#chapter title tournament

[chapter-title-tournament]

It’s official!

The winner of the Chapter Title Tournament is…

In Which Sophie Expresses Her Feelings with Weed-Killer

From Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones!

[myladybelle]

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍? | chapter thirteen

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: art donaldson x female!reader x patrick zweig 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve always been content being second place to your best friend tashi duncan, waiting for the day you can quit tennis. your world is upended when you meet art and patrick, and you’re forced to embrace a life in the sport you’ve been too afraid to claim for yourself. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.7k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): challengers content warnings, descriptions of anxiety, swearing, use of y/n 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: hi my loves i’m back!! thank you all for your patience while i was sick and preparing for the new semester, i appreciate all your kind messages so much x 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝐖𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐒’ 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 – 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟑, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎 

“Newcomer on the professional tennis scene, Y/N Y/L/N surprised virtually everyone when she won the Ladies’ Semi Final two days ago,” an English-accented sports journalist said on TV as you waited for your cue to step onto the court for the finals. “She’s not only the most technically excellent player of her age, but she has the fastest serve on the WTA tour.”

“She’s a remarkable player,” the other journalist agreed. You watched them play back a clip from your most recent match, highlighting one of your aces. “But if she wants to win on Centre Court here at Wimbledon for the very first time, she’s going to have to start embracing her volleys. Maybe she should take a leaf out of her boyfriend’s book.”

“Patrick Zweig? He only made it to the second round!”

“Yes, but he played some very entertaining tennis this week. It was a joy to watch and very well suited to a grass court!” 

“It’s true, Zweig plays a sneaky game of tennis. He keeps his opponent on his feet.” 

“In any case, the whole world is sure to be watching Y/N Y/L/N tonight, eager to see her take on Anna Mueller.”

“Now, this isn’t the first time Y/L/N and Mueller have played. They faced off numerous times in junior tournaments, and Y/L/N already beat her at Indian Wells, Milan, Roland-Garros, and the US Open last year. They have yet to play each other in a final, though, and Y/L/N has no grand slam titles to Mueller’s two.”

“Will it be experience and longevity that give Mueller the win, or will new talent Y/L/N take the match with precision and speed?”

“We will soon see.”

You had never been this nervous before a match until your second time at Wimbledon. 

For the first time in your professional career, just a year and a half after entering the tennis world, you made it to the final round of a grand slam tournament. The other tournaments you had won within the last year put your name on the map, allowing you to garner attention and recognition from your peers and spectators.

But a grand slam title meant you would be a part of history.

It was everything you wanted, everything you worked and struggled for. Your heart pounded so quickly that you thought it might leap out of your skin, and your quickening breath made spots appear in your vision. The pressure mounted, not just because your life goal was an arm’s length away, but from all the people who had their eyes on you. Some scrutinising, some rooting for you. 

Bracing your hands on your thighs, you closed your eyes and tried to breathe deeply. It felt like you were losing control. Everything you did to maintain your anxiety felt like it was slipping through your fingers, just like your dream of becoming a grand slam winner. 

Tashi’s voice rang in your ears. You’re going to be fucking miserable, and you’re going to hate your life just as much as your mother hates the fact that she had you. Art’s voice joined Tashi. Everyone knows that tennis is more of a mental game than a physical game. You have a lot of anxiety, and…

The sound of your phone getting a text message interrupted your tornado of negative thoughts. 

PAT 💞: Don’t listen to any of those assholes, they don’t matter. I love you so much and I’m proud of you no matter what happens today. Hold your head up high and do your best, nothing else matters. Don’t forget to breathe, pretty girl. P x

As you stepped onto the court, the cheers of the crowd were deafening. You could feel the vibrations of their applause through the soles of your shoes; the energy was electric, and the buzzing of quiet chatter set you on edge. Remembering Patrick’s advice, you breathed deeply and waved to the crowd, smiling as you headed for your bench. Everyone on your team was sitting in the player’s box with Patrick and your dad, and it was a relief to see them there supporting you. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this final round match. This match will be played as the best of three sets,” the umpire said. “To the left of the chair, from Switzerland, Anna Mueller. To the right of the chair, from the United States, Y/N Y/L/N. Y/L/N won the toss and elected to serve.”

From his seat in your box, Patrick chuckled. “I bet Anna Mueller’s terrified right now,” he commented. “Going into a match against Y/N and having her serve first would push me over the edge if I was playing her.” 

Next to Patrick, your father happily declared, “If Mueller wasn’t nervous to play Y/N before, she will be once she realises how many aces she has up her sleeve.”

Mueller crouched behind the baseline, nervously twirling her racket between her hands. Her poker face wasn’t nearly as good as yours, betraying her fear as you bounced the ball and prepared to serve. Knowing that you had this effect on your opponent, even before the game had started, made you feel powerful. 

With a mixture of nerves and excitement coursing through your veins, you tossed the ball in the air and served it over the tennis net. Mueller ran in the wrong direction, expecting you to serve to her backhand, and cursed when she couldn’t change courses fast enough to return the ball.

Your first ace of the game. 15-love.

Mueller played nervously. She knew your baseline game was strong, but her mistake was assuming that you could only play from the baseline. You decided to play closer to the net, consistently hitting gently when Mueller expected you to go hard and fast, making it impossible for her to generate the power needed to return well.

When you took the first set 6-0, Mueller cursed and turned to her box to yell something at her coach. During the changeover, you could hear her muttering to herself, failing to compose her posture and expression. She looked panicked and angry. From experience, you knew that the right amount of anxiety could help you focus on the match, but anger would destroy a player’s self-control and concentration.

When you served an ace at the beginning of the next set, Mueller stomped her foot angrily and challenged the call. The call held up, declaring your serve was in and awarding you the point. You watched in shock as Mueller’s face twisted with fury, her eyes blazing as she smashed her racket against the ground. Over and over again, the crowd gasped and booed as the frame cracked and the strings bent out of shape. 

“Code violation, racket abuse. Warning, Mueller.” 

From his seat, Patrick smirked, applauding the action while you maintained professionalism. He was the type of player who occasionally broke his racket or committed other code violations, so Patrick admired your ability to hold back. There was something rewarding about watching your opponent fall apart as you waited for her to get it together so you could keep playing. 

The atmosphere of the game changed after Mueller’s outburst. Releasing her anger had done Mueller well, and one of her backhands shot forth like a lightning bolt, making it impossible for you to return. She got a few points in, making you run for it. Sweat glistened on your brows, and your heart pounded, a steady drum beat that echoed the rhythm of your feet as you struggled to return some of Mueller’s balls. The crowd watched in awe as she started finding her rhythm, pushing through the fatigue with a newfound unwavering focus. 

Mueller looked incredibly smug to have caught up with you. So, you let her win a little bit. 

Your father frowned when you served into the net twice, giving Mueller the point. “What’s she doing?” he muttered quietly. “Are the nerves getting to her?”

Patrick shook his head, chuckling as he realised, “She’s throwing the set on purpose.” A smirk graced his lips when he remembered how you used to do the same thing when you played Tashi. “She wants Mueller to think she’s beating her.”

You let yourself enjoy it, toying with Mueller and never letting her know what you planned next. When you volleyed the ball back to her, she sprinted to the net. Just when she got used to playing close to the net, you hit a flat groundstroke past her. Once Mueller realised your pattern, she stayed closer to the baseline, and you hit her with your drop shots, far too close to the net for her to return.

Quickly, you caught up, 7-7. You needed one last game to win the match, and it was your turn to serve. 

Two aces in a row. Mueller yelled in frustration and anger when she missed both serves, once to her forehand and once to her backhand. Your focus sharpened with each passing moment. Serving was your area of expertise. You had the match exactly where you wanted it. 

With each point you won, your confidence grew. Your movements were fluid and instinctive; your racket felt like an extension of your arm, sending powerful, precise shots that left Mueller scrambling to return them. Like always, your serves were lightning fast, unerring and spectacular, kissing the line every time without fail. 

Mueller chased down every ball, but exhaustion was setting in, and her anger had returned. She was irritated that you had let her win, annoyed that it had boosted her ego so much, and furious that she couldn’t get in your head the way you got in hers. 

You were playing the best tennis of your life, each moment a testament to your skill and resilience over the years. The beauty of your game captivated the spectators, leaving the crowd in awe of your mesmerising strokes and masterful returns. The more points you won, the closer you got to winning the tournament. Tension and excitement were palpable, mounting in a crescendo of enthusiastic applause and standing ovations.

“Match point.” 

The cacophony of cheers faded into the background as you bounced the ball in your hand. You were good at keeping the pressure of winning off your shoulders, but the enormity of this point pressed down on you heavily. With your stomach in knots, you adjusted your grip on your tennis racket. Amid all the stress, anxiety, and fear, you felt a spark of determination. 

You didn’t just want to win; you deserved it. 

You served her backhand, which Mueller anticipated and hit back with equal intensity. The ball hit the ground awkwardly on your side of the net, creating minimal bounce with little power. Regardless, you hit it hard. As the two of you rallied back and forth, you followed the sports journalist from earlier’s advice and used a trick shot Patrick had taught you. When Mueller hit your forehand, you pretended to miss the ball. She celebrated, prematurely stopping while you hit the ball back between your legs, surprising Mueller and making her trip as she tried to return the ball. 

As Mueller landed on the floor, the ball bounced on her side of the net for a second time, earning you the point and the Wimbledon Ladies’ Singles title. 

An overwhelming surge of triumph and disbelief hit you all at once. Your ears rang, drowning out the cacophony of the crowd’s ecstatic roars as you collapsed to your knees, dropping your racket. The weight of victory crashed upon you, and tears streamed down your face as you sobbed. Each teardrop released the intense pressure and emotion you had carried through the gruelling tournament. 

You cried for your mother, who you no longer needed to please; for Tashi, your former best friend who would not be here to celebrate this moment with you; and you cried for yourself, the person who got through it all and made it to the other side. 

When you wiped the tears from your cheeks and stood to shake your opponent’s hand, the world around you blurred back into focus. The cheers and applause of the crowd went from being a distant echo to a deafening roar. Mueller barely touched your hand before going to shake the umpire’s and—for a brief, solitary moment—you were enveloped by a profound sense of accomplishment. 

You did it.

After waving to the crowd and thanking the umpire, you turned to your player’s box. There, Patrick stood applauding your victory. His heart swelled with immeasurable pride and love for you, feeling an overwhelming admiration for your strength and dedication. You laughed, running across the court towards the box and excusing yourself as you squeezed past ball boys and line judges. Stepping up on one of the nearby benches, you lifted yourself closer to your boyfriend, who leaned over the railing, giggling.

Up close, Patrick’s eyes were misty, and a broad, genuine smile spread across his face. Every sacrifice you made, every early morning and late night, came rushing back to him in a flood of memories. He could hardly contain his excitement. 

“You just fucking won Wimbledon!” Patrick yelled. “You were incredible!”

“I love you,” you replied, equally breathless and giddy. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Pat.” 

Pushing up on your toes, you hooked your arms around Patrick’s shoulders and kissed him. The crowd cheered even louder around you, but you didn’t care. Nothing and nobody else mattered at that moment. All you knew was that you had just achieved something incredible and Patrick was the only person you wanted to celebrate it with. He held your head carefully and kissed you hard, expressing his passionate pride with every press of his lips.

“Thank you. For reminding me to breathe,” you acknowledged when you parted, gazing up at your boyfriend with sparkling eyes. “And for teaching me your favourite trick shot.”

Patrick chuckled, taking one of your hands and pressing several kisses to the back of it. “That was all you, gorgeous. I had nothing to do with it. This win belongs to you,” he said sincerely. “Fuck, I love you, pretty girl.”

Art Donaldson stood in the crowd, his heart heavy with pride and melancholy as he watched you give Patrick a final kiss before returning to the court for your interview. It was a privilege to watch every powerful swing of your racket and every point you earned. Art was reminded of the countless hours you had poured into your practice, the determination that had always driven you while you were at Stanford. He had once been the one to share in those moments of victory with you, celebrating every win with the joy you now showed on the court. 

But now, as Art saw the happiness in your eyes and heard the crowd’s cheers, a wave of sadness washed over him. He was no longer part of your triumphs. He was just another face in the sea of supporters, knowing your victory wouldn’t be shared with him.

Art’s gaze flickered between you standing on the court and Patrick sitting with your father in the player’s box. His former best friend looked happier than Art had ever seen him, and knowing that your memory of this day would always be intertwined with your relationship with Patrick filled Art with an ugly jealousy. 

He knew he had no right to your life and joy, but Art wanted to celebrate with you. He wanted to tell you that he was proud of you and always knew you had the talent and perseverance to succeed. In fact, there were a lot of things Art wanted to say, including a sincere apology for what he said the night you broke up. But you had moved on, and you were happy, and the last thing Art wanted to do was ruin any of that for you. 

So instead, Art got up and pushed through the crowd, making his way to the exit as he heard your voice thanking Patrick for his love and support over the loudspeakers.

𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 – 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝟏𝟑, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎

It felt good. 

Sitting in the booth with Tashi was almost like when Art used to sit in the dining hall with her at Stanford, back when you, Art, and Tashi were all attached at the hip.

A month ago, Art and Tashi graduated and began working in the professional tennis world, but it meant nothing to either of them without their best friends by their sides. Neither of them could have guessed that you and Patrick would leave behind such a huge hole when you stopped being friends with them.

“Maybe you wanna jump ship?” Art said, half-joking as he signed the bill and paid for their meal. “Come be my assistant coach?” When Tashi stared dumbfoundedly at him, he grinned. “Oh, I get it. You want to work with someone who has a little bit more potential.” 

“No!” Tashi protested. “No. No, it’s not that. I mean, you have plenty of potential. It’s just–” she cut herself off, nervously observing the blond sitting in front of her. It had been years since you and Art broke up, but it felt like yesterday. “You think that would be a good idea?” 

“Why not?” Art retorted. Tashi gestured vaguely, referencing their complex shared past. “That was a long time ago–” 

“–It was not that long ago,” she disagreed, interrupting Art’s attempt at nonchalance. 

“Well, it feels like a long time ago,” Art mumbled. 

“So, you’re saying you’re not in love with her anymore?” Tashi argued, raising a questioning eyebrow at her old friend. 

Art schooled his expression, not wanting to give his lingering emotions away. But Tashi saw through it, recognising the familiar signs that indicated his love for you still ran deep. His features softened at the mention of you, and there was a faraway look in his icy blue eyes.

Back when you were dating Art—and Tashi and Patrick were casually seeing each other—Patrick used to describe the look on his best friend’s face when he first laid eyes on you. That look of pure, absolute adoration and love never once faded from Art’s face at the mention or sight of you. Tashi knew with certainty that it would never fade.

“Well, I’m not holding my breath waiting for her,” Art retorted. “That ship has clearly sailed.”

“Doesn’t mean you aren’t clutching the hull for dear life,” Tashi remarked, using Art’s ship analogy against him. “Did you see her at Wimbledon?”

“Of course I did,” Art replied, fiddling anxiously with the napkin on the table. 

“She was incredible, wasn’t she? I mean, I always knew she had it in her, but watching her win that final…” Tashi sighed.

If she was as good a friend to you as she always thought, she would have noticed that you used to hold back to help Tashi pursue her dreams of being the best tennis player in the world. Upon reflection, Tashi realised she would never be as good a friend to you as you were to her, and she should never have considered you to be less talented, hard-working, or capable than herself.

“It was like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” Tashi said proudly.

Art agreed, “She’s officially a grand slam winner, the whole world was watching her that day.”

Tashi nodded. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” Her lips curved in a disappointed frown, recalling all the times you and Tashi promised you would always be there to celebrate each others’ accomplishments when you were teenagers. “All of a sudden, the whole world feels entitled to a part of her. Instead of going through this journey with her, we’re on the outside looking in, just like everybody else.”

“It was pretty surreal,” Art affirmed. “I mean, I always knew what she was capable of. I remember all those late nights, talking about what she would do if she ever won a grand slam. And now that she has, I can’t help but feel a little lost.”

“Like you should be there with her,” Tashi guessed. She gave Art a sympathetic smile, her eyes soft with understanding. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Art sighed, leaning back in his booth. “We used to be the people who knew her best in the world,” he recalled. “And now, we aren’t a part of her life anymore. It’s not just about tennis or success, it’s about her. She didn’t just hold us all together, she was seeped into the essence of everything I did and everything I dreamed.” The vulnerable honesty in Art’s voice made Tashi swallow harshly. “What am I supposed to do without her now? None of my plans ever accounted for me reaching this point in my life without her in it.”

Art’s words rendered them both silent.

You used to take up so much space in their lives, filling a void neither of them knew existed until you left them. Thinking about you and reflecting on your absence was always bittersweet. There was so much warmth and joy in their memories of you, but they were constantly paired with painful reminders of how much they hurt you. You, who only ever wanted to love and be loved. 

“Maybe this is what we deserve for hurting her in the first place,” Tashi offered. “The things I said to her that day–” she inhaled sharply, pain filling her chest as she recalled the argument that ended your friendship– “I don’t blame her for wanting nothing to do with me.”

“The look on her face when I told her I went to see you the night you fought…” Art shook his head in disappointment, his jaw clenched tightly as the frustration simmered beneath the surface. “I should have told her I went to confront you for hurting her. I should have told her I was desperate to figure out why she was inconsolable, but I let her believe I went to you because I was on your side. I was so angry and frustrated during the break up that I told her things just because I knew they would hurt her. Who does that to someone they love?”

“Us, apparently,” Tashi said, grumbling like she couldn’t believe what they did to you. Reaching across the table, Tashi covered Art’s hand with hers, offering a small, bittersweet smile. “My mom says that Y/N was my life lesson,” she explained. “That losing her was supposed to teach me something.”

“Yeah?” Art met her eyes and frowned. “What did it teach you?”

“To hold on,” Tashi declared. “When you meet someone like her, someone who’s warm and loving and far kinder to you than you deserve, you hold on to her. Because going through life without her is unimaginably worse than when she’s by your side.” 

It hurt to reflect on how much worse life was without you. You had been everything to Art for so long, and his eyes stung with tears every time he thought of you. The emptiness you left behind felt insurmountable, a constant ache he couldn’t escape. Every moment without you reminded him of what he’d lost, of how your presence had once filled his world with light and purpose.

Now, that light was gone, leaving him to navigate the shadows of what used to be; the pain of your absence was a relentless companion.

Art pulled his hand away and cleared his throat, staring at his lap. “This is really stupid, but, uh… After your injury… I couldn’t help but just think about what would have happened if I had beaten Patrick,” he confessed. 

Tashi froze at the mention of how you met Art and Patrick. 

She knew Art well enough to understand that everything he did led back to you and how he lost you. No matter how badly Art wanted to change the past, Tashi knew you would always love him and Patrick throughout your life. 

In a way, Tashi, Art, and Patrick were the three great loves of your life.

One for a friendship that was supposed to last a lifetime, one for the boy who made you realise what it was like to be loved, and one for the man who would wait a lifetime just for a minute of happiness with you.

No matter how much you once loved Art, Tashi knew you would love Patrick in every life, too. It didn’t matter what order you met them in; you were the catalyst that changed each of their lives. 

Tashi thought she was the only objective spectator to your relationships with Art and Patrick. She was your best friend at Stanford when you dated Art, and she was practically a stranger now that you were with Patrick. Watching your romantic relationship unfold on TV and in newspapers and magazines was entirely different from having a front-row seat back in college, but Tashi knew you well enough to see how deeply and genuinely you loved Patrick, just as you had loved Art.

“So you want me to join your team because you couldn’t win Y/N’s number that day?”

Art lifted his head to meet Tashi’s gaze. “No,” he denied. “I want you to join my team because I want to win.”

Tashi suppressed a grin. She should have known that if it wasn’t about you, it was about Patrick. “I think you’d beat him now if you guys played,” she commented, sipping her coffee. “Don’t you think?” 

It was a challenge that Tashi knew Art would easily see through. 

Perhaps Art could beat Patrick if their history wasn’t complicated by you entering their lives. If the two of them were just best friends trying to make it in the tennis world, Art had the skills, practice, and tenacity to win now. After all, he had dedicated himself to the sport at Stanford and had an excellent team supporting him, while Patrick continued to rely on raw talent. As Art steadily climbed the ranks with every game, Patrick floundered somewhere in the lower 200s. 

But all of this was negated by one simple fact. Patrick had the one thing that Art truly wanted: you. 

If Art and Patrick played a match tomorrow, you would be in Patrick’s player box, cheering his name and applauding his wins. Your presence at the match—and in Patrick’s life—would be more than enough for Art to lose every time he faced his former best friend, just as he lost you. The only thing that could give Art a chance to beat Patrick would be having you on his side. 

“Don’t know,” Art replied cryptically. “We, uh… haven’t played professionally, and don’t keep in touch.” Tashi laughed, nearly choking on her coffee. “What?” 

She cleared her throat. “Just… She never saw it,” Tashi explained. “The rivalry between you and Patrick. Ever since that night we first met, she always assumed the two of you were after me.” She shook her head, visibly entertained. “She used to say that I was the sun and she was the moon. But, God, wasn’t she just everything? The moon and the stars and everything in between, that was her.” Tashi and Art shared a soft, sentimental expression. “I never understood why she couldn’t see it. Everything was over the moment you and Patrick met her, and I knew none of us would ever be the same.”

A small smile stretched across Art’s lips. “Yeah…” 

Tashi was right—you had been everything to him. 

Art felt it the moment his eyes first met yours, an instant connection that went beyond mere attraction. It was as if something within him recognised you, a deep and undeniable pull that resonated in both his body and heart. It wasn’t just about your smile or how you moved; it was how your presence seemed to complete something in him, filling a void he hadn’t even known existed.

You became his anchor, the one person who made everything else make sense, and from that moment on, he knew his life would never be the same without you.

“We joked that we weren’t homewreckers the night we met you, but…” Tashi trailed off, sighing as she set her mug on the table and crossed her arms. “I never thought it would come between me and her. I always thought I was a better friend than that. And I hate it, but running into you today is the closest I’ve felt to her in years,” she confessed.

Sitting there opposite your former best friend, Art couldn’t help but agree. So many parts of you lived on in Tashi, remnants of your lifelong friendship that had shaped both of you in ways he could now see clearly. The way she tilted her head when deep in thought mirrored your own, a habit you’d both picked up during your countless late-night conversations. That amused, all-knowing expression on Tashi’s face when Art tried to lie to her was uncannily similar to yours. 

Even her choice of words, the little phrases and inside jokes that only you two shared, brought you vividly to life at that moment, making it feel like a part of you was still there, sitting right across from Art.

“Yeah, me too,” Art agreed, trying to keep the sudden gust of sadness out of his tone. 

To make matters worse, seeing Tashi was the closest Art had felt to you and Patrick in a very long time. 

It brought back memories of his former best friend, who had once been his world. There was a time when the four of you felt inseparable, and now, sitting there, Art could almost hear the echoes of those days. The way Tashi absentmindedly rubbed her forearm was like Patrick used to, a nervous habit that always surfaced during serious conversations. Tashi’s honest recount of how much she missed you felt like a mirror image of how much Art missed Patrick. Being with Tashi now, it was impossible not to feel the empty space left by the absence of the friendships that had once defined them both.

That night, as Tashi stepped into Art’s hotel room, the invisible string that still bound them both to you seemed to tighten, pulling them a little closer to where you slept just a few floors away.

𝟐 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐒 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 – 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝟐𝟖, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎

“I just got off the phone with Elora,” you declared, stepping into your shared hotel room with Patrick and finding your boyfriend lounging on the bed with the TV on. “I’ve been asked to play an exhibition match tomorrow. Just something quick and fun before the first round to boost ticket sales for the qualifiers. A bunch of American players from the tour will be there.”

You dropped onto the bed beside Patrick, kicking off your shoes and curling up in his awaiting arms. The two of you had been travelling together for over a year, sharing rooms while on tour and cohabitating in every aspect of your lives. It was like a reward after enduring a long-distance relationship during your final year at Stanford. Instead of just talking on the phone and occasionally getting surprise visits from Patrick, you went everywhere together and supported each other at every match and tournament you attended.

The two of you had slipped into an easy routine. Having the same profession meant that you were constantly going to the same places, and it made travelling and sightseeing so much more special. After working hard for over two weeks at each tournament, exploring new cities with Patrick was the ideal way to wind down and relax. There was something incredibly special and romantic about doing every day of your life with him.

Your relationship had been grabbing headlines ever since the press caught on to the fact that you were together over a year ago, but the attention ramped up exponentially after you won Wimbledon.

What used to be short articles about an up-and-coming, attractive couple in the tennis world had snowballed into detailed timelines of your dates and public appearances with Patrick. Luckily, the public adored you, and there was very little criticism or negativity surrounding your relationship. Other players on the WTA and ATP tour often teased you about being real celebrities, pointing out how rare it was to win public favour as much as you and Patrick did.

Even though this shift was odd, and you had yet to get used to the constant eyes on you, there were perks to having your picture taken professionally every time you went on a date with your boyfriend. You had framed your favourite newspaper clipping, a beautiful picture of you kissing Patrick after winning Wimbledon, with the heading The Darlings of the Tennis World written above it in a large, bold font.

“Great,” Patrick drawled, blinking lazily as he wrapped his arms around you. His hands gravitated under your shirt to draw circles on the bare skin of your midriff, immediately sending butterflies to your stomach. “Which unlucky girl’s getting her ass handed to her while you beat her in straight sets?” he joked, knowing any match you played would end in a crushing defeat for the other player. 

“Actually…” you trailed off, sending him your best smile as Patrick drew his head back to meet your gaze. 

He observed your innocent expression with quizzical, unsure eyes. Even though you were giving him your sweetest look, there was something mischievous about the glint in your eyes. When realisation hit him, Patrick sighed and said, “I’m the unlucky girl, aren’t I?” His distraught tone made laughter bubble from your lips.

“Smart and handsome? I really hit the jackpot,” you teased, buttering him up with compliments so that he would agree more readily. “Come on, Pat, it’ll be fun!” 

“Oh yeah, really fun!” Patrick agreed sarcastically, matching your energetic tone. “Like how a lion treats a lamb during slaughter!”

You rolled your eyes, stifling your laughter at your boyfriend’s dramatics. “Don’t worry, pretty girl, I’ll go easy on you,” you said, imitating his voice and tone. He had never used those exact words about playing tennis, but Patrick’s tone was always thick with the same arrogant confidence. “Think about it! If you play against me, you’ll get to see that winning serve of mine up close and personal.”

“Excuse me, I’ve been on the opposing end of your winning serve plenty of times during practice,” Patrick defended. “I always knew you were better than me, gorgeous, but I don’t remember agreeing to public humiliation when we started dating!”

“Drama queen,” you accused. “It really will be fun! We’ll be mic’d up and we can talk and joke the entire time. It’s the best of three sets and it’ll be just like practising together. Come on, what do you say?” At Patrick’s uncertain expression, you sat up in bed and swung a leg over his lap to straddle him. The fire that instantaneously burned in his gaze made you smirk triumphantly. “I’ll be really grateful if you do it,” you said suggestively, placing your hands on his chest and grinning. “Pretty please?”

“Well, since you said pretty please,” Patrick joked, unable to keep the wide smile off his face when you tilted your head at him. “Sure. What’s one more event where everyone thinks you’re out of my league?”

Happily, you exclaimed, “That’s the spirit!” 

