arlobooth-blog

[arlobooth-blog]

mrplantman cigarette daydreams

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[arlobooth-blog]

& you are so gorgeous it makes me so mad;

[arlobooth-blog]

striker-brayden:

Brayden finds himself thinking for the millionth time in the past two weeks that he’s a fucking idiot. What was he thinking allowing himself to go to the banquet with Arlo as his date? And why did he dance with him? There were so many things that he could’ve very easily said no to, but didn’t–with very little push back too. The problem is he’s just fucking weak and can’t say no to Arlo. Those big brown puppy eyes get him every time. The worst part of this all is that Brayden knew from the start that if he didn’t stop this early on, he was fucked. He should’ve stuck to his decision to end their “friendship,” but the need to be around Arlo took over, which led to him to kiss him at the banquet. A kiss that he started.

The days following, he did what he did best. Avoided Arlo and ran off when he got too close. Allowing himself to admit that Arlo was his friend already took everything in him, he can’t do this. He feels too much–crashes and burns too spectacularly. If he lets himself fall for Arlo, he’ll fall to hard. Brayden can’t handle losing someone he trusts twice. So, he takes out the frustration with himself out on the other, not cooperating when Wymack pairs them together for drills. He missed Arlo’s passes, flubbed his attempts to score, leaving them glaring at each other as Wymack tore them a new one. 

When the others flood into the locker room, Brayden takes a seat on the bleachers and waits. It’s childish, but he just can’t stand to be in the same room as Arlo right now, figuring he’d let everyone shower and leave before he goes in. With his phone in his locker, he has nothing to distract himself from his thoughts, replaying all of the stupid shit he’s done so far this semester, until he’s fuming. 

He’s so lost in his own head when he finally enters the locker room that he doesn’t notice the sound of the running shower. He opens his locker with too much force and makes quick work of undressing and grabbing a towel before slamming it back shut. Glaring at his own feet, he all but stomps his way over to the showers and wrenches the door open to the first shower stall, recoiling in surprise when the steam hits his face, drawing him out of his daze. His gaze lands on a very naked Arlo, causing his lips to part in shock for a moment before he collects himself, the anger taking over once again. “Of fucking course,” He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head in disgust as he tries to look anywhere but at Arlo’s body. That’s the last thing he needs right now. “Just–forget this happened,” He gestures at himself, clearly flustered. “I’ll shower in the room.” 

For a moment, all Arlo can do is stare, rooted to the spot, eyes wide and disbelieving. His hands - still buried in his hair where they were, only a moment ago, lathering shampoo into his scalp - awkwardly retract, moving slowly to cover his crotch. He coughs. Clears his throat and blinks, squinting against the soap trying to make its way over the protective ridge of his eyebrows and into his eyes.

His face is hot, from the water and the embarrassment and the sheer absurdity of the situation.

He tells himself not to look. That it would be a very bad idea for him to look.

...

He looks. 

A second later his eyes are darting away, flitting between the shampoo bottle and the tiled floor and Brayden’s exposed chest and back to the floor-

This is torture. Some kind of freakish, divine retribution. He’s sure of it. Because he’s been waiting to see Brayden naked for months, months, and now that it’s finally happening he can hardly enjoy it because they’re both still mad. But, Jesus, he looks so good. Better than Arlo had imagined, honestly. His hair is still damp from practice, plastered against the back of his neck. His bare arms are slightly tanned, his torso cut and lean. (From what he saw, everything else was... great, too. Very great. The greatest.)

Arlo chances a look at the other striker, opens his mouth to speak, but he’s too slow. Brayden beats him to the punch.

“What do you mean ‘Of fucking course’?” Arlo spits back, grabbing Brayden’s elbow before he can move to leave. “Uh, last I checked, I was here first.  You’re the one who barged in on me!”

Arlo doesn’t get mad often. It makes him feel sick to his stomach. Twisted up and confused and off balance. He hates getting angry, but, right now, he doesn’t exactly have much of a choice. He scowls and takes a step forward, further into Brayden’s personal space, poking a finger into the other fox’s chest.

“What the hell is your problem lately, anyway? Look. I get that the banquet was... crossing some sort of line. I get that I fucked something up, and I’m sorry for that. I’m really fucking sorry. But, Jesus!” Arlo throws up his hands in exasperation. Shampoo slides down his chest in thin, soapy lines. “How long are you going to keep punishing me? I’m tired of walking around on eggshells. I’m tired of avoiding you! I’m tired of acting like our friendship never existed. I get that I messed up, before, but...  I don’t know what you want me to do. I can’t take it back, Brayden. And, even if I could, I don’t want to! You know why?”

He’s probably about to cross another line. Cause another rift between them. But, he’s gone this far, and honestly, he’s tired of holding back. 

