❄︎ 𝗽𝗲𝗻𝟰𝗹𝘁𝘆𝗯𝗼𝘅 , a study in the things carried after the whistle blows. in pressure that follows you home, in expectations that linger longer than bruises, in the quiet weight of always being watched. in scraped ice and stadium lights, expensive suites and restless nights, in the strange loneliness of being surrounded by people who think they already know you. a place for ambition that cuts deep, for victories that never feel quite finished, 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾, 𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗅𝗋𝗒, 𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗍𝗒, and the versions of ourselves we build just to survive the spotlight. some things leave marks long after the clock runs out [ . . . ] written by kay for championshq.
• 𝘃𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗻𝗲𝘭𝘦𝘪 , dallas outlaws’ social media manager.
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the scene back alley @ the dugout thread closed @pen4ltybox
" i'm off in an hour, " shoulders resting against the brick wall of the back alley as the muffled noises of the poor karaoke tunes spilled through the back door behind them. the night air does little to hide how drained she looks, cerulean hues heavier now than they had been inside, " figured maybe we could go get milkshakes from lucille's or somethin'. "
leaned back against the wall beside her, not quite looking at her at first, just letting the noise from inside spill into the quiet between them. “ milkshakes, ” he repeated under his breath, like he was testing how it sounded in a world that was already running too late. a faint pause followed as his gaze finally settled on her, taking in the tired weight she wasn’t bothering to hide anymore. “ that’s your recovery plan ? ” his voice stayed low, dry out of habit, but it didn’t cut the way it usually did with other people. more like he was stalling something he didn’t want to acknowledge. he glanced down the alley, then back at her, jaw tightening slightly. “ i’ve got to leave in the morning. ” not an excuse, just the shape of his life interrupting the moment. still, after a beat, he pushed off the wall anyway. “ lucille’s is out of the way, ” he said, already moving like the decision had been made somewhere between her asking and him answering, then quieter, almost like it slipped through before he could catch it, “ but yeah… okay. ”
looked at him for a second like he was deciding whether to even dignify that with a response, then let out a quiet breath through his nose. “ i’m not pouting, ” he said, flat and immediate. a pause, eyes drifting back to the stage where things were getting progressively worse. “ you’re just scared of a microphone. ” he finally glanced back at him, expression still calm but a little edged with amusement. “ half your salary though? relax. it’s karaoke, not ransom. ”
"you're right, it's not a fair choice. one is significantly better and easier, but you'd be surprised how many people are in here just because the team is in here, and they don't really care about anything else, even the reason why we're all here in the first place." jt replied with a roll of his eyes before snorting out a laugh. "fuck it, let's traumatize the public. nothing's gonna beat hearing you belt up there like fucking hugh jackman or some shit," he said, smirking as he held up his little donations bucket. "but as you said, you're donating either way so gimme those dollar bills, vivi. it's the least you can do before you scare away half the town from this bar."
laughed, already shaking her head like she could see exactly where this was headed and knew she was still going to walk into it anyway. her gaze flicked from the donation bucket back to him, a look of mock offense softening into something more amused as she reached into her bag. “ hugh jackman is a wild comparison, ” she said, tone light, almost airy, like she was letting the absurdity sit between them. “ you’re really setting the bar high for me to fail spectacularly in front of a room full of strangers. ” she dropped the bills into the bucket with an unhurried kind of grace, fingers lingering there a second too long before she straightened. then she looked back up at him, smile still there, quieter now. “ and i don’t scare people away, ” she added. “ i create ambiance. ”
"nah, see, this is exactly why i play football," he said, shaking his head as somebody missed an entire verse with unbelievable confidence. "helmets, crowd noise, and significantly less opportunities for this kinda humiliation." he shifted his attention, grin easing slightly when he spotted vivienne. "you gettin' good footage of all this?" he asked, nodding toward the disaster unfolding by the karaoke machine.