“Wait–” Patrick frowned when you got up from his lap and began scurrying around the room looking for your phone– “I thought you were going to show me how grateful you are?”

You snorted. “Nice try. You can have your reward after the exhibition match,” you declared, chuckling quietly.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Patrick complained.

“Don’t act like you don’t love the chase,” you retorted, winking as you texted Elora that you and Patrick were happy to participate in the exhibition match. 

From his place on your shared bed, Patrick rolled onto his stomach and observed you. It was hard to imagine that he had only known you for four years. Your participation in his life felt so insurmountably important that it was like he had known you his entire life. You had seamlessly woven yourself into the fabric of Patrick’s daily existence, shaping his world with a depth and significance that defied the brevity of time. 

Unlike Tashi and Art, Patrick realised early on that you were someone he should hold on to. His life before you had been filled with disappointment from his family, and Patrick recognised what a rarity you were. Having already lost you before when his relationships with Tashi and Art ended, Patrick knew losing you meant losing something irreplaceable. Your presence filled gaps he hadn’t noticed before he met you, making it obvious that you were someone worth cherishing. 

As you picked up a phone call from your coach, Patrick went on his laptop and checked how much money was in his savings account. He won enough matches to pay for plane tickets, tennis equipment, and other daily necessities, saving an immense amount of money because the fat cheque you got from Nike every month more than covered your shared accommodations. Over the last year, in particular, Patrick had started saving for something very special. 

An engagement ring.

As much as Patrick wanted you to have the very best, an engagement ring from Harry Winston or Bulgari just wasn’t within his budget. He was entitled to a family heirloom ring, but Patrick didn’t want to give you something from his family. Any engagement ring he chose had to represent you and your relationship with him, rather than the generations of unhappy, reluctant marriages his family seemed destined to repeat.

After carefully perusing different stores and comparing the cost and quality of various rings, Patrick found the perfect one at Cartier. It was simple and classic, exactly the style you had mentioned you preferred offhandedly on several occasions. To his surprise, it didn’t cost an arm and a leg, and he had almost saved enough to get you the exact ring he wanted you to have.

After Wimbledon, you noticed and commented on the fact that Patrick was training harder than ever. To you, it seemed like he was finally starting to take himself more seriously. Instead of coasting on his natural talent, Patrick began seeing your physical trainer with you and even quit smoking to improve his stamina. What you didn’t know was that he was doing all of this to increase his chances of winning more matches at the US Open, where a significant amount of prize money was on the line.

In Patrick’s mind, the more matches he won, the more money he could take home, and the nicer your engagement ring could be. 

“Hey, do you know what ring size you are?” Patrick asked as casually as he could when your phone call was over. “Jess got a bunch of rings that don’t fit her and she was wondering if you want them instead?”

“That’s so sweet, I can’t believe she thought of me,” you acknowledged, grinning. Ever since you met Patrick and his extended family last year, you were constantly invited to spend time with his cousins Jess and Alex. While Patrick wasn’t best friends with them, they were the closest family he had, so you had accepted several invitations over the past year. “I would love that, Jess has amazing taste in jewellery! Tell her I’m an eight in ring size, but I’ll squeeze into anything she wants to give me,” you joked, not thinking much of Patrick’s question. 

With shaking hands, Patrick sent a text with your ring size to the sales associate at the Cartier store in New York, who had been keeping him updated on when the exact ring he wanted was available. Once the US Open was over, all Patrick had to do was head to Manhattan and pick up the ring. It had taken him almost four months to find the perfect one for you, and then it was just a matter of winning enough prize money to afford it. As long as Patrick won two rounds at the US Open next week, he’d have enough to buy your engagement ring.

Then he would have to decide how and when to propose to you.

[doufudanshi]

ON GHOSTS AND DEMONS: Wei Wuxian's "demonic" cultivation?

There are a few big misconceptions I have repeatedly seen in English-speaking fandom about things that are fundamental to the story of MDZS. One of them is this—

Wei Wuxian is not a demonic cultivator.

To prove this, let's take a deep dive into the original Chinese text of MDZS.

(Adapted from my original gdoc posted on Twitter on May 27, 2022. All translations my own unless otherwise stated.)

Demon vs. ghost

Let's start from the very basics. In addition to orthodox cultivation using spiritual energy and a golden core, there are two other forms of cultivation that are mentioned in the novel:

魔道 (mó dào), or “demon cultivation/path.”

鬼道 (guǐ dào), or “ghost cultivation/path.”

To be clear, 魔 mo "demons" and 鬼 gui "ghosts" (and thus their respective cultivation/paths) are not interchangeable because of the in-universe worldbuilding within MDZS. Using the characters in the term 妖魔鬼怪 "monsters," MXTX created four distinct categories of beings, each of which has a strict definition in the novel. From chapter 4 (jjwxc ch 13):

妖者非人之活物所化; 魔者生人所化; 鬼者死者所化; 怪者非人之死物所化。 Yāo (妖) are transformed from non-human living beings; mó (魔) are transformed from living people; guǐ (鬼) are transformed from the deceased; guài (怪) are transformed from non-human dead beings.

And of course, WWX hoards all the ghost-type pokemon monsters at the Phoenix Mountain tournament, and he only exerts control over corpses, spirits, and the like (aka people who have already died). (As opposed to Xue Yang, who appears to have been actively trying to make 魔 "demons" out of living people with those "living corpses" of his, perhaps.) (And, ironically, in order to avoid showing necromancy / zombies on screen, CQL technically does show WWX practicing demon cultivation because everyone is "supposedly alive" even when they're corpses? Which is, funnily enough, far worse morally in the MDZS universe, lol.)

So, intuitively at least, we know that WWX must be practicing ghost cultivation—now let's look at some concrete examples from the book.

Running the numbers

1) 魔道 (mó dào) means “demon cultivation.” As such, it must use living humans.

魔道 appears one (1) time in the novel.

Yes, once. The only time it appears is in the term 魔道祖师 modao zushi, or the namesake of the novel, in chapter 2. This is a title the general public has given him through rumors:

魏无羡好歹也被人叫了这么多年无上邪尊啦、魔道祖师啦之类的称号，这种一看就知道不是什么好东西的阵法，他自然了如指掌。 Wei Wuxian wasn’t called titles like “The Evil Overlord,” “The Founder of Demon Cultivation,” and so on over the years by others for nothing—he knew these sorts of obviously shady formations like the back of his hand.

2) 鬼道 (guǐ dào) means “ghost cultivation.” As such, it must use dead humans. 

鬼道 appears 12 times in the novel.

Here is the first instance that 鬼道 appears, which I believe is the first time Wei Wuxian's method of cultivation is properly introduced. From chapter 3 (jjwxc ch 8):

蓝忘机 […] 对魏无羡修鬼道一事极不认可。 Lan Wangji […] had never approved of the fact that Wei Wuxian practiced ghost cultivation.

Here's another quote from chapter 15 (jjwxc ch 71) for funsies:

蓝忘机看着他，似乎一眼就看出他只是随口敷衍，吸了一口气，道：“魏婴。” Lan Wangji looked at him as if he saw through his half-hearted bluff. He took in a breath, then said, “Wei Ying.” 他执拗地道：“鬼道损身，损心性。” He stubbornly continued, “Ghost cultivation harms one’s body, and harms one’s nature.”

3) 邪魔歪道 (xiemowaidao) means heretical path/immoral methods/evil practices/underhanded means/etc—e.g., lying, cheating, stealing, bribery, and so on.

It appears ~24 times in the novel.

I mention this last term because it is often used to refer to Wei Wuxian's cultivation, but as a pejorative. Every instance of 邪魔歪道 is said by or to quote someone looking down upon Wei Wuxian’s cultivation (Jin Zixun, Jin Ling, etc.) and referring to it derogatorily, whereas every instance of 鬼道 guidao/ghost dao is said by someone discussing it neutrally and/or factually (Lan Jingyi, Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian himself, random cultivators at discussion conferences, the narration, etc.). Here is a pertinent example with Jin Ling (derogatory) and Lan Jingyi (neutral) in chapter 9 (jjwxc ch 43):

金凌怒道：“是在谈论薛洋，我说的不对吗？薛洋干了什么？他是个禽兽不如的人渣，魏婴比他更让人恶心！什么叫‘不能一概而论’？这种邪魔歪道留在世上就是祸害，就是该统统都杀光，死光，灭绝！” “We are discussing Xue Yang,” Jin Ling said angrily. “Am I wrong? What did Xue Yang do? He’s scum that’s lower than a beast, and Wei Ying is even more disgusting than him! What do you mean ‘don’t make sweeping generalizations?’ As long as those practicing this kind of demoniac, heretical path are alive, they’ll continue to bring disaster. We should slaughter all of them, kill all of them, annihilate them once and for all!” 温宁动了动，魏无羡摆手示意他静止。只听蓝景仪也加入了，嚷道：“你发这么大火干什么？思追又没说魏无羡不该杀，他只是说修鬼道的也不一定全都是薛洋这种人，你有必要乱摔东西吗？那个我还没吃呢……” Wen Ning shuffled around. Wei Wuxian gestured at him to stay still, only to hear Lan Jingyi also cut in loudly, “Why are you getting so riled up? It’s not like Sizhui said Wei Wuxian shouldn’t have been killed. All he said was that people who practice ghost cultivation aren’t necessarily all like Xue Yang. Do you have to go around breaking things? I didn’t even get to eat any of that yet…”

Tl;dr—Wei Wuxian does not 修魔道 practice demon cultivation. When Wei Wuxian’s craft is discussed in a neutral and factual manner, it is referred to as 鬼道 ghost dao. 

In fact, Wei Wuxian’s imitators are also referred to explicitly as 鬼道修士 ghost cultivators.

魏无羡早就听说过，这些年来江澄到处抓疑似夺舍重生的鬼道修士，把这些人通通押回莲花坞严刑拷打。 Wei Wuxian had heard a while back that over the past few years, Jiang Cheng had gone around snatching any ghost cultivator suspected of being possessed or reborn, detaining them in Lotus Pier to interrogate them using torture.

So why the confusion?

Of course, there is the matter of the novel's title, which I will get into in a second. But the real issue is a matter of translation.

The idea that WWX uses "demonic cultivation" is a misconception in English-speaking fandom due to issues with the translation of terminology. Of note, EXR actually did translate 鬼道 guidao as "ghostly path" most of the time, though there were at least 3 instances of "demonic" and 1 instance of "dark," especially regarding the first few.

However, this misconception was perpetuated (and arguably worsened) by 7S's official translation, which not only mistranslated additional terms as "demonic cultivation/path" (at least in book 1), but also consistently mistranslated every instance of 鬼道 as "demonic cultivation/path."

So why is this book called 魔道祖师, commonly translated as "Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation?"

One possibility is one posed in Chinese-language meta online, which often cites that WWX himself is a sort of 魔 demon. While this may be true—after all, he can hear the voices of the dead—it doesn't quite explain the fact that the title sets him up to be the 祖师 or "founder."

My take is that this novel is very much concerned with hearsay vs. truth. This is one of the many monikers WWX is given by the public, who collectively view him as evil. (Also of note is that the non-cultivator public is not aware of all the nuances that cultivators learn re: distinctions between the 妖魔鬼怪 monsters.) In the quote from earlier, note that the first title we're given is actually 无上邪尊 “The Evil Overlord,” then 魔道祖师 "The Founder of Demon Cultivation." Like, what can that be other than MXTX telling us, "please take both of these with a HUGE grain of salt, lol."

(And not only the title, but the very first line—"魏无羡死了。" / "Wei Wuxian is dead."—is a lie.)

I think the title is genius, honestly. It intentionally makes readers come into the novel with preconceived notions that Wei Wuxian practices 魔道 demon cultivation and evil techniques—just like the public in the novel. What better way to tell a story warning about the dangers of how easy it is to fall for misinformation and jump to incorrect conclusions?

(Though, in our case, perhaps it worked a little too well.)

[theturncoattournament]

Who is the best turncoat character? (Round 3)

A tournament for characters who change allegiances and/or have a redemption or corruption arc during their stories

PROPAGANDA:

Theon- Theon Greyjoy- Child lives ten years of his life with his blood family and then becomes a hostage and spends ten more years growing up with his captor's family. He wants to be loved he wants to be praised he wants to belong SOMEWHERE... he's kind of an ass. Ends up betraying his friend/"foster brother" Robb because he went back to his birth family and they mocked him for integrating himself with his captors. Steals Robb's castle... and then things just get more fucked up than he meant them to. Theon's conflict of being a "Greyjoy" who grew up "Stark" and his descent to rock bottom in the second book is only made more compelling when we pick back up with him in book 5, where he's gone through horrors beyond our imagination and crawls his way back up. He's also literally called "Theon Turncloak" by the side he betrayed, and one of his POV chapters is titled as such.

Zuko- Zuko's redemption arc is the peak redemption arc that all redemption arcs are compared to

-*slaps prince of the fire nation* this guy can fit so much trauma in him -one of the best redemption arcs of all time -this dude spent the better part of 3 seasons flip-flopping between good and evil -can be so funny in the driest way possible lol -had to fight his own sister, who is insane

he literally has the best redemption arc ever written

Zuko spends like the entirety of season 2 slowly realizing that the Fire Nation were the Bad Guys™, had a whole moral crisis towards the end of the season, ended up choosing to side with his sister so he could go back home even though he knew it was the wrong moral choice, spent the first half of season 3 angsting over having made the wrong choice, then finally joins the good guys for good halfway through the season

[reallyromealone]

Sorry the anon for the part 3 to bakugos brother. It’s part 3 to kirishima x male reader bakugos little brother plz.

Title: bakugos brother

Chapter: 3

Fandom: my hero Academia

Warnings: male reader, fluff, angst, complicated family relationships

Notes: I'm giving him a quirk for plot purposes

☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️

(Name) Knew his parents weren't as attentive to him as they were his brother, at some point he grew to be fine with it.

What he wasn't expecting was that his parents didn't want him going to U.A because he would outshine his brother; this left a bitter taste in his mouth when he learned this.

Kirishima didn't know what (name)s quirk was, all he knew is that (name) didn't like talking about it but what he wasn't expecting was (name) inviting him to a chess tournament he would be playing at, at U.A. "there's a nice cash prize, maybe after we can get food if Aizawa allows it" (name)s soft and calm voice said over the phone and Kirishima grinned, swooning ever so slightly at his boyfriends casual romanticism "I would love too! Oh there's a place that sells cakes that look like sheep!" He could hear (name) huff out a soft laugh "sure, whatever"

When (name) arrived at U.A with his visitors pass, he was greeted by Aizawa who would be accompanying him, where all players being escorted? "Hello again, Mr. Aizawa" (name) said blandly with a respectful bow, the hero always shocked at how different the Bakugo siblings were "I hope my brother isn't giving you to many grey hairs" Aizawa huffed, amused at the other who was so calm and collected while joking "you think you're gonna win?" The man asked the teen when they made it to the event room, set up with nice chess sets on multiple tables "I know I will"

(Name) Was calm as he defeated his opponents in less than 20 moves, refusing any draws and even managing to make one person cry.

Kirishima watched with rapt attention though he couldn't help but notice that none of (name)s family showed up, not even Bakugo who was in the same location as (name) at the moment and it made the redhead want to support (name) even more, having gotten a bouquet for him as a "you won!" Gift as he watched his handsome boyfriend lay absolute hell upon his opponent.

What they didn't know is that someone was also watching this, with eager eyes and chaos thoughts brewing as he watched every game with rapt attention.

"He was supposed to be the best from Shibuya but he got cocky" (name) said calmly as Kirishima asked him countless questions, he didn't really get chess but he thought it was hella manly and badass at how collected (name) took down his opponents "they aren't my enemies, I would have to care for them to be an enemy" (name) explained when Kirishima said they were his enemies, the redhead smiling with a stupidly happy expression on his face as (name) held a trophy and a cheque of 100k, this was a huge open after all.

"(Name), could you follow me" Aizawa said calmly and (name) looked a bit confused but followed regardless as Kirishima told him he would see him later.

"What's this about?" (Name) Asked as they walked through the halls "Nedzu wants to talk to you" Aizawa said as he knocked on a door, the doors opening automatically as the rat god himself sat at his chair with a smile "please do sit, tea? I know you like your coffee black Aizawa" Nedzu said happily and (name) seemed uncomfortable as he sat down "no thank you" he said softly "congratulations on your win, I see you have never lost a match-- quite impressive"

"Thank you" (name) kept composure as Nedzu sipped his tea "now why didn't you tell us you had an intelligence quirk?"

"Because I don't? I have my grandpa's quirk, a weaker version of my mom's, I basically just have good skin"

"Then it seems you were lied to" Nedzu said looking at the teens grades "you get perfect scores at everything and you learn things at a rate no other student can achieve not to mention the chess tournament" (name) was confused and frustrated as he listened to the principal explain his quirk. "Intelligence quirks are nearly as rare as healing quirks, I am going to have to contact your family as lying about quirks is no joking matter, do you think there's a reason they may have kept this a secret?"

(Name) Knew why, it was always the same reason for everything.

So he didn't outshine his brother.

They did tests after tests, Aizawa there for it all just to make sure the principal didn't go overboard as he often tended to do "... You have indeed an intelligence quirk" Nedzu said simply and (name) felt his world crash just a little, his fears confirmed "so what happens now?"

"I would like you to attend U.A as my student" Nedzu said simply and (name) looked confused "he likes that you don't have that cockiness that those who grow up with intelligence quirks have, you have compassion" Aizawa explained simply and Nedzu nodded in agreement "perfect for a hero" not to mention he saw (name) carefully move snails and usher a mouse away from danger through the cameras, the teen though blunt and cold was willing to help anything in need.

"Why didn't you apply to U.A?" He was often asked and now when the two asked, he answered honestly.

"Because my parents didn't think I would be good enough for it" (name) said genuinely and the room grew quiet "and three people from the same school? Felt incredibly unlikely" he said awkwardly and fidgeted with the trophy in his arms "did you wish to attend?"

"Didn't everyone?"

(Name) Left the office sometime after as Kirishima was waiting with his homework in his lap on a bench just down the hall and perked up when he saw his boyfriend "it's late, do you have a parent to walk you home?" Aizawa asked the teen who shook his head, (name)s parents typically didn't pick him up and simply got him a bus pass-- hell he learned to forge their signatures just so he could do things.

Like chess opens, it's how he made his cash.

"I'll walk you home" he said simply and (name) sighed softly as Kirishima seemed excited at this "could I join sir?!" He was practically vibrating as the teacher sighed before agreeing.

"What did you do!" Mrs. Bakugo barked out angrily, seeing her son being escorted by a pro hero and a hero in training "your son is being escorted home as he had no one to do so after his chess match, crime is rising in the area so it's better to be safe than sorry"

"I see, im sorry he inconvenienced you"

"Actually, I'm also here on behalf of U.A, do you have a moment?"

[kyouka-supremacy]

BSD Anthologies Masterlist

I couldn't find a comprehensive (and with still working links) masterlist of the translated anthology chapters so. Here we go! Biggest shoutout to this other masterlist by @/yokohama-drip for most of the chapter references and to bsd-bibliophile for chapters 7 and 12 of the first and second anthologies. Titles translation credits go to the bsd wiki. Happy reading!

Edit: Thank you so much @amythedemisimp for the precious additions!!!

1-5 raws

First Anthology -Rei-

Don't Get a Stomachache to Gain a Friend by Hideki

The Things I Hate, the Things I Like by Ichi Kotoko

The Devil Comes and Takes Care by KanaiNeco

Kenji 100% by Enya Uraki

The Detective Agency's Manju Incident by Ui Kashima

A Quiz During Work by Mito Aoi

Karl's Resentment by Tsubata Nozaki /// alternative translation

The Things I Like by Con Kitora

Me and the Cake and Sometimes the Pug by Kazuki Tōgō

Jun'ichirō Tanizaki's Suffering by Akamaru

Fortune-telling Will Bring Good Luck by Yūto Masagishi

Icy Weather by Tam Chashibu

What is a Partner...? by Akaza Samamiya

Second Anthology -Hana-

The Detective Agency and the Port Mafia's Holidays by Mikan Aka

Time Sale is a Battlefield by Guru Mizoguchi

Q's Stroll Day by Kazusa Subaru

Osamu Dazai Quiz Tournament by Hinoki Kino

Ruler! Fitzgerald's Room by KanaiNeco

Thirty-two. Episode Five by Kakashi Tano

Ichiyō Higuchi's Off Duty Top Secret Mission by Ataru Hida

A Restaurant with Many Literary Masters by Ko Nikaido

A Timid Person's Day by Masahiro Jinno

Hot Pots and Holidays by Sho Kimiduka

The Tiger's Repayment by Kotaro

Sweet Outing by Yuzuru Kuzukiri /// alternative translation

Bungos' Joint Social Gathering by Hideki

Stray Dogs' Lucky Spot Disagreement by Noka Nogami

Third Anthology -Rin-

Mother by Hideki /// alternative translation

The Mafia Inadvertently Read a Novel Written on a Whim and Reincarnated in a Parallel Universe by Hinoki Kino /// alternative translation

As You Wear It by Akira Hirahara /// alternative translation

The Devil's Automatic Door by Nanora /// alternative transaltion

How to Find Happiness by Kanae Ikushima /// alternative translation

Hello, Again Winter Dreams. by Pyaa /// alternative translation

The Visitor in the Rain by Togekinoko /// alternative translation

Because My Senior's Healthcare is Also My Job by Roku Sakura /// alternative translation

Good Weather, Cat Storm by Osawa /// alternative translation

Breakfast Situation by Miki Daichi /// alternative translation

Elise-chan, a Smartphone Application by KanaiNeco /// alternative translation

Q's Suffering by Hiko Nekome /// alternative translation

Tiger, Sometimes Cat by Taichi Miya /// alternative translation

The Port Mafia's Medical Check-up by Sakurana Haru

With a Hat, a Man and a Beef Bowl by Oda

Fourth Anthology -Akatsuki-

Poe and Ranpo and Enter and Black Tea by Imaru Adachi /// alternative translation

Apple Demon by Nykken

A Little Break by Siroisora

Exciting Grab Bag by Toriyasu

All Quiet on the Black Cloth Front by Mari Araki

Hirotsu-san's Coffee Shop by Yashino Ayashiro

The Client is a Cute Ghost by Otakumi

The Little Visitor in the Rain by Togekinoko

Fully Automatic Suicide Machine by Zero Akabane

Why Did You Come to Japan? by KanaiNeco

The Story of Kunikida Falling Asleep by Saru Hashino

A Hunting Dogs' Holiday by Hinoki Kino

Infernal Day by Asuka Keigen

The Decision is an Oblate that Enwraps the Pain of Life by Hideki

Fifth Anthology -Kanade-

Masterlist by @/zilinks

Sixth Anthology -Mutsumi-

Given to You Based on Your Level and Love by KanaiNeco

Detective Agency Radio by Yu Kira

GET UP LUCY!! by Kabotya

Poe, Wine and the Setting Sun by Imaru Adachi

Shindafuri Dai Sakusen by Yuri Tsukushiro

Hanachidori by iyutani

What Style Are You? by Kiyo Hasui

'Hitori' yori 'hanbun' by Neno

The Angel's Rest by Mari Araki

Mottomo Erai Egoisuto by Mutsuki Higashioji

Magomusume Sakusen, Zokkō-chū ni Tsuki by Eku Hachida

Boo no Yū by Asato Konami

Do S! Erisu-chan!! by Kakeru Sora

Young Ranpo Wants to Be Praised by Tsuki Anmi (incomplete)

[mrs-hwangh]

a boxers heart.

chapter one

Kim Geonwoo x Fem!Reader

Summary: one day was enough to change your lifes forever. Geonwoo is your best friend, you help his mother with her coffee shop and became part of a legendary trio with Geonwoo and Woojin. However.. nothing will ever be the same again after the Smile Company entered your lifes.

wc: 2.1k

an: the story will follow the dramas events. Adjustments were made to include our character into the storyline.. other then that.. watch the two characters fall in love with each other ✨️

Enjoy

______________________________________________

He strikes again! Kim Geon-woo landed a fatal blow on Hong Woo-jins side! Sending him directly on the floor once more!

Will he stand up again just like he did earlier? It definetly does not look like this.

And three! two! one!

We have our winner! Kim Geon-woo won the tournament with an outstanding performance!

This year was truly something else. The pandemic hitting us out from the blue, causing for endless troubles.. These young men however proved us that the struggles we faced, still wanting to organize this grand show off, all of our hard work for making it work.. everything payed off!

We are proud to announce this years winner and to honor every other contestant who took part.

And let's not forget Hong Woo-jin! This finale was special because both of these young men went over their limits to decide the title of this years winner!

Now, have fun and enjoy your time!

Ladies and Gentleman, we'll hopefully meet again on the next years tournament!

The commentators praised the two while the cameraman focused on sharing close ups of the said fighters.

"He won! My Geonwoo won!"

His mothers melodic voice ringed through her small coffee shop, the small Samsung screen showing the broadcast.

"He's the best!"

You joined her cheering, engulfing her into a hug since she awaited you with open arms.

"I'm so proud of him!!"

His mother was the biggest sweetheart anyone could imagine. She truly loved her son and did everything in her power to ensure him a safer future.

You helped her once when she was cleaning up her store on her own.

Other then Geonwoo sometimes, she has no employees helping her to run the shop.. so you decided to offer your help.

It wasn't something you felt obliged to do, you just did it because you enjoyed helping others in general.

Ever since then, you decided to head over her shop to help her with everything, you didn't take money since you were payed well from another job you did sometimes.

With art.

Commissions payed you great.. this was more then enough for you to work for her for free.

"Do you want to head over? I can take over the shift until you return"

You offered but she was quick to decline.

"Thank you but I will stay here, what about you going to see him? I'm sure that it'd make him happy"

She offered you a warm smile.

... should I?

"Are you sure?"

His mother quikly nodded and pointed at the door.

"Enjoy his win together, make this day even more special as it already is!"

You were pushed out of the coffee shop with a gentle push.

She smiled at you as you waved her goodbye.

Now... where would he go after such a big win..

...

Time passed and you decided to just call him, finding him would be impossible otherwise.

'Hey y/n!'

"Congrats woo! You did it!!!"

'Thank you!'

You could hear his chuckle from the other side of the line, but there was another voice

'Hey who is that?'

The second voice was the one of a male, he had company..

"Am I interrupting right now...?"

'No, why? Did something happen?'

'Geonwoo who is this? Is this a girl??'

'Damnit Woojin!'

He whisper yelled that but you had to admit that it was funny.

"No, no don't worry everything is fine.. I just thought of meeting up with you to celebrate your win.. but I don't want to eh.."

'aaaa now I get why you asked me if you were interrupting earlier- No no, do not worry over this, I actually want to introduce you to someone! I'll send you our location, we'd be very happy to celebrate it together, with you!'

You could literally visually imagine his smile as he spoke. Your heart fluttered whenever he spoke..  whenever he smiled.. whenever he talked with you

He may be a boxer, but oh was he pure hearted. If politeness was a person, it'd be him. You need help? He's there. You need a shoulder to lean on? He'll stay by your side until the worst is over.

I'd love to meet him! I'll hurry over!!!

'Whoa whoa! That smil-'

Geonwoo hung up and you made your way to the location he had sent you.

