it sort of came with the territory didn’t it? 

“Taken care of, adored, doted on, etc.” She explained with a roll of her eyes at his faux state of confusion, but it had a lingering of a smile hidden under the surface. He kept getting closer and closer, and at this point she felt suffocated by his cologne in the best way possible. There was a small laugh that slipped past her lips, leaning forward as she kept her eyes on him, unmoving as she smiled, “Oh, I think I’ll probably be the judge of that.” Was all she said, voice confident and taunting before she leaned back on her palms once more.

Her skin felt hot as she looked at her like that, arms crossed strong over his chest, crawling all through her veins as she kept her chin up and posture strong. If he wanted to look her over, she would be more than happy to let him do so, after all she did herself up to the nines to prove a point tonight. His voice was smooth enough to make her lick her lips, and she hummed as she slowly uncrossed her legs, “Right now, another one of these…” Reaching over, she poured another two shots, handing them one with a quick clink, and knocking it back before smirking as her brow raised at him. He was tempting her, she felt his magnetic pull, and she glanced to the patio exit before her head fell to the side, “Now, what I want, is to go somewhere a little more private…don’t you?” It was a challenge, because it didn’t mean anything yet, it was just a way to gauge his reaction time. Eager, or patient, it would show who held power here and what exactly she wanted her next move to be. This was a game of chess, not checkers, with Sterling and she hated losing.

Taken care of. Adored. Doted on. Even with the eye roll, Sterling could tell that much was genuine - Rosie definitely looked like the type to enjoy those; she certainly acted as though she deserved them. And as far as Sterling was concerned, she did. Watching her lean forward and taunt him had the effect he could only imagine she wanted - the urge to prove to her that his confidence was warranted hummed in his veins, potent and dizzying as the alcohol. He threw back the shot she handed him, unfazed and impatient, not taking his eyes off of her - like it was just another hoop to jump through. He didn’t need to be fucked up for whatever came next, but the hazy buzz simmering in his head and winding its way out from his chest certainly didn’t hurt. The way she licked her lips as she uncrossed her legs didn’t either. 

“You trying to get me out of here, Tommasi?” he teased, and the image of curling his hand around her thigh swam to the forefront of his mind as he looked at her. He curled one arm behind his back as he held the other aloft in invitation to help her down from the counter. For all the antagonizing he did, he never pulled away, never turned down an opportunity to stay.“I did say I’d give you what you want, didn’t I?” The rest of the room could have been empty for all that he noticed the party around them. “How private we talking? Last time I checked, your room was around here somewhere...” It was an easy way to float the suggestion without looking too eager, but it showed his hand, even if just a glimpse. 

[asterlingfox]

Sterling → hot redhead 🔥

ROSIE: I KNOW WHAT FIRST MEANS, i'm just confused because, /how/? i never would've like, guessed at all.

ROSIE: i can think you're hot as fuck and not be /into/ you, remember that.

ROSIE: he wasn't honest with me. simple as that. and he was hooking up with someone else that fucked me over and who really hurt my feelings on top of that.

ROSIE: i think i can manage that, show you the ropes, young grasshopper.

ROSIE: seems easy enough, looks like we have a deal, Walsh.

STERLING: good. I don't want to look like it

STERLING: whatever, same thing

STERLING: sounds like it wasn't as simple as that, then

STERLING: you don't get to call me young, I'm older than you

STERLING: it's a deal, then

[asterlingfox]

akira-sxto‌:

That’s not the reaction Akira had been expecting. He’s equal parts grateful and utterly bemused. He’s glad that Sterling isn’t actually asking him where to buy the good stuff…but that doesn’t make the twisting in his gut go away. He’s brought up nasty memories. He shakes his head, gazing out at nothing over Sterling’s shoulder. “I’m not going to tell Wymack.” He shrugs. It’s just weed. And Akira isn’t about to make enemies of the Foxes because he’s decided to play a holier than thou role. As long as they can keep playing exy he doesn’t care what they do…as long as it’s the soft stuff at least. He sighs. “It’s just pot anyways. I’m pretty sure half the team has that shit.”

Sterling’s gaze going serious is enough to pull Akira back to the table. For a moment, his mind whirls. He doesn’t want to answer that question. Doesn’t even want to think about his answer to that question. It’s hard. It’s difficult. It’s messy and horrifying and everything Akira wants to forget about himself and his life. He doesn’t want to share his darkest moments with someone like Sterling over a sticky bar table, holding a warm can of coke. But what has he got to lose? 

Bum fuck nothing really.

