#something something did we play the same game something

[ugh-yoongi]

hi. i would like to request seungcheol (obviously). all i request is enemies-to-lovers. you may do with this what you wish. i leave it up to you to decide exactly how you will ruin my life 😌

tysm for the request my beloved !! he is so enemies to lovers coded i had TEWWW many thoughts (and started three separate wips oops), but here we are. i hope u enjoy this !! can't wait to get the collab fics out of the way so i can torture u further with baseball dk. i picked dodgers hat!cheol just for u. ♡

— we need to talk

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader summary: sometimes the only way to win the game is to not play, but sometimes it's not a game at all—sometimes it's four years of emotional build-up with nowhere left to hide. genre: enemies (kinda) w benefits to lovers; frat/university au; smut, angst?, fluff rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. warnings: frat boys. gendered language and insults. swearing. mentions of drugs & drug use (vernon is literally a drug dealer 🤷🏻‍♀️) as well as alcohol. possessive, jealous seungcheol who is extremely down bad and kind of an asshole and would be toxic af irl but is fine in fanfiction probably. this is maybe more "people who used to fuck and started disliking each other along the way bc they can't figure out their feelings" to lovers than enemies. there are very slight, very meaningless mingyu x reader undertones here. jeonghan is a bastard. feelings you think are unrequited but alas! this got softer than i intended oops. smut warnings: seungcheol truly is a man driven to the brink of madness bc of pussy idk what to say. kissing. hair pulling. mentions of masturbation. the dynamics shift in this one a lot, but to be overly cautious i will say dom!cheol and slightly dom!reader undertones that are not implicitly stated or defined. seungcheol uses the term "whore" once, sorry. oral sex (f. receiving). pussy slapping. unprotected sex. if i missed any pls lmk. wordcount: 8k. no i do not know what a drabble is, leave me alone. author's note: title from the song of the same name by waterparks but this was actually brought to you by "i'll never stop" by nsync bc it's their best song and fit the vibes perfectly. anyway, i still do not love writing smut but i am insane over this man so whatever, we persevere. everyone go shower mj in lots of love bc she's the best and deserves it. also everyone say thank u @the-boy-meets-evil for looking over this for me. i did not look at this again after she beta'd it so any mistakes are of my own stupidity. <3

Seungcheol is incensed.

What in the fuck are you thinking, showing up here? Ignoring him, walking by him with nothing more than a brush to the elbow and that sultry, electric gaze? A pair of painted-on jeans and a sheer top?

Who the fuck had invited you?

He looks around the room, gaze heavy under his furrowed brow. Bass thumps in his ears, the music so loud he can feel it in his chest. Still, his feet stay planted on the floor, already sticky with spilled alcohol and god knows what else. He needs to find Vernon—just needs something to get through this very unexpected (and very unpleasant) surprise, take the edge off.

But he can’t see through the sea of people. They’re everywhere, occupying every inch of available space in the house, but he just needs a glimpse of that mop of cornflower blue hair. If he could just—

Instead, he sees a streak of white-blond in his peripheral vision. “Soonyoung!” he calls, grabbing the man by the arm. “Hey, have you seen Vernon?”

Soonyoung stares up at him with glassy, bloodshot eyes, his breath already stinking of alcohol as he shrugs and says, “Dunno, hyung. Think he’s upstairs.”

Fingers still wrapped around his bicep, Seungcheol heaves a sigh. “Go find Jeonghan. He’s on babysitting duty and you’re already fucked.”

“I’m fine,” Soonyoung argues, slurred words giving him away immediately.

Seungcheol scoffs. “Bro, you can barely stand and you reek of shitty vodka. Go drink some water.”

As he sends Soonyoung away, he can feel eyes boring into him, tension wound tight in the center of his back that refuses to dissipate no matter how many times he rolls his shoulders. He turns slowly, already knowing exactly what he’ll find, but knowing does little to stop the hitch of breath as he takes you in.

And he hates it. Fuck, he hates the effect you have on him more than anything.

Hates that he’s still pining after you. Hates that all you have to do is look at him and he’s putty in your hands. Hates that you’re the first person he looks for in a room, the last person on his mind before he falls asleep. Hates you, hates that all of this is unreciprocated, because if Choi Seungcheol is anything, it’s proud. He’s rich, he’s good-looking, he’s pre-law, and the president of this fraternity, for fuck’s sake—he should not be hung up on a girl.

But he’d been doomed from the beginning. Ever since you’d been assigned to him as a challenge to overcome, an impossible task to conquer, he’d been helplessly, pathetically smitten with you.

And fuck if you didn’t know it, too.

So, it’s a game now. A lifetime’s worth of pining for Seungcheol all because his frat was misogynistic and refused to keep up with the times. They’d nodded in your direction and laughed at the confusion on his face, the knot between his brows. Seungcheol couldn’t figure out why his initiation was to fuck a girl, one his brothers wouldn’t even address by name, but when he’d approached you at a party and you’d immediately told him to go fuck himself, he’d figured it out pretty quick.

Call it determination, call it a stubborn streak that refused to quit, but the two of you soon came to a reluctant agreement: you would let Seungcheol lie to his frat, figuring he was attractive enough that people thinking you’d slept together wouldn’t be complete social suicide, and he’d owe you a favor you’d keep in your back pocket for as long as it took to cash in.

Which hadn’t taken long. The stress of finals that first year had gotten to all of you, and it wasn’t long before you were at his door looking for his drug-dealing roommate and a quick fuck.

That was the second time Seungcheol had been doomed to hopeless pining, because once he had you, he knew it’d be impossible to let you go.

Short of outright saying the words, he’d all but told you as much during some alcohol-induced brain shortage junior year. And, in turn, you’d all but laughed in his face.

Right.

Of course.

That was to be expected.

So, you’d continued your… well, whatever this is: quick fucks when both of you were bored or lonely or horny, usually under the influence of something illegal; a mutually tense but beneficial relationship for each of you, because you had been Seungcheol’s initiation and the initiation itself awarded him connections and opportunities. You got a back-up plan. A safe body and warm bed to retreat to when the need arose—one who clearly wanted it to be something more, but was, all things considered, fine with the current arrangement. Didn’t pressure you.

But, as was also to be expected, it was never going to be that simple when feelings got involved. When he started feeling slighted. When he wanted you so bad he ached with it sometimes and it was beneath you to care. Which is why he really, really needs to find Vernon. If he’s going to endure an entire party with you, he’s not going to do it sober.

He takes the steps two at a time, feet stumbling onto the landing as soon as he reaches it. Vernon’s door is the third on the left, and he can hear a separate, distinct bass line from the one booming downstairs that hums louder the closer he gets.

And Vernon knows. Of course he does, because he’s yanking his door open before Seungcheol has even raised a hand to knock, the stench of weed seeping out into the hallway, and all he needs is a quick look at Seungcheol before he pulls the door open wider and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States of America,” as if he’s speaking into a microphone. When Seungcheol doesn’t react, he awkwardly tacks on, “Hi, hyung. I’m assuming she’s here.”

Seungcheol nods, dumbly, and stands as awkwardly in the center of the room as someone who’s about to ask their roommate for drugs tends to be. “Yeah.” Shoves his hands in the pockets of his overpriced jeans so Vernon can’t see the sheen of sweat.

“You looking for somethin’ specific?” he asks, rifling through the top drawer of a tall dresser. “Like, is this an I’m about to fuck her the rest of the night visit or an I need something to help me forget she doesn’t actually like me visit?”

The words come like a reflex. “Fuck you,” he seethes. Vernon’s not wrong, per se, but he didn’t have to go and just… say it like that.

Vernon just shrugs, one side of his worn-out collar slipping down his shoulder as he does so, and Seungcheol can’t tell if he’s actually dressed for the party or not. “Gonna guess it’s the second one, then.”

Seungcheol scoffs. “Well, it’s not,” he insists, knowing damn well he should let it go, that he’s just digging himself a bigger hole, but the truth sits in the pit of his stomach like lead.

And, really, he knows he just needs to accept it. That little strand of hope hasn’t brought him anything but more pain—allowed him to delude himself into thinking it could be something more, something tangible—and it’s time to let it go.

You don’t want more.

You don’t want the label and the relationship.

You don’t want him.

He knows this, but it still tastes sour in his mouth. Still tastes like the chill of autumn when you’d first showed up at his door all that time ago. Tastes like all the blunts you’ve shared and the liquor from all the parties you’d snuck away in the middle of. Tastes like the sharp notes of your perfume, the ones that’d coat his tongue when he’d kiss down your neck—the same notes that stain his bedsheets.

Mostly, it’s the pitying look Vernon’s giving him that hurts the most. He’s above pity. Doesn’t need it, especially not from Vernon Chwe, but it hurts all the same to be on the receiving end of it.

“Give me whatever you’ve got.”

Vernon’s face quickly morphs into surprised concern. “Uh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I mean, I’ve got some pretty heavy shit here.”

Heat flares in his belly. The pity was bad enough—now he wants to be patronizing? “Then give me whatever the fuck you think I need,” he snaps. “I don’t care. I don’t have time for this shit.”

“Well, you definitely need to chill,” Vernon mumbles. “You want some dabs?”

“No. Something…” The word feels thick in his mouth. Stronger implies that Seungcheol does heavy drugs, and that’s not true. “Else,” he finally finishes.

Vernon sighs as he continues rifling through the drawer. “Your dad would fucking kill me if I gave you my real heavy shit, so…” He pauses, eyebrows raising in triumph as he finds what he was looking for: a small baggie filled halfway with some nondescript powder. “You want a bump?”

Maybe he should be ashamed at how quickly he agrees, at the urgency and greed with which he grabs the baggie from Vernon’s fingers, but he just needs something. Needs the distraction, the brain fog. He shoves it in his back pocket next to his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

Vernon wrinkles his nose. “Nah. Consider that one a freebie. No offense, but you’re a real piece of shit when you’re like this.”

The implication only pisses him off more. Seungcheol is loaded—he can afford to pay his drug dealer, thank you very much—but he’s not like anything. “I’m sorry?”

True to his nature, Vernon barely shrugs. “I’ll put it on your tab, hyung,” he says in a way that implies he’s not at all going to do that and is only saying so to get the fraternity president off his back.

Jeonghan (23:12) Better come get your girl. Kim Mingyu’s dick looks like it’s halfway up her ass by now. Jeonghan (23:12) Uh oh! I think I just saw a testicle

Seungcheol stares down at his phone, hands trembling in anger. Of course it’s Mingyu. That pathetic loser has been taking up residence on the subs bench ever since you’d made out with him months ago in an admittedly successful attempt at payback. Seungcheol had hooked up with some downgrade at a party one time and you’d gone and made out with his friend. It was hardly a fair trade.

Seungcheol (23:14) Good for Mingyu, he can deal with her then Seungcheol (23:14) I’m busy Jeonghan (23:14) Doing what? Jerking off in the upstairs bathroom again? Jeonghan (23:15) Do you know what size condom he wears btw? Looks like I might need to fetch him one if you don’t want to take care of another man’s baby Jeonghan (23:16) Although, to be fair, you might want to sit this one out. He has way better bone structure than you. Might be a blessing in disguise Seungcheol (23:16) Fuck you Jeonghan (23:16) Better be nice to me, Choi Seungcheolie~ that might be the only fuck you get tonight

Seungcheol needs better friends. He needs a lot of things, really, but number one on his to-do list is to never let Jeonghan be on babysitting duty ever again. Somehow he’d forgotten how obnoxious Yoon Jeonghan is when he isn’t stoned and half-asleep on a couch somewhere.

For now, he just stomps down the hallway; locks himself in his room and doesn’t bother to turn on the light. He’s not going to be here long. Just enough time to do this line, change his t-shirt, and come up with a game plan, because he’s not going to let Mingyu even entertain the thought of being able to have you but he also can’t appear desperate. Not just to you, but to everyone else. Choi Seungcheol is not clingy, especially not over a girl.

Especially especially over a girl who doesn’t even want him like that.

But the longer he sits in the dark, the more trouble he has finding his resolve. Can’t bring himself to dig that baggie out of his pocket. Can’t drag his t-shirt over his head. Can’t bring himself to think about anything other than Mingyu’s hands all over you, and fuck, does that image drive him insane.

Does he touch you like Seungcheol does?

Does he coax those same jagged whimpers from your mouth like Seungcheol does?

Does his semi-hard cock feel as good pressed against you?

God, he’s so fucked. Utterly and completely fucked. And he wonders if this would be as bad if he’d just kept his mouth shut, took that secret to his grave instead of fooling himself into thinking it could be more. If it wouldn’t have devolved into… this. You’d always told him not to get attached, that sex was just sex and there was no need to ruin a good thing. But Seungcheol is a selfish man, always has been, and what if? is a dangerous question.

Jeonghan (23:36) Wow, you’re a fucking pussy. Stop hiding in your room like a little bitch. Seungcheol (23:36) Fuck off

He can’t go down there. Not because he’s a coward, but because he’s barely tethered to his sanity as it is. Something about you brings him out of his mind, makes him toss whatever good judgment he has left to the wind. Seungcheol is far too impulsive when it comes to you, reckless in ways that have all twenty years of his social training weeping in a corner; have alarm bells ringing in his brain. So, no, he can’t go downstairs right now because he knows he’ll do something stupid. Stick not only his foot but his entire lower body in it. He should’ve listened, yet here he is, dick pulled halfway out of his jeans because the thought of you alone gets him hard but his pride won’t let him jerk off to the image of anyone touching you that’s not him.

Forget whatever Jeonghan had called him. He’s a fucking fool. A moonstruck, delusional fool who’d tricked himself into thinking he could swim when he can barely tread water.

You (23:41) Something wrong?

Oh, here we fucking go, he thinks. Because this is Seungcheol’s game—one he’d perfected years ago, the one where he’s coy and chilly, never too eager, never committed. Just a little bit of a tease. Barely enough to keep them on the hook, a little needy; still enough to keep them coming back. But you’d taken one look at him all those years ago and had him pegged immediately. Figured out his game and learned the rules, used them against him. Now you watch him flounder with a smile on your face.

Seungcheol (23:42) Never knew you were so needy baby. First you show up uninvited and now youre missing me?

But just because there’s now a player two doesn’t mean he’s doomed to lose. He knows how you look when you’re on your knees for him. Knows how you sound when you’re begging to cum and stuttering out his name like you’re singing hymns. Knows how you look with your eyes rolled back after he’s fucked you dumb. Kim Mingyu doesn’t know shit.

Seungcheol knows he’s the only one fortunate enough to experience you like this.

And god does it kill him.

You (23:44) Don’t act stupid

A pleased exhale of laughter, an equally-smug smirk. Yeah, this is still Seungcheol’s game, the crown still sitting atop his head. You can let Mingyu grind his dick against you all you want, but Seungcheol is still the one you’re seeking out, pouting at the fact he hasn’t come to find you yet.

You (23:44) Mingyu invited me

Oh, you’re good—know just which buttons to press and how much pressure to use. Whatever smug expression Seungcheol had been wearing slides off his face immediately, tongue pressing into his cheek.

Seungcheol (23:46) And yet youre looking for me? You (23:47) Don’t have to look for you to know you’re upstairs sulking in your room because Jeonghan tattled on me like a fucking five year old Seungcheol (23:49) Maybe you should come up here then Seungcheol (23:49) Away from prying eyes

You don’t reply immediately. It’s just long enough for Seungcheol’s brain to conjure up something indecent—the way you’ll straddle him, the way his cock will feel pressed against the apex of your thighs; the goosebumps that’ll raise on his arms when you work your tongue along his neck, that spot near his collarbone you know he likes. His cock throbs against the confines of his jeans when he thinks about the devastated look on Mingyu’s face when you make up some excuse to get away from him, to traipse up the stairs and fall into Seungcheol’s bed, when he realizes he’s not going to have you.

You (23:56) It’d be pretty rude to leave my date, don’t you think? You (23:57) If you want me so bad, come down here and get me yourself

Seungcheol doesn’t play games; doesn’t compete because he has no competition. He’s always been given whatever he wants on a silver platter, no questions asked, so he’s wholly unprepared for this turn of events. What he knows he should do (respond to your text and tell you to fuck off, that you know where he is should you stop being a brat and change your mind) is not what he does (tucks his dick back in his jeans, finally throws on a clean t-shirt, and takes his time descending the stairs so he doesn’t look too eager), because logical thought gets tossed out the window entirely wherever you’re concerned.

“Ah, if it isn’t our resident pissbaby making his grand re-entrance.”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw for the nth time and glares. “Fuck off, Jeonghan.”

The man in question laughs—the annoying raspy one that grates on Seungcheol’s nerves—and hands over a cup of something brown and pungent. “Well, judging from your attitude, and the fact you’re barely hiding that boner you’ve got, you clearly didn’t spend your time away jerking off. What finally got you down here, the promise of cheap whiskey I nicked off some freshman or the fact that your girlfriend’s about two seconds from getting a public indecency charge courtesy of Kim Mingyu?”