They were eating. Perfect. You'd kill for a good meal now.

-

"Who was this?? Ohhh man you looked so happy!"

Geonwoo brought his hand to his forehead, resting it while he fought the urge of gifting him a second experience of their fight earlier today.

"A good friend of mine"

But Woojin didn't buy that.. not that easily.

"Yeah yeah.. let's believe that"

He smirked at him while taking the claw to turn the meat around.

Geonwoo was quick to snap it out of his hand.

"Not yet"

Woojin was left confused.

"... what? Hey I'm older, show me some respect"

"But they are not ready"

"I'm hungry."

"They need another minute. At least."

The hungry man wanted to say something but the doors bell interrupted his thoughts.

A girl entered the scene. She looked over the desks until her eyes met his.

"It's her.. from the call?"

Geonwoo nodded. He waved her over as he stood up to greet her and she sprinted towards him.

"Look who showed u-"

"Congrats to our champion!!!"

You jumped at him and hugged him real tight. He was taken aback but swung his arms around you immediately. He chuckled at your action and tightened his grip on you, spinning you around while thanking you. He put you on the ground again after the final spin and that was when you spotted the other man.

Wasn't he his opponent..?

"Let me introduce you to Woojin. Woojin, this is y/n and y/n this is Hong Woojin. We fought earlier at the arena"

You greeted him and complimented him on his fighting skills aswell.

"It's a pleasure to meet you y/n, and thank you"

Geonwoo and you sat down and looked at the meat.

"I think it's ready, you could turn it around no?"

Geonwoo took the claw again and turned the meat, leaving Woojin speechless.

"You disobeyed me when I asked you to do it!"

"It wasn't ready earlier"

"It was!"

"No"

"But-"

"It still needed some time, you see there is a me-"

"That's not fair!"

"It is"

"Okay, cut them now!"

"No"

"Why?!"

"They're not ready yet"

"They are!"

You sat there trying not to laugh, it was funny enough that that Woojin guy tried to make Geonwoo serve that meat while it was clearly not ready.

The trio sat there in silence until you spoke up.

"I think you can cut it now"

"Oh yes it's perfect"

Geonwoo took the scissor and cut the pieces.

Woojin.. well he let his head fall dramatically on the desk, whining that his marine comrad ignored him.

"The world has got to be kidding me"

".. is honesty really that bad?"

Woojin shot his head up and looked at Geonwoos eyes.

"You know what. Let's move on."

You and Geonwoo erupted into a heartfilled laughter and Woojin joined you soon enough.

"Let's raise a toast to the best boxers!!"

"Thank you!"

Said the two in unison as everyone prepared their bites to enjoy their meal after the great day.

"How did you actually meet? Was it after the tournament or during it?"

You were curious, Geonwoo never mentioned Woojin before after all.

"He waited at the hall asking each of his victims to go and eat with him."

Woojin said, side eyeing your friend.

"I thought that he was fooling me at first but he was serious about that" "Ahh yes that sounds like him"

You looked over and lightly hit Geonwoos shoulder.

"I'm glad you asked him, he seems like a fun guy"

Woojin felt a sense of pride as your words left your mouth, grinning widely.

"How did you actually meet Geonwoo?

"Well.. I came across his mother's coffee shop and I help her out ever since then. He happened to enter the shop while I was refilling something. Which was kinda funny because he thought that I was stealing something and oh did he get mad"

"He? Mad??"

Woojin may have only met him today but that.. that guy was more then honest and polite throughout the whole day.. him and mad didn't feel right in the same sentence.

"Oh yes."

You stood up, took a stable stance and mimicked Geonwoos face.

"Who the hell are you?"

Geonwoos eyes widened. Your voice was lower, you did something with your face that did not look like him at all.

"It wasn't that ba-"

"Answer now or I'll call the police"

Woojin nearly choked on his glass of water when you tried to copy his voice.

"Okay but be honest! How would you've reacted if a stranger was roaming freely in your mothers shop?!"

Geonwoo stood up for his defense, attacking your sides while he tickled the hell out of you.

"Wait wait w- sto-op!"

Your laughter filled the place as you tried to free yourself of his attack.

"No."

"Geonwoo!"

He continued his merciless attack until you were both gasping for air. He because he couldn't get over his laughter and you because of the tickling.

"I am feeling like a third wheeler right now"

Woojin put a fake pout and you literally became breathless.

"Woo please-"

"Okay, you shall be forgiven"

"Thank you for your mercy, your majesty"

This is how the whole afternoon went by, you three bonding with each other, exchanging stories and experiences while the restaurants owner regretted their life's choices.

What nobody of you all knew was the sudden visitor.. a man dressed in a suit.. visiting Geonwoos mothers coffee shop to offer her a deal.

It seemed too good to be good, a startup company offering to help the ones in need?

"Thank you so much sir"

"She signed the paper and gave it to the man."

"I have to thank you miss"

.

"Woojin.. are these original?"

Geonwoo pointed at Woojins shoes, your gaze followed his finger as you spotted the said shoe.

But.. it does look fake.. no?

"Yes. 1.2 Million won"

Geonwoos eyes widened at this.

"What?! That's the rent of our coffee shop!"

Woojin chuckled and shook his head. Your friend looked at you in disbelief.

"Did you hear that??"

You nodded but waited for Woojin to say something..

"Bro.. these are fake"

Thank god.

Geonwoo was relieved upon hearing that.

"It's obvious if you look at the cap, it's shinier. The true ones don't.."

Their voices blended with your surroundings as you took in the scene.

Late night walks weren't rare but this one.. this was somehow special.

The two continued their talk until they realized that you were walking behind them.

"Hey y/n!"

They took a few steps back and swung their arms around you, holding you in their middle.

"You're so small.. we nearly lost you"

Woojin said and you jokingly punched him.

"I'm sorry Mt. Everest"

The three of you continued the chatter as you walked through the streets.

Woojin went to his home at some point leaving you with Geonwoo alone, on your way to the shop.

"Today was quite a handful huh"

You joked, but you had a point.

He won the match, he found a new friend, your trio got created and the restaurant owner now knows about the marines divisions.

"Haha yes.. thank you"

He turned to you, locking your gazes.

"You coming over after the match. It meant alot to me"

"Well.. you're my best friend after all, I'll always be there to support you"

Geonwoo was speechless but his smile was priceless.

"Now let us surprise your mother, I bet she's thrilled to congratulate you on your big day champ"

He nodded and you two arrived at the shop where his mother was. "My Geonwoo! You did it!!"

She sprinted to him and hugged him, really proud of her son. Her eyes then shifted to yours and a warms smile appeared on her face.

"Did you celebrate the win?"

"Yes!! The other fighter.. Hong Woojin was also with us. It was real fun!!"

"I'm glad! Now let's go home everybody"

You three closed the shop and made you way to the apartments.

A black car drove past you as you walked further into the street.

Geonwoo and you looked back at it but the plate was unknown to the both of you.

You turned around again, joining the topic his mother was talking about.

But little did you know that this day would change your life's forever.

[jemiswumbo]

you be tails, i’ll be sonic (18+)

twitch streamer!luke x reader

part one

authors note: hi hi i’m back with a highly requested part two!! i loved making the graphics for this chapter lol. hope you all enjoy!!!

title is from you be tails, i’ll be sonic by a day to remember. lyrics have no relation to the fanfic, but it IS an absolute banger. anthem. bop. classic.

tags/warnings: smau elements. nsfw elements - MDNI. not proofread. use of y/n.

Over on the desk, Luke’s phone would not stop vibrating.

For the last hour, you’d managed to ignore it, as you were too preoccupied by Luke fucking you with no remorse. Now, as you lay spent and naked and cuddled together until the blankets, the sound was driving you insane.

“Luke,” you whined, burying your face into the crook of his neck (which was now littered with red and purple hickies). “Please shut your phone off.”

Luke chuckled beside you, running a hand through your messy hair. “I will in a minute, I’ll probably have to tweet an explanation for why I shut off my stream so suddenly.”

“Okay. That’s fair,” You decided. Luke leaned over and stretched out his arm, grasping the phone from his desk. He snuggled back in beside you and you watched as he scrolled through a flood of notifications.

The first app he opened was discord, where his gamer friends were chatting in their private server about Luke’s random disconnection.

“Thank god one of my friends was able to figure it out.” Luke murmured, causing you to giggling. Annabeth was, by far, the smartest of the group. Most days it seemed like she was the only one with a working brain cell. You and her got along great, as you worked to keep the boys and thalia in check. They loved to cause a scene or do some dumb shit no matter where they went. It was tons of fun and always entertaining, but also nerve wracking. If they ever caused too big of a scene, someone could takes pictures or videos, upload them… as some of the most popular twitch streamers, everyone would be recognized instantly.

Except for you.

You (by choice) remained out of the spotlight. You loved Luke dearly and desperately wanted to make your relationship public, but the thought of having hundreds of thousands of eyes watching you, loving you, hating you…. it was scary. And you weren’t delusional — you knew, one day, you’d have to step into the public eye. You just didn’t know when you’d be ready.

Luke wrapped up the Discord conversation with his friends and switched over to Twitter, where tons of his fans were talking about his disconnection. You took a deep breath to clear your head, and read some of the tweets on his phone screen.

“Your fans are so goofy,” You said, pressing a kiss to Luke’s cheek. “So… what’s the move? Wifi crashed? Rage quit? Oh my god, what if you confirm Boner Theory?!”

“Jesus, never in my life,” Luke groaned. “I’ll just say it was my wifi. Unless….”

Your eyes widened. You sat up, not caring that the bed sheet fell to your lap, exposing your naked chest. Your heartbeat was definitely exceeding a normal BPM reading. “Baby.. I love you. So much. And I would love to be public. I would love to be your date to the Streamer Awards, and support you at Twitch Con, and cheer you on during your Fortnite tournaments…. But I just don’t think I’m ready.”

“Hey, hey,” Luke sat up, too, enveloping you in his strong, muscled arms and squeezing you tight. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I just thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask. But you know I respect your choices and would never pressure you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I know,” You sighed, relishing in the warm embrace, and the feeling of your bare chest pressed against his. You swore he could feel how fast your heart was racing. “But also, you can’t say we’re dating now. Boner Theory is a thing, babe. Surely, at least one of your fans would connect the dots.”

Luke laughed and pulled away from the hug, taking a moment to press and long and loving kiss to your head. He smiled at you, his brown eyes sparkling. “You’re so perfect, you know that?”

You shoved him away. “Okay. Tweet something, so we can go watch a movie and smoke and have more sex.”

“Okay, okay,” Luke said, kissing you again and sending some half assed tweet out to his fans. He shut off his phone and grinned. “Let’s order take out, too.”

*************************************

A few weeks later…

*************************************

It was, officially, your one year anniversary of dating Luke Castellan.

You were beyond happy, and over the moon excited for the special dinner you had both planned for the evening. Luke had surprised you with reservations to your all time favourite restaurant. You were going to surprise him afterwards with a brand new lingerie set. It was going to be perfect.

The only, only thing that was making you nervous was the fact that you’d decided today was the day.

You were going to tell Luke, tonight at dinner, that you were ready to go public.

After the whole Boner Theory ordeal, you’d spent countless nights and hours debating your previous decision to keep your relationship private. You knew it was going to have to happen eventually. You also didn’t mind his fan girls; but deep down you got giddy over the thought of showing them all he was taken and he was yours. It would feel so good. And you wouldn’t have to stay out of photos when you hung out with Luke, Percy, Annabeth, Grover, and Thalia. You could go to events with him. You could come up behind him while he was streaming to drop off a coffee or food or kiss his cheek without worrying about it.

There were cons, of course. Most of the debating revolved around the cons, and whether or not it was truly worth it. After all these weeks, you decided it was worth it. You were one hundred percent ready.

You spent the few hours before dinner having an everything shower, doing your best makeup, curling your hair, and choosing an outfit. It helped keep your mind occupied and the stress at bay.

Around 7pm, Luke texted saying he was outside of your apartment. You grabbed your purse and slid on a pair of black heels before racing out the door.

Luke’s car was not hard to miss. He had chosen to pick you up in his bright red McLaren, since it was a super special occasion. He typically never took it out of his garage as it was insanely expensive and just downright beautiful.

You gave him a little twirl on your walk over to the passenger seat, not missing the impressed grin he flashed at your from inside. You hopped in the car and didn’t hesitate to lean over and place a kiss to his lips. He presented you a huge bouquet of fresh, dark red roses. You gasped and clutched the bouquet in your arms, kissing his cheek and expressing your gratitude.

“You look stunning,” Luke said, eyeing you up, clearly in awe. You laughed and blushed, enjoying the praise. “Seriously. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” You retorted, besrt racing at the sight of his gorgeous features. He was dressed up, wearing a sharp grey suit with a dark with a black button up beneath. He was so good looking, you simply swooned just from his smile alone. The smell of the roses made you feel like you were on cloud nine.

The drive to the restaurant was quick. The waiter showed you to your table, which was secluded in the back corner and shrouded by a wall and some pretty plants. The lights were dimmed and candles were lit. Luke ordered an expensive bottle of wine, which you both shared and sipped on while waiting for the food to arrive. It was now or never.

“Okay, baby,” You started, dabbing your napkin to your lips. “I’ve thought long and hard about this. But I think I’m ready to go public with our relationship.”

Across the table, Luke’s eyes widened and he spluttered, mid sip. He coughed into the back of his hand and you bit your lip nervously, waiting for his response.

“Are you sure, angel?” Luke asked, reaching out to take your hand in his. He rubbed his thumb against your skin in comfort. “Once we go public we can never go back. My fans will know who you are.”

“I know,” You said, firmly. You offered him a warm smile. “Like I said, I’ve been thinking about this for a while. And I’m ready. Definitely, totally ready.”

“Well in that case, I’ve had an Instagram post drafted for like, the last three months. I can finally post it!” Luke said, picking his phone up from the corner of the table.

You smacked his arm in playful angry, failing to suppress the smile making it way to your cheeks. “You are so dumb. They better be cute pictures, at least.”

“They are, I swear!” Luke laughed. “Cute caption, too. You promise you’re okay with me posting it?”

“Yes, Luke. I promise.” You took his hand again, letting out a shaky breath and trying to muster some courage. “I know it’s only been a year of dating, but I can whole heartedly say you are my best friend in the whole world. I love you. I truly do see us being together forever. So I want to make it public now, on our terms.”

“I love you, too, baby.” Luke said with an attractive grin. You blushed and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear shyly, whilst he set up his Instagram post. After a few silent moments, he flashed you a triumphant thumbs up. “There, it’s posted. I tagged you, too.”

You ignored the buzzing of your own phone, choosing to flip it to silent mode. “Happy Anniversary, my love.”

Luke smiled at you, once again taking your hand in his. With utmost sincerity and his heart of gold, he replied, “Happy Anniversary to you too, angel.”

a/n: thank you all for reading, hope you enjoy!! again this is not proofread. part 3 with the streamer awards??? 👀👀

taglist: @augustiscoquette

[chapter-title-tournament]

Round 1, Match 14

Daine Loses Her Temper (Emperor Mage, Tamora Pierce)

A walk through the woods Voices driving me bonkers I hate spaghetti (The Hidden Oracle, Rick Riordan)

[hanafubukki]

Kingsroad: The Sword for the Crown

We assume that The Knight of Dawn was forgotten by history because we haven't heard about him until recently in Book 7: Part 5. But, what if that is not the case? What if his story was passed down orally? What if Princess Leah lived and that's how his story was told?

And it was right in front of us all along? Specifically in Rook's Endless Halloween card, as can be seen below.

I talked to Mumble, @irafuwas, about this and isn't the lyrics rather interesting and very reminiscent of the Knight of Dawn?

King of a Land, Knights that he led were capable, fact that Lilia is singing and telling this story to Malleus. The parallels with Lilia, who's also in history books. (Altered as we know now, in this case, it might apply to KOD as well since we don't know much about him yet.)

Rook never mentions his name, but as we don't know the King's name, we also do not know the Knight of Dawn's (please tell us soon twst devs). This song symbolizes the Knight of Dawn from his hardships to his contributions to his kingdom.

On a further note, look at the lyrics. Those lyrics can apply to the KOD but they can also apply to Silver.

Hear me out. There is a sword in RSA. What if that is the KOD sword? And the one who pulls it out is Silver?

There are many connections of the lyrics with Silver: he's KOD's son, Silver has the sword symbolism, and the title also is "Kingroad: The Sword for the Crown," It can have two meanings here. Silver, who is the prince of a fallen kingdom, but he's also The King's Sword. The Sword of the Crown (Malleus' Sword).

Additionally, Silver has fought in land, the dream squad has been traveling by air In the dream world and I wouldn't be surprised if we fight Malleus in the air if we have a fight with his dragon form. We might even fight in water in Octa dream chapter thus fulfilling the lyrics in this musical. (As if it is a prophecy, as if it was foretold, who else do we know that can "see" the future? 👀)

Let's also think about Silver as a character. The current struggle can be considered a King's road, trying to bring back Malleus to his senses. Also, Silver as the Sword for the Crown, does this not also remind you of Silver's determination? His embrace and renewed dedication to Malleus and Lilia. He wants to be a knight and he's more determined than ever to bring a smile back to Malleus' and Lilia's faces.

Now let's talk about Princess Leah and her role. It was never confirmed she died, but that she ran away when the castle was being invaded.

What if Princess Leah lived and helped founded the RSA and helped pass on the memories of her kingdom. After all, we don't know much about the curriculum of RSA nor do we know who they look up too. With the Inter-School SpellDrive possibly being in Book 8? We might just get some of the answers we seek.

Moreover, RSA seems to be a newer school especially since General Vanrouge never mentioned RSA. He mentioned NRC but not RSA. Knowing General Vanrouge? Who made fun of NRC's capabilities? Would he not have also made fun of RSA if it existed back then?

According to Book 5, Ambrose mentions that if they win the inter-school tournament in May, it would be their 100th victory. So the school is at least 100 years old.

This tournament is also in May, and do you know who else's birthday is in May? Silver's, the one who this musical has such great ties with. It also brings into thought, Silver was recently found and woken up, he's 17. What we know now from Lilia's dream world, the treaty with the humans was signed around the time Silver was found. All of this has some interesting timing. 👀

(maybe it took so long because of the treaty negotiations, because it takes time to found a school and their dorms, maybe Ambrose's ancestors plays a role since we saw those animals in part 5 of Book 7, but you have to admit; the timing is all suspicious, especially considering that the dark mirror has been picking students since only a hundred years ago. 👀)

If I extrapolate even more, we saw RSA students using wands like how the “Fairy Godmother” does. If the Fairy Godmother is an actual fae and a diurnal one at that, would that not be another connection?

We know KOD was blessed by a diurnal fae and we saw Silver was put to sleep by them too. Wouldn’t it be interesting if RSA was somehow connected to diurnal faes? Especially given the fact that Silver took part in the Fairy Gala If Event with said type of faes? An event where he wishes for all races to live in harmony?

This card is also interesting because we have Rook, Idia, and Malleus in it. Characters we have seen recently in Book 7 part 8. Who are talking about kings, knights, and history. Topics that have been emphasized in both gameplay lessons and in Book 7.

Geographically, Briar Valley is considered "North" in the twst world map. The king in the musical ruled a small northern country. Meleanor's castle could also apply here could it not? After it was taken over?

Recently, we have also seen an emphasis on music and dance and its importance. Giving us more clues to focus on this tidbit of lore. Importances in cards such as Ace's Endless Halloween Card, this Rook card, Malleus' Glorious Masquerade, Silver's Platinum Bday. (Events and characters who might/have play a important role in the future)

History being passed down orally usually has some ties with music and dance. Even now, in modern times, such methods are used. With the musical being one of the three greatest in the twst world? It will never be forgotten, so the Knight of Dawn will never be forgotten and will always be loved.

I can't wait until more lore is revealed. I feel many of our questions can be answered when we find out more about RSA, especially in terms of the Knight of Dawn and Princess Leah. I always find it amazing how cards and events from the past still gives us main story hints even now and how intricately laid out the entire twst lore is. It always has me in awe. 😊💞🥰

Translations and Credit to @/mysteryshoptls

[atlasofthestaars]

[MK X READER] New Era - Chapter .012

first part | previous part | next part

NOTE: TBH a while ago I considered putting titles for these chapters but then I realized I am pretty, pretty bad at titles. Would you guys want titles anyways?? For convenience I would still probably have the numbers be the main thing to click on but for AO3 and the top of the page it would be labeled???

I broke down the votes on tumblr for the poll combining the votes of the tumblr poll and here :D! Here’s a link: here

I know links are not. really usable on ao3 though so I’ll copy and paste the breakdown in the bottom note.

The tldr version is: 1) Johnny 2) Bi-han 3) Liu Kang 4) Tomas 5) Raiden 6) Kenshi 7) Kuai Liang 8) Kung Lao

I’ll reveal what these votes are being used for when we get to the part when this was important LMAO <3 ty all for voting!!

FROM THE EYES OF ONE WHO TRIES TO FIGURE CERTAIN THINGS OUT

Today was the first day in a while that you did not awaken to see the sun.

Opening your eyes, it felt like a dream to awaken to a room lit up with the soft glow of the crystal lamp. For a moment, your heart raced. Your brain panicked at the unfamiliar feeling of waking up in a spot that wasn’t your room or the Wu Shi academy. Then, you felt a sense of calm fall over yourself as your brain remembered that you were simply in Outworld for the tournament.

You sat up, feeling your body slowly come to life. Joints popped, muscles stretched. You drowsily rubbed your eyes as you swung your legs over the side of the bed. After a deep inhale, you forced yourself to get up. A yawn left your lips as you walked over to the small closet you had unpacked your extra clothes into. You undressed, and as you did so you took a moment to pause as you noted the mirror hanging on the wall right next to the closet.

You hadn’t noticed it until now.

Swallowing your nerves, you turned so your back was to the mirror. You didn’t really have mirrors in the Fire Temple. You supposed it could have been chalked up to a lack of vanity of those living there, you never really questioned or cared. But all that mattered was that you rarely saw the mark on your back. 

It was a scar centered right between your shoulder blades. It was shaped as if someone had struck you with a leopard fist. Then, thin lines spread out from the mark in all directions, stopping conveniently just before it would be exposed with the clothes you wore. It was as if it were like veins and arteries and your scar was the heart. You let out a sigh as you reached back to trace the lines before gently brushing the main scar.

It felt rough compared to the rest of your skin, it was like comparing gravel to dirt. It was probably from the lack of care you put into it, but you had a feeling no matter how much care you would have put into it, nothing would cause it to get any less rough. The mark was notably lighter than the rest of your skin, the edges of it slightly pink before it faded into your regular skin color. 

No one knew you had these marks. At least, you assumed not, you’ve never shown anyone you had these. It took you long to find out you even had these marks. It was only until one night you had stayed over at Madam Bo’s and noticed the mirror she had hung in the guest room you had been staying in. You figured it wasn’t important to tell anyone, especially when you didn’t know the origin of it. It’d only serve to make you seem more suspicious.

Your fingers brushed the mark again. You’ve always assumed this was from your current life, before the memory loss. The last reminder of your past before it was all wiped away when you awoke in those fields near the Fire Temple. Your lips pulled downwards into a frown. You’ve never put much thought into who you were before you lost your memory.

Did anyone know or care who you used to be?

You huffed, knowing the answer. It was doubtful that anyone did. Maybe this wasn’t even from this life, maybe it was from your past life. You wouldn’t know from your memories, they never included details of scars or anything of the sort. You shifted your weight as you considered it. No, maybe it wasn’t, you concluded. You don’t know how you would even retain a scar from a past life.

You tore your eyes away from the mark and tugged your clothes on. It was too much to think about for something that was probably so insignificant. You turned to look at your back in the mirror once you were dressed again. 

It was concealed once more. Out of sight, out of mind.

Your stomach grumbled, reminding you that you needed fuel for today. Where would you even find food? You pondered over the food you could potentially get, and that’s under the assumption that you even had time to eat. You stood, staring at the door for a moment pondering over this new found dilemma before realizing you were wasting more time by thinking about it. You shook your head and walked out of your room.

Unlike your room, the rest of the palace was fairly open with windows and spots where the light could filter in. The palace felt like it was bathed in a soft glow of light. It felt almost like a dream to stand among the light. 

How lucky you were that you could be here to witness this majesty in person. You took a moment to close your eyes and just bask in the atmosphere of the palace. Just standing here made you feel regal. It made you consider how the palace looked on the outside, was it just as beautiful as it was on the inside? You felt like you understood why the royalty enjoyed lavishness, just a bit. Who wouldn’t enjoy waking up to this view?

The tapping of heels caught your attention, snapping you out of your reverie. Loud, commanding and with purpose. You turned to look over, down the hallway to see who the source was. You blinked as you recognized Princess Kitana walking down the hall. You stared for a moment, thinking of how funny it was that you encountered her again like this.

Your heartbeat got louder again, and you recognized the feeling. A memory? Again? As the world faded away you could only question why Outworld was unlocking so many memories for you. 

You opened your eyes to see a crowd of people around you. The faces of the people you saw felt hazy in your mind. You could vaguely recognize them, but it felt all too peculiar. Glancing to your right, you noted how you were once again standing next to Raiden and Liu Kang. It seems you were by their side more often than you had expected.

“Are you alright, Lord Raiden?” The words fell from your lips as you watched the uneasy look on the thunder god’s face. You saw him raise a hand to his head and your eyebrows raised. You crossed your arms and glanced to Liu Kang and noted his own worried look. 

“Strange visions.” Raiden muttered, his gaze looking off into the distance. You heard the little crackle of glass. Raiden grabbed his amulet, something that made your stomach twist and turn at the sight, and you all saw the fractured glass. 

“Your amulet!” Liu Kang exclaimed. Your breath hitched upon seeing the cracks. 

“It is nothing.” Raiden dismissed, though you could hear the hint of worry that lingered in his tone. “The tournament begins.” He continued, turning his gaze to the front as he placed the amulet back upon his chest. Liu Kang followed his example, turning his attention to the proceedings. Your gaze, however, stayed on Raiden for a few moments more.

A pit of dread formed in your stomach. Father would have probably called Raiden out on his lies. Should you follow in his footsteps? You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. Perhaps not, he was closer to the god than you were. Taking one last glance at the cracked amulet, you took in a deep breath. Then, you turned your attention to the front.

Monks walked in from the left and right sides before the fighting arena. From behind them, you spotted the Outworlders walking in. An old man, a tarkatan, and two Edenians. You blinked as you locked eyes with the Edenian dressed in blue.

Princess Kitana. 

Your eyes narrowed, giving her a challenging glare. The princess, in return, seemed to steel her own resolve.

No matter what this tournament throws at you, be it princesses, tarkatans, or sorcerers, you were determined to help Earthrealm win.

“Is something interesting, Earthrealmer?” Kitana inquired, snapping you out of your rather short memory. A perfect eyebrow raised as she came to a few feet away from you. You blinked, mulling over the sudden question before you realized that she must have found it odd that you were staring. You forgot you even were staring, too lost in thought.

“I was just thinking about how I encountered you again in this hallway, odd isn’t it?” You replied, lying. There was a moment where Kitana returned the stare, her face showcasing she was a bit perplexed by your answer. Perhaps she wasn’t ready for the answer you provided. It was rather mundane and casual. Were you performing a faux pas by being too casual with royalty?