“Because I like you. A lot. And, it’s not like it was ever secret. I told you myself, after the first time we hung out. I’ve always liked you. And I don’t regret that, even if you might. There.... There aren’t many things that make me happy anymore, alright? In case you hadn’t noticed, my whole life has sort of imploded in the last year. But, being with you... I feel better. Normal. And I can’t stand the way things are between us, now. So....” He trails off, eyes stinging.

He tells himself it’s just the shampoo.

He tightens his grip on Brayden’s elbow.

“Tell me what to do.”

[arlobooth-blog]

@striker-brayden

As soon as practice is dismissed, Arlo stomps off the court and back to the locker room in record time. He rips off his helmet and, in an uncharacteristic display of anger, chucks it at the row of lockers across from him. The metallic thump that follows the action rings hollow and wholly unsatisfying. He wrenches open the door to his own locker and snatches a towel off the shelf before sinking down onto the bench behind him, burying his face in the plush orange fabric.

A few moments later, the rest of the team begins to stream in. Everyone gives him a wide berth, chatting and laughing amongst each other. Every so often he can feel eyes on him, watching. Wondering. But he keeps his head down and stays quiet. 

Eventually, the locker room is silent once more. Small puddles of water litter the tiled floor. Practice jersey’s are piled up in the hamper in the corner. Everyone else’s lockers are closed and their duffels are gone. Arlo let’s out a heavy sigh of relief. Tossing the hand towel to the side, he leverages himself up off of the bench and unceremoniously strips out of his practice gear, wincing at the collection of new bruises blossoming on his side. He irritably scrubs a hand through his hair and tries to let go of the tension churning in his gut. (Try being the operative word.)

He grabs his personalized caddy and a new towel and heads toward the showers. He’s always been grateful for the full stall doors. He doesn’t have anything to hide, not like some of them do, but... It’s nice. To have some small ounce of privacy in a space that, usually, he get’s none at all. He picks the one stall at the end that’s slightly larger than the rest, settles in, and turns on the water. As usual, it runs cold for a second before warming up. He steps under the spray anyway, shivering. It’s bracing, for sure, but it only makes the ensuing warmth that much betters. 

He relaxes into the stream, spine sagging. He tips his head back and closes his eyes, mouth turned down in an ugly scowl. Practice plays out in his head like an obnoxious song stuck on repeat. It replays over and over and over again. He sees every missed pass. Every chance for them to score that was stubbornly thrown away. Every deliberate snub. 

“Fuck him.” Arlo snarls to himself. “Fuck this.”

Every since the banquet, since that ridiculous, ill-advised dance, since that kiss... Everything’s been different. They don’t talk, anymore. They avoid each other like the plague. 

Brayden can’t even look him in the eye. 

Almost overnight, everything changed between them and it’s been... awful. The only person he could really talk to, really trust, just walked away. And, he still has no clue why. No clue what he did wrong. It’s infuriating. Confusing. (It wouldn’t have been so bad if not for the kiss. Because that kiss was so good.)

The worst part is he can’t stop himself from wanting, even now. He wants to talk. To pick up the phone and text him like nothing happened. To work together on the court again. He just... wants everything to go back to the way it was before. (But, that’s a lie, too. He wants before but he wants more, too.)

Arlo groans and leans back to rest against the wall behind him, head thumping almost painfully against the tile. Anger and hurt and confusion still course, red hot and ugly, through his veins but... there’s something else, too. Something deeper. He can’t get Brayden out of his head, no matter how he tries and... Well. Maybe it would be easier to just stop trying. 

To give in.

The tell-tale creak of the locker room door pushing open abruptly derails his thoughts. Face flushing, he pushes himself back underneath the spray and busies himself washing up.

[arlobooth-blog]

kentcheongs:

Kent was already fuming from that second yellow card he was convinced he didn’t deserve, so naturally, the best course of action was to put him in a room of flashing lights and people who loved to push his buttons. He knew his goal wouldn’t matter when all they wanted was a good story. “Fox Striker Scores Amazing Goal” doesn’t earn as many clicks as “Fox Striker Flips On Field And Reporters.” In his pessimistic mind, it seemed as if they only ever wanted to provoke the beast inside, not caring that there was a very real man somewhere in there, even if it was deep down.

At least Arlo might have been more level-headed, Kent believed. He scored the game-winning goal, after all, and most importantly, he didn’t get kicked off the court. Plus, he likely had somewhat of a better reputation with the press than Kent did (he was barred from press duty for a while following what he would only ever cryptically refer to as “the freshman year fiasco”), so when the door opened and the Foxes were allowed into the room of clicking cameras and mumbling reporters, the junior nudged the fifth year in front of him, signaling for Arlo to enter first. “Let’s get this over with,” he sighed to his teammate.