Well. Jeonghan may be an asshole but he’s not wrong. Even through the crowd of people and the haze of whatever’s in his cup and a contact high, Seungcheol spots you immediately. Your back is pressed against Mingyu’s chest, his fingers gripping tight at your waist as you roll your hips in time with his. Whatever manufactured filth he’s whispering to you draws a smile, causes you to reach up and tug sharply at his hair. Fuck, Seungcheol can almost hear Mingyu’s moan from across the room, and his blood quickly heats to a rapid boil.

Another chuckle from the demon beside him. “Stop fucking laughing,” Seungcheol snaps, still unable to take his eyes off of you. “Fuck this. I’m going back upstairs. Make sure everyone’s out of here by three. I’m not paying for another noise citation.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “I’m absolutely not going to do that.” He shoves a bottle of something in Seungcheol’s hand. “Take this and think of me when you’re crying yourself to sleep because Mingyu stole guaranteed pussy right out of your hands.”

“Why do you do this?” Seungcheol asks, shoving at Jeonghan’s shoulder roughly. “You never know when to fucking quit.”

Another streak of white-blond. “Hey, no fighting!” Soonyoung slurs, trying his best to push Seungcheol to the other side of the kitchen with his useless, limp arms.

This attracts the attention of Joshua, who struts into the room looking straight out of Fashion Week, much like he always does. He hasn’t even broken a sweat. “Aw, are Mom and Dad fighting again?” he asks, his lips tugged into a smirk. He ignores Seungcheol’s scowl as he fixes himself a drink. “You know Mingyu only does it to get a reaction out of you,” Joshua adds, quieter this time, as if he’s telling Seungcheol a secret only meant for the two of them to share.

“What’s her excuse, then?” Seungcheol fires back, because even if he doesn’t like it, Joshua’s right. This is exactly the kind of behavior he’d expect from resident campus whore Kim Mingyu, but he never expected you to go along with it.

Joshua cocks an eyebrow. “She doesn’t need an excuse, Cheol. She’s not your girl.”

Even though it’s a truth he already knows, it somehow hurts worse being spoken in plaintext, a hushed conversation in a crowded kitchen. Being let down gently. Seungcheol knows he needs to make a decision. He needs to let you go and start moving on with his life; can’t be having these quasi-meltdowns during frat parties anymore. Can’t be possessive and spiteful. You don’t want him. Everyone knows you don’t want him, so that’s all there is to it. Maybe you’ll want Mingyu and he can finally wash his hands of this forever, scrape the jealousy off his tongue.

He steels himself. Rolls his shoulders back, cracks his neck. Navigates the crowd in the living room until he reaches you and your so-called date. Grabs you by the elbow—gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt but firm enough to send a message—and says the two of you need to talk. Upstairs. Now. Mingyu just smiles like he knew this was coming and presses a pointless, wasted kiss just below your ear. Seungcheol tells him to fuck off, too, and Mingyu grins wider, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

As he guides you to his room, he doesn’t think about the way your hand fits in his. Doesn’t think about how this is going to be the last time he has you. Doesn’t think about who’ll have you after. Doesn’t bother to wonder if you’ve finally changed your mind like he had all those other times he’d walked this same familiar path with you in tow. Because it’s the last time. Whatever happens once it’s over is out of his control.

Perhaps that’s what it’d always been about. Seungcheol has always been spoiled and selfish and so terribly, terribly desperate to prove he’s more than his family name and family money. So, yeah, he’d wanted the control; wanted what was never his for the taking. You’d always been the opposite—his perfect little counterpart. Always so pliant and careless and free: everything Seungcheol tried so hard to be but couldn’t, and that’s where the switch flipped.

Someone like you isn’t meant to be controlled.

What he used to want so badly now tastes rancid in his mouth.

The door locks behind you. Seungcheol doesn’t meet your eye as he says, “You got what you wanted. Are you done being a fucking brat?” It’s not a tone he usually takes. Usually he’s dirty, a little possessive, willing to let you set the pace. He doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches. “I asked you a question.”

“Seungcheol—”

He clicks his tongue, stalks closer until you’re nearly in his grasp. Your eyes close instinctively as if you’re expecting his mouth on yours. Instead, he threads his long fingers in your hair and pulls. “What’s so hard about answering a simple yes or no question? Did you really want Mingyu’s dick so bad you’ve gone dumb all of a sudden?”

You gasp. “No.”

“No what?” Seungcheol chides. “No, you’re not done being a brat? Or no, you weren’t just downstairs acting desperate and pathetic for mediocre cock?” He runs his thumb across the seam of your lips, follows their movements as you speak.

“I wasn’t—”

A low, mocking chuckle. “You were, baby.” Sounds condescending; speaks to you like you’re a stupid child. He’s so close to you now. Can smell the tang of your skin, the sticky notes of your perfume. Feels your breath fan against his own sweat-slick skin. Still avoids your gaze, because as domineering as he appears, he knows he can unravel just as quickly. “Take your clothes off. This is the last time I’m gonna fuck you and I’m not going to ask twice.”

Now you truly look caught off-guard. “What?” Still he ignores you, expensive silver rings clinking into a dish on his dresser one by one, expensive watch following. “What do you mean the last time?”

Deft fingers play at the buttons on his shirt. Not silk, but just as expensive. “Shit. You’re really testing my patience, you know.” You’re still standing at the edge of his bed, staring dumbly as if he’s just going to start spilling all his secrets, give you some kind of explanation. “I believe I told you to strip.”

Unlike Seungcheol, your fingers tremble as they work at buttons and zippers and hemlines, push down denim and remove heels. It’s clear you’re trying to work out what he’s playing at—if this is some punishment for fucking around with Mingyu or if he really means it—but you’re not going to risk asking. Things between the two of you are already tense as it is. Seungcheol has never been wound this tight, never been so ready to snap.

“That’s it,” he praises once you’re left in nothing but a skimpy underwear set you know he likes. “Look at you. Fucking gorgeous. I bet that’s why you think you can get away with embarrassing me, huh?” He grabs your chin, forces you to meet his gaze for the first time since he’d dragged you up here. “Get on your knees. I’m getting tired of repeating myself.”

It’s not an unfamiliar sight—as it is, you usually leave Seungcheol’s room with bruised knees on a good night—but it settles differently in his gut this time. Because he’d dared a glance at you once and knows he can’t do it again, so he watches the top of your head as you fumble with his belt buckle and looks away whenever he thinks you might risk a glance upwards. Finds some point on the wall to focus on. Hisses through his teeth when you pull his cock from his briefs, your hands cold against his flushed skin.

All he wants to do is kiss you. Draw this out. Give you a memorable last time, maybe mark you up a little. He really wants to savor the feeling of your tongue on his cock, but all he can focus on is the fact that he’ll never be enveloped in that wet heat again. He’s never going to feel your mouth working him over, feel you humming around his length because he knows you love the weight of it, you love wrenching away that little bit of control, turning him into a mess.

But he’s not going to dwell. He’s going to thumb at the hinge of your jaw, force it open just wide enough for his cock to fit inside. Then he’s going to fist your hair into a makeshift ponytail, grip it tight, use it to guide your mouth until there’s only an inch of space between you. He’s going to stare down at you, silently revel in how fucked out you look already even though he hasn’t touched you. He’s going to watch the way your fingers dig into your thighs because they can’t touch him. Then he’s going to say—

“Beg me. Beg me to let you suck my cock.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation. Seungcheol doesn’t talk to you like this. This is not the kind of dynamic the two of you have, and Seungcheol finds himself wondering if things would be different if it was. If he’d never started going so easy on you. Would you want him then? Or would you have left a long time ago?

He’s half-expecting you to do that now. You look ready to bolt, to pull your clothes back on and tell him to go fuck himself on the way out. Probably go straight back to Mingyu, let him fuck you hard but routine, the way Seungcheol usually does, the way he knows you like. He expects you to leave, and this is the last time, anyway, so he figures he has nothing left to lose.

“I’m going soft,” he snaps, the admonishment harsh on his tongue. When you look up at him, his jaw is clenched, eyes narrow. “You have one fucking job and you can’t even do that properly? Who’s going to want a dumb little whore that can’t follow simple instructions?”

He watches your eyes squeeze shut involuntarily. Wonders if he’s gone too far before deciding he doesn’t care if he has. It’s the last time, anyway, so it’s not like it matters. Watches the indents in your thighs grow deeper. Watches you inhale and try to steady your breathing.

Watches your eyes snap open, any trace of hesitation long gone. “Did you make that other girl beg for you?”

Seungcheol snorts, amusement showing all over his face. “Is that what this is about? You’re still mad I hooked up with some other girl so you act like this?” He clicks his tongue at you, fists his cock, slicking it up. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” you answer simply, “I’m just trying to figure out why you think you can speak to me however the fuck you want.”

Seungcheol’s hand stutters along his length before it stills, your words sharp and immediate against his skin. He should’ve known. Shouldn’t have thought something like this would work on you, that you’d like it, and he’s halfway to soft and throwing his hands up and tucking his dick back into his briefs when you say, “Answer the question.”

“What?”

You tsk. Move your hands from your thighs to his, nails pressing just deep enough to leave crescent moons behind that match your own. Something for someone else to see. “Did you make her beg for you?”

Seungcheol’s brain power decreases the higher your palms go, when your thumbs press into the dimples of his hips. Can barely choke out a hissed yes, yeah, fu-fuck when your hand covers his, fingers wrapping tightly around his own as you guide it back and forth, up and down the length of his cock. “What did you make her beg for, Cheol?”

“To—to to-touch me.”

You hum. Tighten your grip on Seungcheol’s hand and laugh as his hips roll involuntarily, seeking the friction. “Touch you how? Like this?”

“Yeah—fuck, yes, like this.”

“Did she? Did she listen to you like a good girl?” Your hand leaves Seungcheol’s only to collect the precum at his tip. “Don’t get all shy now, Cheolie.” You suck your thumb into your mouth and he whines. “Was she a good girl for you?”

You sit back on your haunches. Watch him jerk himself off. “Yeah,” he finally says, word cracking in the middle. “Boring, though. Not like—not like you.”

“No one is like me,” you admonish. “I could’ve told you that for free, before you went off and fucked someone else.”

“Not an idiot,” Seungcheol replies, the pace of his hand quickening. He’s playing a dangerous game; approaching the cliff edge at a dangerous pace. “No-nothing comes for free with you.”

All you do is smile, lopsided and smug. “Mm, that’s true. Guess your little dom moment earlier can just be chalked up to momentary stupidity, hm?” Seungcheol wants to nod, wants apologies to tumble from his lips until you shut him up, but his palm is so slick against his dick, fist tight enough to white out his vision. “Did you make her beg to suck your cock?”

Truth be told, Seungcheol can’t remember much of anything right now. He’s perilously close to coming, right at that precipice, and each filthy word that slips from your mouth just pushes him further to the edge. He remembers Chan inviting him to a party. He remembers a few drinks, a few hits from a blunt, compliments of Vernon; he remembers a girl making eyes at him from across the room—eyes that had looked a lot like yours in the haze of his crossfade. He remembers a locked bathroom and the sound of his voice as he told that girl how to touch him so it felt like you. He remembers her doing whatever he told her to, remembers how eager and submissive she was, how she didn’t mouth off to him the way you always do—

Remembers how unsatisfying it’d been when he came.

You’ve ruined him.

Not a revelation. Not even close to one. Seungcheol has known this for a long time, but that doesn’t mean annoyance doesn’t flare in his belly at the reminder. You don’t want him. Being so hung up on you isn’t doing him any favors, just means he’ll have a longer drop when this is all over. God, what the fuck is he doing?

He wants you so badly he’s aflame with it. He wants you so badly he can barely look at you anymore. He wants you so badly it consumes him, drives him insane, has him all fucked up and seething. He wants you, he wants you, he—

Loves.

Reality washes over him like a cold wave. Knocks him backwards, drowning, desperately trying to remember how to breathe. In, out; in, out—and none of it changes a goddamn thing.

Four years of this. Four years of touches exchanged in the dark, behind locked doors. Four years of yearning and trying and failing. Four years of everything getting lost in translation, because it’s hitting him now, but shouldn’t he have felt it before? Shouldn’t all those ‘drive me fuckin’ crazy, can’t fucking stand you’s he spoke into the crook of your neck rang hollow?

“Cheol—” you say, because you asked him something, tried to play along with this whole stupid charade, and he knows he’s frozen, just standing there, hand still wrapped around his cock, and he needs to say something, he needs to fix this—

“I’m a liar,” is what he comes up with. You’re still staring up at him, brows furrowed, pinched in the middle. Move, he wills himself, but nothing happens. “I’m a liar,” he says again, because if he says it enough you’ll believe it. “I’m sorry. I’m—”

“What are you talking about?”

He swallows. I’m in love with you, he wants to say. Feels the weight of the words on his tongue, heavy and pressing, and he thinks you should know. Even if you don’t feel the same, he thinks you deserve to know, but the way you’re looking at him—

He can’t bring himself to say it.

But he can—“Can I show you instead?”

Slowly, you nod. Seungcheol nods, too, still feeling off-kilter as he cradles your face in his hands, thumbs in the contours of your cheeks. Moves them down your neck, your shoulders, down the length of your arms. You meet him halfway, twining your fingers together, and he helps you stand, careful and considerate. At full height, he places a hand in the small of your back to tug you closer, kisses you like it’s the end of the world. Whines into your mouth at your familiar taste, and if he lets himself be delusional enough, he can pretend there’s form and substance to those sounds, that their edges are squared-off to form the words he wants to say.

Because it really might be the end of the world. Seungcheol has never known how to play the cards he’s been dealt when it comes to you. Always gets it wrong. Feints one way when he’s meant to go the other, takes the field with two left feet, always playing catch-up. Maybe the mistake was treating it like a game. Maybe the mistake was strategizing, only playing to win, because he lays you gently on his bed, fits his body in the space you create for him between your legs, and realizes he already won a long time ago.

He won the first time your eyes met. He won the first time he’d kissed you, more nerves and teeth than anything else. He won the first time you tucked yourself against his side and stared at his bedroom ceiling, half-smoked joint between your fingers, and made fun of the stupid flag he’d hung up. He won every time you took all the bullshit he threw at you and dished it right back. He won every time he had the privilege of tracing mindless shapes into your soft skin.

Every second of your time you chose to give him—all victories.

He presses in further. Groans when your hands move to his shoulders and grip tight; when your nails dig into the skin of his back. “I’ve been so stupid,” he says, punctuating his words with a nip at your ear. Smirks out of the corner of his mouth at your shuddering breath. “Haven’t I?”

“Yeah,” you answer, rolling your hips upward. He grabs at you desperately, tries to keep you still; hisses when you swat his hands away and redouble your efforts. “You’ve been a fucking asshole for a—for a while.”

You can’t see the way he pouts. Wonders, too, if that would work on you, if it’d earn him one of those rare moments of tenderness. “Well I’m trying to—shit, baby—trying to make it up to you, but you seem pretty determined to make me bust right now.”

He can see the way you roll your eyes. See the way the corners crinkle after as you laugh softly, breathlessly, still trying to chase a high Seungcheol refuses to provide. “You deserve it. You tried to dom me, you dickhead.”

Embarrassment sits obvious on his ruddy cheeks. He hides his face in the crook of your neck so you don’t see it, don’t have something to poke at him with later, but you’re having none of it. You thread your fingers through his hair and tug gently, forceful enough to have him pliable, and there it is: there are stars in your eyes as you stare up at him, tender and soft just like he hoped you’d look, and he misses the feeling of your nails on your scalp until you’re tugging at the delicate chain around his neck and pulling him closer. “Just kiss me and we’ll call it even.”

This is how it feels to get struck by lightning, he thinks. Every part of him is on fire, and he’s content to burn as his lips find yours. He sighs happily into your mouth, hikes your thigh higher around his middle, presses in to lay claim to what little space is left between you. Seungcheol is so close he can feel the rapid pace of your heartbeat, because this is not the way you usually kiss. What used to be dirty and quick, a means to an end, now has intent, purpose. He’s kissing you like he wants to steal the air from your lungs to replace it with something better.

Trails those same kisses down the length of your body. Open-mouthed at your neck, your collarbones, the space between your breasts. Teasing and slow in the space between each rib, just to watch the way your skin pebbles. Hungry and insistent at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, because if he’s feeling this unhinged, he wants you right there with him. Can’t bear the thought of still being in this alone. Not anymore.

“Legs over my shoulders.” You listen immediately, and Seungcheol mutters a quiet fuck at the sight before him. “God, you’re so wet.”

“No shit—”

He swats at your clit, delighting in the way your body jolts. “Hush. The only thing I wanna hear out of your smart mouth from now on is my fucking name.” And then he’s diving in.