“I wouldn’t consider it so odd, I take this route all the time.” Kitana replied, entertaining your conversation. You felt relief flood through you after her words, realizing you had not tarnished both your and Earthrealm’s reputation. That, and she had not caught on to your lie. A small, polite smile appeared on her face, the very same one she had shown you yesterday. It was all too perfect, too practiced in your opinion, but you would rather see that smile than a disapproving look. “Would you like to accompany me to the Great Hall?”

“It would be an honor.” You replied, sending her a smile of your own. Yours was less practiced, just a bit more honest. You, after all, didn’t have as much practice with sending polite smiles as the princess did. You only could hope it was enough for her. She nodded, seeming to be pleased by your response. You joined her side, a familiar feeling for something you had only done once.

Though the memory was short, your mind raced with the small details you remembered. This wasn’t your first tournament. You had fought in at least one other before in your past life. Though from the memory it seemed much, much more severe. Then, there was the other detail that was immediately nagging at you. The amulet. 

Liu Kang had called it Raiden’s amulet. Was it mere coincidence that in this life he wielded the very same amulet? You chewed on your cheek as you mulled over the question. Liu Kang had mentioned how Raiden had been a natural with it. Had that been simply a statement of skill, or was it a tease of how he actually used to wield lightning and had an amulet like that?

No. That was impossible. Liu Kang was simply a demigod, how would he know anything of a past life? He had even speculated that your visions were of another world, not of a past life. 

You were just overthinking it, surely. And yet, even with this confirmation in your head, the dread building inside you did not abate. You couldn’t tell if it was due to the fact that you didn’t even believe your own thoughts or that other nagging feeling you couldn’t quite place.

“How confident are you in your student?” Kitana inquired, peering over to you, breaking you away from your thoughts. Her eyes scanned you, as if she could glean how well the training went from your attitude alone. Or maybe, she was trying to analyze that pondering look you had. Her lips pursed. You smiled at the inquiry, feeling a surge of pride. You pushed the thoughts you had away, trying to lift your spirits.

“I’m very confident in Raiden.” You replied, hands clasped behind your back. Both from the pride you held in Raiden and the position, your back straightened a bit more. “He was a lovely student. He was very diligent in his training and very receptive to feedback. Not to mention, he was very adaptive.” You sang his praises, knowing very well that you and the others would have to hype Raiden up since he was far too humble.

“I see.” Kitana hummed, seeming to mull over your words as if it were like a fine wine which needed a review. “I hope we can see if he lives up to your expectations, then.” She commented. Not necessarily antagonizing, but you could sense the challenge within her words. You nodded, not taking the slight rivalry personally. It only made sense.

“I can assure you that he will.” You countered, indulging a bit in the challenge. An eyebrow raised at your words and a glimmer appeared in her eyes. It reminded you of the very same look she sent Johnny Cage last night, it was pure amusement. You smiled a bit wider, holding back a chuckle. “I would not underestimate him despite what his humble nature may lead you to believe.”

“We shall see.” The princess spoke after a beat. “I hope your high praises weren’t for naught.” She told you as the two of you arrived to the Great Hall. Her words hung in the air, though polite you could tell she was still very much rooting for the downfall of Raiden. Again, understandable, but you did have to commend Kitana for her attempt to be cordial. 

The two of you had arrived rather early, so only a few people were around. Not only that, but it seemed that most seemed to be milling about trying to shake off the drowsiness that clung to them like a wet blanket. Had it not been for the conversation with the princess, you felt like you also would suffer from the same condition. With a nod, Kitana walked off, leaving you to your own devices.

“I see you have become somewhat familiar with princess Kitana.” Liu Kang spoke as you walked over. For the moment, your small group composed of the fire god himself, you, and the two former farmhands. You nodded at his comment before letting your gaze drift across the group.

Liu Kang, as usual, was pristine. After all these years you had no idea whether the fire god even slept or not, and if he did, you’ve never seen it. He always seemed ready and prepared. You couldn’t deny that you were at least a little envious of it. Raiden was prim and proper too. Not too surprising, considering how he was rather diligent in his routine. You could sense the nerves radiating from him though, and you had a sense that his nerves were the main cause of his alertness. Kung Lao, on the other hand, seemed to still have a few traces of drowsiness left.

“I wouldn’t consider it as me becoming more familiar with her.” You corrected the fire god, crossing your arms. You pursed your lips as you considered what you would call it. “She just entertained some conversation, I’m certain she was simply being polite rather than actual interest.” You said, shrugging. You didn’t mention how she was probably more interested in the way you were lost in thought around her. Liu Kang’s eyebrow arched at your statement, but he seemed to not continue his line of thought.

A member of the royal house staff walked by, offering some breakfast styled hors d'oeuvres to you. You smiled and grabbed some for the group. You offered the small portions to the group. Both Liu Kang and Raiden refused. Luckily for you, Kung Lao was more than eager to eat the portions you didn’t want. It seems he’s not as tired as you thought.

As you bit into the food, you felt a bit better and your worries melted away for now. There was still that annoying nagging voice whispering in the back of your head trying to make you remember something, but now it was much more quiet. It was like you placed a tarp over it, muffling it’s presence.

Maybe you were just hungry and over exaggerating everything while you were famished. The voice, faintly, yelled at you that you weren’t, but you kicked it away. You would have time to think about it later. You didn’t want to worry others by being oddly distant during the tournament. You wouldn’t know how to excuse yourself properly.

Soon enough, Kenshi joined your side. It seemed he took the extra time to make himself presentable as you could not see a hint of sleepiness from him. You nodded towards him and pointed out the hors d'oeuvres to him. He nodded to you in acknowledgement before slinking off to grab some for himself before he rejoined the group.

“Feeling better?” Kenshi inquired, peering over to you. His voice was discreet, trying not to clue in the others on your conversation. You looked at him, raising your eyebrows as you tried to interpret his question. When you continued to stare at him, he let out a small sigh. “Your headaches yesterday.” He told you, and you let out a small “oh” at the realization. “You seemed better at the banquet yesterday.”

“I am feeling better, I suppose I just took the whole interrealm travel worse than the rest of you.” You said, which was not entirely wrong. It was a little ironic though, you reflected, how you a supposed Edenian struggled the most in Outworld. You paused for a moment as your mind lingered on his last comment. He had noticed how you were at the banquet yesterday? Last you recalled, he had been eating at an entirely different table. The attention he had paid to you made you feel…touched. Your smile grew just a bit more. “Thank you for worrying.”

“It’s nothing.” Kenshi dismissed, nodding. His lips curled into a soft smile before it fell as he set his eyes upon something just past you. Raising an eyebrow, you turned to look at who or what had caused him to lose his little smile. 

Ah. Johnny Cage.

“Man, I know we woke up early at the Wu Shi, but did we really have to wake up at the crack of dawn for this?” Johnny said as he joined your little group. You watched as he expertly snatched a few breakfast hors d'oeuvres from a passing staff member. He shouted out a causal thank you before turning to the group. “A man like me needs some beauty sleep, you know.” He complained before popping some food into his mouth.

“Empress Sindel would like the tournament fights to happen earlier in the day so the rest of the day is free for you all to explore and mingle with others.” Liu Kang explained, eyeing Johnny Cage. His hands folded together neatly. “I too, encourage the rest of you to explore Sun Do and its wonders. Just remember to not get too drawn in.” 

“Got it, chief.” Johnny Cage nodded, though his eyes were clearly somewhere else already. You sighed and sent him a glare to get him back in line. “Hey, I’ve been sticking to my word, teach!” His hands flew up into the air. “I’m allowed to admire the merchandise, aren’t I?” 

“I think you’re doing more than just admiring, Johnny.” Raiden pointed out, looking over to Johnny. The rest of the group seemed to agree, leading to the actor rolling his eyes. 

“Everybody’s a critic…” The American mumbled as he sulkily turned away from you guys. You let out a small laugh as you pat his back to comfort him. You received a pout in return, though you could tell that his pout was more so on the playful side.

After a bit more of a wait, the princesses made their entrance with the Empress. Much like before, the crowd parted to allow them to cross. Silence hung in the air so their footsteps were more pronounced. Once they took their seats and got settled, Sindel stood up once more.

“Welcome back to the tournament.” Sindel announced, her arms spread with a cordial smile on her lips. You watched as Raiden stepped up to the front of the crowd, singling himself out. “You proved to fight well yesterday, young man.” The Empress said, turning her attention to look at Raiden. You watched as her eyes narrowed just slightly. “Let’s see if you can continue to impress.” She sat down and crossed her legs. “General Shao, whom have you chosen as our next competitor?” 

“Your Majesty,” The General began, walking out from the side. Your lips pressed together as you focused your attention on the man. You still felt uneasy around him, it was the mixture of unsettling memories and the attitude he showcased yesterday before the fight. “I have chosen Reiko, my second in command.”

From the hallway, you spotted a figure emerging. The man, who you assumed was Reiko, marched forth. He looked more like he was going into war rather than into a friendly tournament. You wondered silently if that was the attitude of all the soldiers in Outworld or if it was just him. You recognized him as the man who stuck to General Shao’s side during the banquet last night. 

“As a boy, Reiko was orphaned during the Katallah War.” General Shao announced as Reiko continued forward. “Though captured, his spirit remained unbroken. He scratched, clawed, and survived. After the war, I took him in. Molded him into the perfect soldier. Few others are as well versed in the ways of war.” 

Your eyes went back to General Shao and you had to restrain yourself from raising your eyebrows. General Shao didn’t strike you as the type of person to take someone in, nevermind even being the fatherly type. Your eyes returned back to Reiko as you wondered if he had a fine childhood after being taken in.

He certainly seemed like a hardened soldier now.

Coming to a stop a few feet away from Raiden, Reiko turned away from him. Instead of greeting his opponent, he began to shadowbox, demonstrating his forms and skills. And here you thought Johnny was flashy. Raiden did not appear to be cowed by the little show which was a relief to you. After a spinning kick, the man finally turned to face Earthrealm’s champion.

“In whose army have you served?” Reiko interrogated, staring Raiden down. An attitude of being unimpressed rolled off of him in waves. You crossed your arms at this, narrowing your eyes just a bit. You could tell he did not take your student seriously, not even in the slightest. “In what wars have you fought?”

“I have done neither.” The former farmhand admitted, his softer tone contrasting with the second in command’s harsher one.

“Then you are woefully unprepared, Earthrealmer.” Reiko sneered. He lifted a hand to point directly at his opponent. “This will be your last battlefield.” He declared. A mutual understanding seemed to be in order as both of the men settled into fighting stances. Reiko bounced in his with a sense of barely restrained energy while Raiden was much calmer, much like how you had taught him.

Sindel called out for the fight to begin, leading Reiko to charge forward. His strikes were fast and aggressive, you could tell from the intensity behind them he was aiming to end this quickly and brutally. You were suddenly grateful for the training you had given Raiden as you watched him anticipate this and go more defensively.

You winced as you watched Raiden, at one point, get grabbed by the soldier and slammed into the ground. You had to admit, Reiko was ruthless and knew how to use his strength well. He was a grappler, something that you hadn’t trained your students well against. You could only hope that Liu Kang taught him good counters.

Still, despite the initial worry, Reiko seemed to lose steam against Raiden’s defensive tactics. This allowed the champion to gain the upper hand, turning the tide and turning the momentum of the battle against the soldier. It didn’t take very long after that occurred for Raiden to emerge victorious. 

“Felled by a simple farmer.” Raiden spoke as the soldier laid defeated upon the ground. Your lips curled upwards at the small taunt. Reiko deserved that for underestimating the man. The electric user turned around to face the Empress and bowed. You watched as General Shao huffed upon seeing his second in command fail.

“Congratulations on another victory, young man.” Sindel commended, though you could sense an underlying sense of irritation behind her words. It seems she thought that Reiko would be capable of conquering Raiden. She stood and addressed the crowd this time. “We shall adjourn once more at first light tomorrow.” 

Much like yesterday, the crowd dispersed quickly. Though this time, you could see how a few more people lingered just a touch longer to stare and whisper about Raiden. It seemed he was making waves already.

“And that’s another victory under your belt, Thunder Lad!” Johnny celebrated as the champion rejoined your group. Though he had a smile that told you he was grateful for cheers, you could have sworn you saw a flash of irritation at the nickname. You let out a silent chuckle at it. You recalled him mentioning how he hated that name, but you didn’t think it was that bad.

“Indeed, you are doing well.” Liu Kang spoke, nodding. “Many seem to be pleased at the display of strength you are showing.” A pleased smile was upon the fire god’s lips. Looking at the group, he gestured to the hallway. “The day is free for you all to explore and mingle with others. Although not a banquet, Empress Sindel will be offering dinner once more tonight.”

You all nod, looking towards each other and beginning to discuss their various plans. Then, you felt a hand settle on your shoulder. You look over to see Liu Kang looking at you. The same pleased smile was present on his lips, though you could sense something else lingering there.

“May we speak privately first?” Liu Kang inquired. Your eyebrows raised. As the question processed in your head, you felt a small sense of dread begin to build. He didn’t appear to be upset or overly serious, but the idea that Liu Kang needed to ask you to speak privately made you worry. What could he possibly need from you?

“Certainly.” You reply after perhaps a bit too long of a silence. You and Liu Kang waved to the group before walking off towards the outside exit. You both made your way towards a quaint bench in the garden outside. It was quiet here, peaceful. You swallowed your nerves as you sat down next to the fire god. You put on your best smile, hoping it was not obviously nervous. “What did you wish to discuss?”

“I just wanted to check if you were feeling alright, first.” Liu Kang responded, a gentle look on his face. You nodded, and it seemed that the god was pleased by the response. “Good, I didn’t get a chance to ask you after you went to get air yesterday.” You remembered that clearly, mostly because you had been only slightly avoiding him. You didn’t want to make too much of a fuss, but then again, here you were. It did feel nice to know that the fire god had still wished to check up on you.

“I’m alright, Lord Liu Kang.” You replied, your hands folding together as you relaxed just a touch more. “Is that all you wished to ask?” You inquired, tilting your head to the side just a bit. You had a feeling it wasn’t, seeing how he wished to speak privately. You doubted he would ask to speak alone if it were just that.

“No.” He said, confirming your suspicions. You straightened up a bit more, bracing yourself for the other question he was about to send your way. You saw him pause for a moment as he looked at you, observing your reaction. He leaned in a tiny bit more and his voice dropped to a whisper. “I wanted to ask again, are you having visions again?”

You hated how your body betrayed your thoughts. Immediately you stiffened up and you were certain your face contorted into a look of nerves and shock. You looked away as you forced yourself to relax, looking over the peaceful garden. You had basically given away the answer by body language alone, so you figured there was no point in lying about it this time.

“I am.” You confirmed, still not looking at Liu Kang. You were, for the time being, afraid of looking at him. You don’t know how many of your guarded secrets you’d let out if you told him. “It’s mostly memories of a different looking Outworld.” Your fingers drummed on your knee as you stared straight ahead, looking at the wonders of the garden. “It’s so…jarring.”

“I see.” Liu Kang said after a moment, seeming to take in your words. Before he could speak again, you decided to cut him off.

“Do you think an Outworld like that exists, one that is filled with more bloodshed and tyranny, or is it simply visions?” You inquired, testing the waters a bit. Maybe, just maybe if he thought so too, you wouldn’t be thought of as crazy if you did tell him. You turned your head just slightly to see his reaction. 

He was deep in thought, his lips just slightly pursed as he seemed to mull over your words. His eyebrows were furrowed the tiniest bit. After a moment, he shook his head, and your heart sank. 

“It is…unlikely.” Liu Kang spoke, the last word hanging in the air. You looked away from the god, closing your eyes. Perhaps you were truly alone in thinking that a past life existed that you lived. His hand covered yours in a comforting motion. You took in a deep breath, feeling your insides churn. Liu Kang probably misinterpreted your expression of unease from your visions. “Do not fret, that Outworld does not exist.”

Anymore, you finished in your head.

“I know.” You said, uncertain whether your words were lies or not. Were you just being crazy by believing that you were seeing a past life? Not even Liu Kang thought it had existed. Still, despite your uncertainty you felt the comfort of his hand. His hand squeezed yours gently, as if trying to anchor you.

“I am sorry that you are plagued with these visions. If I could, I would remove them from you.” Liu Kang told you, his words feeling like a soothing balm. Even though his words were meant to be comforting, a stupid part of you whispered in your head telling you that you didn’t want that. You couldn’t be getting these memories for no reason.

You’d figure out the reason alone if you needed to.

“Thank you for the sentiment.” You told him, opening your eyes and sending him your best smile. He smiled back, his smile much warmer than yours. You envied it, how could he look like the sun? You could feel your smile grow a little more, and you felt your face heat up for a reason you didn’t quite understand at the moment. You just felt warm. It wasn’t too odd, you supposed, seeing as Liu Kang was the fire god, so you pushed the odd, light feeling away. “Is that all you wanted to talk about?” You asked after doing just that. 

“Yes.” Liu kang told you with that same smile. After one last squeeze he released your hand. He stood up, seeming to be content after your small conversation. “I will let you explore Sun Do now, it is truly a prosperous place.” He nodded at you, looking at you fondly for one more moment before walking off. You sat there a moment longer, letting the conversation sink in a bit more.

You sighed as you leaned forward and rested your forearms on your thighs. You folded your hands and pressed them against your forehead, closing your eyes. You didn’t know what to make of the conversation you just had. The memories…visions…whatever they were, they didn’t feel fake. They felt too lived in, too real. 

Perhaps a past life was beyond comprehension for even a god. You doubted Liu Kang would lie to you if it were real, especially about something you’ve had for so long and was so important to you. As you continued to sit there deep in thought, you barely registered the footsteps that was headed your way until you noticed a shadow fall upon you.

“There you are, I’ve been looking for you.” You blinked as you registered the man standing in front of you as Rain. You sent him a perplexed look, but nodded to indicate he should go on. A friendly smile appeared on his face. “You were very intrigued by the prospect of the Imperial Academy, yes?” He inquired, and you slowly nodded. “Would you like to accompany me to see it tomorrow after the fight?” 

“I would be delighted.” You said without even thinking. A grin appeared on your face and for a moment you forgot about your worries, too excited over the idea of seeing a school full of magic. Your answer seemed to please the High Mage, and he nodded with satisfaction.

“Good. Perhaps you may learn a bit to further your own abilities.” He said.

“I suppose if there was a place to help learn my limits and how to push them, it would be a school dedicated to magic.” You said, nodded. The smile on Rain’s face remained. It was quite nice how you found someone who seemed enthusiastic over magic. 

“I shall see you tomorrow then.” He told you. Then, after that moment, he disappeared into the gardens. You were left feeling a bit happier. You let out a small sigh as you got up from the bench. You’ve had enough of sitting out here for now. That, and you supposed today would be a good start to finding gifts for the Lin Kuei trio.

You walked back to the Great Hall, intending to go to Sun Do through the entrance. You stepped in only to be surprised to see Raiden still standing there. He appeared to be milling about. Once he spotted you, the former farmhand seemed to light up and made a beeline for you.

“You’re still here?” You remarked. Your eyebrows raised as you scanned Raiden, trying to perceive the reason why he stuck around before he spoke. You watched as his smile turned just a tad more shy and there was just a barely perceptible dusting of pink along his cheeks. 

“Yes.” Raiden confirmed, nodding. He seemed to pause for a moment to consider his words. His head tilted downwards, his hat brim obscuring his face. Then, another moment passed before he lifted his head to show his face which seemed a touch more confident. “I wanted to wait for you to go see if you would like to go explore Sun Do together.” 

“You didn’t have to wait for me.” You replied, laughing a bit in surprise. You crossed your arms as you looked at the man. You were touched at the fact that he had wanted to wait for you. “I’d be honored to accompany the Earthrealm champion, though.” You told him, teasing him just a little bit. The smile on his face only seemed to get brighter at your words. “Maybe you can even help me.”

“With what?” Raiden inquired, now walking by your side. You both made your way down the hallway side by side. 

“I planned on buying some gifts for Bi-Han, Tomas, and Kuai Liang.” You explained, and in turn the farmhand nodded. “It’s not everyday that one gets to travel to Outworld, after all, and since they didn’t get to come I figured it would be nice to give them some gifts.” 

“Why don’t the Lin Kuei participate?” Raiden asked, a thoughtful look on his face. Your steps faltered for a moment as you considered his question. Why didn’t they participate, you tilted your head, considering the question. You’ve never quite thought about it.

“I guess I don’t know.” You replied after your little moment. Your footsteps resumed at their pace. “It has probably something to do with the tournament rules, I suppose.” You carded a hand through your hair. “I’ve never really questioned it.”

How much else have you never questioned? There was so much you’ve never really taken into account. Maybe you should start questioning things. It wasn’t good to be ignorant, after all.

Sun Do was still as pretty as ever. Banners, lanterns, and other decor lined the streets. Music filled the air and many of the citizens laughed and danced along the streets. Vendors shouted out their wares, and you listened in to see if any of it would be of use to you. You grinned as you passed by them all.

“It’s very lively out here.” You mused as you turned to look back at Raiden after a while of walking. To your surprise, he was gone. You stopped and scanned the crowd to look for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. Frowning you made your way to the side to see if you could find him better. After a few minutes of searching, you sighed as you failed to see him.

“May I help you?” A voice asked. Stiffening up, you turned to see a Naknadan woman standing within the store. She peered at you with wide eyes as she put away various weapons with her arms. At first, you were about to dismiss it, then you looked closer at the store. It was a weapons shop. You took a moment to look around, then noted the collection of karambits lined along the wall.

“Ah, yes.” You said as you eyed the collection. You stepped forward to get a closer look, observing the fine craftsmanship that went into every single one. It was then that you found it. A karambit with the blade a silver white. On the handle were intricate designs etched into almost akin to smoke. It was as long as Tomas’ personal karambit too, so he wouldn’t have to adapt. The safety ring was gold. “How much is this one?” You inquired, gesturing to the blade.

She told you the price, giving you a sunny smile. You reached into your bag, grabbing the money that Liu Kang had given you prior to the trip. She peered at you curiously, inquiring what the blade was for. Enthusiastically, you told her that the blade was a gift for a friend.

“Would you like for me to engrave something on it? I can engrave it upon the safety ring.” The lady asked. You lit up at the idea, smiling. With one arm, she plucked the blade from the wall and placed it upon a table. Then with a few other of her arms, she grabbed various tools from another table nearby. “What would you like?”

“Have strength, Tomas. From,” You spoke your name. The Naknadan woman nodded. Using another arm, she grabbed some glasses and placed it upon her face. You watched with awe as she precisely engraved the message you had said onto the ring. Then, she delicately placed into a velvet lined box to which she wrapped up and handed to you. “Thank you.”

“I hope whoever you gift that to will enjoy it.”

“I’m certain he will.” You said, turning to exit the shop. To your delight, you spotted Raiden standing outside the shop, looking puzzled and searching around the crowd. Making sure to keep your footsteps light, you snuck up upon the man. With a small smirk you placed a hand upon his shoulder, making him jump. “It seems I have a knack for sneaking up on you.”

“Yes…Yes you do.” Raiden said as he recovered from the little scare you had provided. You let out a laugh, squeezing his shoulder. After his recovery, he peered at the box you held in your hand. “Where did you wander off to?” 

“Well, after I noticed I had lost you in the crowd, I stepped to the side to try and look for you.” You told him before turning your head to look back at the shop you had stepped out of. “I happened to step inside there and happened to find a gift for Tomas.” You explained, lifting up the box and showing it off.

“I suppose that us splitting up was a good thing, then.” Raiden mused as he looked curiously at the box you held. He sent you a bright smile. “Would you like to continue to tour around Sun Do?” He asked you, and you nodded in return. You took your hand away from his shoulder and put away the box. As you turned back, you saw Raiden looking at you before he cleared his throat and turning away.

“What’s on your mind?” You asked. raising an eyebrow at the odd way he had reacted. 

“Oh, well…” Raiden trailed off, still looking away before he looked at you once more, forcing himself to look you in the eye. Then, gently, he took your hand. For a moment, you wondered if he used his amulet on accident, because you felt electricity surge through your veins. In your surprise, your face heated up. “I thought it’d be best if we held hands, just so we don’t get separated again.”

“I guess that’s pretty smart.” You said, still feeling your face flush at the unexpected contact. You looked away, from him as you cleared your own throat. Surely he must have accidentally used his amulet, that’s why you were feeling so odd. It’s not like you haven’t held anyone else’s hand, so why did this feel so…different? You felt his hand squeeze yours softly as he tugged at it. 

“Then let’s go.”

The rest of the day exploring Sun Do was quite fun. Despite all of the exploring you did all afternoon, there was still plenty left to discover. You decided you would have to spend a few more days to check it all out, especially since you had not found gifts to give both Bi-Han and Kuai Liang just yet. There were plenty of things you could have given them, surely, but it didn’t feel right.

Dinner went quite well as well. The food, though not as bountiful as the banquet, was still quite delicious. You had witnessed Kung Lao in action, he devoured enough for multiple men alone. That night, you returned back to your room quite satisfied. 

It wasn’t until later when you crept back out into the dead of night. Tanya, once more, assisted you to the Hanging Gardens in a dutiful way. With a raised eyebrow, she inquired whether you always stayed up this late, or was it just the travel? With a friendly smile, you admitted that you struggled going to sleep. With a satisfied hum, she nodded and let you roam the garden in peace.

“I’m glad you can remember our little arrangement. I would have been quite disappointed to have missed out on hearing another one of your entertaining stories.” Mileena remarked as she noticed you walking over. She sat on the same bench that you had sat on yesterday. With a smile, you noted how this evening she did not seem upset as she was yesterday. 

For a moment, you wondered what had happened to her that made her so upset. Then, you remembered that it was out of line to ask her that sort of question. 

“I would hate to disappoint you.” You replied as you took a seat beside her. You tilted your head up to observe the sea of stars above. The sky was so clear here, and you didn’t think you could get over the view. It was just so…beautiful. After basking in the sight, you turned to look at the princess with a smile. “Was there a particular story you would like to hear about?” You asked, mentally trying to remember all the sorts of movies your students had shown you.

“Do you have any stories of royalty?” Mileena inquired after a few short moments of thought. You hummed, closing your eyes as you thought through the movies you had seen. What story was worthy enough of a princess who was to be the empress one day? You tilted your head as your fingers drummed upon your knee.

“Well, perhaps this one will suffice…”

Mileena was very taken in by the story you told her. She listened carefully at your retelling, only stopping you here and there to ask for clarification. You supposed it was fair, since there were some cultural differences you forgot to account for at times. Still, it was pleasing to see the princess be so enraptured by the story.

“You are quite the storyteller.” The princess remarked as you finished your tale. You grinned, pleased as one should be when complimented by royalty. “Tell me, where did you hear these stories from?” She asked, she leaned just a touch closer to you, but she still kept a considerable distance from you on the bench. 

“In Earthrealm there are many other storytellers, I enjoy listening to their own tales that they share. They tell them far and wide, allowing for others to hear their stories as well.” You explained, not certain how to explain movies to the princess. “I only pass on their tales, just as they would have wished for.”

“I see.” Mileena took in your words, nodding. “Perhaps in the next tournament Earthrealm hosts I shall be able to listen to these stories from the other storytellers you speak of.” She said, seeming to be intrigued by your explanation.