He closes his eyes and returns to tangling his fingers together and rubbing the length of his arms. It’s a soothing motion, sort of. His voice is soft when he finally finds the right words. “It was drugs, yeah. Lots of drugs.. And booze. And everything else in between. I went too hard too fast and…” He shrugs, trying very hard not to think about all the specific things. All the things that sometimes keep him up at night. “My parents pulled me out before I crash landed. Because there was no way I wasn’t going to crash land.”

“You don’t end up a Fox if you didn’t fuck your life up, right?” He laughs but it’s bitter in every way. “Well. I fucked my life up right here. In this very bar.”

Sterling watches Akira speak, gaze unwavering. He looks restless, touching his own skin, but he’s talking, and it’s the most transparent Sterling’s ever seen Akira be. He’s bitter and ashamed. Sterling gets more details than he’d been expecting, and he wonders how many times Akira’s told this story. 

“So you didn’t actually hit the ground?” he asks. It’s not the only thing he’s taken away from what Akira’s said, but it snagged in his mind. It isn’t quite the ending to Akira’s story that he expected; It’s hard to envision a life where his parents caught him either of the times his life fell apart. In his mind, functional families are grass that looks so much greener from the other side. Akira’s parents could save his life, but they couldn’t save him from being a Fox? “And nobody else wanted you? Really?” Akira’s a good player, Sterling figures he had to have offers from other schools who would have wanted him the moment they found out he was on the market for a team. 

“And not everyone fucked up their own life,” he adds, because he’s always hated that broad brush he’d been painted with. As far as he’s concerned, he’s a Fox because of his mother’s choices, not his own. “Sometimes other people fucked it up for you.” 

[asterlingfox]

rollinsgrant‌:

The Foxes gave Grant a Class I contract, a team to defend, a Championship he can win. Teammates he’ll stand shoulder to shoulder with, even when they fight. His captaincy too, a title he takes more seriously than anything else. In short, the Foxes gave him everything.  He looks out for the Foxes in return, through training regimes and critiques on the court meant to help them grow and unwavering belief. He takes care of them. 

It doesn’t always go both ways, but that’s because Grant’s done everything in his power to ensure he doesn’t need it. He talks to Dr. Dobson. He takes the meds she’s prescribed. He’s careful, so careful, in his workouts and his games. Grant’s independence is hard fought for, hard won, and he isn’t willing to let go of that. He takes care of himself, and he’s damn good at it.

And things have changed for him over the course of these now nearly five years. In Freeport, Grant was pitied. In Palmetto, he thinks he could be respected—is respected.

So it’s uncomfortable, the way everyone looks at him tonight. Somehow especially so with Sterling, when Grant’s always enjoyed their competitions, the undercurrent of mutual respect and friendship even when Grant’s doing his damnedest to best Sterling. They’re equals; they’re supposed to be equals.

Grant knows it’s irrational. It’s an injury, not a personal flaw. And he’d do the same, if Sterling were on the couch, bandages wrapped tight around his knee. He would offer support in the form of water or Advil or a quiet belief that it would be alright. That’s Grant’s role though, and he hates the new status quo, even for tonight. It feels like the ground’s changed underneath his feet, like he couldn’t stabilize himself even if his leg did work properly right now. 

“I’m fine,” Grant promises Sterling. “All stocked up for now.” He gestures towards the ice on his knee. “But thank you. I appreciate the offer.” That’s genuine, even if what he wants are concrete answers, and Sterling can’t help him there anyway. He’ll take a conversation too though—preferably one that doesn’t only revolve around Sterling’s well-intentioned concern. “You enjoying the party?”

"Yeah,” Sterling drawls, the end of the word pulled out long and disbelieving, “’Fine’ isn’t the word I’d use, but you do you, man.” Even now, even here, there’s room enough for snark, despite the fact that his heart isn’t really in it. Sterling doesn’t like when people lie, and ‘fine’ smacks up against his filter, nowhere near passing as truth. This is Grant’s leg propped on a couch and his season teetering by a thread; ‘fine’ feels far away. 

And Grant is, as ever, unwavering. Other than the unusual sitting arrangement, there aren’t any outward signs that he’s weathering all this. So Sterling tamps down his concern, nods along with the question as Grant asks it, and grabs at the change of topic as readily as Grant sends it out. “Yeah, it’s fuckin’ great. Huge place. Super cool.” In the face of the seriousness of Grant’s quickly waning days as a Fox, the frivolity, the lavishness of the bottles and lights and music feels superficial and garish. Disrespectful, somehow. 

He picks up his cup again and wishes there was something in it; he’s always been bad at small talk, and exy feels off the table despite being the one thing he’s always felt comfortable talking to Grant about.  