He eats you out like a man starved; like he could do this every day for the rest of his life and he still wouldn’t be satisfied. Can’t help but rut against the mattress at the way you taste, the way your thighs tighten around his head, the sting as you pull at his hair. Places both hands beneath your ass to lift and drag you closer to his waiting mouth—licks at you wet and feverish, all of this seemingly more for him than it is for you, and you’ll get tired of it soon, just like you always do. You’ll tell him—

“Do it right, Cheol, please—”

And he’ll pull away and tsk, swat at you again. His responding laugh will be cocky and derisive when your body trembles again, frantic with the need for more. “What did I say, baby? Do you not trust me to make you come?” You cock an eyebrow, torn between throwing some sarcastic remark at him and following the rules long enough to get what you want. His voice grows serious as he presses a soft kiss to your core. “I will always take care of you.”

The rest is muscle memory.

The rest has a chorus of Cheol, Cheol, Seungcheol spilling from your lips as he suctions his own around your clit. The rest has you grinding your pussy against his face. The rest has him groaning at the way he’s so wholly consumed by you: the taste of you on his tongue, face soaked, two fingers pressed deep into your cunt. The rest has him saying that’s it, baby, come on my face, I know you can and feeling delirious when he finally pushes you over the edge; when your walls clench around his fingers, breathing fractured, when you grab at him until you’re eye-level and you’re licking into his mouth to taste yourself.

Tastes a lot like I love you.

“Want you to ride me,” he says, gaze half-lidded and pleading. You whine as he moves his thumb back to your clit, tracing slow, slow, slow circles, oversensitive. “Will you do that for me?”

The party seems so far away. Grows even further away when you nod and straddle his lap. Seungcheol sits up, tells you to wrap your legs around him. Can’t stand not touching you; needs every inch of his skin to be covered by you like a bruise—something deep that’ll last for days, weeks, months. The mottled colors will change, but it’ll still be there.

“Need you, Cheol,” you whisper, kissing his eyelids. He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes.

“You have me,” he answers, but it sounds foreign to his ears—sounds wretched, like the words have been punched out of him. It sounds like forfeit. “Always have.”

You pull back. Study his face. Run over his plush bottom lip with your thumb. It feels like an eternity of silence before you speak. “No, I haven’t,” you insist, tone insistent but delicate, like you’re trying to convince him of it, too. “Not like this.”

I love you.

You lift your hips just enough to sink down on his cock. Seungcheol’s moan is loud and unabashed, not afraid to let anyone hear the way you make him feel. All he can think is familiar: he knows your blinding white heat; has made countless homes in your tight grip he still holds the keys to; has done this so many goddamn times it’s second nature.

He was an absolute fool to think he could ever walk away.

You roll your hips, taking him deeper like you’ve got something to prove, body moving on its own sinuous accord. Seungcheol loves you like this, when you know exactly what you want and aren’t afraid to take it. When you press sloppy kisses to his neck, the column of his throat. When he grabs at your hips, tries to move you faster along the length of his cock, and you swat his hands away. When your rhythmic up-and-down turns into a slow grind that has you gasping and breathless, pussy spasming around him.

“Goddamn, I love this pussy,” he chokes out, fingers gripping tightly at the sheets since he can’t touch you. He’s mindless with pleasure, feels himself start babbling nonsense he can’t make sense of, and it’s overwhelming, having you like this. Isn’t sure how he’s survived this long, but maybe you were right.

Maybe it was never like this before.

Usually he’d take you from behind, quick and dirty, hands digging into the meat of your ass, palm cracking down on it every now and then, imparting white heat of his own. Usually he’d have you beneath him, knees pressed to your chest, all condescension as you told him, eyes rolled back, that he was too deep, that you couldn’t take it, and he’d rub at your clit and tell you you could as he dragged another orgasm out of you. Usually he’d be so frenzied and worked up he’d take you against the door, sweats pushed to mid-thigh, forearms straining as they held you up.

So, yeah—this is different. This is a patient, sensual dance to the finish line. This is Seungcheol in his rawest form: a live wire, vulnerable, anxious. This is the unknown, because something has to come after but he doesn’t know what it is.

This is Seungcheol throwing caution to the wind, leaning in close enough to taste the salt on your skin, and saying, “I love you.”

This is Seungcheol planting his feet and fucking up into you, unwilling to hear your response. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, but sometimes bliss is just bliss, and he’ll willingly take either.

This is you coming undone on his cock, breathing rapid and ragged, pupils blown wide as you stare at him in awe.

“Say it again.”

Someone slams into the wall just outside Seungcheol’s door, and all at once the real world creeps back in: the thrumming bass line of the music downstairs; laughter, shouting, and yelling; fists banging on shut doors—but he hears you loud and clear. Presses each word into your mouth this time and groans when you swallow them. Barely makes a sound as he spills inside of you, feeling like every nerve in his body is aflame.

The two of you are quiet for a time as you try to catch your breath. Seungcheol only moves to grab his duvet and wrap it around your shoulders, smiling fondly at the small thank you you mumble, seemingly still bogged down, well-fucked.

He presses a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Okay?”

You nod, push at him until he lays back and pulls you with him, lets you use his firm chest as a pillow. That flag you’d made fun of before isn’t up there anymore, but Seungcheol feels warm at the memory anyway, almost laughs at the comment he imagines you’d make.

Clears his throat. Tries to find his courage. “I really am sorry,” he tells you again, because it doesn’t matter if he loves you if he doesn’t know how to be good at it.

“I know, Cheol,” comes your easy reply. You’re tracing shapes on his stomach that have his muscles contracting. “I know you love me, too.” You sigh, press your lips to his rib cage. “Who knew it’d only take making out with Mingyu to get you to admit it.”

A wild laugh tumbles out of him. “Fuck off.” He can feel your grin.

“You got a fucked up way of showing it, though.”

He hums, holds onto you a little tighter. “Go easy on me, I only figured it out about an hour ago.”

“An hour?” you faux-gasp, make like you’re about to leave. “I’m outta here. I know my worth. If I’m going to say it back to someone, they need to be in love with me for at least two.”

He chokes at the implication, heart threatening to beat right out of his chest and into yours. He knows he looks exactly like the moonstruck, loved-up loser he is, and he coughs to cover it. “That’s what I said,” he lies. “Two hours. You must’ve heard it wrong.”

No, it was never like this.

[silverb0wties]

Lemonade - Part 4 ~ new content~

leah williamson x alessia russo x child!reader

Summary: When something bad happens to your Mummy and Daddy, you end up living with your Aunty Lessi and Aunty Leah.  But is there room for you considering they have a new baby on the way?

Chapter Summary: It's game day, but first you need to ask a few important questions

Warnings: pregnancy, panic attack

a/n: This is the first 'new' chapter (as in hasn't been previously posted), so I'm very nervous about posting this. Fingers crossed you all enjoy it.

|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 ||

PART 4

It’s quiet in the car on the way to the training centre, the low hum of the radio the only noise.  Your brain however hasn’t stopped running wild with thoughts ever since school the other day.  You’d tried to find the answers to your questions in books, but Mr Webster the librarian had told you they were too grown up for you to be reading without an adult. 

Rubbing the soft fur of Arthur's ear against your cheek, you slowly mustered up the courage to ask your Aunties the questions you’d been dying to know the answers to.

“Aunty Lessi, Aunty Leah… C-can I ask a… a question?  About the b-baby?”

You could see Aunty Leah smile through the reflection in the rearview mirror as your Aunty Lessi turned around in the passenger seat to look at you.

“Of course you can, Bun.  You can always ask us anything.”

You let out a sigh of relief, before taking in a deep breath and beginning your line of questioning.

“Okay, so all the books I’ve ever read and the movies I’ve seen, there’s a Mummy and a Daddy, and well, my Mummy said that babies happen when a Mummy and a Daddy love each other very much.  But I also heard at school that there’s something to do with birds and bees, but I don’t really know how that works.  So, because there’s no Daddy here, did you have to get something from birds and bees, like feathers and honey or something to make a magic potion to make the baby? Oh and, and, and also, where does booby milk come from?  Like I know the baby is in your tummy Aunty Leah, so you will have booby milk, but will you also have booby milk, Aunty Lessi?  And is it just like the same milk you buy at the shops?  Like what we use on our cereal or is it different? And is that different to the milk bunnies make? And how do bunnies make babies? And h-”

“Alright, alright let’s answer one question at a time, yeah?” Aunty Lessi cut your questions off with a chuckle.

You took another deep breath and nodded, rubbing Arthur’s ear across your cheek, relieved to have finally gotten those questions out.

“Okay, so, you’re right.  Generally, but not always, babies happen when two people love each other very much.  It doesn’t have to be a Mummy and a Daddy, though, it’s just that that is what tends to happen a bit more often.  But these days there’s more and more families that have two Mummies or two Daddies or a completely different type of family structure all together.  The science of it all is a bit more complex, but I promise you…” Aunty Leah caught your eye in the rear-view mirror with a mischievous glint “…there are no magic bird feathers or honey potions involved.”  You giggled at her as she winked at you in the mirror.

“Yeah Bun, every family’s story is a bit different, but for us, your Aunty Leah and I went to the doctors and asked them for help in making us a baby.  Some families can make their babies at home, like your Mummy and Daddy made you at home, but lots of families need some help from their doctors” Aunty Lessi explained.

“So, you went to the doctors, and they put a tiny little baby in Aunty Leah?”

“Basically, yeah” she confirmed.

“But why Aunty Leah, why not you?” you wondered.

“You know how Aunty Leah hurt her leg?” Aunty Lessi asked.

You nodded.  Your Daddy had told you all about how it was really sad because she was meant to go play in the World Cup thing in Brazil with Aunty Lessi, and she was captain of the England team, but she couldn’t play because of her injury.  And he had said that she had hurt her other leg the exact same way just before the last big World Cup thing and wasn’t able to play in that either.  You were only 4 back then, but you kind of remember watching your Aunty Lessi play in those games on the TV.  And you remember her bringing home a shiny silver medal but being pretty sad about it. Your Aunty Leah wasn’t your Aunty yet back then though, so you didn’t know about her leg the first time around.

“Well, I decided that if I wasn’t going to be able to go play at the World Cup again, then I wanted to do something really, really meaningful with my time away from football.  I’ve always wanted to start a family, but it’s super difficult with football to fit it all in with our schedules.  But I knew that I would be away from the pitch for at least another 9 months, so, I asked Aunty Lessi if we could have a baby.  Try and make the best out of a bad situation” Aunty Leah explained, a sad looking smile on her face.

“Oh, that makes sense, I guess.  When life gives you lemons, make lemonade, right?” you replied, repeating the phrase your Daddy had taught you.

There was a short silence before your Aunties burst into an absolute fit of laughter, tears falling from their eyes as they tried time and time again to unsuccessfully stop their hysterics.

You didn’t know what was so funny about what you said.  Did you use the phrase wrong?  It was one your Daddy used all the time.  You’d thought it was a little bit silly at first too, but it definitely wasn’t laugh so hard you cry kind of funny.  But what if you’d used it totally wrong and they were laughing at you like the kids in school laughed at you when they thought you were uncool?

Loser. Loser. Loser

“S-sorry Bun, we’re not l-laughing at you, we promise,” your Aunty Leah muffled through her laughter.

“It’s… it’s just that, when Aunty Leah first talked to me about having a baby, she used that exact phrase, and I made her swear on her life that she would never, ever refer to our future child as lemonade ever again!” Aunty Lessi giggled.

You gasped, immediately terrified that you’d insulted your Aunty Lessi, mistakenly making fun of her unborn baby.  “Oh, I’m so, so sorry Aunty Lessi, I didn’t mean to be rude! I really didn’t-”

“No, no Bunny, it’s okay.  Because after that, pretty much everyone we told that Aunty Leah was pregnant and they realised the timeline with her knee said the exact same thing – when life gives you lemons, make lemonade!”

“And while Aunty Lessi was adamant at first that we couldn’t refer to the baby as Lemonade, well… we now sometimes do call them our little Lemonade.  It’s become an affectionate nickname of sorts,” Aunty Leah assured you.

“Really?” you asked, still terrified that you’d upset them.

“Yeah.  I guess we just weren’t expecting to hear that saying from you, so it caught us off guard a bit.  Sorry, we got a bit carried away.” Aunty Lessi promised you, reaching her hand back to take yours, her gesture both reassuring and comforting you.

“So, you call the baby Lemonade?” You asked after a short silence.  They both nodded with a giggle.  “Can I call the baby Lemonade?”  They both laughed again

“Okay, but only when it’s just us, alright?  We don’t want the team or anyone else catching on.  It’s our little secret. And once they’re born, we’ll call them by their real name,” Aunty Lessi bargained with you.

“Deal!”

“Deal!”

There was a short silence as the excitement of the revelation settled.  You suddenly realised all your questions hadn’t been answered.  “Okay, but what about the booby milk?”

Your Aunty Leah laughed before replying, “Only I will make that, and it’s just for the baby.  We won’t be putting it on cereal.  It’s got special nutrients in it that are just right for the baby because they can’t eat or drink anything else for the first several months.  Only the Mummy who is pregnant makes milk.”

“But what if the baby is hungry but you’re at the shops or something?  How does Aunty Lessi feed them?” you asked. 

“Well, I can do what is called pumping, which is basically using a machine to squeeze the milk out of my boobies so that we can store it for when I’m not around, or just so Aunty Lessi can feed the baby even if I am here.  You can even feed them if you want to”

“I can? Really?”  The thought of helping feed the baby, helping feed Lemonade, made you feel a strange, but nice, sense of warm and tingly.  You didn’t know what the feeling was, but it made you want to sing and fly and twirl.

“Yeah.  It might take a little while for them to get used to using a bottle, but once they’re used to it, you can definitely have a turn feeding them,” Aunty Lessi told you.

“So, it’s different to our cereal milk then?” you questioned.

“Yes, that’s cow’s milk.  Or some people use oat milk or goat milk or soy mi-”

“What about bunny milk?” you interrupted.

 “I’ve never heard of humans drinking bunny milk, I think only baby bunnies drink that.”  Aunty Lessi laughed at your question.  You weren’t too sure why.  If people drank cow’s milk and goat’s milk, why not bunny milk?

“And how do bunnies make babies?  Is it the same as people? They just love each other?” you enquired.

“Well, there’s a little bit more to it than that for both people and bunnies.  But it’s a bit complicated and I think we would be better off explaining it with the help of some books from the library.  How about we pick some out the next time we’re there, yeah?  We could maybe go on Tuesday after school,” Aunty Leah suggested.

“I like the sound of that” you agreed.

“I thought you might.”

--

As the car parked at the training ground, you looked out the window to see people dressed in red everywhere.  There was a large bus waiting out the front of the building, and a big brown dog with soft looking ears lying on the ground in front of the bus door.

You loved dogs.  You loved all animals really.  You connected with them far quicker, easier and deeper than you seemed to connect to humans, especially those your age.  You’d never been able to get a pet because your Daddy was allergic to lots of different kinds of fur, but whenever you got the chance to meet a dog or a cat or a bird or a lizard or a fish or turtle or a guinea pig or a horse or a BUNNY… you jumped at the opportunity.

As Aunty Lessi opened your door and helped you out of your car seat, your eyes stayed glued to the big brown dog the whole time.

“Alright Bunny, we just have to sign in, get our lanyards and th-” Aunt Leah began explaining.

“Can I pat the dog?” you interrupted, simply unable to wait any longer. 

Your Aunty Leah looked up from where she was pulling a bag out of the boot of the car and noticed where your gaze was fixated in the direction of the big soft looking brown dog.

“Oh yes, of course you can sweets.  That’s Winnie.  She’s our team dog.  She’s really friendly.”

Not needing to be told twice, you ran towards the dog, dropping to your knees as you reached her.  You carefully held your hand out to her as you’d been taught to do when meeting a new animal, and she gave you a good sniff before she sat up and rubbed her cheek against your hand. 

“Hi Winnie, I’m Y/K, but everyone calls me Bunny, or Bun.  It’s so nice to meet you.”  You began scratching at the fur behind her ears, her head tilting as you hit what seemed to be a good spot.  “You are such a pretty girl.  And you are oh so soft and shiny.”

“I’m happy to see you’ve made a friend already, Bun.”

You looked up to see your Aunty Lessi smiling down at you as she crouched down to give Win a pat too.

“Does she come to all your games and practices and stuff?” you asked.

“Not all of them, but she hangs around the training centre a lot and she does come to some games.  I believe she’s coming along to the Emirates with us today,” she replied.

“Really?  Is she coming on the bus too?  What kind of dog is she?  Where does she go when the game is on?  Does she sit in the stands?  If she’s the team dog, then where does she live?” you asked.

“Well, she’s a chocolate labrador-” your Aunty Lessi began to explain.

“Ya got a new fan, Win?”

You whipped your head around to the source of the peculiar sounding voice as a lady with big eyelashes and a really pretty smile came walking towards you.

“Bunny, this is Katie” your Aunty Lessi stood to greet the new arrival.

“Hey there Bun, I’ve heard all about ya from yer Aunties!”

You didn’t really know how to reply.  You had never been good at talking to new people, especially when you didn’t have a specific topic or task to talk to them about.