“Johnny Cage, one of the ones here with the rest of us, knows many stories himself.” You told her. You held back a laugh at the face the princess made upon the name Johnny Cage. You wondered what he must have said to make her react that way. 

“I prefer listening to you much more than…him.” She admitted, her nose still scrunched up at the mention of the actor. She stood, stretching before looking back over to you. “Your stories continue to entertain, Earthrealmer. I would enjoy listening to you again.”

“And I would be honored to tell more of them to you, princess.” You told her, feeling quite pleased by the fact that your retelling of movies was enough to entertain royalty. “Would you like to meet back here tomorrow night?”

“Yes, that would be preferable.” Mileena confirmed, nodding. She sent you one last smile, one that was more genuine than the ones you’ve seen from her when she had to present herself as princess. “Sleep well, Earthrealmer.” She told you, then disappeared off into the night.

“Sleep well as well, princess.” You called out to her, taking a few more moments to sit in the gardens. You sighed as you thought of the things you’ve learned and experienced today. Outworld was proving to be more than you had initially expected.

What would await for you tomorrow?

part thirteen

tagged - @bonezisded @lollipopin @simpxinnie @zhivaxo @koisuko

[gluion]

[part one] the perfect pair ➵ “ew, is that sunwoo over there? 저리 꺼져.”

esports player!kim sunwoo x esports player!reader

being a woman in the esports league is hard, but dealing with cocky kim sunwoo is unmatched. with the valorant champions tour about to commence, you two are forced to team up to retrieve the trophy. what will be tested—team morale or your patience around sunwoo?

chapter genre/warnings ➵ enemies to lovers, afab reader (they/them pronouns), slow burn, slight angst, crack, sexual tension, misogynistic & sexist remarks and behaviors, sunwoo is such an annoying teammate... retired ow player now val player…, rush gets introduced YIPPEE, sunwoo gets jealous...?, bets are made, a lot of gamer lingo (check the guide & visual aids!)

word count ➵ 10.5k words

parts ➵ check out the series masterlist

a/n ➵ it's out! felt a lil pressured by the number of notes i wont lie! i hope u guys enjoy this along with the visual aid <3 special shoutout to @shegotthewoobies @vernyangel @heemingyu @deobienthusiast for beta reading <3 much love to you all <3 esp to ki who made the usernames <3 if you enjoyed reading, do reblog and leave feedback!

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! masterlist

HYST wins VCT’s Game Changers By Bae Sumin

HYST takes the title as the winner of the Valorant Championship Tour (VCT) Game Changers in Los Angeles, USA against defending champion 88RR. The team took over the playing field, showcasing their astounding teamwork and tactful gameplays, and won 3-1 in a best-of-five series.

Since the first match on Bind, players Ailurus (Y/N) and bokku (Miyawaki Sakura) demonstrated their chemistry through their formidable performance as Omen and Yoru respectively. Their alliance was enough for their opponents to avoid one-on-one battles.

Rising player Ppiya (Hong Eunchae) secures her position as one of the most impressive duelists to come from this year’s VCT. In all of the matches played, Ppiya secures at least one kill per round, placing her 3rd in the leaderboards out of all players in the event.

In their second match on Ascent, remarkable sentinel players CHUU (Kim Jiwoo) and subakhye (Son Hyeju) built solid defense systems and dealt with flanks with ease. They can adjust their setups accordingly as they observe their opponents’ playstyle.

Although their exceptional performance in Game Changers makes its mark in VCT history, Ailurus only hopes that they are given more opportunities to engage in such tournaments. “I am happy [about our win], but I hope that the [VALORANT] esports scene sees us more than just winners [of Game Changers]. I want to be seen as a remarkable player regardless of gender,” they share.

Despite HYST participating in VCT for the past two years, this is their first championship win. In last year’s VCT, the organization met its defeat in VALORANT Challengers through their other roster consisting of players bae (Jacob Bae), nuguri (Kim Sunwoo), Darong (Lee Jaehyun), gyulz (Ju Haknyeon), and Maize (Lee Juyeon).

Both teams are under the guidance of Coach bori (Kim Younghoon), a retired VALORANT and League of Legends pro player.

These turn of events displayed HYST’s dedication to improvement and VALORANT. Many followers hope to see more of the reigning champions of Game Changers.

ROUND 1: “WELCOME TO MY WORLD!”

The moon radiates tonight, its white gleam accompanied by speckles amidst the sea of black. Now would be the perfect moment to take some time to yourself; get in more hours of sleep, or pick up a book you’ve been putting off. Instead…

“Hi, everyone! It’s been a while,” you greet your viewers through the webcam.

The monitor shines on you, colors of blue and violet painting your skin. On the wall behind you is a shelf filled with memorabilia; medals from small competitions along with trophies from bigger tournaments. 

“I know it’s a little late here, but I was itching to play some matches.” Your eyes glide through your stream’s chat. Many viewers are ecstatic to have you back on Twitch while others question your late hours of streaming.

jseollie: even after game changers?? CRAZY! bboppull: GRIND NEVER STOPS 💪💪💪 bookeucutie: tell us abt vct!!!

A chuckle leaves you as you open up Valorant. “I really enjoyed my time in VCT! I met some of my favorite players like Lorri from Evil Genius, sonder from Shopify, even Version1’s MeL.”

You lean back on your chair as you recall the event. “I won’t lie, I was very nervous about going against 88RR, which, by the way, is a lovely team. We met up for drinks after.” You scratch the back of your neck as you try to go through what your chat says.

“I remember talking to Kura about it since the semifinals, and she had to give me a constant pep talk.” The memory of Sakura knocking sense into you after every match makes you laugh.

As you dish to your viewers about your experience throughout Game Changers, you read their comments. Many of your viewers were happy with your revelation of the teams' bonds with each other. “Yeah, we’re competitive but we’re here with the same dreams, so I think it did help us form some kind of connection. I was able to exchange contacts with Sunmi and Taeyeon as well. I told them that whenever they decide to come back to Korea, they should give me a call.”

ajiajibee: is the trophy with you? ghanadara: i think it’s beside the picture frame

“Oh, I don’t get to keep it. It’s back in the headquarters,” you say as you slightly swivel your chair to the side. “That picture frame, however,” you point at your shelf, “is my certificate. That way, we all have something to bring home.”

You adjust your chair before smiling at the camera. “Anyway, I’m really happy that our practice paid off. It was an honor to even participate and meet other players.”

Most of the reactions were positive ones; congratulations and desires to see your team play together for more events. Yet, regardless of your achievements, there’s constantly a handful of negative ones.

hwithefool: Cant believe you won game changers. Ur not even that good. hwithefool: didn’t even get to champs L honeycube: boosted ass universefactory deleted hwithefool’s message. universefactory deleted hwithefool’s message. universefactory deleted honeycube’s message. hwithefool is now banned from this chat. Reason: Being rude honeycube is now banned from this chat. Reason: Being rude

Thankfully, your moderators were there to take control of such—but you’ll always know what people think of you.

“Anyway, for today’s stream, I’ll be playing with Juhak and Hyeju!” You exclaim as you switch scenes, now showing the Valorant lobby. “We’re going to play on our alt accounts for today, so it should be fun.”

real_juhaknyeon: LFGGGGG goated team rubyvobo: we get nom, jeorge porkwell, AND hyejuseyo?? We win today sunwooluver: what about nuguri?? he’s solo queuing right now rubyvobo: OFHEJSHSJJSKS I LOVE YOU GUYS sunwooluver: WILL NUGURI JOIN??

One of the few perks that comes with being an established streamer is that you could ignore comments, pretending you never saw them, and you’d get away with it; people just didn’t need to talk about it all together and you’d be fine.

So when you invite Haknyeon and Hyeju to your party, you continue talking to your chat about today’s stream. “We’re not going to play ranked today, I think?” You hum for a moment, going through the agenda in your head. “Well, we might, but I have no clue. It depends on what they want.”

Before you can continue with your rambles, your phone vibrates on your desk. Once you grab it, you notice that text messages from Kim Younghoon, the coach of the organization, have come your way.

coach bbang 🍞: hi y/n! don’t forget to remind your teammates about tomorrow’s meeting for vct ☺️ coach bbang 🍞: and gl with your stream tonight! y/n: teewai coach :DD see u tomo

“Sorry about that!” You put your phone away and give your full attention to your monitor. Hyeju and Haknyeon already joined your party, and you spot that they’re in a voice channel on the HYST’s Discord server. “Before I go join VC with the others, I just wanted to say thank you for supporting me and the others in Game Changers. It was a fun but tough competition, and I wouldn’t be here without you guys.”

Although your job did start as a hobby, you continued to persevere through such hardships thanks to your support systems; your teammates and viewers alike. You only ever considered going pro thanks to two friends. Unfortunately, time has its way of making you drift apart from them; you hope you can go face-to-face against them one day if the universe willed for it.

“Anyway, let’s have some good games!”

“I tuned in to your stream last night, Y/N,” Eunchae starts. “That losing streak is insane.”

You sigh, shoulders down as you walk dejectedly. “Don’t even get me started. Our randos were ass and wouldn’t stop talking shit.” You look at your younger friend who only pouts as you recap the events of last night. “I know you would always enter and clear sites for us, my Manchae.”

With your arm wrapped around her shoulder, her expression shifts into a smile. “I mean, that’s the least I can do as your duelist.”

“Well, not everyone seems to know that.”

The HYST headquarters is a three-story infrastructure whose interior resembles corporate buildings; the furniture is mostly of sleek leather and dark-stained wood. Monotone linoleum tiles and off-white walls stretch throughout the building.

As soon as you both arrive in front of the meeting room, you swing the doors open, revealing Sakura, Hyeju, and Jiwoo who sit together on one side of the conference table. You and Eunchae rush to them, exchanging greetings and embraces.

“Do you always play Valorant?” Jiwoo directs the question to you, referencing your stream last night with Hyeju and Haknyeon, to which you roll your eyes.

“No, I just had the itch to play!” You take a seat in between Sakura and Jiwoo. “Plus, I’ll take any opportunity to make some money.”

The doors swing open. “Hi, everyone. It’s nice to see you all,” Younghoon greets your team before walking to the whiteboard situated in the corner of the room.

The organization’s general manager, Lee Sangyeon, trails behind him, a smile painting his face as he takes a seat at the end of the table. “I’ll say this again, but good work in Game Changers.”

“Thanks, Sangyeon,” Sakura expresses her gratitude on behalf of the team. “We wouldn’t have been able to win without your help along with Younghoon’s.”

He shakes his head, trying to play it off. “No, I’m just here to make sure you guys get to participate, you know? Just want to make sure that you guys get recognized.”

Silence settles. The squeaking from Younghoon's marker is faint but loud enough to capture your attention. Although his figure covers most of what’s written on the whiteboard, you catch sight of a few gamer tags—Ailurus and bae.

Before you can decipher the other words, the doors open. “Hi, guys!” Haknyeon enters the room with all smiles. “Hello Game Changers winners,” he bows his head, making you chuckle.

His teammates, Jacob and Juyeon, trail behind him, relaxed expressions resting on their faces. “Congrats on the win,” Jacob shakes hands with everyone on your team. “That one play on Ascent went crazy, by the way.” His praise is directed towards you, and you try to play it cool.

“Ah, it was nothing. Just got lucky.”

“If I was in your situation, I probably wouldn’t have secured that round,” Juyeon chimes in as he takes a seat beside his teammates. The three boys sit across from your team.

Haknyeon smacks Juyeon’s arm, laughing at his words. “Yeah! Remember that one round in Breeze?” Juyeon only rolls his eyes while his teammates recap the events for your team.

You don’t really interact with Haknyeon’s team (or Jacob’s team if you were going to follow formalities), just the occasional greetings and small talk if you were going to be honest. It’s not like you didn’t want to be friends with them; there aren't enough opportunities to bond when you all have different schedules, let alone priorities. But you did enjoy their team's presence, and every interaction with them is one you hope may bring your team closer to theirs.

Except for one player.

“Sorry, we’re late!” Hyunjae enters the room with an apologetic smile. “Someone decided to sleep in.”

“Not true! Hyunjae’s lying.”

The room starts to grow dimmer, almost as if life were sucked out of it. Only you seemed to see it, never the others. There he is—the only exception. 

He’s dressed in an oversized graphic tee layered on top of a white long-sleeved shirt and a pair of black baggy jeans. His hair shows its soft curls, clearly indicating that he’s the one lying.

A playful pout rests on his lips as he tries to continue his defense. Yet, when he locks eyes with you, he holds back. A scowl now paints his face.

If you follow esports, then you would know who Kim Sunwoo is—an established pro player who switched from Overwatch to Valorant. At first, many people were confused by his choice, throwing away years invested into a different game. Yet, it seemed that he didn’t care about what others had to say as he signed with HYST a few months after he started playing Valorant.

Within that time frame, he was able to impress Younghoon and Sangyeon with his gameplay. After all, Valorant and Overwatch required different playstyles. It was easy for him to become big in the Valorant pro scene, as you would like to say, for he made use of his existing fame.

He’s adored by many people who follow the pro scene; audience and players alike. You, however, seemed to think differently.

You shift your gaze to Younghoon, silently hoping that the meeting will commence. As if he heard your thoughts, he says, “No worries. Go, take your seats.”

Unfortunately, Hyunjae opts to sit across from Eunchae, leaving one vacant seat across from you. 

Sunwoo sits on the chair as a dejected sigh leaves him, causing you to roll your eyes while you keep your gaze away from him. All you need to do is get through the meeting and you won’t have to face him for a while.

“Thank you everyone for coming here today,” Younghoon starts as he faces all of you. The whiteboard behind him has now been flipped, and the gamer tags are now hidden. “Uh, before we get into the agenda for today’s meeting, let’s congratulate the winners of Game Changers!”

Applause erupts from everyone who didn’t participate in that competition, but your eyes don’t miss how slow the boy across you claps, almost as if he wasn’t impressed.

“Now, we can get to the point of today’s meeting.” Younghoon steps to the side, revealing the text written—VCT GAMEPLAN with irregular shapes surrounding it. “We all know that VCT is around the corner, a few months from now, which means we’ve got to start our preparations.”

“Normally, we would’ve gone straight to strategizing and having you guys,” your coach looks at the team across you, “practice, but Sangyeon and I have agreed on doing things differently this year.” He flips the board, revealing everyone’s gamer tags. “We’re changing the roster.”

Many players are caught off-guard by Younghoon’s announcement. It’s not usual for a roster change to take place, especially with only a few months left before qualifiers commence.

“We know that not everyone may want to participate in the upcoming VCT, and I’ve spent weeks trying to configure what’s the best roster to represent HYST.” Younghoon then pulls out a blue marker and starts to circle some names; CHUU, Darong, bae, nuguri, and… Ailurus? “These are my picks for VCT.”

A frown appears on your face, but before you can comment, Haknyeon beats you to it. “I don’t know if having Hyunjae and Sunwoo play together is smart.” All eyes are now on him. “I mean, no offense,” his eyes flicker to the two subjects, “I don’t know if Jiwoo and Y/N would be able to keep up, and that’s not a diss to them.”

“I agree,” Jacob chimes in. “Haknyeonie, Juyeon, and I can play with Sunwoo and Hyunjae as duelists because we know their playstyles well. We’ve played together for years. Y/N and Jiwoo would be playing with them for the first time.”

Younghoon bites the inside of his cheek, deep in thought as he considers what’s been said. “Thoughts?” He directs his question to the two people in question. The two players exchange glances, almost as if they were communicating.

“Yeah, I know Sunwoo and I can adjust our playstyle but it took more than half a year for Juyeon and Haknyeon to get used to our playstyle,” Hyunjae says as he scratches the back of his neck. “And if it helps, I’d prefer to sit this one out. You know, I have a lot of sponsorships lined up that I need to stream for also.”

Your coach sighs. “No worries. What about you, Sunwoo?”

“Wait, can I say something?” Jiwoo gathers the attention of everyone in the room. “I also want to opt out of VCT. I mean, I just played in Game Changers.” A guilty smile takes over her features.

Thankfully, Younghoon acknowledges where Jiwoo comes from. “Of course, I understand. After all, that’s why we're having this meeting.”

Before your coach can try to reconfigure the roster, Sangyeon stands up from his seat.

“Can I suggest another rotation?” Younghoon nods before handing him a red marker. Sangyeon starts to circle another list of gamer tags, ones he believes should be in the final line-up of players for VCT; it consists of bokku, bae, gyulz, Ppiya, and… Ailurus, again? Your coach frowns as he looks at the selection.

“I think Sunwoo should be benched.” Your eyebrows shoot up at Sangyeon’s words, not expecting those words considering the player’s reputation.“He’s made some rash plays recently, and you know that.” You glance at the boy who sits across from you only to see that his gaze is affixed to the ground. 

Younghoon shakes his head, clearly in disbelief at the manager’s words. “Yes, but that’s only for a few matches. Trust me when I say that Sunwoo is strong as a duelist and an initiator.” His attempt to defend his mentee is weak against Sangyeon’s opinion.

“He plays for himself!”

Clearly, the two higher-ups have opposing views.

“Think about it; Eunchae and Sakura are great duelists, and anyone else on that team plays initiator.”

Although Sangyeon seems to believe his proposed line-up is the best one yet, your coach shakes his head. “Eunchae isn’t playing.” He glances at her before saying, “She told me beforehand.” All eyes are now on the teen who only shows an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, I wanted to take a break from this year’s VCT to focus on my studies.”

Sangyeon scratches the back of his neck. “Well—”

“Hey,” Sakura cuts into the conversation. “Haven’t we considered that Y/N and Sunwoo might not want to play together?” She looks at you two with scrunched eyebrows, clearly confused by your coach’s proposal. “I mean, we all know their relationship, no?”

Your feud isn’t under the table. All of the players know about your distaste towards each other but they don’t know where it stems from.

“Yes, but their playstyles complement each other.” Everyone’s confused as to why Younghoon is persistent. “Out of all my mentees, I’ve worked with them the most, and I know exactly how they can work together.”

“Well, I want Y/N on that team.” As your manager says that, all the attention is now on you. You’re not sure why Sangyeon would say that. Uncomfortable with how you’ve become the topic of the conversation, you cannot help but sink into your seat.

“And I agree with you. But if we’re going to have Y/N play, I need Sunwoo on that team.” You lock eyes with Sunwoo briefly as your coach says that. “He’s my one-pick, and I know he’ll help the team out the most.” Sangyeon sighs, rethinking the roster once more. You shift your gaze to the ground, clearly unhappy being paired with the player across from you.

You weren’t happy that the two continued to discuss the final roster without asking you, but before you could speak up, someone beat you to it.

“Shouldn’t Y/N take a break?” Your gaze lands on the boy across from you, eyebrows now furrowed over his suggestion. “I mean, they did just come from winning Game Changers. We can have Juyeon take over.” When you spot a small smirk resting on his lips, you ball your fists.

Whatever game Sunwoo is playing, you don’t want any part of it. If anything, whatever he’s trying to insinuate has you clenching your teeth. And you’re about to retort—

“No,” Sangyeon says, speaking on your behalf. “Y/N’s a good leader and a team player. I trust Y/N the most out of all the people on the roster.”

Sunwoo raises his hands in defense. “It was only a suggestion.” But when he glances at you, you don’t miss the sinister smile on his face.

Not only was Sunwoo trying to bench you out of the competition but Sangyeon and Younghoon were too invested in their conversation, speaking on your behalf as if you were nothing but a tool for the organization. Without a second thought, you stand up from your seat. Everyone’s eyes are on you as you storm out of the room.

That’s the thing about being a pro player in the esports scene; no one seems to listen to you if you aren’t a man.

For once, silence settles amongst everyone. Your departure is a message, one that everyone failed to see earlier on.

A sigh leaves Sakura. “I know we’re all worried about VCT but let’s not forget to hear everyone out, okay?” She glances at the doors that are now shut closed, wondering where you may have gone. “You know Y/N. Just avoid speaking on their behalf and let them talk for themselves.”

“Yeah,” Eunchae huffs, “let’s give them time to cool down. We only wrapped up Game Changers a few weeks ago.”

As Younghoon crosses his arms, a sigh leaves him as he looks down to the floor. “Sorry, Sangyeon and I were too caught up with what we wanted.” He glances at his watch before shifting his gaze to the players who sit idly. “Let’s talk about this again once they come back.”

In the eye of a hurricane stands you, a witness to the chaos, wondering what course of action nature shall take upon you. Somehow, your screams are soundless—not a single soul minds the hurricane for as long as it doesn’t hit them.

You stand in front of the washroom mirror, taking your time to recollect your thoughts. The stress that comes from the upcoming VCT, the pressure to represent HYST once more, the likelihood of working with Kim Sunwoo for the first time—there’s nothing you can control.

The stars point you towards acceptance, perseverance.

It’s not that you were against representing HYST for the upcoming VCT events. If anything, you were grateful that Sangyeon and Younghoon trusted you to undertake such an important role.

Although you’ve competed in Game Changers, the audience it attracts is smaller in comparison to the ones your manager and coach want to see you in. All eyes will be on you as you compete to reach to Champions.

The weight that comes with playing in a worldwide esports event, one that most of the community is tuned into, rests on your shoulders—a coalition of anxiety from every round that plays out, migraines from reconfiguring your strategies, the comments of you playing just because you aren’t a man. Those reasons should be enough for you to decline the offer, to protect your peace, and to make more out of your streams.

But nothing can compare to bringing back home the fruit of your labor—the Champions Cup—the recognition that comes from competing, and the bond built amongst teammates. If you got to experience all that from Game Changers, you’re almost certain that VCT will bring experiences to be marked in your books.

But what do you know, right?

With a mind clearer after today’s event, you exit the washroom, still deciding whether you should compete or not. Yet, it’s as if the universe has plans to provoke you as you come face-to-face with the last person you want to see.

His eyes lock with yours and a snarl appears on his face. “What? I had to use the washroom.” Defensive, like always.

Before you can make your way back to the conference room, he grabs your arm, holding you back. You glare at Sunwoo, your eyes glancing at his hand on your arm, and he lets go.

He bites the inside of his cheek. “I know we don’t like each other.” Tell me about it. “But,” he sucks in a breath as he stares back at you. “I know we want to prove ourselves, so why don’t we just suck it up and work together?”

Anyone could believe that Sunwoo’s trying to play nice with you—he’s willing to make amends in hopes that there’s no bad blood between you two—but you could care less about what this man has to say.

“It’s not that easy,” you start. “You don’t understand what I want.” Unlike him, you know that proving yourself does nothing.

His frowns over your words. “What do you mean—”

“Sunwoo, you can easily say you want to play to prove yourself,” you cut him off. “I can’t say the same for me. It’s a privilege enough that I can even play in these events.” You jab your index finger against his chest, making him stagger backward.

That’s what makes you and Sunwoo different; while he chases praises from a few lucky plays, you’re left to deal with the backlash from just breathing.

If Sunwoo wants to retort, you don’t give him the chance to do so as you walk away from him. As you reach the doors, you take a deep breath in before swinging them open. The chatter is interrupted by your presence as you make your way back to your seat.

Sunwoo follows shortly, keeping his gaze on you as he takes his seat. You would’ve ignored the way he looks at you but the eye contact you two exchange amplifies what you told him then in the halls. So when an ominous grin appears on your face, the lousy bridge he tried to build towards you crumbles. After all, it was constructed on a poor attempt to save his career.

“Count me in.”

ROUND 2: “YOUR BIGGEST MISTAKE WAS THAT YOU PISSED ME OFF.”

With every day that passes, the weight of VCT rests heavier on your shoulders. Playing with a team you don’t compete with is not easy. Yet, you’re hopeful today—it’s all you have, after all.

As you enter the practice room, you are greeted by the chilly air that emits from the air conditioners. The practice room resembles an internet cafe; desks are lined up with monitors and keyboards while CPUs are placed under the tables.

You catch sight of Sakura and Haknyeon chatting away as they sit in front of their assigned computers. Jacob, however, is busy talking to Younghoon; you can only assume they’re talking about possible strategies.

Before you take a seat beside Haknyeon, you make sure to greet everyone. “And I couldn’t believe Juyeon just fell to the floor!” He exclaims which has Sakura laughing.

“What’d I miss?”

Haknyeon looks at you on the brink of tears before he retells the story. “Okay, because you know how Juyeon and I share a room?” You nod. “So, I told Juyeon to shut the lights off on his way to bed because I was ready to go to sleep. But somehow, he got lazy while walking so he had this genius idea to just jump to the bed.” At this point, your friend is laughing in between words, and the story has gone incomprehensible.

“And the next thing you know it, Haknyeon hears a sudden thump.”

You burst into laughter over the story. “You’re telling me he missed?!” The only answers you get are chortles from the two.

Preparations for VCT have fueled your anxiety for many reasons, possible losses and backlash to name a few, but Haknyeon and Sakura bring pockets of sunshine amidst the storm. If they weren’t here, you wouldn’t know how to deal with your worries.

“Sorry, I’m late!” Your mood shifts as your last teammate enters the room with an iced americano in his hand. You both lock eyes for a brief moment before you shift your gaze back to your friends, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“Okay, hurry! Everyone, start fixing your setups,” Younghoon orders as he claps his hands, grabbing everyone’s attention.

You chose your seat in hopes that Jacob would sit beside you, making it easier for you both to discuss possible team strategies. Yet, the other in-game leader sits somewhere else, leaving Sunwoo to take the spot next to you. Your bubbly mood has turned sour.

“Anyway, today we will be having a practice match! So, what to expect is that…”

Younghoon’s words fall flat on your ears as your heartbeat fills your ears. As you try to fix your monitor and audio settings to fit your preferences, you hope that the anxiety will die down. Yet, you feel a pair of eyes stare a hole right into you—annoyance now accompanies your anxiety.

“Can you mind your own business and listen to Coach?” You raise the question, only loud enough for your annoying teammate to hear.

“I am paying attention.”

You scoff, “Oh, so you’ll listen now?” You rip your gaze away from the computer to glare at Sunwoo. “You didn’t listen to me last time.”

A few days ago, your team decided to scrimmage against the other members of the organization. It was a good way to practice before signing up for scrimmages against other teams participating.

Unfortunately for you, it was a match that solidified your dislike of the player. With every round, he found ways to get on your nerves, ignoring your comms and playing for himself to name a few. If you were going to be honest, you expected a bit more from Sunwoo—Sangyeon is right about his stance on the player.

Sunwoo shrugs, glancing at your coach who continues to explain today’s practice match. “I don’t know, your strats weren’t making sense last time. I trust Jacob more.”

You clench your fists as you close your eyes briefly in disbelief. “So, if it’s a man speaking, you’ll listen?” You shake your head in disbelief as you return your attention to the computer. “Jacob and I had the same plan, asshole.”

If Sunwoo wanted to defend himself, he’s not allowed to do so as Younghoon calls on both of your names. “Hey, are you listening?” The two of you nod profusely in a poor attempt to hide your conversation. “Okay then. For today’s scrimmage, you’ll be going against RUSH.”

There’s no way, right? “Sorry, did you say RUSH?” You earn a nod from him, and your world tilts on its axis. After how many years, it only took one scrimmage for you to reunite with your reasons behind why you stand in the pro scene today—Jeon Jungkook and Eric Sohn.