Arlo gave Kent’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he passed, smiling softly. “Hey. It’ll be fine. Let’s just get in, answer a few questions, and get out. No throwing tables, flipping chairs, or storming out, okay?” His eyes crinkle and he snorts, rolling his eyes fondly. The Foxes... well. They were the Foxes. And, Arlo had been around long enough now to witness his fair share of press duty meltdowns. 

Arlo takes the lead and steps into the room. The noise ticks up a notch and he smiles, pleasantly, before making his way to the front of the room and taking a seat. He doesn’t look in Kent’s direction, but instead gives a small wave to the respectable crowd of flashing lights in front of him. 

“Uh. I guess we should go ahead and begin? First off, thank you guys for coming out today and watching the game. It’s always appreciated. Hopefully we can do your questions justice.” 

The crowd murmurs a (vaguely positive) response and that’s that. Arlo casts about for a moment before honing in on a patient looking male reporter on the front row. He points to him and gives a thumbs up.

“Go ahead, sir.”

Press Duty || Arlo & Kent

[arlobooth-blog]

gloryhoskinss:

@arlobooth

Glory never realized how much she enjoyed Exy until she actually watched a game. Sure, this wasn’t the way she liked her games, but she felt like she was learning something when she watched her fellow players on the court. It was like playing with them, but being more invested in both sides. She was able to see everything on the court before it happened. She saw freeze ups, she saw all the moments that made the players people. There was something so interesting about the human condition, especially under immense pressure. 

Moving back toward the bus, she spotted the only person that didn’t seem to be phased during the intense five minutes of overtime, and that, she was truly impressed by. The thought of being that close to the end scared her. Her mind went into overdrive in that last five minutes, and she wasn’t sure how they did it when the court was in such chaos. Her own head was spinning at the pace of the game, and she wondered if she would be able to keep up the energy like Arlo had.

Moving around the others sneakily, she got onto the bus, stealing the seat next to him before anyone else could. Maybe she could learn a thing or two from the striker. “Hi.” She says quickly, not bothering to break the ice between them, “great game.” 

Tonight... did not go how he expected. At all.

After the last game, the only thing he wanted was to show was that this... slump, this whatever it was, wasn’t permanent. And, for most of the night, he’d actually felt like he was doomed to repeat his previous mistakes. While he was definitely moving the ball with more accuracy and anticipating the defense better, his shots were still being denied. 

Like the rest of the team, he fought a long and exhausting battle. Overtime, when it came, was more daunting than anything: especially when Wymack called him out to represent the team, along with Akira. In hindsight, it probably would have been easier to give up. His muscles were sore and aching still, despite his rest period, and his hands were shaking from the nerves.

But he needed a win. They all did.

So, he did the only thing he could: he buckled down, found what little strength and energy he had left in him, and let it all loose at once.

He hadn’t expected the shot to go in. 

He hadn’t expected the victory, as unlikely as it was, to ring so hollow.

By the time he’d finished press duty and made it onto the bus, he could barely keep his eyes open. The seat next to him was, predictably, empty. Ever since the banquet, since the kiss, Brayden had been avoiding him. Well. They’d been avoiding each other. It was awkward, and slightly painful, so he tuned it out, preferring not to dwell (at least for tonight) in favor of catching a nap.

His plans were disturbed when he felt someone drop into the seat beside him. Cracking both eyes open, he turns to greet the person, only to be beaten to the punch. Sitting up a little straighter, Arlo scrubs a hand over his face and offers Glory a small, tired smile. 

“Hey. Thanks. Though... I don’t know. I really didn’t do much, huh? I only scored one goal. It just... happened to be the one to count the most?” He trails off, shrugging.

[arlobooth-blog]

striker-brayden:

Brayden doesn’t realize he’s gone so long without even saying a word, until Arlo places himself in front of Brayden to take over. Fuck, he can’t even look at Landon, he’s that pathetic. Things were shit right before Landon graduated, but at least Brayden could form a sentence around him. Back then, he was still an angry teenager–a high angry teenager. He’s still angry obviously, but he’s also had years and multiple sessions with Betsy to process his down-whirl spiral. He decided he was better just cutting his family out of his life, and to try not think about them anymore, which is nearly impossible when he sees Landon’s face all the time, and he pulls shit like this. 

This is the second time Landon approached him in the span of a few months, when he would usually just ignore Brayden. Part of him can’t help but be curious about the sudden change, but he decides he doesn’t want to know. Whatever his brother has to say will only fuck him up more. Landon can’t erase how badly he hurt him. The word “dance” brings him back to reality, causing him to look up in surprise, meeting Landon’s gaze instantly. His brother looks both frustrated and confused. Brayden didn’t have anything resembling a relationship when they were still living under the same roof. Even when they were kids, he never brought up crushes. Either Landon doesn’t believe Arlo or he’s wondering how much has changed in the past few years. 