“Well, the girls and I heard yer big into reading, and wanted to learn a bit more about football, so we got ya a few books.  Some of them are about football, some of them are just ones we liked when we were kids.  I was never much of a reader, so I wouldn’t trust my recommendations, but there’s a few smarties in the team like you are, so those are the ones who we took the recommendations from.”  She winked at you as she held a large glittery purple gift bag out towards you.

“Oh wow. Th-Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t bring any presents for you or the others.”

Selfish. Selfish. Selfish.

“Nah, don’t be silly kid.  This is a welcome to the team present from all the gals.  I just hope there isn’t any double ups with ones you’ve already read.  I’ve heard ya read loads of books!” 

“I-I have.  I love to read.  Thank you for the present” your hands trembled slightly as you took the bag from her grasp, overwhelmed by her kindness.

“No worries kiddo.  I hope you enjoy the game!”  She winked at you again before heading onto bus.

Winnie nudged at your hip with her nose, saddened that you’d stopped your pats to collect your present.  You looked between the bag in your hands and the dog, unsure of how to give both the attention they deserved. 

“How about I pop the present in the car, and we can go through it tonight after the game?  That way you’ve got something to look forward to at home, yeah?” Aunty Lessi suggested.

You nodded hastily, thankful for the suggestion.  She collected the bag from your hands and you immediately turned your attention back to Win, giggling as she rolled onto her back for you to scratch her tummy.

Much too soon it was time to say bye to Winnie and get on the big bus.  There was already lots of people bustling about amongst the seats as your Aunty Lessi guided you down the aisle toward two pairs of empty seats behind each other.  Your Aunty Leah sat in the front seats and you and Aunty Lessi sat in the back two.

The bus ride to the stadium was… chaotic.  Everyone on the team wanted to come meet you and say hi, but it’s rather overwhelming trying to learn all the new names and faces.  At some point you caught your Aunty Leah not so subtly waving people away as you began to curl against the window and rub Arthur’s ear softly across your cheek.  You’d reached forward and squeezed her hand through the gap in the seats in a silent thank you.  

You do specifically remember one player you met named Lia, because she has the same name as your Aunty, but apparently, it’s spelt differently.  She said she helped pick out some of the books in your present and that she’d love to go to the library with you some time.  When you asked your Aunty Leah if that would be okay, she had said “Absolutely!”

There was also another kid on the bus; a little boy running up and down the aisle with light up sneakers and a jersey with the number 19 on it.  You couldn’t quite figure out who his adults were though, because everyone seemed to treat him like their own.  He couldn’t be more than 2 or 3 years old you figured because he doesn’t seem to speak in full sentences and he still seemed a bit wobbly on his feet. 

At one point in the bus trip, he got upset over something and began crying and screaming for his Mummy.  A lady with pretty blue eyes and her hair in a tight little bun scurried down the aisle to pick him up and cuddle him.

“Is he okay?” you asked your Aunty Lessi.

“Oh, I’m sure Jack will be just fine.  I think he just took a little tumble.  Caitlin will make sure he’s all better,” she reassured you.

If you had thought the bus trip was overwhelming, that was nothing compared to the stadium itself.  As the bus drove in, there was a sea of people dressed in red and white that stretched on for as far as you could see.

You had watched your Aunties play before, both on television and in the stands, and you knew there were lots and lots of people who came to watch, but there was something different about seeing it from this perspective.

“It’s gunna be a bit loud once we park up and get out of the bus, alright Bun?  And like we talked about, there’s gunna be lots of people all over the place.  So make sure you keep your lanyard on and just hold tight to my hand until we get into the locker room, yeah?” Aunty Lessi reminded you.

“Can do, Aunty Lessi” you replied.

When the bus came to a stop, you gripped your Aunty Lessi’s hand tight.  It was only a few steps, but the noise as you got off the bus and entered through the players entrance was entirely overwhelming.  You couldn’t help but screw your face up as the screeches and squeals rattled and clawed at every bone in your body.  You lifted your hands to cover your ears, but both were full – one with your Aunty Lessi’s hand, and the other clutched tight to Arthur.

Thankfully the cheering and squealing noise faded out pretty quickly as you moved through the underbelly of the stadium, making your way into the locker room.  Your Aunty Lessi guided you over to a cubby that had your Aunty Leah’s name on it.

“I’ve got to go do pitch inspections and get dressed and ready for the game now.  Will you be alright just hanging out here?  Aunty Leah is just doing a quick interview, but she should be in shortly and I will be around, yeah?” she asked, handing you your backpack.

You nodded, quite happy to curl up into the little nook with Arthur and a book.  You unzipped your bag and retrieved your book as well as the little purple blanket you’d stuffed in there, and bundled yourself up.  But before you could start reading, your eyes drifted over all the different names on the back of the players shirts that hung in the other cubbies.

Fox, 2.  Mead, 9.  Walti (there was some funny dots above the A in her name, which you made a mental note to research when you next had your iPad), 13.  Foord, 19.  McCabe, 11.

Wait.  McCabe.  McCabe’s number was the one Aunty Leah had said you weren’t allowed to get printed on your jersey. 

“The only rule is that you’re not allowed to pick McCabe’s number, because we will never hear the end of that, okay?”

They had all seemed really nice on the bus, but if Aunty Leah had made a rule, then there had to be a reason for it.  Maybe McCabe was mean to your Aunties like the kids at school were to you?

When the players all shuffled in and placed their belongings in their cubbies, you were immediately confused to see the nice lady with big eyelashes who had given you the bag of books sit down in front of the McCabe jersey.  You were even more confused when the little boy from the bus toddled up to her and asked “Ma! Ma!  Kywa has sweeties.  I has them too?”

“Ya already sweeties on the bus Jack.  If ya have too many more, ya won’t be able to sit still enough to watch the game” she told him, crouching down to straighten out his red and white shirt.

The little boy’s head fell forward immediately, his bottom lip jutting out as he looked like he was about to cry.  “But-but- Ma! I want the sweeties! I be good.  Promise.  I sit still.”

“Alright, but just one.  You hear that Kyra, just one,” she shouted, making sure a cheeky looking player holding a bag of sweets heard her.

“Kywa, Ma said yes.  I has sweeties!” the little boy cheered, running off toward who you figured must be Kyra’s direction.  She scooped him up in her arms and gave him a high five before offering him the bag of sweets to choose from.

You really couldn’t wrap your head around how the McCabe you’d met and observed today could possibly be mean to your Aunties like the kids at school were to you.  She seemed like a good ‘Ma’ and she had been really kind to you.  There had to be another reason why your Aunty Leah wouldn’t let you get her number on your shirt.

As you sat and pondered, your Aunty Leah entered the locker room.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself all set up here, Bun,” she chuckled as she approached you, placing her bag in the shelf below where you sat.  You nodded, squeezing Arthur tight.

“Okay, so normally for the game friends and family sit way up the top of the stadium in fancy seats, so that’s where like my Mum and cousins and stuff will be sitting.  But because I can’t play at the moment because of the baby, we thought you might like to sit down behind the subs bench with me, so you don’t have to go sit with people you don’t know very well.  Is that alright?” she asked.

You nodded immediately, terrified at the thought of having to sit with a bunch of people you didn’t really know.  “Y-yes please.  If that’s okay with your boss?”

“Of course it is.  I double checked with all the big bosses and it’s totally fine.  I do warn you that I can get a little bit… well… passionate about the game at times” she chuckled. 

“Passionate?  She’ll scream your bloody ear off!” a lady with blonde hair and blue eyes interjected.  She’d introduced herself of the bus but you couldn’t quite remember her name.  You think it started with a B?  Belle?  Bess?

“Oh, ignore her Bunny.  I’ll be on my best behaviour.  But I did bring you a pair of earmuffs just in case it’s a bit too loud in the stadium,” she reached into her bag and pulled out a pair of sparkly purple ear defenders.  There was a little cartoon bunny sticker on each of the ears.

You were in awe.  They were so pretty and they had obviously been purchased specifically with you in mind.  Wriggling out of your blanket burrow, you leaped toward your Aunty Leah, wishing a simple hug could show just how much these earmuffs meant to you.

“Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you.”

Thank angle was awkward due to her big baby belly, but you felt her nestle her nose against the top of your head and smile.

“Anything for you, babygirl.”

--

The game was intense.  There was lots and lots and lots of people.  Your Aunties team was versing a blue team called Chelsea, and from what you could tell, they seemed to be Arsenal’s archrivals.

The noise between the fans was beyond intense, and you were so overwhelmingly grateful for the earmuffs your Aunty Leah had given you.  They didn’t block out everything, but they took the edge off the screeching sounds of horns and squealing cries of other young girls in the crowd. 

During the game there were lots of attempts from both teams at kicking the ball into the back of the net, but none of them had been successful.  Toward the end of the second half, the referee had pulled out several yellow cards from her shirt pocket – you weren’t quite sure what that meant, but you had made a mental note to research that.  Your Aunty Leah had told you that each half went for 45 minutes but when the big clock hit 45:00 another lady on the sideline held up a board with the number 4 on it and play appeared to go on.  It was all very confusing. 

But then… then the blue team made some kind of mistake, and it seemed like Arsenal had heaps of room to themselves and out of nowhere your Aunty Lessi was flying down the pitch towards the goal with the ball at her feet.

Within moments she was smashing the ball passed the opposition’s goalkeeper and into the back of the net.  Beside you, your Aunty Leah sprung to her feet, screaming with joy.

“Yessss!  That’s my girl!  Come on, Less!”

The crowd around you roared, scarves swinging, horns shrieking, music blaring.

Your Aunty Lessi ran towards where you were sitting and threw her hands up into a love heart shape, before pointing right at you, the smile on her face as big as you’d ever seen it.

For a brief moment it felt really nice to know your Aunty Lessi had been thinking about you while she was playing and scoring the goal.  You felt that same warm feeling, tingly feeling that you’d felt early in the car; the one that made you want to sing and fly and twirl.  You felt a sense of safety and home, thinking for just a moment that maybe you could be a part of your Aunties forever family, maybe there could be room for you in their lives even after Lemonade arrive.

But then, you realised there were cameras pointed in your direction and your face was on the big screens and everyone in the stadium was looking directly at you.  Your hands began to tremble, and your cheeks began to flush as the walls of the stadium felt as though they were crashing in on you.  You burrowed your face deep into the plush fur of Arthur’s belly and soon your felt your Aunty Leah’s arms wrap around you and pull you into her side.  You could hear your heart beating in your ears as you clung to fabric of your Aunty’s jacket. 

A few moments later you felt her gently tug back the cup on your earmuffs and whisper to you, “You’re okay Bun, it’s alright.  The cameras are off you now.  It’s okay sweetie.”

Whilst you were relieved to hear the cameras were no longer directed at you, your whole body was still trembling; your breath so tight in your throat you thought you might soon pass out.  Your Aunty Leah pulled back a little to look down at you, her face covered in concern.  She tried to tell you something, but you couldn’t make out the words, her voice muffled by a mixture of the earmuffs and what you could only describe as the sound of ringing and whooshing and thumping and silence all mixed together.

You could feel your chest becoming tighter and tighter as your eyes flickered around trying to figure out the source of the tightness.  It kind of reminded you of the tightness you felt when you couldn’t breathe because of the… smoke.

Smoke means fire!

Was there a fire?

You needed to get out of there.

You needed to get your Aunty Leah out of there.  You needed to get Lemonade out of there.

You couldn’t see fire.  You couldn’t smell smoke.  There was no smoke alarm.  But the tightness in your chest.  It could only be that.  It had to be that.

As you tried to get to your feet to get you and your Aunty Leah and Lemonade out of there, you felt them collapse underneath you.  You felt a thud to your head, but then there was nothing.  Simply nothing.

[markrosewater]

You say that magic is ever evolving and therefore closer to its roots than it's ever been. I think the problem is, when people try to tell you adding spiderman is a bad thing, is these are the people who followed the very story Wizards took the time to create and to them it's something sacred. They're the people who either grew up with the Purifying Fire, or actually rooted for the Gate watch. The people who cheered when Nicol Bolas went down. I think those are the people who are sad to see Spiderman eating up that space. It's like your favorite series but the plot is totally different. It's the story people care about, whether told through the cards or the Wizards website. That Wizards made us care about only to then tell us it doesn't matter. Fans don't like it when that happens. I feel you must understand deep down.

I do understand why people dislike Universes Beyond. I am very invested in Magic’s creative. I spent time creating Magic story (The Weatherlight Saga). I’ve done card concepting. I’ve done names and flavor text. There was even a few years where I managed the creative team.

There was even a time when I shared those beliefs about what Magic’s creative should and shouldn’t be, and was firmly against outside properties on Magic cards. I understand you all because for a long time I was you.

But what Magic is and is not isn’t decided by any one person. It’s decided by the collective consciousness of all of us.

I don’t personally like Walls as a creature type. Commander isn’t my personal cup of tea. And as a player, I’m not a fan of discard. But those are all a part of Magic because the amalgam of Magic players wants it to be part of the game, and I respect that being part of the Magic community is letting each player have the ability to enjoy what they love about the game.

Note when we started Universes Beyond, we weren’t sure what the player response would be. We dipped our toe in slowly. We limited what formats it appeared in.

We then looked at the data. Most players just wanted access to the cards they wanted to play, and didn’t care what the creative that was on it, so over time we leaned more in that direction.

But look, if there’s a large enough playerbase that cares, we’ll respond. If you really want a Universes Beyond free format, make one. If it gets enough player support, we’ll follow suit.

Remember, we didn’t make Commander. The players did. When it got popular enough, we tried out a product, and the success of that product convinced us to make more.

We really do follow the will of the players. If what you feel is important to you, find fellow players who feel the same way. Get enough together and I promise we’ll take notice.

Right now the data that we see, says that isn’t the case, but I’m always happy when the amalgam of players shows us we’re wrong. If that happens, we’ll pivot. We always do.

[imaginespazzi]

First game of the season down (guys it's literally March Madness already) and as per usual I have thoughts for the three people who actually read my long ramblings tee hee :)

SARAH. STRONG.

JANA. EL. ALFY.

That's it those are my thoughts. MY POST DUO IS GONNA LEAD US TO THE FUCKING NATTY YOU GUYS.

But to expand a little more, I thought I was impressed by Sarah at the exhibition but oh my god I'm something more than impressed tonight. She just doesn't look like a freshman. Beyond just being naturally good at the sport, she's just so insanely smart, and watching her play is just beautiful.

My Egyptian queen, the 8th wonder of the world. A DOUBLE-DOUBLE OFF THE BENCH. And guess what, she's only gonna get better. Listen it's an exhibition and no one matched her size and so it'll be interesting to see what she does against real competition but like I always say hustle translate and Jana has plenty of it.

Paige Bueckers statsheet stuffer extraordinaire strikes again. As per usual she did a little bit of everything to lead this team to success. If I have to deal with the Passive P narrative every time (especially because it's an inherently flawed narrative that one day I will do a proper rant on) she doesn't score 40, I might lose my mind. And honestly expecting her to tire herself out with that aggression in games like this is simply not worth it.

Kaitlyn and Ashlynn both did what they were supposed to do. Again, the competition was mediocre and they played like good players on the better team. I do think Kaitlyn should have more than 3 shots in a game but again this game isn't a great indicator. Ash disappeared a little in the 2nd half but again not a great indicator and I really liked the 3 steals so hopefully that is an indication of steady growth on defense.

KK BLOCK!!! We love to see it. She looked really aggressive out there and I think she's going to be a really good spark off the bench for us.

Ice played okay but it's a really simple math thing here. 17 and 11 vs 4 and 2 like it's really just common sense. She also makes some really questionable decisions sometimes and the finishing wasn't great. Experience is a good thing but the numbers are what they are and I think it's pretty self-explanatory who should be starting.

Morgan and Allie are shooters and I love to see it. Girlies did what they were supposed to do and hopefully they get substantial minutes against real competition as well.

My more general thought about the game is that it was basically a tale of two halves. First half UConn was great and that team is a very complete team who has a very high ceiling. Second half UConn, but more specifically that third quarter UConn, well that was the same team we saw in the exhibition. Again, this is a new team and it will take time put a perfect 40 minutes together. But scoring droughts like that should not be happening against a team like BU and they absolutely cannot happen against better competition.

ALSO LAYUPS UCONN PLEASE

Azzi and Aubrey both participated in warmups and it's like sunshine and rainbows in my mind :)

[paymechildsupport]

hiii, how would you feel about a gojo x mreader sports au but they both play on the same team. Like hc’s about reader and gojo who are both on the same basketball team. I always see fics where just he’s on the team but I thought it would be interesting to see one where they both are. thanks!

Now hold on a second….

Gojo x M!Reader on the same basketball team // Hc’s

-!! SFW + NSFW hc’s,— you’re both in college

———☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

✮ Teammate!Satoru, whom you’ve always had the most insane chemistry with. Regardless of on the court or off, everybody knows you two have SOMETHING going on —

Some of the plays you pull off shouldn’t even be possible. You’re like a two man army. The two mvp’s of every team, an unstoppable force.