The three of you first met each other in university in a club full of people who liked to play video games. At first, you weren’t sure why you joined in the first place, dreading the possibility of dealing with men who would throw misogynistic comments towards you. Yet, the universe found a way to make sure you would enjoy your stay, gifting you two boys who became your best friends from university. 

“Today is the perfect time to get to know your opponents, get a feel of what they do. I know that you guys have started playing together, trying to get a feel of what it’s like to play together, but I hope this scrimmage will build on it,” Younghoon says as your team quickly logs into their accounts on Discord.

Once you’ve logged in, you notice that Younghoon has sent you an invite to a Discord server. You accept it, greeted by the huge selection of teams participating, and you catch sight of RUSH in a voice channel. All of their gamer tags are recognizable, but two of them have stuck with you since your university days.

“You can all jump on the voice channel with them. Don’t forget to introduce yourselves.”

You’re the first to hop on a call and your teammates follow you shortly. Usually, you were the type to have someone lead the conversation, but to say you were excited to talk to your old friends would be an understatement. “Hi, everyone.”

“Oh my god, is that Y/N?” Jungkook asks, surprised by the sound of a familiar voice.

“Y/N?!” Eric’s microphone crackles over how loud he exclaims your name, and a grin rests on your lips over the reactions.

There they are. “I know, it’s been forever. I haven’t talked to you both since we graduated.”

The next thing you know, their faces appear on the screen; they don’t look too different from when you last saw them, but they’ve grown up. “Is it actually you?!” Jungkook asks. “I won’t believe it until I see you.”

A chuckle leaves your lips over your old friend’s words. “God, I’ll turn my cam on.” You click on the video icon, revealing your poor attempt to hold back your grin. “Happy now?” 

“It’s been so long, what the fuck? I miss you! Congrats on your win!” Eric says. “Everyone, why don’t we turn on our cams?” Both his teammates and yours have turned their cameras on. “Let’s introduce ourselves.”

The introductions are quick. You learned the real names of Jungkook and Eric’s teammates; Choi Soobin, Jeon Wonwoo, and Lee Jeno. RUSH’s roster is a good selection of players. Your palms get sweaty as you hear your heartbeat in your ears—nothing could’ve prepared you for today’s scrimmage. 

Before you can all agree to start the match, Sunwoo pops a question. “Sorry, how do you guys know each other?” You watch his expression through Discord, eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

Jungkook chuckles before saying, “We went to uni together, met in this club which we all left after our first year.” All he gets is a hum from your teammate, but you don’t miss the way Sunwoo looks off into nowhere, almost as if he’s irritated—you wonder why his mood shifted. “Anyway, are we ready to have our match?” You all hum in agreement before turning your cameras off.

“Alright, good luck and have fun!”

The worst Valorant matches are the ones that reach overtime. It’s 12 to 13 on Icebox in RUSH’s favor, and your team is on the brink of losing—only one win is needed and your opponent will leave victorious.

“I think we should go through mid and then make our way through A-site.”

You shake your head in disapproval. “No, Jacob, I think we should enter a site together instead. It’s risky to pass through mid since,” you glance at the leaderboard to check how many credits Jungkook has, “I have a strong feeling someone will use an operator.”

Although Jacob seems to consider your suggestion, a groan leaves Sunwoo. “Wouldn’t it be better to split up?”

“No, we’re not strong enough to fight our own battles. We need to play together, fight together.” You would like to think that your team can handle isolated battles, but you guys were weak against RUSH. Perhaps they had good reflexes or better game sense.

As the timer starts to count down, Jacob orders, “Okay, we’ll go with Y/N’s plan. The most important thing is that we don’t pick fights on our own and plant the spike.”

The round commences, and you all make your way into your positions; Sakura and Jacob slowly make their way through A-main while you go up to the belt. Haknyeon carefully sets up his trip wires and camera before joining you.

“I’m going to dart first.” Once you get your recon bolt out, you shoot it far enough to land on the wall; it catches the presence of Soobin and Wonwoo. The toxic screen goes up, perfectly concealing the site.

“Go!”

It happens all too quickly, shots fired and damage dealt and received. Before you know it, your team is dead—except for one who didn’t seem to listen to your plans.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you say as you spectate Sunwoo, watching that he’s making his way back to where you guys died, leaving mid. There are only two players that he needs to fight, Jungkook on Jett and Eric on Deadlock. You know the round is tense, and the last thing you want to do is aggravate him.

Thankfully, Sunwoo plants the spike, but he situates himself in a spot that wouldn’t allow him to reposition quickly. A pair of footsteps go up the stairs, signaling that someone is making their way to heaven.

For a moment, he keeps his gaze affixed to screens, but he looks back to A-main, expecting a flank, and he’s right; Eric comes into his vision.

You expect Sunwoo to win the fight, but when his body falls to the ground, a sigh leaves you. The mood has plummeted, sinking into murky waters of frustration, disappointment. “Fuck, sorry,” Sunwoo apologizes as he covers his mouth in frustration.

“It’s okay, you tried,” Jacob attempts to console his teammate. “Good work, everyone.”

The spike gets defused; HYST has lost against RUSH.

“Come on, let’s go hop on a call with them again.”

With that, your team follows Jacob’s orders. “Tight match everyone, but a fun one!” Wonwoo says.

“Yeah, thanks for the game,” Sakura responds, trying to stay in high spirits.

“Well, we have to get going. We have another scrimmage,” Eric starts. “Y/N, send me your number through DMs. Let’s hang with Jungkook.”

You hum, a small smile resting on your lips. “Sure, see you guys in Challengers.” With that, everyone leaves the voice channel.

While RUSH is probably celebrating their win, HYST is in low spirits. It’s a practice match, sure, but still a match nevertheless.

“Good work, everyone,” Younghoon says in an attempt to cheer everyone up. “I really liked the energy I saw from you guys. You all put up a good fight and fought together.”

Although everyone seems to hum in agreement with your coach, you don’t join in. “Why did you stray off?” You redirect your gaze to the boy beside you, only earning a frown. “Didn’t we agree to play together?”

He rolls his eyes at you. “Yeah, but—”

“But what, Sunwoo? What could’ve been the reason for you to not enter with us and not follow the game plan?” You’re frustrated over everything; the stress of VCT, your loss against RUSH, your teammate who never listens to you.

“Hey, knock it off!” Younghoon gets in between you two. “Now is not the time to be fighting.” You and Sunwoo only glare at each other. “Cannot believe I’m dealing with a bunch of 5-year-olds,” he mutters under his breath.

“Jacob and Sakura, nice work in holding B-site, by the way. Haknyeon, you also did well holding A-site.” Then, your coach glances between you two. “Now, we still need to work on your coordination and teamwork.” It’s a statement for your whole team, but it feels as if it were directed at you and Sunwoo. You wish you sat out of VCT.

“You can go now.”

With that, everyone gets ready to exit the practice room. Your coach is the first one out. You think you’re at fault for causing stress on him but if only Sunwoo would work with you—listen, for the matter—then maybe you two wouldn’t be in this mishap.

“Hey, you two.” You look at Jacob who calls on you and Sunwoo. “Can you stay behind for a bit?” You glance at Haknyeon and Sakura who observe the interaction briefly. As you both nod, your other teammates have taken their leave.

Now, you stand in front of him with your teammate beside you. A sigh leaves him as he rubs his jaw while a frown rests on his face. You only see Jacob like this when he’s focused on his games, but never when it comes to dealing with issues like what your team (or you and Sunwoo, really) has.

“I know you two don’t like each other, and I still don’t know why.” You and Sunwoo exchange glances before ignoring each other once more. “But you understand that you both signed up for VCT, right? That means you will be playing many matches together.”

You’re aware that agreeing to represent HYST means having to work with Sunwoo. Your reasons for participating are enough to convince you that you handle all the upcoming matches with Sunwoo—all adversities will be dealt with. Yet, you couldn’t speak for your teammate. 

“So, I’m asking that you guys focus on working together. I’m not asking you to make up or anything but to still be professional around each other. We still have to win the qualifiers, so no funny business, okay?”

Jacob was right. Your dispute is getting in the way of team dynamics, holding HYST back, and you didn’t want to inconvenience your team any further. With that, you nod, begrudgingly accepting Jacob’s request. You can spot Sunwoo nodding along with you in the corner of your eye.

“Okay, thanks. You can both go now.”

When you and Sunwoo leave the practice room, not a single word is exchanged. 

ROUND 3: “DON’T LOOK SO SMUG, SUNWOO!”

Over the last months, you and your team have spent every waking hour on Valorant—practice, practice, practice, until you all felt satisfied.

To say you were sick of the game is an understatement, but some of your teammates try to make every minute enjoyable; Haknyeon would goof off some rounds and knife opponents from behind, Jacob would make comments that you never would’ve imagined leaving his mouth, and Sakura would ask questions about everyone before every round. You take your part in lifting the spirits and making these matches less monotonous by reading stories from the r/AmITheAsshole subreddit.

As for your relationship with Sunwoo, you’ve tried to keep it professional. During matches and strategizing phases, you would communicate with each other, exchanging ideas of how to win these games. Outside of those periods, however, were spent ignoring each other’s existence.

Thankfully, all those months of practicing didn’t go to waste—your team went against multiple organizations during Qualifiers, and now you’re on the last leg of the event. Only one more win is needed and your team makes it to Challengers.

Now, your team is in the practice room, head-to-head against another team. It’s 11 to 12 in your team’s favor on Ascent. It’s absurd that your opponents made a comeback from 3-9, but you’ll blame it on the superstition.

“Let’s play default. Their team tends to push out anyway,” Jacob orders before he takes a sip of water. “I’ll play by tiles while Sakura and Haknyeonie can go to A-site. Sunwoo and Y/N, play near B-site. Just make sure to not get caught by their Sova’s recon dart.” Everyone on your team agrees with Jacob’s plan.

The round commences. Just like what Jacob called out, a recon dart is thrown, but it doesn’t catch sight of you and Sunwoo. “Sova’s by B-site,” Sunwoo tells the team. 

“I hear footsteps by tree,” Sakura starts, and Jacob takes it as his sign to smoke the cubby off. Before you know it, he takes a peek at mid and kills off the enemy team’s Gekko. Sakura flashes A-site before double-swinging with Haknyeon. “There are three players by A-site! Go to B-site!”

You and Sunwoo start to make your way through B-site. You walk in front of him, trying to smoke off  hall and market. It should’ve occurred to you how weird it is that Sunwoo trails behind you, but it doesn’t, and you choose to enter the site.

The next thing you know, your body flops to the ground, and you let out a groan. As you spectate Sunwoo, he successfully trades you. “Spike down B,” the announcer voices out. Now, it’s a three versus one battle.

“Astra’s with me! Go plant,” Haknyeon calls out, and Sunwoo listens. He plants the spike like a breeze and situates himself in the boathouse.

Jacob tucks himself by mid, waiting for Astra to pass through spawn. “I can catch Astra off-guard while you try to pinch them,” he tells Haknyeon. Within a few seconds, he successfully lands his shots and kills Astra, securing HYST a win—your team will be participating in Challengers.

Everyone cheers, getting off their seats and huddling into a group hug. “Holy shit, Jacob! That was such a good 3K!” Haknyeon cheers as he’s overfilled with joy.

Your teammate tries to shrug off the compliments. “We all did good.”

A pair of arms wrap around you and Jacob. “That was an amazing play!” Younghoon is thrilled by today’s matches. “WE’RE GOING TO CHALLENGERS!”

It’s a dream come true; you’ll be competing on stage in front of a wider audience against teams who are more capable than you—who have more experience than you—but the journey has only started. You wonder what the upcoming months will have in store for you and your team—what will time do for you and Sunwoo?

You’re the first to break up from the hug, everyone else following along. “I’m going to call Sangyeon over,” your coach announces before making his way out of the practice room.

Then, Haknyeon pulls out his phone. “Wait, the guys are blowing up our group chat. I’ll just call them.”

Sunwoo is about to follow his teammates, but you grab hold of his forearm as you hold him back, and he frowns at you. “I need to talk to Sunwoo,” you smile at the other guys who only glance at each other, confused by your actions. Yet, they let the matter go, letting you deal with your business with him.

Sakura grabs your shoulder. “I’m going to call the team. Anything you want me to tell them?”

“I’ll tell them myself, it’s okay. You can go.”

With that, it was only you and your teammate.

You let go of his arm and a frown replaces the grin you once showed. “What was that during the last round?” As Sunwoo scrunches his eyebrows further, you groan. “You literally baited me.”

An exasperated sigh leaves him. “God, it’s not that serious.”

“Sunwoo, you’re playing duelist. You’re supposed to be entering sites for the team.”

“And I do!” He glares at you, annoyed by your complaints. “We still won. Can’t you just be happy that we made it to Challengers?”

That’s the thing you hate about playing with Sunwoo; if the outcome is good, he’ll turn a blind eye to his mistakes. How does he improve as a player if he doesn’t acknowledge his faults?

He’s about to turn away from you—make his way to his teammates and celebrate today’s win—but you grab his hand and pull him close to you. The sudden action almost has him toppling over you, and thankfully, his reflexes are quick enough to make sure you both don’t fall.

But the distance between you two is smaller, his eyes wide while yours remain stern. He holds his breath while yours grazes his skin.

You’ve never seen him this way—compliant, obedient—and it’s a sight to behold, one you’d like to keep for yourself. If only he were like this to you, then maybe you wouldn’t—no, snap out of it.

“Sunwoo.” He gulps at the way you call his name. “I’m your controller, I’m supposed to stay alive longer to support you.” You hold his gaze. “Try to keep this behavior up during the rest of VCT, I dare you.”

There’s malice laced in your tone, an attempt to make him cower—obey—over your threat, and you know your job is successful when Sunwoo doesn’t try to retort. He has every opportunity to retort—rile you up like all other times—and yet, he remains silent.

With that, you let go of his hand, stepping away to give you both room to breathe. Patches of warmth litter all over your skin, from your neck to your chest. To have Sunwoo look at you like that has—

“Guys!” Younghoon comes back rushing into the room with Sangyeon trailing behind him. You catch sight of the smile that rests on your manager’s face, clearly proud of your team. “Let’s look at the list of the teams who made it to Challengers.”

Your coach fiddles with the television remote and opens up the stream. Just in time, you’re able to look through the teams who made it to the next event. As you spot HYST in a sea of esteemed teams, fulfillment bubbles within you.

Yet, you know the battle doesn’t end here. RUSH makes the cut—will your team remain victorious or will it meet its demise?

ROUND 4: “YOU’RE HERE TO TAKE MY KILLS, SUNWOO? LET’S MAKE IT A COMPETITION.”

You were lying when you said you were sick of Valorant. There were other games you could be playing, Minecraft, Overwatch, and Stardew Valley to name a few. Yet, here you are, playing your favorite (read: most hated) game for today’s stream.

“I won’t lie, I’m not sure why I’m playing this game on stream,” you chuckle. “Like, I could be playing something else to save my mental health.” The comments keep coming as you ramble, trying to kill time.

keybladetwo: CONGRATS IN PLAYOFFS!!! GOODLUCK IN CHALLENGERS orangecheeko: HYST TAKEOVER 🔥🔥🔥 hungrydinosaur: the 3k bae did last round was INSANE

A flood of compliments comes your way, making you smile. “Awe. Thanks, everyone! I still can’t believe I’ll be playing for Challengers, and then there’ll be Masters and Champions.”

reingoaway: how was it like playing with the others :O noxturnal: U and Jacob on the same team must be crazy! Aren’t u both IGLs

A hum leaves you as you think over your answers. “It’s fun for the most part,” you admit. “I mean, it took us a while to get used to each other’s playstyles, but I’d like to think that the practice paid off.”

You fiddle around with your Valorant collection, changing skins on some firearms. “I’d like to think Jacob and I do pretty well in strategizing in the middle of matches. Sure, we have our fair share of contrasting opinions but we always consider each other’s ideas.”

Although the time you spend practicing with your team can be tiresome, your teammates try to make every round enjoyable. It’s thanks to them that you’re able to deal with the weight of VCT for the most part. There is burnout that comes from playing the same game at a pro level—at least you have most of your teammates to thank for the most part.

tagmeup: Will you play with nuguri? ailguriluver: YEAA u guys go crazy together ashfallen: nuguri & ailurus stream 🙏

You would’ve ignored it as you used to with all other streams, but your chat seems to flood the same question; there’s no escape even in the safety of your own channel. “Uh,” you scratch the back of your neck, “I didn’t really plan to stream with nuguri.” 

nugunuguwho: He’s on stream right now!

“He is?” You bite the inside of your cheek as you type out his username on Twitch. His profile shows up, showing that he’s live, and you adjust your stream so that it shows your browser. Now, your audience can see that you’ve searched him up.

Once you click his stream, you are greeted with the words “DEFEAT” flashing on the screen. “Aish, fuck this game!” On the top left corner of the screen is your teammate, all dressed in a gray hoodie with hair messier than usual, and frames resting on the bridge of his nose. He leans back on his chair, tonguing the inside of his cheek out of frustration from losing a match.

The screen shifts to the match summary, showing that he’s currently 00RR in Ascendant 3. “Man, you would think that people in these ranks would at least understand to comm!” He then showcases his match history and—holy shit, it’s a red carpet. “Guys, it’s not looking good.”

You hide your smile behind the back of your hand. Although you make comments about how terrible of a player Sunwoo is, you would’ve never imagined him to be on such a horrendous losing streak.

(At the same time, it could be the fault of his teammates, but you weren’t going to give him that satisfaction. He’s an awful player, point blank.)

“Ailurus is on my stream?” You are snapped out of your thoughts as he mentions your gamer tag. “How do you know?” He scrunches his eyebrows as he reads the chat. “They’re streaming?”

You rush to close the window and frown at the camera. “I can’t believe you guys sold me out!” As you shake your head, you shift your stream back to the game. “I was trying to spy on him! Anyway, I’m going to queue up because I cannot have Sunwoo ruining my win streak.”

You’re about to queue into a game, hoping to end the discussion, but your eyes catch sight of a familiar name and you halt your movements. 

nuguri: r u down to play?

It’s an internal battle—should you pretend you didn’t see Sunwoo’s message or should you fake your relationship with him?

Time ticks. The more you contemplate, the more you realize that you can’t play off that you saw his message in a sea of unfamiliar usernames. You’ve dug up your hole—there’s no turning back now.

“Okay, add my alt account.” Not a single mention of his name, and yet, your audience knows exactly who you’re talking to. The chat is filled with messages of excitement.

A friend request has been sent to you. “Is “sawako’s bf” your fucking alt?” Your gaze shifts to the chat, waiting for a message from Sunwoo.

nuguri: check discord

You roll your eyes before accepting his request on Valorant before opening up Discord. Another friend request has come in, and—is that a Smiski as his display picture? Your mouth parts open as you accept his request. Before you can shoot him a message, he calls you, and you don’t think twice before picking it up.

“I didn’t know you liked Smiskis,” you admit, surprised by the sight of the figurine. The sight of your profile picture, a Smiski from a different series, beside his photo is humorous—who would’ve thought that you two would match? “I didn’t even know you had another Discord account.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shrug. “I mean, you just don’t look like the type you know? You reek of “loser e-boy that can’t do shit” energy.” As you hear him gasp, you chuckle.

Perhaps it helped to interact with Sunwoo in front of an audience. You can say diss him if you wanted, boiling it down to banter, and no one would question it.

“First off, I have a Discord account for work and another one for just personal use. And second, I am not a fuckass e-boy.” His defensive energy has you rolling your eyes. “Hey, I see you rolling your eyes!”

“The fuck? Get out of my stream,” you say as you glance at the camera. As you go back to Valorant, you see that you’re invited to Sunwoo’s party. Once you accept the invite, Sunwoo queues you both up for a Ranked match. “If we lose, I’m blaming it on you.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault that I lost all my matches today.”

You bite on the inside of your cheek, holding back your laughter just in case he’s still watching your stream. “Okay, whatever you say. I know you only peaked Immortal 1.”

“Immortal 1 is a good rank! What are you trying to say?” A chuckle leaves him as he says those words, clearly knowing that he’s unfortunately not like you who is currently ranked at Immortal 2.

“I think you just want me to boost you.”

“Match found,” the announcer voices out. You are greeted by the opening screen of Sunset.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m down on my luck that I need someone to boost me.” Sarcasm is evident in his tone, and you can’t help but laugh. The screen then shifts to agent select. “What’s good, everyone?” A bad attempt at deep voice leaves Sunwoo as he talks to a team full of strangers.

You’re thrown back by the sudden tone shift, causing a giggle to leave you. “What the fuck was that?!”

“Go! Talk to the team.” You shake your head as if he can see you. (Maybe he’s still watching you, after all.) He hovers over Reyna before telling you, “It won’t hurt.”

The thing about you is that you would never talk to a team full of strangers, but you don’t think twice when you say, “I’m good,” before hovering over Omen.

“There we go!” He exclaims in your call. You try to hold back your grin.

Unfortunately, the moment doesn’t last long. “Didn’t you mean to hover over Sage?” A stranger on your team asks.

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“Because you’re a woman.”

You should’ve seen this coming—there’s a reason why you don’t like to speak in this game.

“Just because I’m born a woman doesn’t mean I need to play that agent. I can play Skye if we need a healer,” you suggest, trying to keep your cool over what the stranger says.

“Nah, Skye might be too complex for you.”

You’re thinking if you should just lock in on Omen or retort, but both choices lead to an outcome where they’ll constantly be on your ass. Before you can make a decision, however, someone speaks.

“Hey, let them play whoever they want to play. You can play Sage if you really want,” Sunwoo cuts into the conversation, hoping to diffuse the situation. But when a chuckle leaves the stranger, you know it’s far from reaching that.

“Ah, I see how it is. How’s the head?”

You’ve officially reached your limit, and it seems Sunwoo has reached his as well. “This shit isn’t worth it,” Sunwoo ends the conversation with that. Before you know it, you’re back in the lobby, alone. “Sorry, I quit the game. Just give me a second to boot it up.”

As you hear those words, warmth surges within you. You don’t like your teammate at all and he’s never given you any reason to treat him with kindness, but just this one action is enough to make you see him in a different light—is he rotten to the core or have you been blinded this whole time?

Before you know it, he requests to join your party, and you accept the invite. When your eyes catch sight that he’s deranked to Ascendant 2, it hits you that he lost some RR just to avoid playing with the player who was giving you a hard time.

(Would it be bad to hope he did it for you?)

You hop in the queue to find another match.

It’s quiet for a moment; the mood has been ruined by some stranger on Valorant. Yet, Sunwoo seems to have something under his sleeve, a way to lift your spirit. “What if we pick each other’s agents?”

“This is a ranked match. You know that, right?”

Sunwoo lets out a groan. “I know that! But think about how fun it would be! We can play each other’s mains!”

“Do you really want to play Omen or Sova?” The screen then shows you’ll be playing on Pearl. “I thought you wanted to win some games.”

“Hey, I can definitely play those agents!” You roll your eyes over his words, clearly not believing him. “Let’s make it a competition. Whoever gets placed on top of the leaderboard wins, but you play Raze while I play Omen.”

A hum leaves you as you contemplate his proposal. “What’s the prize?”

“Well,” Sunwoo pauses, thinking over what can be done. “What if the winner gets their wish granted by the loser?”

“A wish? What type of wish?”

“Well, that’s for us to determine in our own time.”

You should’ve said no—why would you agree to such a bet with the one guy you can’t stand being in a room with? But the problem is that your pride is on the line, and you wanted to prove to Sunwoo that you could do his job better as a duelist.

So, you don’t think twice when you say, “Ah, fuck it. Let’s do it.”

You should’ve played Raze earlier on in your esports career. The match passes you like a breeze, entering and clearing sites and shots landing on your opponents every round. You don’t remember having this much fun playing Raze for the first time.

But somehow, the universe didn’t listen to your wishes—Sunwoo sits on the top of the leaderboard while you’re under him.

“Fuck! I only needed one assist and I would’ve beaten you.” As you complain, your teammate laughs.

“Ah, I wonder what I should have you do for me.”

You roll your eyes before looking at the time. “God, it’s that late already? I think I’m gonna end the stream already.”

“Yeah, me too. I’ll be back.” Before you know it, he deafens himself on Discord.

A sigh leaves you before you briefly look through the chat. “Sorry guys, I’m gonna end it early. I still need to pack my suitcase for Challengers next week.” There’s a mix of comments, ones that beg you to stay while others that thank you for today’s stream. “I’ll try to stream again before I leave but no promises. Bye, everyone! Hope you enjoy the rest of your days!”

With that, you end the stream. Another good stream out of you despite how short it was.

The most surprising thing to come out of this stream is that you were enjoying your time with Sunwoo. Whether it may be from the later hours of the day or just a front that he was putting up for the audience, you didn’t want to think too much of it. You’ll accept it for what it is now.

As you quit out of some of your applications, you look back at Discord to see that he’s back.

For a moment, it’s quiet. There’s an internal struggle within you—should you thank him for what he said earlier or not?

You didn’t want to call attention to the issue anymore. Unfortunately, you’ve had your fair share of experiences with misogyny throughout your life, and it pained you to say that this wasn’t the worst thing you’ve heard. 

But he beats you to it, almost as if he was bothered by the silence, and says, “I’ll think about the wish for a bit, just want to think of my options.”

A groan rips out of you. “Don’t make me do anything stupid, please.”

He hums for a moment, almost as if he was considering your request, but you know who he is. “No guarantee! I’ll see you soon.”

Before you can retort, he ends the call. You stare blankly at your screen. If you thought Sunwoo was okay, you were absolutely wrong. He’s still a shithead.

But when you get in bed, you stare at the ceiling for a moment, and you can’t wipe off the grin that rests on your lips.

God, you need to sleep. 

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[theturncoattournament]

Who is the best turncoat character? (Round 2)

A tournament for characters who change allegiances and/or have a redemption or corruption arc during their stories

PROPAGANDA:

Theon Greyjoy- Child lives ten years of his life with his blood family and then becomes a hostage and spends ten more years growing up with his captor's family. He wants to be loved he wants to be praised he wants to belong SOMEWHERE... he's kind of an ass. Ends up betraying his friend/"foster brother" Robb because he went back to his birth family and they mocked him for integrating himself with his captors. Steals Robb's castle... and then things just get more fucked up than he meant them to. Theon's conflict of being a "Greyjoy" who grew up "Stark" and his descent to rock bottom in the second book is only made more compelling when we pick back up with him in book 5, where he's gone through horrors beyond our imagination and crawls his way back up. He's also literally called "Theon Turncloak" by the side he betrayed, and one of his POV chapters is titled as such.

Setsuna Higaishi- Was born and raised in a cult bent on multiversal domination and discovered the power of friendship. She tried to reject the power of friendship, but her new friends wouldn't let her. Her bosses killed her, but she came back to life due to the quick action of the Magical Precure Baby. Finally told her bosses to go screw themselves, got adopted, joined a dance team, and took down her cult's hierarchy, freeing her entire dimension.

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

the counterpart

chapter 8 — fly on the windscreen (final)

wc: 11k~ (a lengthy one, i know, but i spent two months on this for a reason).

more angst, chess metaphors and depeche mode references (sorry). but i promise i fixed it. and besides — who doesn’t love a good makeup sex scene? oh yes, i went all out with that one. you’re welcome.

—

In 1956, at the chaste age of thirteen, Bobby Fisher made history. 