[asterlingfox]

hwisaacs‌:

LOCATION: Coffee Shop DATE: March 6th  TIME: 2:25 PM OPEN

         Henry generally had a specific schedule that he followed, especially on a game week. Since this wasn’t a game week, he didn’t feel as if he needed to stick to his strict schedule. While they still had practice—and those were tense—without a game, it just felt like practice. He didn’t feel obligated to go practice extra. Which meant that it was a good time to catch up on homework. Some people struggled with their classes, but he generally did well. There was nothing about him that was better than slightly above average, except when it came to Exy and English—and even those were tentative since there were always better players or better writers. He had to put in the extra work to make himself decent at anything, including the only two subjects he really cared about. His usual spot was a corner no one ever used in the library, but today it had been occupied by a group of giggling students. That was always the unfortunate part about being on a college campus, there was literally nowhere that was private or quiet. Even his own dorm was loud sometimes. Today, however, he found the coffee shop silent enough to work in.

         A stack of books piled beside his MacBook, all boring classics written by pretentious white men that he generally hated reading, but were required for the classes he was taking. The paper he was supposed to be writing remained a blank page. It wasn’t technically due for another week, though he wanted to get a head start on it so he didn’t feel rushed to turn in something too terrible. He’d been sitting here for at least an hour though and kept deleting what he wrote. His coffee cup was almost empty too, which honestly seemed like the best time to leave, except the chances he was going to get anything done if he left was less than if he sat here and struggled for another couple of hours until it was time for practice. Though his classes were considerably less boring than his classes from last year, they still weren’t the most interesting and he was ready to be done with his last little bit of general education credits. After drinking the rest of his coffee, he figured he might as well order another cup—or two. It wasn’t as if anyone would judge him for this being his seventh cup of the day.

         A class must have just let out because suddenly the entire shop was filled with people and the noise level rose above what he could handle to write. Hopefully, they’d all leave because he wasn’t in the mood to relocate. Finally, getting his order, he thanked the barista and turned to sit back down at his table. Thankfully, no one had sat down at his table yet, but he did spot a familiar face among the crowd of people. There weren’t any open tables. “Hey,” he called, waving them over. “There’s an empty seat here. I can move my shit.”

Sterling faced the same challenge the rest of the Foxes and Vixens faced in spades: a lot of time with his team compounded by living with close proximity with them in a place with limited resources and even more limited opportunities for privacy. Having roomates who were dating and a study spot compromised by the closest thing to an enemy he’s ever had certainly didn’t do anything to improve the situation. So he’d left class unsure of where to go but knowing he needed a change of scenery and something to eat. 

An overpriced sandwich later, he turned to search for a place to sit and a wave and a call caught his eye. He’d take sitting with someone familiar over a stranger most days, so he dumped his bag next to the chair Henry cleared out for him and sank into it. “Thanks man,” he said, taking a bite of his sandwich as he started pulling his laptop from his bag. “What’d you get?” He jerked his chin at Henry’s drink, mostly uninterested by feeling that social obligation to make conversation as a reciprocation of the camaraderie that inspired Henry to invite him over. He didn’t care for the vast majority of his teammates, but having them certainly had perks.

[asterlingfox]

Sterling → hot redhead 🔥

ROSIE: ....okay. Alright. Good to know....even though I'm sort of confused.

ROSIE: oh please, don't flatter yourself. you're a beef cake, half the girls AND boys on campus oogle you.

ROSIE: ......right.

ROSIE: good, what are your terms, walsh? what exactly do you want?

STERLING: what pat of 'first' is confusing for you? I know you're a cheerleader but come on Tommasi

STERLING: I'm not flattering myself, you've been in that half since uhhh August 🤷🏻

STERLING: gotcha. any tips you wanna share about what he did so wrong?

STERLING: more of what happened last night, for starters

STERLING: don't lie to me

STERLING: other than that, I don't really care

[asterlingfox]

glxryhoskins‌:

Location: The Foxhole Court Date: Friday, March 8 Time: Championships Watch Party (open)

Glory’s watched games from the bench, but she’s hasn’t spent many in the stands: the court looks smaller from here—funny, when you’re playing, it seems like the whole world, like the rows and rows of seats stretching towards the ceiling might as well not exist.

She doesn’t watch many Exy games at all, outside of the video review that they do during practices. She’d rather be playing, can’t sit still and watch games without feeling an itch in her fingers, in her feet—wanting to curl around a racquet, wanting to run. The game feels different from the outside, through the screen: she can’t hear the players’ breathing, the slap of their feet on the court. Even the hits seem muted, the thud of the ball against the Plexiglas, or when it snaps soundly into the net of a racquet. 