Which is why Brayden resists the urge to protest and just lets Arlo drag him away. It’s an excuse to get away from his brother that he can’t turn down, even though as soon as they enter the thick of the crowd, he wants to escape. Sighing, he winces as someone pushes against his side, while dancing to the upbeat song playing. “It’s fine. It worked, didn’t it?” He avoids looking at the other Foxes, not wanting to see their reactions to him on the dance floor. 

“Or maybe I need self-defense lessons,” Brayden manages a weak snort, huffing in annoyance as another body pushes up against him. Obviously, he’s going to keep up with the act to keep Landon off his back, but he’s not standing in the center of the chaos for a second later. Taking Arlo’s elbow, he guides him towards the edge of the dance floor, closer to the back where it’s both darker and more secluded. “Thanks,” He mumbles when they settle in their new area, unsure if Arlo can even hear him over the music. He came with Arlo with the intention of him being a buffer, but he didn’t realize he would be so good at it. 

Looking around wearily, he makes sure there’s no one looking in their direction before deflating a little and turning back to Arlo. “Look, I don’t fucking dance, but now we have to keep up with appearances so…” He goes to–he’s not really sure…shimmy? But then then whatever song was playing fades out and transitions into a much slower, softer song and Brayden wants to die. Stupid pop songs are one thing, but slow songs? 

He’s about to give up on the whole charade, but Landon is still in the building, and he’s not allowed to leave without getting benched, so he looks at anything except for Arlo, and holds his breath as he places his hands on his slim hips, pulling him closer. “Of fucking course,” He manages a hoarse laugh before meeting his gaze, breath catching when he realizes how close they are. 

Arlo allows himself to be lead through the crowd. Brayden’s hand is warm on his elbow and the disco ball is spinning overhead and, for the first time in months, he feels... almost weightless. Happy, in a way. Adrenaline is still pumping through him after the encounter with Landon and, as uncomfortable as that had been, at the very least it had convinced Brayden that maybe dancing wasn’t the absolute worst thing that could happen to him tonight.

By the time they come to a stop, they’re on the fringes of the dance floor. It’s quieter here. The strobing lights are weaker and no one is elbowing him in the back or stepping on his shoes anymore, which is nice.

Despite the more relaxed atmosphere, Arlo still has to strain his ears to catch what Brayden says next. As soon as he figures it out, though, he can’t stop the almost manic grin that takes over his face. Brayden Sykes just thanked him. Genuinely. Out loud. In person. (He wishes he’d caught it on camera. Recorded it. Something to immortalize the situation.)

He contemplates giving the other striker a hard time. Milking it for all it’s worth. But, eventually, he decides against it. His smile softens and he shrugs. “No problem. You would have done the same for me.” And, maybe he shouldn’t assume something like that - that Brayden would protect him from Theo, should the need arise.

He shouldn’t assume.

But, he does anyway. He could be wrong, but even still, it’s a nice idea.

Arlo watches in amusement as Brayden practically whines at being forced to dance. The awkward wiggle he produces is both completely adorable and wildly hilarious. Biting the inside of his lip to keep from laughing, Arlo shoots the other Fox an encouraging thumbs up. “Hey, you’re not that bad. I promise.” He laughs, open and easy, eyes crinkling with mirth.

The music shifts, suddenly, into something much slower. Softer. Languid and fluid. He’s not sure what the song is, but he actually likes it. For a moment, they just sort of stare at each other. Brayden looks away first. Arlo opens his mouth to say something, anything, to keep him from leaving but before he can speak the other Fox is stepping forward and reeling Arlo in by the hips.

For a minute, Arlo can hardly breathe.

This close, he can smell Brayden’s aftershave. See the stubble on his jaw. There’s a bruise fading on the side of the other striker’s neck (probably from practice, or the last game) and the temptation to reach out and smooth his thumb over it is almost overwhelming.

To be honest, Arlo’s been fighting the urge to touch Brayden practically since they met. Naturally, he fails a lot. There’s a lot of back patting and slapping. Nudging. Arms thrown over shoulders. Even a few side hugs and, of course, that time they held hands under the bleachers. But, even those failures are still acts of self-control. 

What he really wants is to thread his fingers through Brayden’s soft, blonde hair and pull. To grip the back of his neck and haul him close, until they’re breathing the same air. To trace every single scar, over and over, and remind him how perfect he is.

Arlo wants everything, has wanted it for months, and holding back is starting to kill him.

Brayden laughs and looks up, finally. 

Their eyes meet and, this close, there’s mistaking the way Brayden’s breath hitches in his chest. The way his pupils dilate in the low light and his throat bobs when he swallows. 

Arlo leans in, carefully pressing his body against Brayden’s until they’re touching from chest to ankle. He’s barley breathing. He knows it’s showing on his face: the hope.

The expectancy.

“I.... Uh.” He starts to speak but cuts himself off, uncertainty and tension reverberating through him. 