Game of the Century — that’s what people dubbed it, and it sure did deserve the title: a teenage boy defeated an international master, and with precision so oddly fascinating, that it instantly put the whole chess-world in a strangling chokehold. You never paid that event much mind — young geniuses are not that rare of a thing in this pedantic industry. But Viktor claimed it impacted him — he, too, won his first significant tournament at thirteen, and therefore related to Fisher immensely. 

You remembered the day he told you this in explicit detail: it was the third evening of your affair — right before the mangled bouquet incident. He showed up a tad later than he usually did — and you smiled, realizing that such time-defining adverbs were now acceptable to use while referring to his treasured visits. He was wearing a plain, frayed shirt: a smear here, a patch there: had to help his professor in the lab with something awfully urgent. You rushed to get him out of that sordid thing. Helpful hands popped all buttons open and nudged him softly into the shower. You liked him to enter the filth of your bedroom clean, so the traces of it last longer afterwards. He always complied. 

By the time you set up the board and settled on the comforter, cross-legged, he was done bathing. His skin no longer smelled of dust and machinery, the slippery swiftness of it longing for your attention. He walked out bare — both due to the lack of spare clothes, and because you’d shed them off of him even if those happened to be thrown somewhere nearby. His chest swelled under your hand, flushed and wet.

You made love. It’s funny how fast you stopped calling it just ‘sex’ or ‘fucking’ — oh no, with him you suddenly saw the act of letting someone into your flesh gentle, and, accordingly so, couldn’t just abide by those two simple terms. Sometimes they failed to embrace the concept. 

He tastes of soap and salt when it’s over. Sweat politely intrudes the new, fresh smell of him, and you kiss its tiny drops off his clavicles — two beautiful dips, fragile masterpieces of skin and bones. He laughs and lets his eyes rest. You watch his pupils move under the veiny eyelids, and his lashes tickle your finger when you swipe it gently over those delicate things: to feel the soft movement underneath, to absorb every internal shift in him — his heartbeat, his wincing, the fall of his stomach when he exhales. You wonder if he does the same when you don’t notice. 

“Can I show you something?” It comes out of him strangely flimsy, in a much thicker, throatier timbre. You nod, and he reaches for the board. 

He shows you the Game of the Century. Has it memorized by heart: goes over each move with excited commentary, and his eyes beam almost as passionately beautiful as when he looks at you, dreamily mesmerized. 

“I don’t get it,” you murmur. Your head rests on his lean thigh, pieces a shaky, hlack-white horizontal blur. Scrawny fingers tangle little loops into your hair. “Why did Byrne never take Fisher’s queen? It was right there in front of him the whole time!” 

Viktor chuckles. Bends down to kiss you softly on the temple and smirks discreetly when your pulse touches his mouth, rapid and intense. Playing chess with him always gives you lovely headaches. 

“Because Fisher offered it to him on purpose. He wanted to perform a Smothered Mate.” 

“Oh.” You humm. 

Now you saw it. 

—

You roll over to intercept the little affection. Prop your back with both elbows. Let him comfortably straighten his spine. It’s sweet that he allows it to twinge for you, even if just for a moment, but you don’t appreciate such sacrifices.

Teeth hurt a bit from a sudden clash, but he soothes it when tongues twine, circling lazy patterns. It’s slobbery — a tad clumsy, even, but you like it that way: wet, raw, and terribly, sorely tender. 

He takes you again. Disperses a hundred breathy ‘laská’s all over your pliant skin — neck, and shoulders, and breasts, and thighs. They’re still there, even now that he’s gone — now that you made him go, but the traces of him are no longer sweet and darling. They’re bits of pleasure you were never worthy of, a constant reminder of how you treated that soft man. Not as boldly dark as they used to be: plum started to dissolve into faint, flimsy yellow. The plague of his lovebites, the lasting symptom of his fondness. 

You think of that evening again. 

“Thank you. For showing me this.” You nod to the board and hop on the windowsill to light a cigarette. His heart tries to find its way out of his sternum, muscles still twitch in the afterglow of his orgasm. Both a vision: him — a tired one, full of delicious soreness, you — candid and gorgeously smudgy. 

He rolls on his stomach and cocks a brow, meets your gaze with a warm half-smile. “And here I thought you weren’t interested in a tutor,” sasses delicately. You threaten to throw a lighter at him. You both laugh. And when the balmy sound dies down, his intricate eyes narrow cat-like. They cautiously slide over your form with a quizzical little flicker, and you know he’s contemplating something — it’s visible in his every motion, in the humm he makes before finally daring to be bold. 

“Could I request something… a little risqué?” he finally asks. 

That intrigues you. You take a hissy drag and lean on the glass behind you, wincing when smoke comes out of your nostrils. “I don’t know,” you muse tortuously, “could you?” 

“I would appreciate it if you dropped the obstinacy.” 

“Viktor. I’m probably giving a view of my naked ass to god knows how many people in the building in front of us. How much more risqué can it get?” 

“And yet, I prefer to be certain. Don’t taunt me here, milackú. Please.”

Please. You love it when he says that. There’s something so syrupy about getting this word out of him, and you’re not sure you ever wish to bid farewell with that little addiction. 

He crawls to you out of a damp mess of sheets, pale skin almost peachy where the evening sun embraces each bony slope of his. Thin arm reaches for something on your nightstand and snatches it. Has you smiling in curious bliss when he leans closer, almost falling off the edge of the mattress. Finds some leverage in your hanging off the windowsill legs and clumsily curls around them, pressing the gentlest of kisses to each knee. Now you rise above him, gorgeously drowned in a forthcoming sunset, and light peeks through your fingers when you spread them to catch a hold of your cigarette. 

Viktor hands you the ‘something’ he stole an instant earlier. It’s your seedy “Canon”, with  its murky lens looking up at you, reflecting the perplexed frown of your face. You run a finger over its cold, metallic frame. 

“Does this have any film in it?” Viktor asks. Places his chin on your thigh and stares, beautifully hopeful. You shrug.

“Most definitely. It might be expired, though. Why?” 

He gives it a thought. Leans into your touch and sighs gratefully when you cradle his cheek and stroke — a loving swipe of a trembling thumb over his hollow features. His kisses strike again — now to the inside of your palm, a whisper of a touch, warm and a little ticklish. 

“I want to take your picture,” he finally mumbles. 

You almost choke on the filter. Ashes fall on your skin and Viktor rushes to blow the damage away —soothes it gently before it burns through. 

“What? You mean… now?” Your voice is weak when you say this. Not due to shame or some other internal quandaries — you’re astonished, and it entertains him, makes him laugh again when you pull away to stare at him mid inhale, smoke a bitter halo around your disheveled hair. Yes, he wants to capture this. He absolutely has to. 

“I’d like to savor this,” Viktor explains. “In a more… tangible way. If only you’re willing to indulge me, of course.”

Of course. 

He says he doesn’t want you to pose. A rather hard request, considering the scenery: it simply calls for a pretty arch, for any method of glamorizing your crippling addiction and sheer immodesty. But you aim to please him. Your shoulders laze, narrowed eyes try to sneak a sly peek when he presses the shutter button. He tempts you to smile — the way he bites his tongue in an earnest search of a flattering angle. The flawless intimacy of taking a boudoir picture. You wonder how the local CVS workers handle those. Then chuckle, realizing they’ve probably seen much worse.  

Viktor clears his throat. 

“Can I… have it? After you develop those?” His plea is careful, hushed. Always so sickeningly polite.

“What for?” You torture him again, letting yet another stub rest in a porcelain grave of cigarette bums. Viktor shrugs. 

“Oh, I… I suppose I could keep it in my wallet. After I receive your permission to be that bold.” 

“In your wallet? How scandalous!” 

“Scandalous?”

“Exactly. I’m wearing nothing but thin air in there. Doesn’t it bother you?”

“No.” He shakes his head so innocently it makes him look grotesquely oblivious. “Should it bother me?” 

Your foot softly presses into his chest and pushes him back on the bed. He meets that fate with a dainty laugh, and it’s even lovelier when the rest of you follows along, mindful not to make him wheeze. A harmless vengeance, a tacit promise of what’s to come. And he welcomes it, each hand awfully tender in a cautious hold of your rear, curled in the most adoring of squeezes.

You hover above his face, smiling. “I doubt it came out beautifully.” 

He smiles back. “Of course it did. It has you in it.” 

And he’s almost right. Because it comes out perfect instead. 

—

Here you are, in the mighty fervor of your bareness, your cigarette a sparkly scepter between delicate fingers. It’s a little grainy, yet still lush with saturation — all yellows, pinks and reds, flowing prettily into terracotta precisely where sun wraps around the curve of each breast and dark nipples — those gorgeous lines of stilled tenderness. Head thrown back, mouth parted to let out a livid smoky mist — he must’ve caught you mid exhale: so conveniently brusque. Pure art in the obscene privacy of your bedroom. 

…But it’s been a torturous week of avoidant silence, and your bed, albeit filled with memories, feels terribly empty — wraps you in its reproachful mess and strangles relentlessly, and you have no desire to come back to it anymore; seven languid dawns met anywhere but in the sheets. 

All because comprehension is cruel, and it deprived you of resting, solace long gone alongside him — his tenderness, his touch, his patience. Oh how you longed for it, how agonizingly jealous you grew towards that proudly naked version of you from the picture: she was yet to find out how the lack of him really feels, how heartwrenching his resentment can get. It pierced through you — that all-consuming, frightening realization. And precisely when you first got your hands on developed film, too: Viktor will never have it. He doesn’t want it anymore.  

Heartbreaks always come with additional obstacles: finals week made college feel like a coffin, tight, and suffocating, and overwhelmingly grim. It reduced your days to a torturous routine of turning in essays and sneakily running around the campus in between exams: made you attend to every single precaution in the book to avoid bumping into him. 

You even stopped visiting the engineering department to catch Jayce for once obligatory debriefs by a cigarette — the risks weren’t worth exchanging even the messiest dirty rumors. Besides, what’s there to tell him? ‘I started fucking your ‘grandmaster’, developed a feeling I’m afraid to admit even to myself and screwed it all up by letting my wrathful tendencies take over’? Yeah. That’s not exactly an event one boasts about. 

So you found salvation in misery. Stuffed yourself full of its moping weight, wore it like a veil, showed it off whenever something called to leave your self-prescribed hermitage — an ostentatious ‘Look, I did this to myself!’ So craven. So pathetic.

And you couldn’t look at chess anymore. The image of his sinewy hand was now forever attached to the only board you owned, hovering above the pieces in its usual pensive manner. It wounded you. Filled you with some visceral, peculiar rage — and you couldn’t even tell towards who exactly. It’s like you were suddenly deprived of all the other feelings and now had to make do, seeking solutions in disposing of everything he ever touched in your room. But that would also include your skin, so you quickly abandoned the thought. If only the memories of that last draw were that easily escapable. You swallowed yet another frustrated swear. 

Something about it all seemed oddly… awry. Specifically his queen moves: Viktor was never the one to open harshly, he attacked much deeper into the game and preferred initiating trades — rude invasions were more your style, after all. But that day he developed your approach: you were certain of it, trembled whenever reminiscing hit you. 

And tonight it hits you right in the gut. 

—

You’re down to your last cigarette and it makes your throat wail — you’ve had more of those tonight than there are hours in a whole day. Lost count of desperate, big gulps of wine, too, and even considered asking the Lord himself to turn all the water in your apartment into more of that life-saving beverage. The irony hears your prayer, making you cackle, and ‘Sweetest Perfection’ slowly fades into the sexy guitar riff of ‘Personal Jesus’. But instead of reaching out to touch faith you touch the stop button. It’s hard to appreciate music when a headache is splitting your head in twain. 

An utter mess — that’s what you were, scrunched on the floor in your underpants, trembling fingers tracing chaotic circles over the surface of your favorite record, the tournament notes wounded with a wine stain. Your board laid tiles down, crushing the pieces, evidently knocked over in what looked like a livid splutter. 

Viktor could’ve won. He should’ve, actually — it came down on you when wrath died down just enough to finally set the pointless self-deprecating aside. Better late than never, and yet living in ignorance didn’t seem that agonizing now that you deigned to analyze his moves. 

He didn’t offer you a queen exchange. You were certain he chose to refrain from it on purpose: because that would’ve extended the match, allowing him to move his king someplace safe. And, concurrently, aim for a winning position. Viktor, of all people, wouldn’t miss it — which meant he showed you mercy. Always so goddamn caring — fuck, how blinded one must be to overlook something so gallant? 

He still cared about making you leave with a good rating, swallowed his pent-up pride to evolve all that into a draw. Played with his heart for once. A charity, of sorts, and normally you despised that — would tear him a new one for even assuming that you needed such leniency. But not this time. Not after he responded to your onslaught with chivalry. 

Your world is fuzzy when you reach for the door knob — all astigmatic spurts of light, drunkenly smeared and heavy. It’s a night of spontaneous decisions and you commit to it like a martyr: first deciding to indulge in game analysis, then drinking yourself to death over each new discovery.

And now you wince, slipping into your loafers, feeling their harsh press into those swollen spots under each buckle-bone. No socks. No pants, either. Just half-naked fervor and a long leather coat to loosely wrap around yourself — the only armor you need to run outside and head straight towards his dorm, shivering when chilly air softly creeps up your bare legs. 

It’s terrifying how fast decisions are made when you rely purely on liquor and shaky crumbles of messy sanity; with what menacing speed you rushed for him, breathless and murky-gazed. Fingers fumbled with the sharp edge of that erotic monstrosity you slipped into your pocket before running out the door: something kept restraining you from disposing of it, made your hands twitch whenever you held that picture above the weak fiery tongue of your lighter. Viktor deserved to take a glimpse at it. Even if he decides to burn it himself immediately after. 

You swiftly sneaked past the concierge in awkward, wasted excellency. Stumbled over a threshold with a sobby grunt. Almost expected someone to catch you, to enquire why could you possibly be headed to a young man’s room at two in the morning, with just a weary leather cover compensating for your lack of decency. 

But you’ve made it. Stood by his door before dazed mind even managed to realize just what you’re about to do, knees so pitifully shaky you might just be swept off your feet. Figuratively, first, when your white-knuckled fist dares to knock. Literally, when his footsteps shuffle in your direction. 

You know he’s not asleep. It’s almost like he never is — except for those sacred hours when you somehow manage to tire him out: a rare occasion, a calming little tribute. Your heart shrinks when his hand peeks out, tightly curled around the door knob. He’s tense: more so than ever, weariness prominent in a heavy lean on his cane, eyes dreary and red at the inner corners. They flicker in mistrust — stare through you in a way only he possesses, intricate enough to reach your very gut, chase down the drunken audacity and cut it abruptly at the base. You’re not sure if it can save you the embarrassment anymore. 

Viktor snaps out of it — blinks his momentary awe away and frowns, quizzically hostile. Pale wrist flicks in a sudden rush to fix his unbuttoned shirt: he doesn’t know you came to beg for a truce yet, thinks you might just go for his throat if he doesn’t put up a defense quick enough.

It pains you. Stabs your own neck and twists that thing a few torturous times before you finally remember how to breathe. A silly thing, a craving to lay your heart at his feet — to be bold, or desperate, or either of those at once. Easier said than done, because your courage is in shambles as soon as his lips twitch, and the crease of a pretty mouth you grew to adore suddenly feels like a vicious personal attack. And it only intensifies when he sighs, utterly forceless. 

A rocky start. Even rockier now that he huffs your name out like it’s a swear, and disbelief contorts him, deep and flush-cheeked. 

“Why are you indecent?” He all but hisses it, the perfect mad man — all awe-struck copper and audacious glimmer in the depths of his wide-snapped eyes. Has you hiding both quivering legs behind the leather closure of your coat, suddenly shamefully aware of your state of undress. Should’ve never let that impulse win, should’ve waited until morning, but how were you supposed to fight something so potent, so atrociously urgent? 

“I had to see you.” A whisper, a silly blunder. Like a pathetic attempt at getting out of a fork — a sacrifice of a piece to postpone a checkmate. 

Viktor blinks at you in bewilderment. His throat is dry — it’s prominent in an awkward cough he chokes on, in the way he averts his face. 

“That doesn’t explain much,” mumbles finally, staring into the floor. Bites his cheek to muffle an angry comment, watches you sullenly with repressed bitterness. “Why are you here?” 

It’s a simple question. A straight-to-the-point one, too — he doesn’t move an inch, pierces right through you with the pressure of his anguish. And it’s only fair, after all — you butchered his heart and vanished into a week of soul-crushing silence, only to return with no purpose, answers and pants. If anything, he’s being quite charitable by even letting you in. 

“I couldn’t sleep.” God, would you just tell him already? How much longer can you drag this madness out, how much more liquor do you have to consume until it finally drowns your sorrow? No, that won’t do. And Viktor thinks so too — scoffs with a rageful glare, grabbing a hold of the door knob again.

“Then I suggest you retreat to your room and take a melatonin. Good night.” 

“Viktor. Viktor, please—“ 

You cling onto that appeal with every ounce of your desperation, his name a harsh clash of consonants on your wagging tongue — a slurred and rhotic last resort, a hasty mess of shaky syllables. And, strangely enough, it works: urges him to recoil, to return the tremulous stir, to let you see that blend of hurt and confusion in the blown out voids of his pupils. It’s almost like you’re pushing him to the verge of his kindness, bearing witness to every inner change. Here he is, grim and distant — all clenched jaw and enraged inhales, softening into promising mercy. Through a condescending sigh, no less, but you’ll take it. Oh, you’ll take it alright — because this is not a negotiation. This is redemption at any cost. 

Viktor resigns. Whispers a tired “Come in” and points to his bed, watches you limp inside with a weak, disapproving head shake. It’s a walk of shame — grumpy sounds of skin as bare feet drag pitifully on the floor, shoes and coat shed off carelessly somewhere at the entry. 

An abrupt sound of him fumbling with the lock, then a few light thuds of his cane — you absorb it all, waiting for your execution, eyes nailed to the parquet, skittishly following little wooden patterns. You don’t know what to say to him, and it’s terrifying — sure, wine must’ve triggered the motive, but it can only get one so far. And now you crumble, shrinking when the mattress bends by your side, the cross of his lanky legs cloudy in your peripheral. He keeps his distance, seated at a good arm’s length: too close for a shot, too far for an embrace, just enough to add to your agony. Rubs his forehead with a somber wince, turns to look at you with a harried pout, so tragically handsome. A bunch of veins twined tensely on that pretty ivory neck. 

“Please, say something,” begs you hoarsely, setting his cane aside. “Don’t torture me with your silence. It depletes me. And, quite frankly, I’ve had enough of that.” 

You swallow thick, pushing that lump down your throat with immense effort, bitter sticky spit foaming at the tip of your tongue, threatening to come out if you don’t shove it down your stomach quick enough. Tastes of drunk, delirious promises. And you must spew them out before they drool out on their own.

“I’m sorry.” This comes out slurred too, but you don’t mind the stumbling as long as it gets the message across. Viktor scarcely cocks his head, all flushed ears. 

You proceed. 

“For the tournament. Well, for what I did to you before our game, I shouldn’t have— Fuck, how do I even put this? I shouldn’t have done it. All of it.”

Your tear is in your mouth before you know it, and you swipe your tongue over a chapped lip, rushing to get it out the way while he remains still, simply waiting for you to continue with a straight, cold face. Almost kills you with that indifference, or whatever it is he’s trying to sell for it, but you don’t even think of backing off. You have to look at him. You ought and want to.

“I was cruel,” you confess, gulping down a sob. “Extremely so. It’s the rage, you see. I’m a fucking slave to it. So afraid to be hurt that I rush to do the hurting myself. But you… You, with your good intent, and your endless kindness — you, of all people, shouldn’t suffer from that ugly flaw of mine. And I’m sorry for being so full of it. For making you a victim of my crudeness. And for disappearing to bask in it, ever so selfishly. I didn’t run away because I don’t care. I ran away because I’m a coward.” 

He simply nods. Tortures you with a few more seconds of painful silence, sitting up with a curious humm. Locks both trembling hands together and  lets his thumbs take turns, circling over each other. Wheezes out a careful ‘Are you, now?”

You huff. “Of course I am. It took me a week to say this to you.” 

“But you’ve made it after all.” Viktor shrugs. It’s hard to tell if he’s being genuine or sarcastic, especially when his gaze keeps crashing you with all its reticent spite.

“Yes, but this is not the way to approach this. It’s not like I didn’t consider crawling here earlier, though—“

“Crawling?” he interrupts. Treats you to a minute of quiet turmoil, waits for you to clarify with a sharp inhale. Props himself on a fist and scoots closer, hovering above your face to scrutinize it intricately. “Are you intoxicated?” finally guesses when the evidence hits him in the nostrils. 

You shrink away, blinking in confusion. Wasn’t it obvious?

“Yes,” you respond in a skittish whisper. “And I’m sorry for that too. I just… I couldn’t bring myself to come to you earlier, but then… That draw, you see. It didn’t sit right with me, and so I tended to some self analysis. I noticed what you’ve done. Noticed what you sacrificed to make me walk out of there with a decent rating. Even after the way I’ve treated you. It made me hate myself so bad I felt the need to flush it down right that instant. But it only got more unbearable to endure any longer. So I simply… Ran out the door to tell you this. I shouldn’t have. Well, now I know that I shouldn’t—“

You’re rambling, and it’s a lengthy, fidgety monologue. So utterly terrified that you can’t even keep track of those ugly cries anymore — they fly out in between words, cutting into a fusion of your candor and hysteria.

But Viktor doesn’t soften. If anything, he’s even sharper now, frowning deeper with every new sentence you throw at him. Cuts you off with a scoff, wagging his head in bewilderment — like he can’t stand to even look at you, let alone listen to any more of these heartful babbles. Curses in Czech under his rapid breath. 

“Unbelievable,” he blurts out, turning away. “So that’s how you view me? That’s how you view us? A meaningless, casual affair you can abandon whenever you please and then repair with a few desultory ‘sorry’s? Is that what I am to you? A foolish suitor undeserving of a proper, sober apology? Well, I’ll have you know that I’m not one of your pawns. And I won’t put up with it — not in a hundred years.” 

Your panic comes back, drawing a snappish bawl out of stinging lungs, and you sniff, trying to push those unsavory tears back where they belong. Unkempt nails bite into your palms, leaving a violent pattern of rouge, deep punishment. 

“You don’t have to put up with it,” you speak again, trying to redeem that heavy home truth. “I don’t want you to.”

“Stop mentioning that,” Viktor demands with a furious scowl, making you gobble up that stupid semantic. “I’m in no need of your elaboration.” 

“But I truly mean that!”

“Mean it all you want, but don’t expect my approval just because you finally deigned to throw a plea at me. I did nothing to merit that. Both the insults and this mess of a repentance.” 

That one does the job. Peels the scab off your wounds, urging each evil goosebump to rise — and thank god for the soft bed under your trembling form, because your knees feel like soaked cotton, unsturdy and doomed to fail.

But you force them to obey, springing up above him in a snappy jerk. It’s a classic, of sorts, like a denial of a King’s Gambit: he doesn’t take the piece you offer him, aiming for something else instead. Something more crucial, and so inherently fragile. Stares up at you with his head thrown back, threateningly beautiful in the sheer shadows that blinds cast on his face. Urges you to seek silly symbols in the way your lack of clothes contrasts his utter modesty. 

Here you are — raw and exposed. One step from shameful nakedness, standing trial in this state of non-sexual, sudden nudity. Here he is — armed with thick fabric, not a smidge of his usual emotive range prominent in both expression and attire. All edgy cheekbones and pure, unfiltered anger in the slight twitch of a bushy brow. So snarky when it arches, challenging you to keep going. To fight for forgiveness for once. 

“You’re right.” It’s a simple statement — a calm, casual acknowledgement. Still teary-eyed and puffy, but those are merely debris. You wipe them away, ready to strike again. “I am a mess. A mess like no other, that’s for sure. I don’t expect you to fix me. I simply paid you what’s due, and you’re allowed to send it back — I’m in no position to demand you forgive me. I never wanted to do that anyway. I’m simply sorry. For mistaking your help for malice, for letting the fear of losing my silly independence win, for prioritizing it over the bond we’ve built. And for not giving you the apology you deserve. Truly. That might just be my biggest regret so far.”

Viktor doesn’t respond. His chest feels heavy, swiftly falling after each deep breath. He’s taking you in — bare legs, bare soul, bare feelings. A sweet contradiction, a living oxymoron in the suspenseful darkness of his bedroom,  but he doesn’t know what to do with you, how to save either of you from the power you hold over each other. 

This calls for a solution. And you come up with one, attempting to step away, already eyeing the corner you’ve thrown your coat into. 

“I should go,” you propose, carefully inching towards the door. “That would be the wise thing to do.” 

But Viktor’s views on prudence evidently differ. Because his fingers gnaw at your wrist, startling with the tight strength of their gentleness. Such a warm handcuff — it reminds you of your starvation, of just what you’d cross to experience him like this again — insistently gracious, caring to his very core. Pulls you towards him, biting a cheek when you don’t slip away. Realizes the extent of your desperation and sighs, admitting that his own reaches the same depth. Wins a silent staring competition when you blink, completely dazed, finding your voice in a weak ruckle of his name. 

“No,” he drawls, squeezing firmer, “you’ve done enough ‘wise’ deeds tonight. I’m not sure I can endure one more.” 

“I know, Viktor. That’s why I need to go.” 

“You’re a fool if you think I’m letting you walk out of here in that state. You came to apologize, after all. It would be quite counterproductive of you to storm off sobbing instead of achieving your initial goal.”

Your lashes flutter again, flicking a tear. It crawls back into your eye, blurring the world around you, and you rush to rub it out of there, freeing your hand out of his insistent grasp. He lets go, surprisingly reluctant. 

“I thought we’ve already established that I’m in no state for this conversation.” 

“Indeed, we have. Which is exactly why you’re going to take a shower and go to sleep, so your wits are about you when we’re back at it in the morning.” He then clears his throat, fighting a sad, hopeless smile. Loses when the corners of his mouth inch up, adding a sarcastic “I would, actually, lend you a melatonin, if it weren’t for the consequences of mixing it with alcohol. But your loss, I suppose.” 

He’s quieter with that remark. Spares you a moment of familiar, light-hearted comfort — all hushed chuckles, lost, frustrated glances, and fidgety, lonely hands. 

The embodiment of confusion, of bitterness that still fights to linger around, but doesn’t stand a chance against longing. Reducing the smartest person you know to a love-struck man that has no idea how to save this, yet wants you to stay so badly. Even worse when you look him in the eye, shyly asking if there’s any hot water left for you to use. 

The world makes sense again. Or so it seems.

— 

Your dream is lucid — a blend of bizzare, threatening images stirring you awake every time the thing gets too real, forcing bloodshot eyes to snap open and search for him in the opaque darkness, pulse a racing, unpleasant thump in both sweaty temples. Only simmering down when you manage to make out the skews of his shoulders: distant, but so darling. So many torturous inches separating your back from his — it’s more gaunt than you remember, the lopsided arch of it suddenly more bitter than ever, and you quit stealing discreet peeks, nuzzling back into the clean, mint-scented comfort of his pillow. Drifting back to yet another frenetic vision, thinking about how strange it is to share a bed with Viktor without lying tucked under his sharp, bony chin. 