Varsity ever since freshman year of high school, and now you’re both in college and doing the sport you love most of all

You’re each other’s rocks, always there for one another. When he scores the winning basket you’re the first person he hugs,— full on SPRINTS across the court to get that one high-five from his best mate

You’re pretty much a package deal at this point. Back in high school it was clear to any team recruiter that you both came together- if they wanted one of you, they’d have to take both (which, who wouldn’t want to, honestly?)

✮ Teammate!Satoru, who absolutely adored all the attention. The man was born to be in the spotlight, and reveled in the publicity you both dug up.

You’d be in the middle of practice on a water break, and you best believe Satoru has the latest viral clip of you two playing on his phone, giggling to himself. He’s saved every single edit of your plays, has an entire folder dedicated to them. He’s always super ecstatic to show you them too,

“Ohhh!! Look how cool I was in that one— oh, and there you are- OH DID YOU SEE THAT PLAY?!”

It’s not just edits of your plays though…. He has another folder, which he has dedicated to ship edits of you two. His guilty pleasure would be staying up and mindlessly scrolling through the countless ship videos fans have made of you two. Artwork, from theories, to slowmo clips of you two staring almost lovingly into eachothers’ eyes…. All for shits and giggles though! You two are just super tight homies, that’s all! Right…?

He’d play it off too, make a bunch of jokes like,

“Ha ha, fans really think we’re dating… how crazy is that? I mean, it’s not like we like each other or anything, right? Like, it’d be really funny if we kissed on the court after we win the next game, rather than just hug. It could just be like a little peck on the cheek..— as a publicity stunt, of course! It’d totally go viral— as a publicity stunt.”

(The answer was a big fat no from the media manager, much to Satoru’s disappointment)

And yes, he’s VERY aware of the surplus of fan fiction about you two, he’s probably written half of it

“hey, ever heard of omegaverse-?”

Shit, at this point he might as well have his own ship account of you two

✮ Teammate!Satoru, who is the mortal enemy of your team’s media team, who beg him , above all else, to just watch the shit he posts online. They just don’t want a huge controversy, and the team’s two star players dating eachother?! That’s just a scandal waiting to happen. The news and magazines would go absolutely feral

But, of course, true to classic Satoru style, he just doesn’t listen

His entire Instagram account is just photos of you. Has a heart around your handle in his bio (labeled, ‘my pookie <3’ ,— mf even got down on his knees and begged you to match pfp’s with him

One of his many viral photos is of you in his pinnie, reading in bed (why you were in the same bed, nobody knows)

Another has you two on a vacation in Hawaii, sunbathing with nothing but your boxers, and beach chairs a little too close

Satoru posts all of them with jokes about ‘it ain’t gay with the homies ❤️’ and ‘catching yourself being a lil’ too fruity with bro 😂’ — but it’s gotten so excessive to the point where literally nobody knows if it’s a joke anymore or not (sure as hell don’t look like it…)

He crossed a bit of a line when he posted a picture of him getting a tattoo, of your jersey number. Yeah, the manager chewed him up good for that one.

———☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

✮ Teammate!Satoru, who’ll wait a good extra forty-five minutes for everyone else on the team to pack up and leave, just so he can fuck you in the shower room

He’s just so goddamn desperate, he’s turning all the showers on, and it still isn’t enough to mask the lewd noises you two make. Breathy moans, skin slapping,— it’s so hot in there, and Satoru knows it’s not from the steaming water coming from above.

After everybody from the team left, Satoru all but ripped his uniform off. Resorting to using the fucking 3-in-1 shampoo all the other guys use as lube, he’s quick to push himself inside of you.

He tore up the court last game, and for his reward he now gets to tear up you.

“Atta’ boy… hah.. fuck- .. fuck— ah.. did you see my winning shot today..? Ah.. hah.. it was so good, wasn’t it..-?”

He loves it when you wear his jersey while he does it too. He loves it even more if you let him wear yours.

—————————-—☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★——————————

[loquarocoeur]

does Max ever go on sex strike ? and if so….. how much did he survive without it?

Okay, so my initial response was like what on earth could Charles do that would ever make Max angry enough to do this bcs like they are a reasonable couple who talk to each other like adults (usually), but like after thinking about this obviously neither of them are the kind of people who would purposefully withhold sex as some form of punishment because they were angry with each other, but that's really not the same thing as avoiding sex

So thinking about this logically, the only reason Max ever would do this isn't because he's angry, it would be because he's shy about something, and I was thinking, well, you know Max is a lot more susceptible to Charles' begging and puppy eyes than he'd like to be, but also let's not underestimate just how shy Max can get about some things

So the question is really unstoppable force (Charles' puppy eyes) vs. immovable object (Max's refusal to talk about things he likes in bed)

Also let's remember here that Charles jerks off by himself as much as he wants, but if Max wants to get off by himself he's going to have to ask... And if Max is playing mind games by avoiding sex then Charles is really not above playing mind games back and saying no. That is if Max can even bring himself to ask.

Bcs let's be honest they both know that as soon as Max says yes to sex Charles can and will fuck it out of him and make him admit what he wants unless Max explicitly tells him he can't do that and we all know Max has half a thought per hour most days, so he's not even going to think of that, and in the event he does he's probably going to realise that that is not his biggest issue and he seriously needs to get over himself and just have a conversation.

I say a week tops, but I think he'd be so wound up just with the additional factor of knowing it's nothing but him refusing that a week is probably very generous. Depends on the circumstances I suppose

[fleshwerks]

Thank you for your rant posts on DAV. They’ve been cathartic to read as they echo so many of my own issues with the game and how it treats its own lore and insults its fanbase. I feel stupid for caring about the oppression of mages and elves given how they sanitized and wrote out these cornerstones of the Thedas setting and it sucks! Im glad I’m not alone.

I had very little hope for this game given its mess of a dev cycle and how the company has bled talent, I thought it would be a very messy narrative as a result. And it is! But it’s worse, because it’s not just messy, it commits the greatest cardinal sin of writing: it’s boring.

I think you nailed it. I'm at the same point as you, especially as someone who's huge into DA lore and the intrauniverse sociopolitics, as well as the expected (foolishly) aspect of your deeds mattering, either positively or negatively.

I have a whole ass Inquisitor who can now stop feeling bad in his steppe-sky burial about his indecisiveness during his tenure as an Inquisitor: BECAUSE NONE OF IT MATTERED ANYWAY. 'Oh, you delayed some suffering for like, what, 7 years? 7 years is nothing when you're doomed anyway. I can already hear the argument "but what you do even in short term matters, too."

Yes, in real life. But I don't do RPGs for real life. I play RPGs to be able to fantasise about doing a bit more than I can do in real life.

On top of it just about everybody being so blasé about what's going on. This is the worst blight ever, two actual gods are loose, but here we are at the dinner table, arguing about Taash' mom being a strict, traditional jerkass and Bellara joining the list of people who hate themselves for having ADHD, and holding her hand through it. Boring.

Veilguard commits another sin: everybody blames themselves for everything, but it either gets fixed for them, or they're feeling sorry and do the thing they feel so sorry about anyway.

My kingdom for a character who can go 'it is what it is, I'm not perfect, but I'm not sorry for existing and having an impact on this world, especially if the impact is caused by something I couldn't really control; all that matters is what we do next.' Which would open up the world at wide: tackling things that make your personal issues microbial in comparison. These people don't have the luxury of crying into their chicken soup. Not to say these things can't be addressed, but in Dragon Age, characters are supposed to support the overarching plot and the worldbuilding. Instead, the world puts itself on hold until you've solved Lucanis' granny issues or whatever.

If you've ever watched campaign 3 of Critical Role, that series has the same issue. The cast is made up of people who by and large have no real connection to the world or the overarching plot, and a large part of the viewerbase has come down onto the same idea: if the characters don't really care and only keep reacting, and reacting with quippiness and laughs and occasional 'oh no, that's bad, right? Anyway,'... why should we care?

Why should I care? Because everything I cared about as a player has been deleted, and the cast of Veilguard is mostly just dicking around until the plot reminds them that hey: we have the worst apocalypse going on since Solas deleted Elvhenan. Can we like... react more to it? We can do the therapy sessions later when people have stopped dying.

Disclaimer: I fully acknowledge that I'm going off on a tangent and I'm most likely projecting and reading into it too much/not reading into it enough. But that's the problem. Most players will play it once. You can't rely on subsequent playthroughs to make someone care.

Worst part is, companions aren't even boring. They're just miscast for this particular plot, exacerbated by what BW did to all the established lore. The tonality of the game itself and its place in DA canon is just wack.

I'm likely being incredibly unfair, but there's something to investigate here, because if you've failed to bring players into the lore and invest themselves in such numbers, it isn't just Mari here talking shit, it's a wider problem. Lest we forget, your fiction, your work stops being 'only yours' the moment you publish it and allow people play with your toys. The author is king, but the author is only the king of their own version of their story. The moment it's read and played by many, it's not just your story anymore, it's everybody's, who's engaging with it.

God dammit my English literature and language degree is catching up with me, I've turned into That Guy. Uck.

[crowhoonter]

The Moon Presence holds a special place in my heart in terms of souls games final bosses because of the sheer what the fuckness of it all. All of the other final bosses have some kind of build up; Dark Souls can't go one minute without mentioning Gwyn, Nashandra and Aldia are major figures in Ds2's lore, the Soul of Cinder, while never directly alluded to is another example of the converging of time and space in 3, Isshin plays a large part in Sekiro's story, and Radagon is a major lore character with Elden Beast being pretty easy to clock as a manifestation of the Greater Will.

Flora, the Moon Presence, though? She comes out of nowhere. There are maybe two lines alluding to her existence at all, those being the workshop umbilical cord and the lecture hall note. The closest you otherwise get is the references to the terrible hunter's dream, which doesn't immediately conjure the idea of her to mind.

Even better we don't even know what she really wants. Oh sure, there are plenty of theories and inferences we can make. Maybe she uses Hunters like hitmen to prevent infant great ones from threatening her, maybe she's keeping a natural order running, maybe she wants to spread the beast plague, maybe she wants to prevent mankind's evolution, maybe she just plain loves violence. In the end though, its all still maybes. Girly walks on in and her mere existence changes so much about the story, yet she refuses to elaborate on anything.

Another very interesting aspect is, and this is probably a somewhat baseless observation, we don't really know what she is. Everywhere else in the game, Great Ones have some line of text associating them with that status. Oedon, Baby Mergo, Kos, Amygdala, The Brain of Mensis, Ebrietas. All of them have text somewhere that directly refers to them with that moniker, but Flora? Nowhere will you find something calling her a great one. Hell, in the Japanese translation, she is called "Moon Demon." It is probably safe and the intended inference that she is a great one, but the thought she might not be does tickle me nonetheless.

Then there is her role in the story. The Great Ones are said to be sympathetic in spirit, and there definitely is a part of her that echoes that sentiment. The way she cradles the hunter is like that of a mother holding a child, yet she seems to be a lot more manipulative than the Great Ones we see in game. They typically cause suffering not by tricking or making deals, but by being unaware of how they affect the world with their actions. Getting picked up by Amygdalae seems like a curious child picking up a lizard, unaware that they are hurting it. Flora though, there does seem to be a certain level of maliciousness beyond accidental. Gehrman's pain and suffering is clear to see, yet she keeps him chained to the dream because of whatever bargain he made (presumably animating the Doll). She does the same to the hunter should you forgo the umbilical cords. She also doesn't seem to want a surrogate like other Great Ones, maybe settling for keeping humans as pets rather than having an actual child.

She really is one of the best Fromsoft final bosses because of the sheer strangeness and the wrench her presence throws into the game's story. We can get a concept of most of Bloodborne's story with a bit of interpretation and reading between the lines, but she will forever be an enigma. For what purpose did Laurence and Gehrman summon her? Why is she seemingly not worshiped unlike other Great Ones? Does she desire a surrogate or are humans pets good enough? We may never know, and that is wonderful.

Stay enigmatic queen, live your freak life

[midnight1nk]

So, this week's episode...

[Spoilers below cut]

save me SMG4 episode save me

(the following is my live reaction:)

moo-stache moo-stache moo-stache

why do I feel like Pedro's going to be here?

"bruh Pedro was just a one-time thing." they literally killed off Mickey, ANYTHING can happen

KAIZO YOU'RE BACK HI

OMG please tell me someone from the Team saw this fan animation and put it in the episode as a nod to the animator, that would be awesome!!!

btw great fan animation, go check it out if you haven't [link]

YAYYYY, c'mon Mario you gotta spend time with your brother :)

also I need to find a playthrough of this game while I work

whoops my hand slipped [*makes 4 say "I should've chosen the USB over you, 3"*] :)

Hey Shroomy :D ....oh *western spaghetti flashbacks*

like seriously, I can't hear that audio the same way again

helicopter helicopter (copter)

oh hey swag *he fades away* NOOOOOO

well, digging did (mostly, sorta) help the last episode

OMG HI HI HI MY SILLIES

Three, why are you here if you think it's stupid? unless... 🫵 🏳️‍🌈⁉️

it's giving "I'm only here to support my boyfriend's interests", like I'm starting to believe that they truly are dating behind the scenes

they're on a date, your honor 💙💜

and there they go bickering again smh /affectionate

I'd like to think that ever since Four drives a forklift, that's just his method of transportation. screw the car, we're taking this baby out for a spin :)

Mario, you need to be ✨forklift certified✨

sorry, just Three's gayass poses give me life

actually yeah why is the line not moving?

the boys :)

also that walk animation tho

HOW LONG IS THIS LINE?!

also c'mon Three, show us your dance moves :D

oooooh that editing i love that

THAT'S WHAT I'M SAYING

now that they've mentioned it, why are there so many conventions happening at the same time? hmmmmm *game theory theme starts playing*

SMG3: "Maybe they're lining up to go to your mom's house. That line's usually pretty long." DAYUM THREE

"the line doesn't end" ayo wtf????

shroomy, you've eaten mushrooms before and you had no problem with that

....it really is the end of the world huh

ONE WEEK LATER?!?!?!?

"there is no end" "the end will come" me, sitting in the corner: hmmmmmmmmm

whelp, it's confirmed, I kin Four now

Three's not going coo co crazy, he's just vibin' :)

THIS IS WARRRRRR

this whole fighting scene omg it's SO good!

....WOTFI? ok no :P

AWWW THAT WAS ACTUALLY SWEET DUDE

CAN WE PLEASE GET A HUG? FOR ME SPECIFICALLY?

.... yeah uh Boopkins, you're going to have to explain what the hell you mean by that

not that it's surprising, we've been through a lot. just another Tuesday (or Saturday in this case)

MY HEART CAN'T TAKE ALL THIS FLUFF

HUG HUG HUG

THAT'S MY BOYS

RAVE PARTY [*dances*]

....sonic, is that you? sorry, my mind is still in the sonadow generations phase so I can't unsee them

:O wait, Boopkins, what did you mean by that?

MARTY?!?!? WTF

SMG4: "Don't worry, Mario. There's one way we can fix this." Beat the shit out of him...? YEAH I KNEW IT HAHA

*explodes*

and congrats to samgagmincho for your art featured at the end credits 🎉

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

This was a fun episode, I loved it!! Seeing my boys is always a plus and I appreciate the return of some side characters. With how the world is right now, I really needed this episode. So, thanks Team, for keeping my spirits up.

I just enjoyed watching my silly little guys doing silly little adventures. Traffic is a nightmare so I don't blame Mario in the slightest. Anyway, 3 and 4, how was your date? /silly

Can we just talk about the animation? It was so good!!! You really see the quality they put in, especially in that fighting scene. I didn't expect MARTY of all people to be the cause of all this. I honestly thought it was going to be a gag of something harmless just being in the middle of the road for no reason (like a turtle or smth) and the Crew being like "ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!" but NOPE, Marty was here and apparently A SORCERER?! I really shouldn't be surprised, what am I talking about here. And ofc the OG duo immediately beating the shit out of him is so fucking funny to me. He didn't die (I know that), but he's definitely going to be more relevant in the future.

...puzzlevision 2? ok I'm sorry

SMG4 show and jokes aside, I hope you all are ok. No matter what happens, we'll stick together. Don't give them the satisfaction that they want. You aren't alone, and we'll keep on fighting.

Going to be a Sonic fan here, Sonic 06 is famously known to be... augh. But there is a good moment with Shadow that I think is relevant now:

Mephiles (the villain of the game): "It's futile. The world will betray you. Why fight at all? Why risk your life for those who will persecute you later?" Shadow: "If the world chooses to become my enemy, I will fight like I always have."

Take care, my dear fellows, and I'll see you all in my next post!! Hmmm, there is "no end" [*game theory intro plays*]

[lasandra]

Super Massive End Game Veilguard Spoilers Under the Cut!