[arlobooth-blog]

dominic-murphy:

Dominic had been surprisingly social the whole night, shuffling through the room and carefully checking in on each and every single one of the Foxes at one point or another. He kept swinging back around to Kent, laughing and joking around with him. He danced with a few people, found his eyes on Colin once or twice and felt a fierce pang of longing at the fact that they hadn’t spoken—and then he shoved that all down and focused on the job because now sure as shit wasn’t the time to be having a crisis about Colin Jessup of all people.

He’d been just about to start another round when Arlo slammed into his back, and Dominic couldn’t help stumbling a step forward. He twisted around, his nose wrinkling a little, but as the striker started to speak. Dominic squinted at the other for a minute, and then chuckled as he finally asked about Brayden, but he had to shake his head.

“I didn’t see the drink spilling or Brayden. He’s probably found a nice little corner to lurk in, hopefully one where no one tries to talk to him.”

“You missed out, man.” Arlo smiles, eyes crinkling, and let’s out a snort. “I’ve only seen someone that pissed like, once in my life. I wonder what that poor guy did.” He shrugs and expertly sidesteps a (possibly drunken) partygoer as she passes, complaining about losing her shoes. 

The news about Brayden isn’t exactly shocking, but it is disappointing. All Arlo wanted was to find the other striker and keep an eye on him. Two eyes, actually. Preferably on his ass. But, he didn’t have to tell anyone that.

“Sounds about right.” He rolls his eyes and nudges Dom with his elbow. “Though, you know, he’s really not that bad. I mean, I can definitely see why you two wouldn’t get along. You’re both kinda...” Arlo trails off, flailing around vaguely, seemingly at a loss for words. “Prickly? I guess. But, in a good way!” He hastens to add, putting both hands up, palms open in a placating gesture. “Like a cactus.”

Arlo shrugs.

“Anyway! How’s the banquet-ing going? Anyone get kicked out yet?”

Because, honestly. It’s only a matter of time.

[arlobooth-blog]

vivbrooks:

The Foxes were such a ragtag group of people. So differently mixed even if everyone around them thought they had the same essence.  Vivian almost doesn’t hear Arlo caught up in her annoyance and irritation but he’s a calming presence either way and she can’t help but give her a wave. “Daddy Fox, what an honour.” Acknowledging him with her signature smile.  She nods in agreement. “Yeah, thanks. Safe to say, Wymack’s plan wasn’t exactly Vogue material.” Brown eyes brighten at the ‘miracles’ comment. “I’ve been told that I’m both angel and devil, guess it makes sense for my team to be as well.”

Arlo does a little mock bow at the nickname, smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “The honor is mine.”

Vivian’s smile is downright dazzling. It makes perfect sense, how she could lead a team like the Vixens. They’re different from normal cheerleaders, he knows. Their job is about 100 times harder. They’re trying, essentially, to positively market a team that’s been systematically degraded and trashed for years. It’s their job to get the crowd excited to see the Foxes play. Their job to build moral and keep it high.

It can’t be easy. They (the Foxes) certainly don’t do much to help.

Luckily for them, Vivian’s charismatic. Energetic. Smart. And, obviously, more than willing to put up with the Foxes’ bullshit. Saying they hit the jackpot with her would probably be a bit of an understatement.

“Now you’ve got me curious. What was Wymack’s idea? Throw around a couple of streamers and set up a punch bowl? Put out like, three solitary chair around a single table and make us all fight, gladiator style, for a chance to actually eat dinner at a real table?”

Arlo laughs, easy and free, and gives Vivian a pat on the shoulder.

“Hey. Honestly, I don’t think “miracle” is a strong enough word. Angel. Devil. Whatever you all are, you’re divine and I’m not sure where we’d be without you.”

[arlobooth-blog]

striker-brayden:

Arlo announces he’s Brayden’s date like it’s the most casual thing in the world, like he just told Wymack the sky is blue. Meanwhile, Brayden visibly cringes in response, that word once again making his skin itch. Never once in his entire life has ever been able to call anyone his “date” to anything. Which is why he’s going to keep telling himself that Arlo isn’t really his date. He’s just there to keep Brayden grounded. They’re not going to hold hands or dance or do whatever “dates” do at these things. 

Brayden’s discomfort is so clear that Wymack obviously didn’t believe either of them, but that doesn’t matter as long as Brayden stays the entire night. Arlo’s presence does help to calm the tension, as much as he hates to admit it. He even lets out a short laugh at the image of Wymack smiling while watching Friends. “If only you filmed it. You could hold that over his head for the rest of your life. You’d never have to come to one of these stupid things again,” Brayden makes a sweeping gesture around the crowded gym, but the mention of dancing causes his arm to drop suddenly.