You wake up morbid and, expectedly, hungover. Still wearing both scandalous garments you barged in — numb fingers slide over an exposed thigh, then rub the bridge of your nose hard enough to snap the delicate cartilage. You watch the ceiling tarnish full of flimsy black holes, whimpering as it cleanses of them just as swiftly when your sight repairs itself after a long squint. Shaky arms rummage around, stilling mid slow caress over Viktor’s side — still warm and slightly bent inwards, that overwhelming evidence of his presence. He left you an aspirin and a silly note:

“I have a final to take. Will be back at 10. Don’t you dare run away. 

P.S.

Please, don’t drink coffee. Your head will kill you.“

Your finger stumbles, covering the sharp ‘V’ in the lower corner. An excessive little gesture — as if you wouldn’t guess the sender if he didn’t sign it. You put the sweet warning away and swallow the pill, wincing when it scrapes its way down your throat. 

The morning finally starts.

Sore for whatever reason legs still hang back, and you force them to oblige, scrunching over the sink when those bratty, boneless appendages finally get you to the bathroom. It’s a lifeless, automatic routine — except you have to smear the toothpaste all over your teeth with a trembling finger. You thought of buying a brush to keep next to his for the nights you’re over, but now it repulses you, urges to avert your tired eyes from the mirror: what if you fucked it up beyond return? What if there’s no ‘for when I’m over’ anymore, but only ‘for when I used to be’? 

You don’t embrace that revelation. It appalls you, makes you crave the tasteless comfort of a cigarette — but you ran out of them last night, and, concurrently, respected Viktor’s strong preferences for keeping your favorite vice at least out of his room. And it’s not like this horrific anticipation should last much longer — self-doubts were kind and time-consuming, carrying you through fifty five minutes of tedious, head-in-hands agony. And when the key finally clangs, albeit a quarter later than expected, you rise from the unkempt bed, untangling from the blankets. 

He looks collected: walks right past you, rushing to rid that lanky neck off the strangling tie. Softly hums an unbothered ‘Good morning’, sparing you nothing but a reserved nod, and you writhe upon that calm violence, watching him tend to yet another languid habit — as if both the tournament and last night never existed, as if him simply coming back from a tiring final is the only thing that’s happening in this room, and you’re going to watch him settle back into his domesticated, quiet life. 

But no, you’re convinced that it’s a vengeful punishment — a silent treatment to make up for the one you put him through during your endless days of lacking courage. And so you sit, mouth agape, while he fetches his notes out of a shabby bag, flipping through them with a casual yawn. Plugs the kettle into an outlet, running a hand through a short row of tea boxes on the desk (you only managed to notice that little collection now), then shrugs, picking out a random one with a casual finger-flick. Stills in a half-turn over an angular shoulder, cursory inquiring what flavor you prefer. Driving you deeper into tremendous confusion. 

“I.. Whichever you like,” you mumble from the bed, chewing on the inside of your cheek. Only stopping when it starts to slightly taste of iron. 

Viktor understands. Hands you a steaming mug and pulls out a chair to be seated right in front of you, and it all resembles a pitiful, canonical therapy session — even the way you stare at your tea (chamomile, so it seems), shamefully making out the floating, whimsical reflection of your face in the brownish liquid. Wondering if it’s hot enough to burn your tongue. Preferably, to a decent degree. 

Viktor coughs. Crosses his legs again — always chooses that pose for uncomfortable conversations, whereas you always shrink embryo-like — a disparity to his almost professional manner. Oh just how he sits, vestless and relaxed, taking a slow sip. Makes you wish you were the cup, so he could wrap his hand around you and squeeze — to death, or bliss, or revulsion. Anything, but apathy. Please, no more of that. Please please please. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks. Grabs the mug by its rim and holds it like one does a wine glass, lets you see the tension in each fingertip. You return to staring down, unsure how to approach the question. Really, though, how do you feel? Scared? Excited? Nauseated? Sorry? You’re sure he gets it by now. And, therefore, all this — is a penalty. It’s only right. It has to be. 

You shrug, letting a whiff of fear invade every sharpened sense. Chamomile joins in, too. This time, evidently. 

“Are you punishing me?” you finally croak. He frowns at that, treats it like the silliest nonsense to ever be said out loud. Rushes to shake his head, to deny and prove wrong. And it confuses you beyond belief, forces an exchange of wide-eyed, bewildered gazes. 

“No,” he insists. “Of course not. I’m asking because I want to be certain that you’re able to proceed with the colloquy. That wouldn’t be possible were you still under the influence of any… substances, would it, now?” He adds with a chuckle. Dry, and curt, and failing at easing anything at all, but you still believe him. You choose to, even if it’s hardly plausible. 

“Yes.” You offer him a lie. “I want to proceed.”

 It’s best he doesn’t know how not ready you really are. 

He gulps, then. Waits for your confession to unravel, plowing through you with the sheer power of patient madness, even if that doesn’t make much sense — how can someone stare with such urgency, yet remain so gentle with it? You know you’ll find him drawn to you if your own eyes dare to move from the slowly growing lukewarm tea. 

“Were you cordial with me last night?” He finds a way to pluck the answers out of you, appeals to something you’re convinced is always the case with your inept amends.

“Of course. I always am.” He arches a brow, causing you to reconsider. As if to cut you off with a silent, cheeky ‘Really, now?’. 

“I meant… I’m always sincere with my apologies,” you try to recover, setting your mug down on the floor before it slides out on its own and shatters into pieces. Can’t have it sharing the destiny of your stability. 

“I just… I’m really struggling to understand you here,” he spoke softly, putting his own tea away — and it’s left forgotten on his desk, like a non-verbal, inanimate testimony. “Why would you turn to anger in response to aid? I don’t think I’ll ever distinguish that, you’ll have to excuse me here.”

“No, that‘s a… really good question.” 

“Answer it, then.”

“I don’t know if I can.” 

“That won’t ease our quandary.”

“I’m aware, but… Just let me think a little. Please.” 

He lets you. Invites you to help yourself to all the time in the world, but you only take two minutes — it’s important not to squander his generosity. Especially when you don’t know exactly how much more he has to spare.

“It’s like… Caro-Kann, and I’m playing black,” you finally mumble, knowing he’ll ask to elaborate. 

“Caro-Kann?” Viktor muses, visibly besotted. As if he expected you to think anyhow but in chess.

“Mhm. Seems so safe and solid, and yet the development is so slow, and the board lacks space for me, and white can be so unpredictable with their responses—“

“Yes, I’m familiar with the disadvantages of this opening.” He raises a hand, stopping you from burrowing any further into tiring theory. “Please, get to your point.” 

Your pulse thumps a march so terrified it echoes in your throat, swells above your left breast into something unbearably massive — capable of breaking the ribcage and rolling out to his feet. It reverberates in your temples, too, and you squint, as if enduring a migraine. Eyes shimmy down to pathetically shaky knees. 

“When I play Caro-Kann, I prepare for an attack from white,” you continue carefully. Viktor looks at you, attentive to the bone. “But it doesn’t happen — and I panic. Like I’m all ready to be aggressive, to sting if you come any closer, and you just choose… not to. Here I am, with my developed bishop, threatening a check, but you ignore it and play something like… say, pawn h4. And I grow livid, and my pieces fly all around the board, but it all seems so useless, because you haven't taken anything from me yet. And I take first, and inevitably lose by taking more and more — because I was scared to let you do it to me first.”

“That’s just ridiculous,” he protests. Crosses both lanky arms on his chest, leaning into the chair. Rests his neck on the top back, glaring from beneath heavy lids. “You’re not supposed to play it like that.” 

“Exactly. That’s why I like gambits. You always know what to expect with a gambit. Even if your opponent declines it, you know it’ll hurt later. For both of you. It’s predictable, and beautifully violent. It’s what I’m used to. Not only in chess.” 

“As much as I’m infatuated with your skills at merging logic with poetics, metaphors are not my forte. I’d much rather you explain in layman’s terms.” 

Hearing Viktor call himself that sounds almost blasphemous. But you don’t argue with his wording. You fix your posture and recline, mirroring the angle he looks at you from — your one last death rattle before resignation. And he waits, fumbling with a rolled up sleeve. Getting more vulnerable, inviting you to follow suit. His eyes fill with contradictory, somber candidness. ‘Get right with me,’ they beg of you discreetly. 

But begging is hardly necessary. Not when he’s entitled to knowing the truth. 

“I see you as a threat to my independence. Not just you, I suppose — anyone who’s not responding in a way I know how to handle.” 

Viktor nods. “So you’re implying that you only know how to handle… mockery?” 

“Correct.” You stop to gasp for air, the sharp pang of its scarcity pinching at your lungs. “I’m sorry,” you add in a mumble, and he sees just how vehemently you mean it, pupils so wide they almost steal every bit of your beloved copper. 

A creak of a chair when he gets up, sighing harriedly. Has you stirring, utterly convinced that he’s about to fetch his cane out of its convenient spot against the desk — but he never reaches for it. Finds leverage in a sturdy hold of your knee instead, leans on it with a wistful smile and settles right into the notch of sheets next you. Not quite where he sat last night, but much closer — evidently so. And when he doesn’t move, letting your bare thigh freely rub against the thick fabric of his trousers, you know he accepts the truce, even with no verbal confirmation. Bless the mighty power of his languid body language. Careful, when he takes your hand in his, covering the tracery of palm lines in lovely strokes. So darling. So familiar. 

“You,” he emphasizes with sweet indignation, “are incredibly gentle. I don’t ever wish to hear that you’re incapable of handling kindness. You simply ought to learn not to bite at the hand that feeds you. And that requires playing more Caro-Kann. I’m willing to help with that. As long as you’re willing to learn.” 

His touch grows firmer, suddenly flowing into a squeeze, and you bate a breath, tongue a swirling little drill into the slopes of your palate. But Viktor goes on, keeping you close — practically face-to-face, and so very, very intimate. 

“And no more returning to stupid vices when you’re facing a nuisance,” he demands. Means it with every ounce of his being. The veins on his neck swell again, menacingly handsome. 

“Yes.” You gulp. The knot in your throat dissolves. “Of course.”

“I see it now. The reason why you think I’m encroaching on your autonomy, that is,” he muses, a bit sorrowful. “It must feel torturous — having to keep your guard up all the time. And I detest those who put you in such misery. However, I don’t like to be mistaken for such a man. I spoke up because I don’t tolerate disrespect. Not because I was trying to assert… ownership of you.” He trailed off, eyes filled with awkward sheen. “Although, I do admit that some possessiveness was involved.” 

Your chuckle turns into a sonorous laugh, but it’s hardly mocking. Insightful, more so.Like the one people emit after solving an equation with the most simple of formulas, like finding out that a confusing answer was sickeningly obvious all along. He allows you to touch him, stays still when you dare to entangle a hand in his hair, brushing through it with a little tug. Lets you know that he’s starving, too. For conversation, for skittishness, for what it augments into when the tension softens. 

Shivers run all the way up to tense shoulders when he wraps an arm around the arched curve of waist, pressing flush against his side to fetter into a desperate embrace. You giggle, dragging a fingertip over his flushed ear. Catch the shift in his breath, so abrupt and delectable.

“You know, I really did threaten to kick that prick in the crotch,” you murmur.

“Oh, I’m aware. Should I be concerned for my own, er… testicles?” 

“No. Well, not in a way that hurts. If you’ll have me.” 

A sheepish grin pulls at the corner of Viktor’s lip. “Now?” prods so huskily that it paints his motives unhallowed, and you hussle in his grasp, wondering if the implication is really there. Wondering if his hunger had suddenly merged with yours. 

And, well, that’s certainly a way to secure an amnesty. One you’re conveniently very eager for. 

So you decide to be bold. “Like I said.” You lean closer, tipping your head down. “If you’ll have me.” 

Viktor chortles. “Is that even a question?” 

Oh fuck.

The malt of his tongue sliding sloppily into your mouth — a kiss so lewd it has your world tumbling indistinct under fluttering eyelids, blurring completely when he steals your breath, ardent and tumultuous when your gasps turn into whines under that persistent, sweet pressure of his lips — starved enough to bruise, to bite a chunk out of you if only he tried hard enough. So wet it threatens to get into your throat, or drip down both of your chins in a glistening little trace — and you open up for him, always so incessant with that reciprocation: tongue, and teeth, and lips so pliant at his disposal. Doesn’t matter if you’re choking. You want to pass out under that gentle mouth, so warm, and inviting, and pressing into you in the most perfect of kisses. Even more strangling when his fingers dig into your hip, holding in place, eager enough to linger there for a few hours in speckled red, engraving his sheer desperation. You can hardly control your own, pulling at one messy chestnut strand. And it earns you a moan — gorgeously wheezy as he sucks at your bottom lip, teeth a sudden sunk into it when he senses the sharp affection and returns it right that instant. 

And you’re putty in those sinewy hands, arching backwards and falling senseless onto the sheets, tangling them with every new jerk of shaky legs. Spiraling into immaculate, tingly madness when Viktor exhales a chuckling breath somewhere above the collarbone, grabbing an overbearing hold of your chin. Coaxing your head to tip back and make some place for his teeth; thirty two little prickles plunging into your throat with pent-up vigor. Pulling at your skin in a not-so-gentle lovebite. More canines than anything, overwhelmingly so. 

But you let him, and meet it with a moan, needy, and high-pitched, and utterly unfeigned — an invitation to suckle more of you into his eager mouth. So he accepts it, freeing a soft breast out of the loose hold of a lacy shirt — and suddenly you’re grateful for that rushed choice of attire, so fitting for the way he squeezes, and twists, and selfishly laps up to tease a soft nipple to delicious stiffness. Watches the fleshy shade of it darken, growing hard under a playful lick. Smug, when he looks up, going in for another taste, pinch slow and torturous when he pulls at that tender nub, prideful for the way you keen, twitching with a fistful of his hair between lithe fingers. And so indecisive, too: does he want it nice and slow, or impatient, hasty and salacious? So many options to choose from. 

He’s leaning towards the latter, however. Lurches the shirt off your chest, tucking it to hastily ruffle around your waist — thank god for the lax straps, so helpfully hanging off both shoulders. Always teasing the lack of a bra. 

Warm palm lingers over the dip of your solar plexus, so gentle between the spread of breasts. And when it creeps higher, lingering over your chin, you force him to be even bolder. Stealing a sharp, dazed exhale when you capture his wrist, leveling those talented digits with your open mouth. Cheeky as you guide them inside, tongue a hot, wet fondle between ring and middle finger. And he shudders, enthralled by the sight, swallowing a whimper as you taunt him. Dragging out that debauched pop when you wrap your lips around them and suck hard, looking up with needy, impudent eyes. 

Such a filthy thing. Even dirtier now that you’re done with your little performance, head drooping to the side, adding to the complacent smirk. Viktor heaves out a laugh. 

“You’ll be the death of me,” whispers sweetly. Presses a peck to your shoulder, smiling when you trace the sharp line of his jaw. Tilts a hollow cheek into your touch, stilling above you. Steams pure admiration, pulling you closer. And you let him have that, so sickeningly starved for his love, grateful for the kiss he plants on the corner of your mouth, shivering when his caring hand — still a little spit-slick at the fingertips — brushes somewhere dangerously low, tickling at the pelvic bone. 

“Wouldn’t that be a good way to go?” you muse. The ever indefatigable tease, gorgeous, as you wrap both arms around his neck, noses pressing together for a split second. 

“I can think of a better one.” He shrugs. And when you humm, asking to elaborate, he simply clings to your thigh, thumb a fleeting brush over the damp edge of your underwear. “Crush me,” he pleads, “while I taste you.” 

“That’s hardly fair. I want to taste you too.” 

And he falters, coyly chewing on a thin lip.

“I think there’s a remedy for that.” 

Always a sight when he rises to undress, fumbling with the impressive amount of buttons. Makes it feel like a striptease, of sorts — an unintentional, lazy show. But this time he’s a little hasty. Almost tears that shirt apart, cocky when it gets to you, thin and immaculate — the pretty tautness of what little muscle he possesses, a shadowy slope of his navel and the curly black fluff running down right into his trousers. Besieging what you know must be really hard to keep in there when you look at him like this — so achingly desperate. Nimble, when you kindly help him with a belt, grinning vixen-like when the buckle budges. Normally, you’d palm him through all those layers, perhaps adhering to some languid torment. But today you’re undressing him rather crudely, eager to pull every cover down long legs and grab a hold of that lovely cock, fingers curling at the base to lay it flat against your restless tongue. 

But he stops you. Grabs a gentle squeeze of your hair somewhere at the nape, coaxing to meet the lustful scold of both glowing eyes. The slight twitch of a lopsided smile, weakly melting into an open-mouthed gasp. 

“Not yet,” begs of you so softly you can’t help but comply. With a reluctant whine, no less. And Viktor dismisses it, crawling back in between parted legs, fingers the sweetest of hooks into your underwear, then an eager drag of it all the way down and off the ankles. Dazed, when he notices a slick little stripe precisely on the pliant inner thigh. Cheeky, when he nudges legs apart again, and nuzzles into the delicate wetness, tongue darting out to lick the trace away — a tad sour, but he adores it, wants to bury his face in that divine flavor, to drench his fingers full of it. 

“Tease,” you accuse. His chin rests in that sweet spot between your thumb and index when he leans in for a kiss, grinning almost ear to ear. Can’t taste yourself on his tongue yet, but that’s a question of lust and a few more minutes of fervent devouring. It’s manageable. Exciting. 

“Bold of you to assume I can last through all your tortures,” Viktor murmurs, a little strangled. Falls supinely on his back, staring lazily from under dark lashes. “Although, I’m flattered. You give my stamina much more credit than it deserves.” 

“Oh please,” you scoff, turning around. Gasping, when long fingers curl into your waist, each thumb a press into your back dimples. And he pulls you onto him, nudges to throw a quivering leg over his neck and drift higher – until your knees press into the matress, and you’re hovering above him in a clumsy squat. And he’s gorgeous beneath you — hair sprawled out on the pillow into a myriad chestnut strays, eyes instantly meeting yours when you throw him a lustful look over your shoulder. 

“Sit.” His breath is syrupy against you, making the slick of folds feel somewhat cold when he exhales into that darling flesh. 

“On your face?” You want to be sure, to coax the obvious answer out of him. It’s a delicious offer, and you wonder if it still stands — as if Viktor’s hands digging into your sides with such firmness is not enough of a confirmation. 

“Precisely,” he rasps. Strokes each haunch in admiration, slowly making his tender way to your ass, spread slow and gentle, yet so achingly lewd it has your face blushing a pretty coral. Twitching, when he smooths a palm over one soft curve and fights the urge to leave a pink trace of a loving slap. And he smiles when you leak at the touch, tongue peeking out to deliver a shuddering lick, to circle the lovely orifice loose, sucking gently on your swollen clit. And you arch backwards again, mouth agape and stuffed full of your own fingers — to muffle that loud whine of a plea, preventing a noise complaint. And Viktor stirs your heat awake again, kisses coyly at the entrance before his index effortlessly slips inside — pumping, and curling, and making a nice, wet sound. “You’re so beautiful,” he praises. “Please, don’t crouch. Sit. I beg of you. You don’t know what it does to me.” 

And he’s right. You don’t know, yet his cock teased full of blood gives you a decent idea on that. So you melt, sighing when your clit lands exactly where you prefer it: on Viktor’s precious tongue, always so eager to please, to whisper filthy words or confession-like Czech nothings. And it’s a pleasant fusion: you know his eyes snap wide open when you reach to push him into your mouth, licking off the musky bead at the reddened tip and humming at the familiar, salty taste. He follows suit, meeting every bob of your head with the loveliest of little wet thrusts — tongue and fingers working together to earn yet another clench, while you tense up, gagging when he tickles the back of your throat. And you’re struggling to take him full, yet yearn for it with such genuine madness: so determined to please and be pleased, merciless with each persistent grind on the seediness of his tongue, grateful for the white-knuckled grip sturdily keeping one hip in place. And it consumes you, that earnest  chase of dizzying undoing, the need to memorize the patterns of the throbbing veins on his cock, each slippery, muffled gulp as you swallow around him, keen on having him paint your throat in warm, slightly bitter spurts. 

But you could also have him find that release inside you. How precious that must be — the tempting stretch of him, gorgeously raunchy, the sounds of skin slamming against Viktor’s narrow hips so utterly debauched. How good he’d feel, pulling you apart, coated in sweat, and slick and your greedy kisses. How breathy you’d plead him to fuck you stupid, moaning things so obscene your ears might still burn hours later. Yes, you’d rather finish him off like this. And you almost feel sorry for that impulse, yanking your mouth off his cock. Deft, when you slip from his grasp, turning to find him flushed and almost drunk on sensations. Oh, he was so, so close. How cruel of you to dispose him of that bliss. 

But you’re about to offer him so much more. So darling when you roll onto your back, open legs a lewd, tantalizing invitation. Beckoning to slide back in — deeper, heavier, closer. And he whimpers at the loss of you, hands immediately aching to gnaw at whatever they can reach. 

“Didn’t want you to cum yet,” you murmur. “Not until you’re inside me.”

That breaks him. Urges to accept the endeavor, rolling swiftly atop your sprawled out form and into the tender twine of limbs. “Milackú,” he keens through a shaky sigh. Pointy lips tremble against your neck. “Oh, milackú. What am I supposed to do with you?” 

“I can think of a certain verb. Four letters. Short and sweet.”  

And Viktor’s eyes lance your very heart when he whispers “I can think of two.” 

“Mmm, I’m not sure I want you to ruin me. ‘Fuck’ will have to suffice.”

“Not the word I was referring to.”

He’s gentle when he pushes in, hooking one thigh over his hip, thrust slow and deliciously torturous — more so to savor, to feel every crevice of yours wrap around him tightly. 

“Viktor,” you plead, wheezy and breathless, but he cradles your face and tips it towards him, aching to have you crumbling under his foggy gaze, drawling a high-pitched whine as he slides in hilt-deep, leaning in to lick a slippery kiss to the side of your neck.

“I want to love you,” he pants. “Four letters. Short and sweet.”

It courses through you, that tender revelation. And he means it, stroking a thumb over your bottom lip, gently nudging your mouth open for another heartful collision. Pours his whole being into that tangle of tongues, glides two shaky fingers over the swell of your clit and presses, stealing moans, twitches and incoherent mumbles.

You want to let him love you, to emit something that isn’t a muffled cry of his name, needier with every motion. And it’s so inherently filthy. The arc of your back over the damp sheets, the debauched stumble of your words as you whisper that confession back, nails a deathgrip into his shoulder when he thrusts again, gently working you through a release. Always so keen on making you cum first, on hearing more of those lewd squelches. And when the stretch stings you for the umpteenth sweet time, it takes him only a few more flickers over the sloppy mess of your clit to coax the final plea out of your sore throat, uttering a praise so dirty it has your toes curling tight enough to spread the tension all the way up to calves. Makes you feel the delicious pain of an orgasm spasm in all its candid beauty — perfect, loud, and hard, swathing around his cock in the loveliest of squeezes. And Viktor claims it like his greatest achievement, moaning into your ear as he finally allows himself to follow suit, lean body a tired collapse on your chest when it waves through him, sticky and so, so warm. Must be the result of a week’s long obstinacy or the plain desperation he nourishes when it comes to you, but you know you just have to make him cum like this again — unarterlably inside you, with every twitch of him so clearly palpable against slippery walls. 

And you’re full of him, overflowing, pulsating and suffocating, the ripples on the ceiling indistinct when you rest your slightly teary eyes. Viktor slides out, stealing a glance at a white little trail running down your thigh in a way so salacious he almost bites his tongue. Breathes so heavily you can feel every shift of his lungs under a flushed cheek. And you notice just how he holds you, basking in the weary afterglow, his chest a heaving pillow for you to nuzzle into. There they come — the loving trades of glossy glances, the smiles when you notice a bold scratch on his scrawny shoulder: he’s going to wear you for days, grinning whenever he passes a mirror naked.

Naked. It strikes you, the little thing you still have to do. It’s right there, in the pocket of your leather coat, probably a little crumpled. But you rush to fetch it nonetheless, ignoring Viktor’s confused humm of a protest. Laughing when he tries to stop you from making your way to the peg, so nimble even with your wobbly, fucked out walk. 

“You wanted to have it.” You grin, handing him the picture. So excited for the gasp when he reaches for it, weary eyes still adorably puzzled as you slip back in bed and under his gentle arm. Giggling when he unfolds the thing and utters an insightful ‘oh’.

He remembers now. Holds it with a knowing smile, amber eyes gliding over each divine line of you, eyeing first your version from the windowsill, then looking back at the real thing with even more striking appreciation. Like he couldn’t believe that a gorgeous creature from the photo is actually sprawled out in his bed; that he’d touched her, pleasured her, been inside her. 

“Thank you. It’s breathtaking.” His forehead presses against yours, and you flick a few wet hairs off its salty, sticky skin. You both need a shower, terribly so. 

“Do you really want to carry it in your wallet?”

“Oh, I intend to. If you approve of it, of course.” 

You chuckle, rolling your eyes at him in a theatrically mocking way. “Mmm, I don’t know about that. Normally, I wouldn’t allow it, but I suppose I could make an exception for the man I love.” 

His laugh wraps around you, warm and dear, muffling against your mouth when you lean to kiss him again — to ensure he doesn’t doubt you, to show him that you’re certain. Sighing when mouths part, but he’s quick to offer you his hand instead, and fingers carefully coil together, tender and still shaky. And Viktor bows his head, settling a soft peck against your knuckles. 

“Go take a shower. I’ll get the board. We’re playing a lot of Caro-Kann today.” 

—

i want to thank every single one of you. this fic has been A JOURNEY. it gave me a better vocabulary (because writing viktor requires research, especially when english is not your first language), a chess addiction and a stronger nicotine one (you don’t want to know how many cigarettes i’ve smoked during those long writing sessions, and neither do i — i’ve stopped counting for a reason). i don’t know if i’m pleased with how this fic turned out. it’s my first multichapter, so of course it’s not exactly perfect, but it was a fine ride nonetheless and i’m glad so many of you loved it. so excited for season 2!!!! so excited to write more for my favorite boy!!! but as of now, i’m taking a small break from writing.

oh, and i wanted to do something special once i’m done with this au. so here’s a spotify playlist dedicated to this fic: the c(o)unterpart

tags: @zaunitearchives @blissfulip @thehistoriangirl @queen-of-elves @vyshnevska

[dungeon-meshi-tournament]

Congratulations to Chapter 47 page 1, the Sexiest Senshi Pantyshot in the Manga, on winning the title of Best Tournament Winner of 2023!

Horniness was the strongest feeling of the year

[zee-has-commitment-issues]

Dead Draw

dead draw /ded•drô/ noun • the position in which no player has any chance of winning. - These people have known each other forever. Some were friends that turned into rivals, others rivals that turned into friends. And then there's Simon and Wilhelm, who hate each other (not really) and seem to be afterthoughts at this tournament.

Read Chapter 3: Patzer on AO3

Some of them were friends who had soured into rivals, or rivals who softened into friends. Some of them shared coaches or titles, or competed over them just the same as if those things were the King on the board. Friends. Teammates. Childhood buddies. Rivals. Everything except lovers, frankly, but he wasn’t about to rule that out just yet.

or read from the beginning

Now with beautiful beautiful art by @loren91! Thank you so much. I'm in so much awe of it.

Edited and beta read by @the-navistar-carol because she's amazing.