glanced down at the camera in her hands before looking back toward the karaoke machine where somebody had just missed a note badly enough that half the room physically reacted. a laugh slipped out of her, warm and easy. “ oh, absolutely. this is gold. ” she lifted the camera slightly like evidence, eyes bright with amusement as she looked back at him. “ you guys spend your lives looking cinematic on purpose. stadium lights, slow motion entrances, dramatic walkouts… ” her shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “ meanwhile this ? ” she nodded toward the stage where chaos was unfolding under cheap neon and somebody else’s questionable song choice. “ this is the good stuff. ” a grin tugged at her mouth as she tilted her head. “ i mean, where else am i gonna get footage of grown men discovering public shame in real time ? ”
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let the question sit for a second like it deserved more seriousness than it actually did, gaze drifting briefly toward the noise of the room as if the answer might be hiding somewhere in the music already playing. then she laughed under her breath, a little self-conscious, like she knew she was about to give something away. “ okay, this is mildly embarrassing, ” she said, smiling into her drink. “ tiny dancer. elton john. ” she glanced up at him through her lashes, half bracing for judgment, half already amused by it. “ it’s dramatic in a way that makes sense when you’re not thinking too hard about it. just… for a few minutes it feels like everything slows down a little. ” a small shrug followed, softer now. “ so yes, you’re allowed to judge me. just do it quietly. ”
𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗸 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗶𝘁𝘆 and the krummacher boy is grateful for the excuse to drink ( not that he ever needs one, but there is half a pleasure in conforming to social norms ). he finds himself alone, the music ebbs and flows in the background & the bass vibrates through his neck as he leans on the wall outside. beer in one hand and half a cigarette in the other, he slumps down on the curb and takes a puff. there is a cacophony of sound nearby and he does his best not to roll his eyes, “ hope you are not drunk. if so, just lay on your side in the recovery position. then help will come. ” he takes another drag of his cigarette and mutters, “ not from me, but someone, surely. ” @championstarters
blinked at him for a second like she was trying to decide if that was concern or an insult, then let out a bright little laugh that came out a touch too fast. she dropped down beside him without really thinking about it, a little off balance, shoulders still buzzing from the night. “ okay, first of all, ” she started, pointing vaguely in his direction like she had a list she was definitely about to lose track of, “ i am not that drunk. i’m like… responsible adjacent. ” she nodded once, very serious about that classification, then immediately broke into another laugh, softer this time, rubbing at her face like she couldn’t believe she just said that out loud. “ second of all, i’ve been giving you a perfectly curated tour of this city all day and you’re out here acting like i’m one bad decision away from emergency services ? ” she leaned back on her hands, looking up at him with an easy, slightly hazy grin. “ also i don’t know what a recovery position is but i feel like i’d absolutely do it wrong on purpose just to annoy you. ”
"oh, get over yourself. it's for a good cause but hey, you can just stand there and look pretty, if that's what you think you'd be better at." sami replied with a smirk as she willingly allowed her friends to push her up onto the stage. she wasn't necessarily a singer, and she definitely didn't do duets on a daily basis either, but she was never one to back down from a challenge, let alone something as simple as a song. the fact that someone like luca was making it into an even bigger deal than it was just made her want to do it even more. "put your big boy pants on, princess. the song's about to start." sami said, holding onto the microphone before she started singing, eyes posing a challenge as she turned towards him, wondering if he'd actually sing the song or just continue saying threats to his teammates while onstage.
stared at her for a second like he was trying to decide if this was worth the effort of reacting to at all. then he exhaled through his nose, slow, unimpressed, and stepped a little closer to the mic like it offended him personally. “ you talk a lot for someone who got physically carried onto a stage, ” he said flatly, eyes flicking over the crowd before landing back on her. a beat, then a faint tilt of his head like he was conceding something he didn’t want to. “ and i’m not here to look pretty. that’s just an unfortunate side effect for everybody else. ” he adjusted his grip on the mic, glanced toward the screen starting the track, then back at her with that dry, warning look that didn’t quite hide the fact he was already in it. “ just so we’re clear, ” he added, voice lower now, “ if i’m doing this, i’m blaming you entirely when it goes badly. ”
𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 ? irina doesn’t like to believe her equanimity has ever betrayed her , but her wide eyes & sweaty palms is an unfortunate testament to the linear decline of her composure . she doesn’t remember when she was last this nervous — the camera , the lights , she’s familiar with attention , she’s comfortable with the spotlight & she’s filipino, so yes she’s a natural at karaoke. therefore, ! it is ( personally ) unnerving and borderline offensive to her nature when a sparkling disco ball & rainbow light beams suddenly sets her nervous system into fight or flight mode . in true flores fashion, she fights. and the embarrassment morphs into competitiveness . especially , after seeing who she had been paired with. santoro, she visibly recoils. “ don’t mess this up for me santoro. i have a reputation i’ve got to uphold. ”
turned toward her slowly, eyebrows lifting as if he’d just been handed the most ridiculous thing he’d heard all night. around them, lights spun lazy circles across the stage, red and blue slipping over faces and shoulders, but his attention stayed fixed on her. he caught the nerves anyway, the too wide eyes, the energy sitting just beneath her skin trying to pretend it wasn’t there, and something quieter flickered across his expression before the usual dry amusement settled back in. “ flores, ” he said, almost disappointed, shaking his head once. “ you spend half your life sticking microphones in people’s faces and now you’re folding under a disco ball and a karaoke machine ? ” a small breath of a laugh escaped him as he lifted his own mic. “ you’ve got this whole thing backwards. ” his eyes stayed on hers for another second, challenge sitting there beneath the words. “ i’m not worried about me messing this up. ” a pause. “ i’m starting to get a little worried about you. ”
anya had both hands wrapped around her drink near the edge of the crowd already smiling before luca even started speaking. the second he pointed at his teammates like he was preparing legal action, she laughed softly behind the rim of her cup, shoulders shaking a little with it. "i don't know…" she called toward the stage, warm amusement tucked into her voice. "i think threatening people before the song starts might actually make this more entertaining." she looked toward the screen, then back to him again, her grin growing when he looked genuinely betrayed by whatever song had appeared. "you look very brave up there."