Seriously. If you haven't finished playing Veilguard, DO. NOT. READ. So I finished DA:tV and I have been really trying to sort out my thoughts... And well...

Sdlkajshdfklajhsdfklajhsdflkjahsdklfjhaskldfjhaskldfhj I CAN'T!!! My dudes I am SO conflicted!!! Solas is the only character I have ever come across that I both love to pieces and want the best for him but I also want to beat him until he is a puddle of bruised yolk and cracked shells. This dude KILLED VARRIC FOR REALSIES! I am not okay with that. My Hawke's GOING to hunt him down when she finds out. If the Tevinter Magisters can get into the Black City then dammit so can she. And when she does, I am not sure even Lavellan can save him. Amelia (My Hawke) has lost so many of her friends/family/loved ones she can't handle this anymore. He also killed God's gift to elves Felassan. It's been over a decade since I read The Masked Empire but I don't remember there being a great reason other than him being upset that Felassan failed. Dude has GOT to stop killing his friends lol. Especially the hot ones. Like. Come on. As if that wasn't enough, he manipulated Rook. I love my first Rook (Carwyn de Riva) so much that I am STRUGGLING to play another playthrough with any of the other Rooks I had planned. To see that he manipulated her with blood magic... Stopped her from being able to mourn Varric with the others properly.... AND tricked her into that prison??? He didn't think she'd be able to get out. Luckily she had plot armor because if she hadn't gotten out I would find a way into Thedas to rip him apart myself. *Aggressive breathing noises* I feel very normal about this, obviously. Seriously though, guys, I came THIIIIIIIS close to tricking him with the fake dagger even knowing that Lanaya (my Lavellan) wouldn't have gotten her happy ending. JUST so I could see the LOOK on his face when he realized ROOK outplayed him at his own game! At the SAME time however... The idea of sending him into the Black City alone... hurts me lol! I don't want him to suffer. Dude has suffered a lot and honestly, I'm not entirely sure his being a friend-murdering ass is *entirely his fault... The longer I sit with everything, the more certain I am that Solas didn't really have a choice. Seems very much like he was sort of bound to the will of Mythal. Maybe I've missed something, I'm not as lore-savvy as I once was. But in the end when Mythal tells Solas that she releases him from her service and only THEN (NOT when Lavellan BEGS him to stop) is he willing to do the right thing? I don't know. It just reminded me SO much of his personal quest in Inquisition where his Wisdom Spirit friend had been bound and twisted against its purpose. If it works anything like what we saw in Inquisition with whoever drank from the Well of Sorrows, who's to say when something was him vs the will of Mythal? It could be a bit of a stretch but, there's certainly room for that interpretation, I think. And if that's the case, then he doesn't deserve the hell that awaits him. It's also the only interpretation I can really accept Lanaya still wanting to be with him. Varric was her friend too. While forgiveness is something I give freely, I cannot imagine reconciling with a man who did what Solas did without him having been essentially forced into doing it. *Sighs deeply* I saw the different versions of his endgame images... Shit man. The only way this man gets a happy ending is with Lavellan. Dude looks so miserable and gloomy in all the other endings. Moire (Trevelyan) was Solas' friend. She wouldn't want to send him off to be alone in such a terrible place. That would seriously eat at her. (Rook wouldn't care. Her give a damn was busted after he betrayed her for the twenty-billionth time.) It can never be anything but a complete and utter rollercoaster with this man! I do think that the ending I got with him was as good as it possibly could have been though, given everything. Sorry for this really poorly written rant. I needed to get this out of my system and it's almost 3am lol.

[starchaseriseverything]

Sirius wakes to screams and jumping on his bed. “Dad!” They yell. “Daddy, wake up!” Sirius opens his eyes to see his son down by his feet jumping next to his sisters who are by Remus. Sirius looks over to his husband sitting up, arms crossed over his chest glaring at their children like they just interrupted his reading time, and they probably did.

“You’re supposed to be with your uncle.” Remus says to them, voice soft, but still an angry look on his face.

Sirius decides to sit up and Hermione comes to sit down in his lap followed by Violet between Remus and him and Teddy in Remus’s lap. Remus puts his arms around his son as Sirius did with their daughter. “They dropped us off.” Violet answers. “Said we were too crazy.”

“Never said that!” James’s voice comes from the other side of the door before it opens to reveal three more kids running in and jumping on their bed followed by James himself sitting at the end of it.

“Uncle Siri!” Rose yells, jumping on the bed and landing right next to Violet.

Remus glares at James and he just smiles back. “What? They wanted to see their uncle.”

“Doesn’t mean they should.” Remus answers as Mia sits down in James’ lap and Leo beside them.

“But it’s fun to watch you be tortured, Rem.” Regulus says, walking into the room and sitting by James as Leo goes to sit next to him.

Remus glares at him. “Alright, children. Let’s go get breakfast.” Everyone cheers and jumps up, racing down the stairs. Once James and Regulus are out of the room, Remus turns to him. “Bad start to the day?”

Sirius smiles at him and shakes his head. “No. It’s nice.” Remus leans over and kisses him before standing up to get dressed.

Once everyone is in the car, Sirius calls James and he answers on the first ring. “Where are we going?” James asks over the phone.

“Just follow us.” Remus says, starting the car.

“You sure you know where you’re going?”

“Yes, James. Just tell Regulus to follow us.”

“Who says I’m not driving?”

“You’re a bad driver. Of course it’s Regulus.” Sirius giggles at his husband’s response and hangs up the phone before a fight could break out.

“So, where are we going?” Sirius asks once they start moving.

“It’s a surprise.”

Sirius gasps once they park outside a restaurant. “Perkins!?” Sirius yells and reaches over the middle console to kiss Remus. Disgusted sounds come from the back and the two partners in the front laugh before stepping out of the car.

The six kids race to the doors and pull them open, Rose waiting for her fathers and uncles before closing it behind them and racing inside the other doors which Leo’s holding for them.

The breakfast was amazing to say the least, Sirius gets the same thing everytime, pancakes and bacon, he never mixes it up. He tried once, and it sucked, he was starving until lunch time because he couldn’t even eat a second bite of anything.

Sirius hums all the way back to the car, happy he got to see his brother for breakfast before they went on their way. “Happy birthday, Padfoot.” James says once they pull apart from their hug.

Regulus walks up to them once the kids are in their seats and buckled. “Happy birthday, Sirius.”

“Thanks for coming.” Sirius replies.

“James had to see you.”

James dramatically gasps. “I thought we agreed the kids wanted to see him? Rude.” Regulus rolls his eyes at his husband before walking to their car, followed by James seconds later.

Sirius gets in their car followed by Remus a few minutes later. “So, where to next?” Remus asks him.

“Home.”

“Board games!?” The kids scream once Sirius comes out of the hall closet with stacked games in his arms.

“We’re playing board games?” Remus asks, unamused.

“Well, if we have kids, might as well do something fun.” Remus rolls his eyes but sits down on the ground nonetheless. “What do you want to play first?” Sirius asks the kids once he’s sitting down beside Remus, games in the middle of the circle they formed.

“Candy land!” Teddy yells, grabbing it from the pile and a game piece from the coffee table. They had to buy an extra game piece for every game that only had four players. Family game night is when they usually play games, but Sirius likes the games so much, he tries to have game night more than once, but Remus likes reading more than games.

They play the games until their stomachs start growling and Remus goes to make dinner while the others play and even after dinner, they continue to play until the sun is down and the moon is up and it’s the kids' bedtime.

They groan as they walk up the stairs to their rooms, but they fall asleep quickly with how tired they were. After all the kids are asleep, Sirius drags Remus down the stairs and back to the floor to beat him at all the games. Of course Sirius didn’t win most of them, but Remus let him win some like he always does.

Sirius does his victory dance the whole night, even if he lost the games, he still won, because he has the most beautiful husband ever and the best kids he could ask for, even if they’re not always angels.

[lucky-clover-gazette]

Arceus Forbid Women Do Anything

Chapter 2/3 | 7,558 words | Rated T

Commandment II: Gatekeep

The self-indulgent Volo Wins AU fic has turned into non-diagetic game mechanics timeloop existential struggle with failure fic. Who's surprised

When the champion watched him during their battles, she often tried to imagine him in a different state of mind. She analyzed what she understood of his plans, was reluctantly impressed by his enduring commitment to his own aspirations. She got the best impression she could of the real Volo, a friend and a stranger and her only companion in this endless cycle of failure. She never spoke to him. The idea of conversation felt wrong, as if disturbing a scripted play or painting over a work of art. And besides, even if she managed to change the narrative through speech, her inevitable failure would render the results meaningless. She would, always, try again. Until she won, she would try again. As she approached the Temple of Sinnoh once again, the champion thought that she might be going insane. It made no sense, that she had not yet used her knowledge and practice to end this cycle. But every time she had the chance, she just… couldn’t. She would lose, retreat to the cave, call Arceus, and receive the same answer each time. Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

Read the full chapter on AO3 or under the cut:

BEFORE

The Champion of Hisui knew that something was wrong when she reached the temple’s remains.

Volo had been acting more strangely than usual in the past few weeks, as their search for the plates of Arceus drew closer to its end. Restless, lapsing into bouts of discomforting behavior that she’d struggled to explain. She’d always known there was something ironic about his friendly mercantile persona, and appreciated his genuine nature whenever it showed. Having worked retail herself in the previous world, she could never blame Volo for avoiding his job at the Ginkgo Guild, exploring ruins and attaching himself to her adventures instead. With time she had come to genuinely enjoy his company, smiling despite herself whenever he emerged to congratulate her for quelling yet another frenzied noble. And after her banishment, when he’d been the only person to truly care for her, she hadn’t hesitated to accept his comfort.

She didn’t know what exactly to call their relationship now, in the wake of her victory against Palkia and Dialga. By all intents and purposes, it felt like they were a partnership—officially as seekers of the plates of Arceus, but also as friends. He was the closest companion she had found in this world, and she’d grown to trust him near-implicitly. Volo had put himself at risk on her behalf far too many times for her to doubt his intentions now.

But, still. He was being weird. His lecture about Giratina had been pretty normal (for Volo), but the deranged laughter interrupting it? Definitely harder to explain—even for the champion, who usually delighted in Volo’s bizarre behaviors.

Of course, part of that was due to Volo himself, who was easily one of the most attractive people she had ever met. If someone else did half of the weird shit he did, she was pretty sure she’d find it annoying or even creepy. But with Volo, it was endearing. Not just because he was beautiful, or because he had a pleasant voice, or because he held himself with exceptional confidence. She was endeared because he was brilliant, and passionate about his interests, and clever in his humor, and so very sweet towards his pokémon. And he was hot.

She sometimes wondered if he felt the same way about her. But he was so focused on his studies, on the plates of Arceus, that she assumed that any kind of latent attraction would not be made a priority. Occasionally she felt the urge to just straight-up ask ‘what are we?’, but that seemed far too modern an approach. And besides, did she even want her relationship with Volo to be physical, or even explicitly romantic, outside the realm of fantasy?

She didn’t know if she could stand to lose his friendship. Volo, more than anyone else in Hisui, felt real. He was more than a sycophant, a worshiper, someone who idolized her unquestioningly for her gifts. He’d praised her successes, of course, but she’d never been ignorant to the double meanings in his words, the slight contempt of someone who wished for a life they could not have. A life she did have, thanks to the Almighty Arceus plucking her from her original time and place.

From others, praise felt shallow and meaningless. She’d saved them from misfortune, and they’d thanked her because they could continue living as they always had. But from the lonely and mysterious Volo, praise felt meaningful and true. Through his resentment he saw the many facets of her—she was not a flawless hero—and as a result, hadn’t rejected her when she appeared to have failed. He hadn’t abandoned her after she’d saved the region, either, once she’d served her great purpose. And while he was absolutely using her to find the plates, she knew that she was using him too. And that, somehow, was a greater comfort than any other connection she’d forged in this unfamiliar world.

Of course, things weren’t entirely cynical between them. Volo had shown the champion genuine moments of support, even when it had served him no purpose to do so. He’d comforted her during her banishment, blaming the people of Jubilife for their cruelty rather than telling her what she could have done differently to appease them. He had never once encouraged her to apologize. He’d given her a safe haven with Cogita and dedicated himself to assisting her with the Red Chain. All the while, he’d shown no shame about his continued association with the traitor who supposedly doomed them all.

Arceus, meanwhile, had transported its champion to Hisui with only a smartphone as a tether, offering little support beyond a mission and a vague promise upon its completion. At least when Volo was negging her, he did it to her face. With effort. While being hot about it. When he’d asked the champion for her help with the plates, taking her away from the village so they could travel the world together, it had been a no-brainer to say yes. She didn’t even really know what the plates did—just that Volo cared about finding them, and so she did too.

But, still. Something felt wrong. Something had felt wrong, ever since their last conversation with Cogita. Volo was lying to her, and after everything they’d been through she had no idea why he would. She already knew that he was more misanthropic than he acted and negligent in his merchant duties, which were the things he seemed most invested in concealing. He obviously had secrets—she knew very little of his past, for example—but those missing truths had never threatened the dynamic they’d created together. This truth, whatever it was, just felt wrong. She would not be able to proceed until it was revealed.

The champion took a deep breath, more nervous about this confrontation than any that had come before, and entered the temple ruins.

─────────────────

NOW

The challenger returned to Mount Coronet for what would surely be their final attempt at victory.

They only knew what Arceus had told them: they’d returned countless times throughout their life to battle the Champion of Hisui, and each time they had lost. Lost the battle and their memory, returning to the wilds to train the pokémon they wielded. They knew that they were nearing the end of their life, and soon enough would not be able to ascend Mount Coronet at all—yet the voice of Arceus still urged them forwards, and so they climbed.

They understood now that the Champion of Hisui was a faithless traitor, who they would need to defeat in order to earn an audience with the detested false Lord. In their younger years Arceus had not provided this information, simply requesting that she be dispatched. After several losses, though, Arceus had eventually disclosed the entire truth. Ever since that disclosure, the challenger’s mood approaching Spear Pillar was always the same: overwhelming anger towards the fallen hero who had enabled the old world’s destruction.

The challenger reached the temple again.

“Welcome back,” greeted the Champion of Hisui, motioning to a bench at the edge of Spear Pillar. “Please, take a seat.”

─────────────────

BEFORE

She thought it was rather dramatic, the way he stood at the edge of the ruins. The sky around them was vast and pink, dotted by Hisui’s seemingly eternal clouds as the sun slowly set. Volo did not face the champion and the feeling of wrongness only increased.

“The temple lies in ruins now,” said Volo, still refusing to turn around. His voice was light, distant, a kind of detached calm that she had rarely heard from the passionate researcher. “Columns cracked and broken... like pillars now turned into spears, stabbing into the heavens.”

The champion raised an eyebrow, stopping just before the stairs leading up to the viewing platform. But she said nothing.

Volo turned around then, wearing his winning merchant’s smile. “Well,” he sighed, “I detect a distinct lack of Giratina.”

The champion couldn’t help but smirk at that. It had always amused her, the way he acted like life was a comedy of errors and they had no choice but to play along. The way he’d spoken in the Celestica Ruins had been different, though—he’d been dead-serious about his own suffering and the suffering of others, deranged laughter aside.

And here was that humor again. It should have been a comforting return to form. But this time, the champion could not shake the chilling feeling that Volo was in on the joke.

“Hm?” he asked, resting his chin on his hand. His tone was unmistakably condescending. He hadn’t spoken to her like that in months, not since they’d grown to understand each other as more than merchant and hero. “Is something bothering you?”

The champion nodded stiffly. For all of her trust and confidence in their friendship, she couldn’t help but wonder—

“Ah, I do beg your pardon,” said Volo, having traded his smile for a chillingly neutral expression. “I suppose I must seem to be behaving strangely!”

He didn’t sound like himself. He put a hand on his hip.

“I daresay you deserve to know what I’m really after by now,” he told the champion, and her heart sunk.

She found herself stepping backwards, filled with incomprehensible dread. It didn’t matter what it was, it only mattered that she hadn’t possessed the sense to avoid this situation altogether. And now she had no choice but to accept that she was wrong about the only person in this world who’d ever felt right.

Volo chuckled darkly, his one visible eye noticeably changed. He looked… manic, was the only word for it. She’d seen hints of this before, but had chalked it up to passion. It had even been sweet, in small doses. But this was concerning. She wanted to reach out to him, and she wanted to leave this place before she learned exactly how foolish she had been.

The conflict left her rooted where she stood. The conflict, and the fear.

He seemed to sense that fear, his expression shifting back to an easy smile. He spoke clearly, thoughtfully, just as he had during countless discussions of history and ruins and oh, Arceus, this man might actually be insane.

“Ever since I became convinced that Arceus really does exist,” said Volo, “there has been one question that consumed my thoughts: How can I meet such a being myself?”

The champion struggled to understand the implications of his words. All things considered, that was a perfectly normal Volo thing to say, so why did everything feel so—

"It was in an attempt to answer this question that I originally sought out Giratina and had it tear open that rift in space and time,” Volo told the champion. “After all, Giratina wished to stand against Arceus.”