The games are staggered, but they still overlap some, and it’s hard to keep them straight as they switch between them, checking the scores that will determine the course of the rest of the Championships. Right now the Sundevils and the Buckeyes are on the screen, two teams she’s never played, and the score is neck-and-neck. 

Play stops. A yellow card. She’s taken custody of one of the bowls of popcorn that’s been going around, and she’s grinning around a mouthful when she asks: “Who’ve you got winnin’ this one? We could make it a bet.”

“You’re on,” Sterling replies immediately, reaching over and trapping a handful of popcorn that he pulls back to himself, cupped in one hand next to his chest, his eyes locked on the screen.

When he watches games, he prefers for it to be in the privacy of his own suite, headphones in and laptop close so he can analyze better, catch details and integrate the commentator’s analysis with his own as he pauses, rewinds, plays again. Truth be told, a lot of what he notices and learns, a lot of the maneuvers he sees, don’t ever get applied to the court - not in the conscious, effective way he’d like. It’s all still there, under the surface, in the back of his head, but most of it never makes it to the level of instinct, muscle memory, and reflex - the things he relies on most during play.

It does lend itself to a level of belief that he has a better grasp of the game and others’ performance than most, though.

“I’ll put 20 on Ohio,” he says, and offers a hand for her to shake. He’d probably be watching the games on his own even if they weren’t required to be here, and it annoys him that there are people who aren’t bothering to try use the time productively. “They’ve got the better defense; they’ll shut it down when it comes to a shoot out.”

[asterlingfox]

rosietommasi‌:

It was like dangling a mouse in front of a cat, the way she was practically taunting him with her little show, leaning back so that he could take in every curve that she offered in her tight body con dress. He didn’t have to say anything, she could see it in the way his eyes dragged along her frame before landing back on her face. From the handful of interactions she’d had with him, Sterling seemed to fuel her fire, he kept the conversations interesting, so she didn’t have to force herself to get through them. Neither accepted defeat, both had pride that refused to be knocked down, and she liked dancing in the fire of what was going to come next even if there was that slight possibility of getting burned.

What was life without taking a little risk?

Humming as he echoed out her plans for the night, she nodded easily, pushing her hair off her shoulders again as she grabbed her drink to bring it to her lips, “Yep, pretty sure I didn’t stutter there.” It was playful in tone, and she smirked a bit, unable to hide the feeling of him getting closer. She could smell the cologne on him, or maybe it was just the way he smelled, and she practically felt her endorphins shoot off at it. She’d always enjoyed the smell of strong men, being a cheerleader most her life, she’d been around lots of guys like Sterling but he held her attention more than any of them ever seemed to. Still, she rolled her shoulders back and stood her ground. She’d already slipped up once, she wasn’t going to let it happen again so easily.

She almost laughed at his line, not out of anything but disbelief, he was really that confident in himself. Rosie had already been left looking like an idiot for falling for sweet words, even if Sterling’s was laced with something dangerous. Instead, she kept her smirk as she leaned forward, invading his space this time, “I don’t wait on anyone, I get waited on.” She informed him, holding his gaze before leaning back again to finish off her drink, placing the empty glass on the counter, “Besides, what exactly are you offering me here? And it better be good.” Rosie stated, hands going down to smooth over her hips as she looked him over with a cock of her brow.

Barely a pulse of time passed and he took a sure step forward, fitting his hands around her waist and lifting her smoothly up onto the counter, dropping them away as soon as she was seated. He gestured with both hands, palms turned up and shrugging a little as if indicating his answer to her question. A demonstration of physical strength to stand proxy for the things he found himself wanting to give her lately - time, affection, hickeys, to name a few - but couldn’t say. Rosie’s anti-feelings crusade had made it perfectly clear she wasn’t on the lookout for an emotional type of anything anytime soon.

“You said something about not waiting,” he said, squinting a little in faux confusion, snarky as ever as if waiting for her to clarify. The closer he got to her the less he wanted to move away each time they swung closer to each other in their orbits. “And for the record, everything I do is amazing, I promise I can beat ‘good.’“ 

He folded his arms across his chest as he fought the urge to touch her that was running through him, an undercurrent crackling beneath his skin, as he looked her over slowly again. “You tell me what you want,” he said, syrupy slow, tipping his head from one side to the other, “and I’ll give it to you.” The smile he shone at her was calm, relaxed - confident, even if there was some part of his mind whirling in the quickness of it, that maybe something could happen with her.