head turned at the sound of her voice, eyes finding her somewhere near the edge of the crowd with both hands wrapped around her drink and that grin already waiting for him. he stared at her for a second, looking mildly offended on principle alone. “ brave ? ” he repeated, hand pressing against his chest like she’d actually wounded him. “ interesting choice. ” his eyes narrowed slightly, though there was already amusement threatening at the corners of his mouth. he glanced up at the screen, looked back at her, then pointed once in her direction with the microphone. “ you’re the photographer, right ? so just remember this moment very carefully. ” his head tilted, mock serious now. “ because if i survive this and there are suddenly twelve high definition photos of me looking emotionally devastated on the team account tomorrow, we’re gonna have problems. ” the music started rising through the speakers and he looked back at her one more time, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. “ unbelievable. everybody’s enjoying this way too much. ”
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AJ watched the scene unravel with unmistakable amusement. She’d already done her part to disgrace herself earlier, delivering a painfully theatrical rendition of Total Eclipse of the Heart, and now she was more than content to sink back into her seat and watch everyone else humiliate themselves too. For charity, naturally.
“Let’s go!” she hollered from the back of the room, barely managing to smother a laugh behind the rim of her gin glass.
heard her from somewhere in the back and immediately closed his eyes for a second like the universe had decided he hadn’t suffered enough tonight. a hand dragged slowly down his face before he looked out across the crowd, finally finding her tucked behind her drink with amusement written all over her expression. “ oh, that’s rich coming from you. ” a quiet breath of a laugh escaped him as he pointed the microphone in her direction. “ you own a nightclub. you spend entire weekends watching people make bad decisions under flashing lights and call it an atmosphere. ” he looked at her over the edge of the mic, expression flattening with exaggerated suspicion. “ and after that total eclipse of the heart performance ? ” the corner of his mouth pulled upward despite himself. “ you’ve lost your right to judge anybody in this room for at least six business days. ”
frankie had mainly come to this event to people watch, it was fun seeing all the talented people in town singing their favorite song. what she didn't expect to see, however, was so much peer pressure from multiple different friend groups. although she had to admit, it was pretty hilarious to watch at times, especially if said person wasn't even that good of a singer. watching as the next person got up on stage, she couldn't help but laugh at all the shenanigans happening around her. " just sing the damn song, dude! " she teased, happily joining in on the heckling from the other people in the crowd.
caught the voice somewhere out in the crowd, eyes scanning for a second before recognition settled in and immediately soured into betrayal. he pointed at her with the microphone like he’d just found the newest person responsible for his suffering. “ oh, no. not you too. ” a quiet laugh escaped through his nose as he shook his head, looking almost offended by the betrayal. “ i go into bench brew three times a week, tip like a decent human being, say please and thank you… ” his hand lifted in disbelief. “ and this is the support i get ? ” he looked up toward the screen where the song countdown had already started, then back toward her with a reluctant grin pulling at one corner of his mouth. “ crazy. thought we had something real, frankie. ”
jt never wanted to outwardly admit it, especially with his reputation of being a gigantic dickhead, but fundraising for the little league was incredibly important to him, because he had been there just two decades ago. donations back then were the only reason he was here today, being the starting goalie for the twisters, but he tried to play it off like it was no big deal as he approached someone by the bar. "so what's it going to be? donation or you getting up there to sing?"