“No, we’re not,” He says with a firm shake of his head. “I told you I don’t dance. Especially not to this shit.” Brayden doesn’t know what song is currently playing and doesn’t want to find out, but it’s too upbeat and people are either jumping along excitedly to the beat or finding a way to turn into something to grind to. Both are equally horrible. Then there’s a hand on his elbow and a voice that he recognizes without needing to see the face of the owner. 

“Hey,” Landon greets quietly as Brayden turns around, his heart sinking to his stomach at the sight of him. Landon’s dressed in black from head to toe, still matching with the Ravens even though he’s now on the staff. He looks uncharacteristically hesitant, like he doesn’t want to interrupt his conversation, but that can’t be right. Even if Brayden wanted to say anything, he can’t, his tongue suddenly feeling too dry and heavy to form words, but he still has the sense to yank his arm out of his brother’s grip. 

“Can we talk?” No. No they can’t fucking talk. He doesn’t owe Landon anything. It’s the same shit he’s been telling himself for years, but can’t actually say now that he has the chance. Instead, he just stands there like an idiot, hands trembling at his sides and looking like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Oh, c’mon! This isn’t so ba-...” Arlo trails off, eyes going wide at the sight of a blonde male, dressed in all black, stepping up behind Brayden. Immediately, Arlo can see the resemblance: it’s definitely Landon. 

He watches Brayden freeze, tension visible in the line of his jaw and the slope of his shoulders. He seems to almost sort of curl into himself, if not physically, then mentally. His eyes get a sort of panicked, far-away look and his hands start to shake by his sides. He seems almost... terrified. Arlo’s gaze darts between the two brothers, brows furrowing as his mind races to find some sort of solution to this that won’t end in disaster. It’s pretty obvious that Brayden doesn’t want to talk to his brother, but the awkward silence stretching between the three of them doesn’t seem to be deterring the former-Raven at all. 

(If the family resemblance cue him in, the stubbornness definitely would have. Obviously, it’s a shared trait.)

“Hey!” Arlo takes a half step forward, putting himself between Landon and Brayden with a cheery wave. “Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Arlo.” He sticks his hand out. Landon shakes it, looking equal parts puzzled and irritated. Arlo cuts him off before he can speak. “Look, I hate to do this but I don’t really think we can stick around.” He shrugs in a “what-can-you-do” sort of manner and offers up a gin that’s positively dripping with fake pleasantry. “Brayden promised me a dance, and I intend to collect. So. Maybe we’ll see you around later?”  Wasting no time, Arlo wraps a hand possessively around Brayden’s forearm and gives a small tug, smile still firmly in place. When he’s sure the other striker will follow, he turns on his heel and heads into the thickest part of the crowd that’s gathered on the makeshift dance floor. “So nice meeting you!” He calls to Landon over his shoulder without looking back.

He doesn’t stop until they’re surrounded on all sides by partygoers. A few familiar faces glide by and he’s grateful for the reminder that they’re not alone in this. The Foxes are all here.

Arlo gently let’s go of Brayden’s arm and scrubs a hand over his face. His cheeks hurt. He chances a look up, catching Brayden’s eye, and winces slightly.

“Hey, sorry if that was crossing a line. You just... You really looked like you wanted to get out of there, you know?” He tosses the other Fox a small, decidedly more genuine grin. “You really don’t have to actually dance with me. This just seemed like the safest place to go. Strength in numbers.”

Arlo shrugs, awkwardly, noticing for the first time just how close they’re standing, the crowd pushing in on them from all sides. He remembers, suddenly, a night very similar to this one where he saved Brayden from a pushy fuckboy at Eden’s Twilight and he can’t help but snort out a laugh, edging even closer to be heard above the chaos. 

“Looks like this is twice I’ve come to your rescue. Maybe I really should drop the whole “art” gig and try for a degree in heroism. I’d make a pretty good Knight in Shining Armor, I think.”

[arlobooth-blog]

@dominic-murphy

Somehow, during the chaos of the floor re-set, Arlo lost sight of Brayden. Which, normally, wouldn’t be such a big deal but, tonight, it’s Very Much a Big Deal. Somewhere out there, Landon is probably loitering stoically with the rest of the Ravens, being a total douche and waiting for Brayden to unsuspectingly wander by.

Arlo’s supposed to look out for him. Be his “buffer” (or, whatever the hell Brayden had called it instead of just asking Arlo to be there for him and support him like a normal person). 

Arlo really doesn’t want to mess up.

Not tonight. Not with this.

Plus. If he’s being completely honest? ...He just wants to hang out with Brayden. For one thing, it would make the banquet go by faster. So far, it’s been a struggle just to stay conscious and make small talk with his own teammates (not to mention players from other teams who he really doesn’t have the patience for.) For another, he kind of wants to show Brayden that... he’s serious. About this whole thing being a “date.” 

Because... he really, really wants it to be date. In fact, he’s surprised at how much he really wants this to be date.