She blinked.

He…

He’d brought her here.

She was here, because of him.

And when she’d been banished…

“But that didn't do the trick,” Volo continued, still smiling. “So then I had you gather the fragments of the all-encompassing deity, just as the murals of the ruins directed.”

He had her.

He’d had her.

Volo closed his eyes and lifted his head to the heavens, eerily peaceful in his confession. “Eighteen plates said to be the fragments of the all-encompassing deity. You hold in your hands seventeen of them. So, you must be wondering: Where is the last one?“

He opened his eyes and removed something from his apron. A purple plate, shaped exactly like the others. “Why, it’s right here!”

That was not a customer service smile, it was a smirk. She’d seen it last when he’d playfully challenged her to battle, but nothing was playful about this challenge.

The champion stood, slack-jawed, as Volo reached for the shoulder of his Ginkgo Guild uniform. In one smooth motion he removed the jumpsuit and his hat, revealing…

Oh, he was definitely insane.

"Now hand over the plates you gathered!” Volo commanded, dressed in the most bizarre outfit the champion had ever seen in her life. He wore a chiton-shirt with a cold shoulder, a pendant with a teardrop-shaped stone, gladiator sandals, and green capri pants. Had he assembled this look in the dark?

And the hair. He had done something with his hair. His beautiful hair that the champion had always longed to see at its full length, gelled up in a deranged imitation of God itself.

It was too much. All of this was too much.

Volo’s gaze burned into her, his visible pupil having grown noticeably smaller. “I will be the one to bring them all together!"

The champion gripped the strap of her satchel. How dare he make commands, when he was the reason Arceus had brought her here? He should be begging for her forgiveness!

Volo was ranting now, seemingly to himself more than the person he’d just betrayed. "My desire to meet Arceus cannot be contained any longer! I need to know what it is! I must know what it is!"

When the champion was banished for Volo’s actions, he had comforted her. He had cared for her. Why would he have done that? Why would he have done any of this?

He stopped smiling. He spoke to her now, although part of her wished he wouldn’t. "If I can meet Arceus myself, then I may also be able to subjugate its power. And using that, I will attempt to create a new, better world!"

His words at the Celestica Ruins echoed through the champion’s head:

Ever since I was young, whenever I met with something painful or heartbreaking, I couldn't help but wonder why life was so unfair. Why I was cursed to live through such things. Of course, I imagine we all go through something like that.

The champion was pretty sure she was currently going through something like that.

“Of course,” Volo continued, “if I create a brand-new world, then the Hisui region that we currently exist in will be undone and returned to nothing. You, everyone you know, and all the Pokémon living here will vanish in an instant, as if you'd never been."

He’d brought her to this world, and now he wanted to destroy it.

Destroy her.

The champion wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to pound at Volo’s chest and demand that he admit that their connection was real, that she wasn’t a fool, that he regretted what he’d done to put her in harm’s way. She wanted him to be cured of this divine madness and come to his senses. She wanted him to be the person she’d grown to love—because of course she’d grown to love him, of all the people in this stupid world, instead of someone normal and unremarkable and disinterested in becoming a god.

Because that was what Volo wanted, right? To become a god? To subjugate God, and take its place?

And then he would destroy everything. This entire reality, gone. The people and pokémon within it, gone. Her, gone.

Did he really care for her so little, that he would erase her along with the rest of them?

And how deranged was she, to be more upset by the loss of his friendship than the loss of everything and everyone else?

Volo crossed his arms over his chest, looking at the champion as if he saw right through her. As if she wasn’t a person at all, but an obstacle in his way. The final barrier between him and Arceus, between his destiny and desires, in which she would have no part to play.

She would have given him the damn plates, if he had just apologized and explained. After all, it had been Arceus—not Volo—to bring her to this godforsaken place.

"If you want to keep this world from disappearing,” challenged Volo, “then face me in battle!”

She would not be giving him the plates. He didn’t deserve them, didn’t deserve to be God any more than God itself deserved to be God. Arceus and Volo—a deity and its unfashionable imitation. Honestly, in that moment, the champion despised them both.

“Not that you have a choice,” Volo taunted, grinning widely because he was insane. “Even if you don't wish to battle me, I'm not above using force to take those plates from you."

He held up a pokéball and stared down at the champion. With the slightest of nods, she removed her samurott from her satchel.

She had Arceus’s blessing and Volo clearly did not. She was going to defeat him, just as she’d defeated every other enemy in her path. Only once she’d sufficiently humiliated him in front of his god would she allow herself to process everything she’d learned.

Volo tossed out his first pokémon with a knowing smirk, his form surprisingly confident and precise. For all of his intellectual strengths, the champion had never known him to be a particularly skilled trainer.

A spiritomb emerged from his pokéball.

Clearly there were many things the champion did not know about Volo.

─────────────────

NOW

“Please,” the champion repeated, motioning to the bench beneath the heavens. “I really think you should sit down.”

The challenger scowled at her, crossing their arms over their chest. “You know why I’m here.”

She rolled her eyes. The outsider had no memory of meeting her before, but her behaviors felt familiar all the same. “Yes,” the champion sighed, “I know that you’re here to fight me.”

“And then Lord Volo.”

She smirked at that. “Well, I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”

Her attitude enraged the challenger. A wicked traitor to the god that had chosen her—unfathomable, really, in her irreverence.

“Seriously,” said the champion, looking the challenger up and down. “Sit down.”

“Why?” the challenger said, suspecting a trap.

“You look exhausted from your climb.”

She was uncomfortably earnest in her explanation. And she was correct.

“How old are you now, anyway?” the champion asked as the challenger sat. To their surprise, she sat down beside them immediately.

“Old enough to finally defeat you,” said the challenger, avoiding her searching gaze.

She chuckled. “Fair enough.” And then, thoughtfully: “It’s been quite some time since we last met. I was beginning to wonder if Arceus had decided against sending a senior citizen in its stead.”

The challenger, naturally, took offense at the insult. “How old are you, then? I assume that your lack of humanity implies a lack of mortality as well.”

She nodded with a face that appeared far too young for the person wearing it. “I do not age conventionally, that is true.”

“Can you die at all?”

“Not by natural means,” the champion said. “Although I suppose I am still flesh and blood, just like you. But you are old and frail, while my youth has been preserved. Your remaining time in this world is incredibly limited, and yet you’ve come here again—do you not have other things to do? Interests, passions? Family? Does your entire life revolve around your mission from God?”

“Does your life not revolve around your Lord?” the challenger deflected. “According to Arceus, you chose him over the entire world.”

“In a manner of speaking, I did,” admitted the champion. “Though I don’t expect Arceus to ever fully understand my decision.”

“Decision? You lost.”

Something flashed behind the champion’s eyes. It felt good to drag her down from the heavens.

“It was once said,” she told the challenger through gritted teeth, “that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results.”

It was an odd response. The challenger did not care to understand its purpose. They were indeed old and frail, and this was their final chance.

“Today,” they told the champion, “I will win.”

“Very well,” the champion said, withdrawing an ancient-looking pokéball from her fine silks. She stood up and offered her challenger a hand. They glared at it. The champion sighed, withdrew her hand, and watched as the challenger struggled to their feet.

─────────────────

BEFORE

Her final pokémon was on low health when she finally defeated Volo’s Togekiss. She had refused to speak a word during the fight, despite his taunting smiles and various confident poses. In addition to being insane, Volo was apparently also an incredibly skilled trainer. Not quite as skilled as the champion, though, as his final and most beloved pokémon returned to her ball.

Volo shook his head, still wearing that deranged smile, as he returned the pokéball to some unseen pocket in his ridiculous Arceus outfit. The champion sighed with relief, grateful that this would be over soon. He’d abandon the temple in defeat, and she would mourn his betrayal in peace. Short of physically attacking her, he had no other way to take the plates by force—and she still could not believe that Volo was capable of such brutality, when his entire goal was to create a better, fairer world.

(Honestly, if he hadn’t hurt her so profoundly in the process of achieving that goal, she thought she might admire him for his idealism.)

She shook her head. He was a hypocrite and out of his right mind. The last thing he deserved was admiration, or even an attempt at understanding. She would return to the village and forget all about him, and try her best to find someone else in this world who made sense. Maybe if Arceus saw her success, it would even return her to her world. Defeating Volo had been her ultimate mission, right?

Which…

If Arceus had sent her to correct Volo’s disturbance of the natural order, it had always known about Volo’s hidden intentions. This entire time, it had watched its chosen champion find comfort in her destined enemy, without so much as a word of caution.

It must have been intentional, then, for Arceus to keep her in the dark. But why?

“Why?” Volo demanded, now despondent in his defeat. “Why you?! Why do you have the blessing of Arceus?”

She didn’t know. He knew that she didn’t know.

“I’ve devoted myself to Arceus beyond any other!” Volo ranted, seemingly towards the heavens themselves. “I worshiped it as the creator of our entire world! I bent all of my passion and interest and study! All the time I’ve spent poring over the legends.. Everything that I’ve done—!”

The champion had served Arceus’s mission dutifully since her arrival in Hisui. Although reluctant at times, she had quelled the nobles and assembled the Red Chain. She had immediately opposed Volo, who sought to destroy the world Arceus created. This mission was her entire life—her job, her hobby, her singular purpose upon being transported to Hisui without her consent.

“You outsider!” Volo hissed, now glaring directly at the champion. “It’s almost as if you were spat out of the space-time rift just to get in my way!”

She felt a lump rise in her throat.

Volo had been the one thing, here, that she’d chosen for herself. To her, their friendship had been disconnected from her holy mission or crushing responsibilities—in fact, it had been a much-needed relief.

But the entire time, he had only viewed her as Arceus’s chosen hero. And he despised her for it.

Silent tears ran down the champion’s cheeks. He seemed not to notice, or not to care.

“No,” Volo told himself, “no, this isn’t finished yet.”

Please, she almost begged, but didn’t. She didn’t know how much more of this she could stand. But she couldn’t leave, either, not when he still posed a threat, not when she deserved answers but couldn’t yet bring herself to ask—

Volo grinned again, his derangement reaching its apparent peak. “Can’t you feel it? The chill creeping through your veins—the eldritch presence icing your heart?”

She felt something, as dark shadows began to appear behind Volo. A massive void, from which a large creature began to emerge. It screeched as Volo began to laugh, its wings unfolding and its body taking material form. The champion recognized Giratina at once, well-primed by Volo’s lecture in the Celestica Ruins.

Volo regarded her in the throes of his mania, unwilling and unable to recognize her as anything but his enemy. Perhaps that was too charitable an interpretation, but—

“GIRATINA!” Volo shouted, clenching his hands as if they already held the plates of Arceus. “STRIKE HER DOWN!”

He laughed again, his eyes wide and his body hunched, as Giratina roared.

The champion released her final available pokémon, which only possessed a quarter of its health. She then turned on her heel, summoned Wyrdeer, and headed for the temple exit, using the ill-fated battle as a brief distraction. She ignored the sound of her fainting pokémon and Volo’s confused yelling as she pulled her Arcphone from her satchel and held it to her ear.

“You have to stop him,” the champion demanded as she entered the passageway beneath the peak of Mount Coronet. The cave was cool and blessedly quiet, and she only stopped moving when she received her response.

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

─────────────────

NOW

As always, the challenger had put up a very good fight.

“Will this be the last time I see you?” the champion asked, almost bored in her victory. The challenger just glared at her, returning their fainted pokémon to their pocket.

“One can hope,” they said, and revealed their knife. If repetition with the expectation of different result was insanity, then they were no longer insane. Because this approach, this last-ditch effort, was entirely unprecedented—even to Arceus itself.

Using their last reserves of energy and strength, the challenger seized the woman. Short of stature and physically softened by ages of casual godhood, she could show little resistance to even the oldest of heroes. And, of course, there was the matter of the blade held to her throat.

“He will lower himself from the heavens and face me,” the challenger said between gritted teeth. The champion swallowed.

“Arceus has driven you to this,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Lord Volo has driven me to this. Arceus has only ever encouraged me to be better.”

“Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.”

The challenger’s eyed widened. “How do you…?”

The champion sighed. “I heard it too. Every single time.” She was infuriatingly unfazed by the threat to her life. “How relieving it must be,” she said, “to lose the memory of each of your losses.”

“I find it rather inconvenient, actually,” shot back the challenger, holding the blade closer to her throat.

The champion smiled sadly and shook her head.

─────────────────

BEFORE

Eventually, she found herself trying to lose.

The fight with Volo had become like second nature to the champion, who since her first attempt had assembled the ideal team to counter his specific pokémon and fighting habits. Arceus knew she had been given enough attempts to observe him, some of which ended before Giratina even appeared. Volo was undeniably skilled, and dedicated to his own victory in a way that consistently astounded the champion. But while each new battle seemed to be Volo’s first, his memory struck of previous victories and defeats, the champion remembered everything.

At this point, she knew Volo almost entirely as the man she’d truly met atop Mount Coronet. Memories of their previous friendship lingered in small instances, but she had lost much of her attachment to his formerly comforting presence. This made it easier for her, as Arceus’s champion, to study and practice and try again and again and again.

She was confident, now, that she could defeat him. Him and Giratina, and then she would finally witness the world after such events transpired. Would he give up immediately, or try to harm her further? Would they finally speak as their true selves, or would he just disappear? If he did disappear, would he be gone forever?

The champion was still far from completing the the Pokédex and meeting Arceus, who only potentially could send her home. In the meantime, she would still be stuck in Hisui, alone. Almost certainly without him.

The outfit was not… irredeemably ill-conceived. With some modifications, she could understand the vision. And it would be easy for Volo to take down the Arceus style, allowing his hair to flow naturally. When the champion watched him during their battles, she often tried to imagine him in a different state of mind. She analyzed what she understood of his plans, was reluctantly impressed by his enduring commitment to his own aspirations. She got the best impression she could of the real Volo, a friend and a stranger and her only companion in this endless cycle of failure.

She never spoke to him. The idea of conversation felt wrong, as if disturbing a scripted play or painting over a work of art. And besides, even if she managed to change the narrative through speech, her inevitable failure would render the results meaningless. She would, always, try again. Until she won, she would try again.

As she approach the Temple of Sinnoh once again, the champion thought that she might be going insane. It made no sense, that she had not yet used her knowledge and practice to end this cycle. But every time she had the chance, she just… couldn’t. She would lose, retreat to the cave, call Arceus, and receive the same answer each time.

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

There had been a few close calls, where she’d almost won. Especially against Giratina, she often stood a very good chance. But then she would remind herself that this was not fair in the slightest, because she had been given infinite chances to practice and strategize. Yes, Volo had technically cheated as well, but abusing Arceus’s blessing in such a manner simply felt cheap.

That was what she told herself. Eventually, someday, she would see an opportunity for victory that she could truly call fair, and she would take it. But until then, she would just have to lose.

And he would still be here. Insane, but here.

Insane.

She was going insane.

“I think I’m going insane,” she told Arceus after yet another loss.

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

“I know I’m going insane.”

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

“Why don’t you try, for once?” the champion challenged, gripping the phone tightly.

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

And then, she thought it. For the first time in what felt like an eternity of repetition, she finally thought something new:

“Why can’t I lose?” the champion asked, her voice shaking as tears ran down her cheeks. She did not understand what she was asking, exactly—she could not lose because Arceus had blessed her, that much was already obvious. The world, this world, worked in her favor in some unearned and unwanted way. Yes, she could retreat from the mountain at any time to train her team, but that still left Volo up in the temple, nearly indistinguishable from the person she had grown to love. He would not follow her, would not attempt to seize the plates by any other means, seemingly frozen in time and place by divine circumstance. She would never have her former friend back, and if she moved forward, Arceus would never allow her to befriend him as he was now.

And she—

She would just keep going, in Volo’s absence. If not this battle, she would be fighting another. Again and again and again, until Arceus deemed her worthy. Arceus, who had lied to her, manipulated her, taken her from her home without her knowledge or consent. Who had created this world and its mysterious mechanics, blessing—no, cursing—her to endure.

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

God’s champion hung up the phone.

─────────────────

NOW

Much to the challenger’s surprise, Lord Volo had not immediately arrived to save his champion.

“He can see this, right?” they demanded, as their arms grew increasingly tired around her.

She scoffed. “Of course he can.”

“So why isn’t he coming? Perhaps he cares less for you than you believed.”

The champion met the challenger’s gaze. “He knows that you would never actually murder me. That is not becoming of the world he designed.”

The challenger narrowed their eyes. This had always been a possibility. “Fine,” they said. “But would your Lord stand by while you are in pain?”

For the first time, the champion looked afraid. “I—”

The challenger plunged their knife into her fine white silks.

─────────────────

BEFORE

The champion surrendered.

It was not a victory, nor was it any sort of defeat she had experienced before. Instead of intentionally losing the fight, she had refused to even allow its commencement. She had approached Volo where he stood, suspended in space and time, and offered him her satchel containing the plates of Arceus.