vivienne leaned back slightly against the bar like she had all the time in the world, eyes flicking over jt with a kind of amused calm that softened the edge of the room without trying too hard. “ it’s very bold of you to present this like a fair choice, ” she said, voice light, almost teasing, like she was letting him in on a secret instead of being challenged by him. her fingers tapped once against her cup, thoughtful in the smallest way, then she tilted her head. “ because i’m going to donate either way, obviously, i’m not heartless, ” a small smile there, quick and warm, “ but i feel like the real question is whether you want me up there contributing to this cause or sparing everyone from whatever musical crime i’m about to commit in front of a packed bar. ” she glanced toward the stage, then back at him, eyes bright with something half playful, half genuinely invested. “ so what’s it going to be, jt, are we fundraising… or are we traumatizing the public ? ”
❄︎ 𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀: event one, karaoke night ( open ).
❄︎ 𝗅𝗈𝖼𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇: the dugout.
luca had spent the last twenty minutes pointing at himself like there had clearly been some kind of clerical error, shaking his head at every teammate who walked past wearing the sort of grin that immediately made him suspicious. the setup had been annoyingly coordinated too. a hand on his shoulder. a drink shoved into his hand. somebody hitting him with a c’mon, man, it’s for charity like public humiliation suddenly counted as community service. so now he was standing under stage lights he never agreed to, one hand around the microphone, staring out at the crowd with the look of a man actively reconsidering every relationship in his life. his eyes landed on his teammates crowded near the bar and narrowed immediately. one slow point in their direction. “ just so we’re all clear… ” a pause. “ i hold grudges. ” the room laughed. luca let out a breath through his nose, dragged a hand over his face and looked toward the screen as the first notes started playing. he stared for a second, looked back out at the crowd, then back at his team. “ ...oh, you are all unbelievably dead to me. ”
❄︎ 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈𝖽𝗎𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝘃𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗻𝗲 𝗹𝗲𝗶 . . . vivy doesn’t just understand people, she absorbs them. that’s her gift, and sometimes that’s exactly what makes things complicated.
[ lola tung, twenty4, cis woman, she/her ] 𓇢𓆸 was that vivienne lei i saw around town today ? i heard that the pouge works as the dallas outlaws social media manager and has been in town for fourteen years. they have a reputation of being charismatic & avoidant and people in town usually associate them with oversized outlaws jackets swallowing the frame, sleeves falling past the hands, chosen over pieces hanging untouched in the closet; editing videos at 2 a.m., face washed in laptop light while replayed crowds and stadium roars fill an apartment that’s gone quiet; field lights caught in dark eyes, bright enough to look like stars and tired enough to tell another story; a camera always hanging from the shoulder just in case, as if missing a moment would feel like losing something real. can’t wait to see them at the next game !
❄︎ 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗯𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗰𝘀.
full name: vivienne lei. nicknames: vivy, eve, evie. age: twenty four. sexuality: bisexual. date of birth: june 18th, 2002. place of birth: charleston, south carolina. current location: dallas, texas. gender & pronouns: cis woman, she/her. zodiac sign: gemini. religion: grew up loosely christian because of her dad, more tradition than devotion. holiday services, prayers before hard moments, crosses hanging on walls that eventually just became part of the background. as an adult, she's more spiritual than religious. she likes the idea that people are connected by something larger, even if she isn't sure what that larger thing is. education: university of texas at dallas — b.a. in professional communication and digital media studies. occupation: social media manager for the dallas outlaws. drinks, smokes, & drugs: drinks socially and turns into a little more animated after two drinks. doesn't smoke. doesn't really do drugs. tried an edible once and spent forty minutes convinced everyone around her secretly hated her.
❄︎ 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆.
she arrived in dallas too young to understand what she was being carried into, only that the world she left behind had already started to feel like a photograph she couldn’t quite step back into. ten years old, pressed into the backseat beside a father who drove like stopping would make everything catch up to him at once. the road was long enough to dissolve time. gas stations blurred into one another. highway lights cut the night into uneven strips. by the time the city finally rose around them, it didn’t feel like arrival. it felt like scale without permission. stadiums glowing like man made constellations. glass towers reflecting a version of the sky that didn’t belong to anyone. dallas didn’t ease her in. it placed her inside its volume and kept moving.