Sighing, Arlo plunges into the crowd, hoping beyond hope he’ll find Brayden quickly and be spared the torture of mingling. 

He doesn’t get far.

He’s only halfway across the room before he gets distracted and runs straight into someone’s back. Groaning internally, he straightens up and is about to start in with a slew of apologies before he recognizes who, exactly, he’s plowed into. 

“Dom! Hey!” He smiles, surprisingly genuine, relieved that he doesn’t have to engage with someone from another team. (Though, to be fair, listening to some random stranger drone on might be preferable to talking to Dom, depending on his mood).

Either way, Arlo really doesn’t mind too much. He actually likes Dom, oddly enough. The team manager is smart and methodical and good at his job. Sure, he can be... prickly at times. But, Arlo has two mini-cactuses and he still manages to love them despite their thorns. So. He’s got some practice.

“Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to run you over. I got distracted by that backliner from the Jackal’s team dumping her drink on that poor dude. Did you see it? Also, and more importantly: have you seen Brayden anywhere?”

[arlobooth-blog]

striker-brayden:

At some point, Brayden lost Arlo during the room shift to accommodate the DJ booth. The whole point of being “dates,” the word still makes Brayden shudder, is to be each other’s buffer for the brothers they didn’t want to see. Wymack’s threat still resinates deeply with Brayden, so he quickly scans the room to see if he can find Arlo, hoping he doesn’t see a blonde in the process. A hand grips his shoulder, causing him to jump in surprise, whipping around to see it’s just Wymack. “Jesus fuck,” He curses, resting a hand over his pounding heart. 

“Wrong, but close enough,” Wymack comments. “I came over remind you what I said in our meeting. You’re staying here tonight. I don’t care what happens.” 

By the tone of his voice, Brayden can tell he’s not fucking around. He’ll take him out of the game in the blink of an eye if he fucks this up. Wymack’s tolerance for his bullshit is at an all time low after he stormed out of the interview. “Alright,” He agrees flatly, pursing his lips. He’s not going to argue, even if he wants nothing more than to leave. 

“I’m serious. You so much as go outside for a cigarette break and you’re done. You’re lucky I didn’t pull you out of the game for the shit you pulled last week. Couldn’t even keep it together for the sake of your teammate.” There’s a huge difference when Wymack is disappointed in him than when anyone else is. He actually feels guilty–hating himself for making Wymack doubt his place on the team. Even though he respects the fuck out of him, it just isn’t enough to fix his need to self-destruct. Which is why his gaze shifts from Wymack to search the floor again, needing to check if Landon is near–if he can overhear them. 

Wymack has known Brayden long enough to know what he’s doing and his expression softens slightly, “Stop standing here by yourself and actually hang out with your team.” 

“I have a date,” Brayden mutters, even though he has no fucking clue where he is.

Wymack clearly doesn’t believe him as he lets out an annoyed huff, “Shut up. And stay inside,” He suddenly looks at someone over Brayden’s shoulder and points to them, “That goes for you too.”

 Wymack moves on to the next person as Brayden turns around to see who’s behind him, wondering how much they heard. “He loves me,” Brayden smirks, just trying to not show how fucking uncomfortable he is. He can’t even erase it with alcohol this time. 

Arlo approaches cautiously, both palms up in a placating gesture that (he hopes) will keep Wymack off his case. After his dismal performance in the last game, he’s tried his best avoid the coach. He doesn’t want to explain himself. He doesn’t think he’s remotely ready for that conversation. So. He  smiles sheepishly and points comically to Brayden. “I’m here for him. I’m ‘the date’.” Wymack shoots him a skeptical glare but, thankfully, merely shakes his head in exasperation and moves on.

Arlo lets out a sigh of relief and gives Brayden a feeble thumbs up. 

“Sure.” He rolls his eyes, but can’t keep a fond smile from tugging at his lips. “He loves you. And me. And ponies and unicorns and mid-day reruns of the hit 90′s sitcom, F.R.I.E.N.D.S.” Arlo manages to hold a straight face for all of three seconds before he cracks up - the first time he’s so much as chuckled all night. “...I’m serious about that last part, actually. I swear I saw him watching it on TBS one day in his office. And it wasn’t like, it was just on in the background or anything. He was actively watching. And smiling, I think.” Arlo shrugs. “It was weird. I might have still been slightly concussed, though, so take that with a grain of salt.”

“Anyway...” He trails off, fixing Brayden with an expectant stare. “I’m glad I found you. The dance floor is set up. Which means people are about to start dancing. Which means we are about to join them.” 