her father’s life in the city was built from labor that never stayed still long enough to become predictable. construction sites before sunrise. maintenance shifts that bled into evenings that never quite ended. he wasn’t a man who narrated his own life. he didn’t translate hardship into language. he simply absorbed it and kept functioning. what he gave her was not softness, but structure shaped like survival. lunch money folded into napkins. shoes repaired instead of replaced. quiet refusals to let things collapse while she was still watching. she learned early that stability, when it existed at all, was something maintained rather than something felt.
dallas, for her, became a study in thresholds she was always standing just outside of. wealth that didn’t announce itself because it didn’t need to. confidence that seemed inherited rather than earned. social worlds that operated on recognition she hadn’t yet been taught how to access. she moved through it without resentment, but not without awareness. there was always a distance between her and the ease she saw in others. not emotional distance, but structural. the kind you can’t argue your way across. and instead of turning away from it, she did what came naturally. she studied people. not to judge them, but to understand how they became themselves. she learned to listen in a way that made people feel unguarded without realizing why.
sports entered her life as atmosphere before it ever became work. in dallas, sports are not an industry you step into. they are weather. they are infrastructure. they shape the rhythm of weekends, the language of conversations, the emotional temperature of entire neighborhoods. at first, she existed at the edges of it. helping wherever she was allowed. taking on small media tasks that no one else wanted to slow down for. uploading clips. sorting content. sitting in rooms where strategy was discussed in shorthand she didn’t yet understand. she learned by proximity, not instruction. by repetition, not invitation.
what pulled her deeper wasn’t ambition so much as attention. she noticed what the official versions of sports left out. the in between moments where identity stopped performing and started revealing itself by accident. the way players exhaled when they thought no one was watching. the strange quiet that settles in arenas before everything becomes noise again. the disconnect between how something looks and how it actually feels from inside it. social media became the closest thing to language for that instinct. not branding. not polish. translation.
she didn’t build her work around spectacle, but around residue, the pieces of a game that linger after the outcome is already decided, a glance between teammates that lasts half a second too long, the equipment staff moving through the same rituals they’ve done a thousand times because they have, the emotional afterimage of something intense that most people only ever see as a highlight or headline. her content works because it refuses to pretend sports are clean, it lets them stay human. people respond to her without fully understanding why. athletes trust her in ways they don’t always extend to the systems built around them, staff speak more freely than they expect to, not because she tries to extract anything from them, but because she doesn’t approach them like they exist on a different plane of importance, and in her presence status flattens, hierarchy loosens, and people stop performing themselves quite so tightly.
but there is a complication in the way she moves through the world, one she doesn’t fully recognize as complication yet. she believes in people too quickly, not out of innocence in the simple sense, but out of conviction. she sees a moment of honesty and treats it like a foundation. she hears a fragment of vulnerability and begins building context around it, filling in the architecture of a person before the structure has actually been shown. she confuses emotional access with emotional truth. she confuses being let in briefly with being let in fully. it means she forms attachments that feel real to her before they are necessarily stable. it means she invests in potential as if it were already presence. not because she is careless, but because she is sincere in a way that does not yet know how to protect itself from misreading sincerity in others. she is not naïve in the sense of being unaware. she is naïve in the sense of still believing understanding is enough to bridge distance.
over time, she has begun to notice that the world around sports is not only loud but isolating in ways that don’t announce themselves. people surrounded by attention that never quite becomes connection. lives measured in performance while private hours remain unobserved. she sees it, but she does not yet know what to do with it. it hasn’t turned her cynical. if anything, it has made her more certain that attention should mean care, and care should mean something lasting. and that belief, still untempered, is what defines her most. not experience, not strategy, not caution. a steady assumption that people are more complete than they appear, and that if she stays long enough, the missing pieces will eventually reveal themselves.
❄︎ 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀.
keeps a ridiculous amount of tabs open on her phone. half are work related, half are things like best banana bread recipe, cheap weekend cabins, or a random article she swore she’d read later three months ago.
has a habit of saying “wait, tell me again” even when she heard someone the first time. not because she wasn't listening. because she wants to hear people talk when they're excited.
working around athletes has accidentally given her bizarre knowledge. she can tape an ankle, identify football equipment by sound, and tell if someone had a bad practice just by the way they drop their bag on the floor.
still gets a little starstruck, even after years around sports. not over the famous players themselves, but over moments. walking into a packed arena before a game. standing field-side while lights come on. hearing a crowd rise all at once.
has a tendency to adopt people into her life without realizing she’s doing it. a barista, an equipment manager, somebody’s grandmother at church, a neighbor down the hall. suddenly she’s saying “oh my friend” and someone asks how long they’ve known each other and she realizes it’s been eleven days.
laughs when she’s nervous. not a cute little laugh either. the kind that escapes before she can stop it and immediately makes her cover her face.
has an irrational confidence in her ability to fix things. not emotionally. actual things. lamps, shelves, random furniture. the confidence usually disappears around step four.
can spend twenty minutes getting ready and somehow still end up leaving with wet hair because she got distracted answering a text or helping someone with something.
is terrible at casual feelings. absolutely terrible. somebody gives her attention and suddenly she’s building entire inner narratives around them without meaning to. not marriage and forever. just small things. what songs they listen to in traffic. what their childhood bedroom looked like. whether they were lonely growing up.
❄︎ 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀.
the slow burn that sneaks up on her: months of friendship. grocery runs. sitting in parked cars after work because neither of you wants to go inside yet. no giant moment where everything changes. just one day looking over and realizing home started feeling like a person.
the person she thought was too cool for her: someone she assumes would never look twice at her. maybe quieter, maybe more intimidating, maybe somebody she puts on a pedestal by accident. meanwhile they’re sitting there completely gone for her.
the one her dad starts asking about: absolute disaster for her. one mention becomes “how’s that person doing?” and suddenly she gets suspiciously defensive for absolutely no reason.
the experienced one: older or simply more comfortable with intimacy, attraction, and relationships than vivy has ever been. she goes into it thinking she can keep things light for once. no pressure, no labels, just chemistry and curiosity. the problem is she isn’t good at keeping people in small compartments. it starts quietly. memorizing your coffee order. saving things to show you later. looking for you first in a room. she realizes too late that somewhere between keeping it casual and getting comfortable, she started caring.
the friendship that feels like family: no one remembers exactly when it started. suddenly there’s a drawer at each other’s apartment with random belongings inside, shared locations on phones, and texts that just say come outside.
the chaos friend: someone louder than her, more impulsive, forever dragging her into things she absolutely was not planning on doing. midnight diner runs. last minute road trips. somehow always the reason behind “i wasn’t even supposed to be there.”
work husband/work wife: constant bickering. finishing each other’s thoughts. grabbing coffee without asking. everyone around you assumes you’re either siblings or secretly married.
the athlete friendship: started awkwardly because athletes can be intimidating from a distance. then suddenly it’s sending stupid memes after losses, sitting in empty arenas after games, and hearing things neither of you say publicly.
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❄︎ 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈𝖽𝗎𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗹𝘂𝗰𝗮 𝘀𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗼 . . . most top forwards eventually start playing like they know they belong. luca still plays like he’s forcing the league to reconsider him every single night, and honestly, that’s terrifying when you pair it with this level of talent.
[ antonio cipriano, twenty6, cis man, he/him ] 🏒 was that luca santoro i saw around town today ? i heard that the pouge turned kook works as a right wing for the texas twisters and has been in town for five years. they have a reputation of being driven & self-critical and people in town usually associate them with bruised knuckles wrapped in hockey tape like it’s second skin, never fully healing before the next game; late night drives after away games, highway lights blurring like something you can’t quite outrun; empty rink echoes after practice, skate blades still whispering in the silence; always slightly sweat warm, always slightly restless, like still in motion even when standing still. can’t wait to see them at the next game !
❄︎ 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗯𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗰𝘀.
full name: luca santoro. nicknames: luc, lucky, santi. age: twenty six. sexuality: bicurious. date of birth: september 8th, 1999. place of birth: buffalo, new york. current location: dallas, texas. gender & pronouns: cis man, he/him. zodiac sign: virgo. religion: raised loosely catholic in buffalo through his mother’s side of the family. he still goes quiet in churches without meaning to, more out of muscle memory than belief. not devout, not distant either. just shaped by it in a way that never fully left. education: university at buffalo ( briefly attended while balancing junior league commitments before fully committing to hockey ). he was never there for long stretches, more in motion than rooted, but the campus still feels familiar in fragments. occupation: professional hockey player, right wing for the texas twisters. drinks, smokes, & drugs: drinks socially, usually quiet about it. beer after games, sometimes whiskey when the night runs long and he doesn’t feel like talking. doesn’t smoke. doesn’t do drugs. has no interest in anything that messes with control, even slightly.