[arlobooth-blog]

paxtonridley:

                    Social events were always going to be torture for Paxton no matter how much they tried to be comfortable with them. This was always something that Emma was easier at handling. Even the wedding had been a bit too much for them. But tonight was going to be torture. Pax had gone to Betsy in hopes that she could get them out of this, but Wymack had said no. Sure Paxton wanted the team to look good, but that didn’t mean they had to be there for it. In fact, they were sure having a panic attack probably wouldn’t make the team seem normal at all. Hopefully this night was going to be painless, even though Pax knew that probably wasn’t the case. Once the floor was cleared for the DJ, Pax thought about slipping away, but Wymack’s threat actually mattered to them. They wanted to redeem themself from their last game. Pax hated getting carded during a game and it normally didn’t happen, so they were still sort of annoyed at that. 

                    They found themself surrounded by a bunch of other Exy players. It seemed that everyone was at least attempting to play nice. From what Paxton was seeing anyway. The group Pax was in was chatting about their predictions for the season. Which players would be benched by the end of the season, which teams were going to make it to the Championships, what players had the best statistics. This was at least more comfortable for Pax to talk about and though it was difficult, they managed to keep up with conversation. Maybe they didn’t know who they were talking to, or they purposefully were trying to piss them off, but one of them brought up the Foxes. 

                              “One hit wonders, I’ll say. I doubt they’re going to make it very far.” 

                    Luckily the music was turned up high enough that Pax didn’t think they were going to cause an actual scene because honestly, Pax couldn’t let that comment go. “They’re two and oh right now. Much better than some of the other teams,” Paxton replied, a little harsher than they meant to. “I’m just saying.” Paxton was sure the group had no idea who they were talking to. 

                              “No one on that team is worth anything. Look at all of them, they’re a mess. None of them know how to play as a team. I give it two more games before they fall apart.” 

                    “That’s not fair. The Foxes are a great team. Stop talking before you regret saying anything about my team.” Yeah, they had no idea who they were talking to. Pax needed to get out of here fast before things got worse. 

“C’mon, guys.” Arlo slides up next to Pax’s side, an overly cheerful and obviously fake smile in place. “Would it kill you to have a little faith in us? After all, we didn’t have a problem beating some of your teams last season.” 

Arlo hooks his arm through Pax’s and gives a gentle tug, pulling them towards the refreshment table. “But hey! If doubting us helps you sleep at night, be my guest.” He waves, smile widening, before turning his back on the gaping group of players and marching away, Pax in tow.

By the time they reach the refreshments, Arlo has lost the mocking smile in favor of a more harried, exhausted expression. He drops Pax’s arm, patting them on the back, before pouring two cups of punch and pushing one of them into the other Fox’s hand.

“Sorry if that was a little overkill. You just seemed like you could use some backup.” He smiles again, softer and much more genuine, before letting out a heavy exhale. “I probably could have handled that better, but... It’s been a long night. And, I don’t know about you but I’m kind of ready for it to be over.”

He used to look forward to the banquets and parties. Used to enjoy them. But, lately, he’s been having trouble enjoying... pretty much anything. He gets by alright, and some days are better than others, but more often than not, his thoughts are derailed by guilt. By memories of his dad. By fear and anger. 

He hasn’t really felt like himself.

But. He does get by. And, luckily, most of the team hasn’t noticed anything.

[arlobooth-blog]

vivbrooks:

Vivian had spent a good majority of her week planning the decorations of the Banquet. The head cheerleader didn’t have any clear relationship with the Exy coach but Wymack was pretty clueless about event planning. Luckily for him , Vivian had been on the Event Planning Committee in high school. Now finally at the event, Vivian surveys her surroundings delighted that it didn’t look too shabby. 

Shimmery silver dress does plenty to accentuate her features and the Vixen certainly knows it. Catching one of the Ravens giving her a lewd stare, Vivian gives a secretive middle finger before downing her drink and facing the person closest to her.”Honestly I don’t think the Ravens are far enough. We should have put them in the car park or near the bins so the garbagemen don’t forget to collect them too.”

“I agree.” Arlo peers around the Vixen to catch a glimpse of the aforementioned team, scowling lightly. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking for Landon. Though he isn’t actually sure what Brayden’s brother looks like, that doesn’t stop him from trying to magically pick him out of the crowd of black-clad Ravens huddled in the back of the gym.

Arlo sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. He leans back against the table behind him and resists the temptation to check his watch for the time for the umpteenth time. As much as he just wants this to be over, obsessing isn’t going to help anyone. 

“So. I guess congratulations are in order.” He shoots Viv a small smile. “I mean. We all known Wymack wasn’t behind planning all of this.” He gestures broadly about the room. “It looks good. Way better than I was expecting. Seems like the Vixens really are capable of performing miracles.”

[arlobooth-blog]

[arlobooth-blog]

text -> arlo

brayden: oh no my phone died.

arlo: ...

arlo: brayden that's not how phones work

arlo: you can't text me saying your phone died

arlo: think about it

arlo: logic

arlo: also you're still gonna dance get over it