❄︎ 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆.
buffalo never gave luca anything gently. it was a city that felt worn at the edges in a way that somehow made it feel more honest. winter settled into everything there and stayed longer than anyone wanted it to. snowbanks turned gray at the corners from salt and exhaust, sidewalks held slush days after the storm had already passed, and the sky often looked like it had forgotten how to open. he grew up in a neighborhood where people fixed things because replacing them was a luxury, where porches leaned a little, where old basketball hoops stayed standing because nobody saw a reason to take them down. nothing about where he came from encouraged dreaming too loudly. it taught endurance before anything else. it taught you how to keep moving without waiting for things to get easier.
home was small, crowded in the way homes become when people are trying to make enough room for life to fit inside them. his mother held it together with a kind of quiet steadiness that never asked to be noticed. she worked long hours and still somehow remembered everything. which snacks he liked after school. which teacher he hated. the exact expression he wore when something was wrong even if he insisted nothing was. love from her came in practical forms. dinner waiting on the stove after late shifts. clean clothes folded at the end of his bed. her hand brushing across the back of his head while passing by. she never turned care into speeches. she just kept showing up with it over and over until it became the most reliable thing in his life.
his younger sister followed him everywhere when they were kids. she sat on the bathroom counter while he got ready for school, stole his hoodies even when they dragged past her hands, and treated him like he was capable of fixing things he had no business fixing. luca acted annoyed by her in the way older brothers are supposed to, rolling his eyes, pretending not to hear her, threatening to leave her behind while secretly waiting for her to catch up. but she occupied a space in him that nothing else touched. he used to walk her to the corner store and spend his own money on candy for her while pretending he didn’t want anything himself. years later, when contracts and paychecks became real things, she never asked him for anything. he still bought things for her anyway.
his father was harder to define because absence can be difficult to explain when it isn’t dramatic. he wasn’t the kind of man who disappeared overnight or slammed doors on his way out. he just moved in and out of luca’s life with enough inconsistency that eventually expecting him started to feel pointless. phone calls that came late. promises that shifted shape. birthdays where luca kept glancing toward the door without realizing he was doing it. after a while disappointment lost its sharpness and settled into something quieter. something expected. he stopped waiting. stopped asking questions. somewhere in that silence he learned that relying on people felt dangerous, because if you never leaned too much on anyone, nothing could be pulled away.
money stretched itself thin in that house. hand me down jackets from cousins who had outgrown them years earlier. sneakers worn long enough for the soles to flatten. school pictures where luca smiled in shirts he’d already worn in last year’s photo. grocery shopping meant calculators and mental math. heat stayed lower in winter because winter coats existed for a reason. nobody complained because complaining implied surprise, and there wasn't much point in being surprised by things everyone already understood. luca learned young that wanting something usually meant somebody else had to sacrifice for it. that awareness settled into him and never really left. even years later, with more money than he ever imagined having, he still catches himself looking at price tags first.
hockey wasn’t love at first sight. it wasn’t some cinematic moment where he stepped onto the ice and suddenly found purpose. it started because hockey meant possibility, and possibility was rare enough to chase. there were kids around him who talked about making it out through sports, and luca listened because staying felt heavier than leaving. he borrowed equipment that smelled like somebody else’s sweat and wore skates that fit badly enough to leave his feet aching afterward. outdoor rinks became familiar before they became meaningful. the cold cut through gloves and burned his lungs. the boards rattled. the ice cracked near the edges. he didn’t love it at first. he loved what it represented.
then somewhere along the way, something changed. not all at once. slowly. quietly. he started staying after practice without being asked. started taking losses home with him. started replaying mistakes in his head while trying to sleep. coaches noticed before he did. not because he was the most naturally gifted player on the ice, but because there was something relentless about him. luca hated being underestimated in a way that settled into bone. he remembered every time someone dismissed him, every scout that looked longer at someone else, every player who assumed he wasn’t good enough. he carried losses around like receipts. not loudly. not publicly. just tucked away somewhere private where they could keep working on him.
that same thing followed him into adulthood. people sometimes mistake quietness for softness until they spend enough time around him to know better. he doesn’t walk into rooms trying to own them. he doesn’t need to be the loudest person in the conversation. his confidence exists lower than that, buried somewhere deeper. around people he trusts, dry humor slips out so naturally it catches people off guard. small comments said under his breath that land a second later. sarcasm sharp enough to make his sister roll her eyes and laugh anyway. loyalty that borders on stubbornness. competition that never fully turns itself off. even now, long after buffalo became somewhere he used to live instead of somewhere he lived, there are parts of him that never left. they just learned how to wear better clothes.
five years in dallas should have been enough time for the feeling to settle in. long enough for the city to start sounding like home in his mouth, long enough for luxury to stop feeling borrowed, long enough for contracts and headlines and a high rise apartment overlooking the skyline to feel earned instead of accidental. on paper, he has become exactly what people around here would call a kook. the money is there. the status is there. the name carries weight now. he walks into restaurants and gets recognized before he sits down. people know his stats. kids wear his jersey. but somewhere underneath all of it, the math still doesn’t add up in his head. he still catches himself hesitating before buying something expensive, still feels more comfortable in worn in bars than rooftop lounges, still reaches for old habits before new ones. there is a strange loneliness in becoming the thing you once stood outside of. dallas looks at him and sees someone who made it. luca still looks at himself and sees a kid in borrowed equipment, tightening second hand skates with numb fingers and trying to figure out how to stay one step ahead of being left behind.
❄︎ 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀.
coffee order hasn’t changed in years, not because of discipline but because mornings are not a place for experimentation. barista once tried to “suggest something seasonal.” luca said “no” so flatly it became a running joke.
apartment looks expensive in theory and slightly unfinished in practice. one framed picture still leaning against a wall because hanging it feels like committing to permanence, which feels suspicious.
keeps old buffalo hoodie that is objectively falling apart. sleeves too long, collar stretched, logo half faded. refuses to replace it. claims it’s “comfortable.” everyone knows it’s emotional support fabric.
phone is full of accidental documentation of his life. locker room floors. bus windows. half eaten meals. zero captions. if someone asked what the album means, answer would probably be “nothing,” even though it clearly is something.
laughs like it surprises him every time. quiet most of the time, then suddenly something lands and it slips out before he can stop it. usually followed by a pause like he didn’t mean to admit he’s human in public.
has a habit of standing in doorways for a few seconds before entering rooms, like he’s mentally checking if he actually needs to be there. nobody comments on it, but teammates notice.
text replies exist in two modes: immediate or “seen and forgotten until three hours later.” no in between. never explains either.
still eats like someone who grew up knowing food could disappear from the fridge faster than expected. finishes plates without thinking. notices when other people don’t.
locker stall is weirdly controlled. gear always placed the same way, almost ritualistic, but if you ask, he’ll say it’s “just easier that way” like he didn’t just rearrange it three times.
has a completely unserious hatred of being underestimated. not loud about it. just a mental note he keeps updating. every time someone assumes less, it gets stored somewhere permanent.
weirdly good at noticing when people are lying, but never calls it out directly. just files it away and acts accordingly later.
owns exactly one “nice” outfit that gets rotated for events, interviews, and anything vaguely official. everything else is variations of the same three hoodies pretending to be different.
will absolutely sit in silence with someone he trusts for hours, but cannot tolerate small talk with strangers for more than ninety seconds without mentally checking out.
❄︎ 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀.
the one person he lost to: could be another athlete. could be anything. someone who beat him out for something important years ago and somehow never left his head. started as irritation, turned into respect, then into something much messier.
bad timing, good person: everything lines up except the timing. one of you travels constantly. one of you just got out of something serious. one of you wants roots while the other is still moving. feelings exist anyway.
fake dating disaster: pr problem. family event. team image issue. whatever the reason, it starts fake and luca absolutely hates it because he is terrible at pretending feelings and even worse when real ones start showing up.
grumpy/sunshine dynamic: someone warm, expressive, affectionate. someone who talks with their hands and drags him into things against his will. not because they “fix” him, but because they pull laughter out of him before he remembers to hold it back.
late night drives connection: no idea what the relationship is at first. just random drives after games or sleepless nights. gas stations. empty roads. music low. conversations that somehow become deeper at 2 a.m. than they ever do in daylight.
the one he keeps leaving and returning to: not toxic. just two people with strange gravity toward each other. months apart, then suddenly back sitting across from each other like no time moved at all.
the one he never meant to want: teammate’s sibling. best friend’s ex. social media manager around the team. someone who should have stayed simple and absolutely did not.
the locker room constant: a teammate who sits near him by default more than design. same routines, same post game silence, same shared eye contact after bad shifts that says everything without words.
the loud one who adopts him anyway: outgoing, social, constantly talking. decides luca is their responsibility socially. luca pretends to be annoyed but never fully leaves. ends up dragged into dinners, group chats, and events he would never initiate but always shows up for anyway.
the off ice safe person: someone outside hockey entirely. keeps him grounded in a world that doesn’t care about stats or standings. they don’t ask about games unless he offers. that lack of pressure is exactly why he keeps coming back.