He stared at it, pupils shrunken and hungry. A smile crept onto his face. “How precious,” he said, almost tenderly. “You only needed a moment to think, before deciding to see things my way.”

The champion scowled. To him, it had been only a moment.

“You’re insane,” she said, showing no resistance when he began to take the satchel from her. He paused, though, upon hearing her first words towards his true self.

“Did you not listen in the ruins?” he asked, slight irritability piercing through his mania. “My reasoning is entirely rational. If God did not want to run the risk of its power falling into our hands, it should not have created its plates on our mortal plane. It is my right to seize them, and use that power to create a better world.”

“You could make this world a better place.”

Volo shook his head, smiling sadly. “Can’t be done. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“You made it better for me.”

The words left her mouth before she could stop them. She was so, so tired.

Volo narrowed his eyes, pupils still tiny but slightly more focused. “Whatever could you mean by that, hero?”

“You know my name,” said the champion, cursing her voice for cracking at the last word.

Volo looked properly confused, now. Especially as the champion began to shake. “What are you—”

“Just take it,” the champion said, feeling that lump in her throat again. She had felt so strong, when she’d hung up the ArcPhone in the cave. Self-assured, energized by the notion of ending this vicious cycle. It had seemed, if only for a moment, that she had found a way to truly win.

This did not feel like winning.

“Just fucking take it,” the champion repeated, shoving the satchel towards Volo. He did without further comment, but did not immediately dig inside. He only watched her, still far from sane but seemingly calmer at least.

Volo furrowed his brow. “You said I made the world better, for you. But I was using you. I am the reason for your existence here. You should hate me.”

The champion shook her head as a tear ran down her cheek. “I don’t hate you.”

“Don’t be foolish.”

She winced.

Volo studied her carefully. “What,” he said, “do you think your god would say of this?”

The champion shut her eyes. “Arceus doesn’t care about me.”

“Of course it does. It has chosen you to receive its blessings. It loves you, as it will never love—” Volo cut himself off, though of course she understood how the sentence would have ended.

The champion felt pathetic as she met his eyes. “I love you.”

He blinked. “How?”

“I just do.”

Volo began to pace, shifting into a paranoid state. “A trick from Arceus,” he muttered to himself, clutching the satchel close to his chest. “A test? No, a safeguard—a temptation…”

A temptation?

“This is all by design,” Volo continued to ramble, “If I allow for this endearment, for this enduring desire—”

Enduring desire?

“I must be strong. There must be a better world. I must not allow myself to—”

“Was any of it real?” the champion asked, point-blank.

“Yes,” Volo said at once.

“Which parts were fake?”

“The parts that mattered.”

She narrowed her eyes, trying to understand. Volo sighed.

“The parts vital to my mission,” he clarified, “were false. The merchant charade, the search for the plates.”

“And that’s what mattered?”

Volo avoided her eyes. “Nothing else can matter in this world,” he told the champion. “Nothing else will remain.”

He looked haggard, as if this was a truth he’d refused to admit to himself before having it forced from his lips.

“It has never been my intention to carry over unwilling parties,” Volo reluctantly explained. “Involuntary acquiescence has no place in my better world.”

“What about lying and manipulation?” the champion asked. “And erasing everyone and everything that came before it?”

Exhausted, Volo gave his response: “I said ‘better.’ Not perfect.”

After a moment, the champion replied. “It mattered,” she said quietly. “To me.”

“Your mission?”

“Us.”

Volo regarded her as if for the very first time. “Us.”

She stepped forward slightly, reaching for his hand. He allowed her to take it, using the other to clutch her satchel.

“Do you want them to remain, in your new world?” the champion asked, looking into Volo’s wide exposed eye. “The parts that were real?”

He gave the slightest of nods.

She could not have him in this world. She could either continue this endless loop of suffering, or defeat him and likely never see him again. And it wasn’t just Volo who mattered, but the champion herself—with Arceus as her god, she knew that she would never truly be free.

“Is this the right decision?” she asked Volo, squeezing his hand tightly. He gently leaned down to place her satchel on the temple floor, then used his other hand to stroke her face.

“Must there always be a right decision and a wrong decision?”

“I should be ashamed.”

“I disagree.”

“What if I’m insane?”

“I would say that you are just as sane as I am,” Volo reasoned, “if you wish to remain by my side.”

The champion frowned. “That is not a reassuring statement.”

“It is all I can offer,” Volo said, holding her hand to his heart. Then, with a small smile: “That, and—”

He kissed her on the lips. When he pulled back, his eyes were almost back to normal.

“So?” Volo asked, eager and curious just as the champion had remembered him. Her heart ached with the comfort of familiarity—lost in the cycle of repetition, she hadn’t even realized how much she missed her former friend.

“It’s not perfect,” she said, “but it’s better.” She allowed herself to finally relax as Volo held her close.

Keeping one arm around his champion’s waist, Volo leaned down to retrieve the satchel once again. Despite her divine mission, the champion did not intervene.

“Very good,” Volo praised. His voice was warm and earnest, lacking the condescension one would usually associate with such a statement. “Now, rest. You’ve done more than enough already.”

And with that, at least, the champion could wholeheartedly agree.

─────────────────

NOW

Lord Volo appeared at once.

The challenger stepped away from the champion, their hands shaking as the knife clattered to the temple floor. Violence was a rare occurrence in this world, and murder was almost entirely unheard of—yet here they were, resorting to the former and possibly the latter as a desperate final effort.

“This was my mission,” the challenger prayed to Arceus as a figure descended from a shimmery stairway to the heavens. “Now please, give me strength...”

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

“No, I haven’t! I’ve won—look, he’s coming now!”

Lord Volo was a tall man, appearing much as he’d been depicted in historical records and famous works of art: blonde, pale, draped in white silks resembling those of his champion. He reached the bottom stair and stepped onto the world he had created, barely giving the challenger a glance as he walked right by.

Thou hast been defeated in battle, the voice of Arceus said. Thou shalt try again.

But the challenger was not beaten yet.

They reached for the knife, even as their joints ached. Lord Volo disappeared the weapon with a flick of his wrist. He then took his champion in his arms and placed her onto the bench, speaking words that the challenger could not hear.

She seemed to be speaking, as well. Alive. Despite everything, the challenger felt relief at that.

There was a sort of peace, in knowing that this was the challenger’s final try. Their pokémon were fainted, their god had seemingly abandoned them, they had compromised their own values out of desperation after a lifetime of repeated failures. Now, Lord Volo would disappear them just as he had the knife.

At least in oblivion, the challenger would finally be able to rest.

The champion muttered something more to her god, who then turned to face the challenger. He did not look happy, but seemed to be exercising some kind of restraint.

He looked back at the champion, who nodded. Lord Volo sighed.

“Very well,” he said, and flicked his wrist again. The challenger inhaled sharply, and then they

─────────────────

In the heavens, he saw to her healing.

“I’m sorry,” Volo said for what felt like the millionth time, although it would never truly be enough. He held a hand over his champion’s wound, glowing gold with healing light. “I’m sorry, and I love you.”

“Don’t be sorry,” the champion said, kissing the side of his other hand. “The rosiness had begun to return to her skin, her deific attire now clean of the blood that had stained it. “I understood the risks of going down there undisguised.”

“That isn’t supposed to happen, though,” Volo said, trying to mind his temper as he channelled healing towards the champion’s wound. “Violence and murder, they’re not—not a part of our world.”

“Neither is the voice of Arceus,” the champion countered. “But even from within its containment, it still finds a way to haunt its champion.”

She glanced pointedly towards the pokéball on Volo’s hip. He had wielded its power to destroy the old world and create this one anew, to grant himself and his partner endless life and a home in the heavens above. He supposed it made sense that if Arceus’s power still existed in this world, its voice could never truly disappear.

“What will happen now?” Volo asked, shifting slightly against the headboard of their bed. “Will there be another challenger?”

“Probably,” said the champion. “Eventually.”

“But the one who…?

“I think they’re safe. An infant without memory of their past life, reborn free of Arceus’s influence. Of all the people in this world, why would it choose them again?”

Volo frowned, thinking of the recent confrontation. “I wanted to destroy them, for what they did.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m here,” teased the champion, “to make sure you don’t repeat old patterns.”

He smiled fondly, thinking of the many way they’d helped each other create this new world from the ashes of its predecessor. Not only was his champion beautiful, but she was also brilliant—always had been, although he’d been rather slow on the uptake. In Volo’s defense, he’d very much written her off as a loss before her surrender on Mount Coronet. It had been a matter of strategy, to avoid considering her inner life.

“Can I ask you something?” said Volo, watching his champion with endless interest. She nodded. “What changed your mind, in the cave?”

She looked surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”

“On the day that the old world fell, you initially ran away,” Volo recalled. “Disappeared into the passageway for only a moment, then emerged again to hand over the plates. Why?”

The champion appeared conflicted, which was not the desired outcome of Volo’s questioning. He had his suspicions, based on previous reactions around the subject, that this was not a memory she often wished to revisit.

“I felt defeated,” the champion said, “so I tried something new.”

Volo couldn’t help but think of the challenger, who his champion had always seemed to care for despite the annoyance they caused. Even after their unfathomable act of violence, she had insisted that Volo reincarnate them rather than destroy them entirely.

“Something new?” he asked the champion, as he felt her pain ease beneath his fingertips. “Had there been… something before?”

She nodded. “Over and over again. And I remembered everything.”

A chill ran down Volo’s spine. With this revelation, the champion’s requests to borrow his spiritomb while facing Arceus’s challenger made an entirely new sort of sense.

“You never told me,” he said.

“In a way, I did,” she replied with a soft smile. “When you suggested that we were both insane, I didn’t disagree.”

Still so very cryptic. Volo kissed the champion’s forehead, vowing to someday learn every secret within it.

“And how do you feel now?” he asked as the stab wound faded entirely from her skin. Good as new.

His champion regarded him knowingly, lovingly, shamelessly.

“I feel better.”

[wirewitchviolet]

That thing about 'the arc of history bending towards justice...'

I'm pretty sure I've gone on about this before, and I'm pretty sure I'm preaching to the choir, but I just had a well-intentioned acquaintance try to give an inspirational speech about American trans people's fears right now, and his heart was in the right place, but all his facts were wrong, in some really important ways. I feel like the perspective he has is the same one as... basically every decent person who isn't like, intimately familiar with WPATH, so please spread this around, and please if you only read one rambling history lesson from a trans person about the current state of things, make it this one.

So here's the big problem. Trans people get brought up in the mainstream media a LOT these days, but the framing is totally wrong. The impression people get is that there is presently a big push for new trans rights, where we want proper government recognition, and trans women in particular want to be able to use public women's restrooms, and play on girls-only sports teams, and a dozen other things. That is a lie you are being fed. These are all rights we ALREADY HAD, for decades. Possibly centuries depending what we're talking about specifically and where we're talking, even. The big issue right now is that a bunch of bigots just woke up one day about 10 years ago and decided that nothing else they were angling for was getting them anywhere with the general public, so hey let's make a boogieman out of this minority of a minority nobody knows the first thing about and act like all the horrors they're inflicting are just them enforcing some totally fictional status quo.

Speaking personally, I can say that The Trans Agenda in like 2014 was something like: 1- I'm gonna make a nice big pot of chili. 2- I'm gonna maybe replay some old video games from the '90s I haven't taken down off the shelf in a while. And OK maybe 3- It'd be cool if it weren't just the medical professionals who specifically specialize in trans stuff had enough of an education to know that when there's a difference in how a drug is going to effect men vs. women, it's for reasons directly tied to the levels of various hormones, or would at least trust their trans patients to know what we're talking about and not give us the wrong doses of things and maybe kill us as a result. And also like, treat us for regular things like broken arms (real example) without weirdly panicking about some prescription we're on they don't recognize.

There was absolutely not a point where some trans woman started petitioning the government or whatever to let her pee in a toilet with a little placard of a stick figure in a dress in front. We've just been doing that the whole time. Nobody's ever had a problem with that. You didn't know we were in there? OK. If I'm like at a restaurant and have to use the bathroom, I don't know how many of the other women in there have like, type O blood. I also don't care, and I think everyone would agree it was weird if I suddenly did care, and demand they post a guard out front asking to see driver's licenses. Just completely out of the blue some nutcases from the UK started foaming at the mouth and writing weird tabloid articles about their completely unfounded fears that... I don't even know. Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs might put on a wig and follow them into the bathroom, dose them with chloroform, and drag them to some basement dungeon through some series of secret passages or something.

This was based on literally nothing at all, to be clear. Like, people pushing for this went and did serious research for anything even anecdotal to back them up on this, and didn't actually find anything. Then they started walking into public restrooms with cameras throwing doors open on people and going "see? See? Some creep could totally do this if we don't ban trans people from using bathrooms!" And... somehow this got traction? I figure it's because coincidentally there was this whole other thing going where people were looking at how every building had equal numbers of men's and women's rooms and saying "you know, like, 90% of people who come in here are the same gender and we end up with really long lines, what if we just took the signs down and told everyone to just use whichever?" which... when it's happening at the same time Chicken Little is ranting and raving about the boogieman wearing a cheap wig, wires got crossed? And suddenly we've got waves of legislation passing all over about who's allowed to use what bathrooms with weird standards that'd involve like DNA tests to actually enforce properly. Absurd stuff.

Meanwhile, your average trans activist at the time was just like... sitting there eating a sandwich and going "huh, they're making a TV series based on Fargo? That's an odd thing to happen out of the blue. And yeah we started going "hey, what the hell?" when this stuff started passing because like... yeah that's what you do when you see an article in the local newspaper that says you can't go to the bathroom at work or whatever without swabbing your cheek and waiting for lab results for 3 weeks first or whatever.

Same deal with sports. Major sports organizations like the Olympics have been weirdly paranoid about men pretending to be women since 1950. And there have been, to the best of my ability to research... zero men who have actually done this. And while the weird standards used for this have been used to kick a good number of women out over the years, none of those women have been trans, for what that's worth. Really, the whole gender testing thing has only ever been used for horrifying stuff like forcing women to strip in front of random creeps, or let them do "invasive internal exams" and of course so many incidents where some woman who isn't white wins at something and people move the goalposts to in some way to get her specifically banned. You may be thinking, "wait didn't I just see a whole bunch of news coverage about someone getting banned after some gender testing thing? She was trans right?" No. You're thinking of Caster Semenya. She's a woman. A cis woman. F on her birth certificate, born with standard issue female genitals, has periods, all that. People are just being weird racists there and crossing the streams with random transphobia. That and just... half-reading stories and making stuff up.

To the best of my knowledge, the total count of trans athletes who have competed in the Olympics would actually be... three nonbinary people, who so far as I can tell all competed against people with the same gender they had on their birth certificates, nothing done medically, so, nobody should have any problem there. Caitlyn Jenner, who didn't come out as a woman until like... 40 years after competing, on the men's team, and Laurel Hubbard, the first and only trans woman to compete at the Olympics as a woman, who placed... dead last, flubbing all three of her lifts.

If we just look at sports in general, OK, there WAS one big famous where a trans woman wanted to compete in a major sporting event, was banned from it, took the organizers to court over it, and the eventual ruling was there was no reason at all she shouldn't be allowed to play against other women. Renée Richards. And this was all the way back in 1976. Nearly 50 years ago now.

And of course in more recent years, again, after a bunch of random bigots just completely out of the blue started losing their minds about trans people with no prompting and started lobbying for new laws banning us from all kinds of things nobody had had a problem with us doing forever, there was Mack Beggs, a trans guy, who was forced, by one of those aforementioned baffling reactionary new laws, to compete on his high school's girl's wrestling team. He didn't want to be there, they didn't want him to be there, but the law said hey, F on your birth certificate, we're classifying you as a girl despite how clearly wrong that is. And then there's been a bunch of other weird cases like that like one state banning trans girls from playing any sports with other girls which only affected one single girl in the entire state, who was playing lacrosse on a team that wouldn't have even existed if she hadn't personally organized it.

But the point here is, trans people aren't asking for anything here. We're just standing here, and people are flipping out and banning us from doing all these things without any prompting. And hell, I THINK this one got shot down in higher courts, but when Florida got the brain worms on this and started passing all the anti-trans legislation they could think of, they actually included a ban on us just standing there! The wording was something like (and I apologize that I can't find it, search engines are useless now), "if a child can potentially see someone who was assigned male at birth who is wearing women's clothes, it's considered sexual assault."

It's important to understand what's actually going on here, both because what's going on here is just plain terrifying, but also because there is this huge segment of the population who has this weird idea that people's rights only ever get better, there's just some weird arbitrary ratcheting where you have to take a number and get in line. Like, "hey, used to be only white men could vote, then eventually the Progress bar filled enough that we let white women start voting too. Then we had to wait for it to fill up again, hey, we're ending this whole segregation of black people thing. Gotta give it another 30 years or so to fill up, now hey, gay people can get married! Don't be impatient trans folks, you just need to stay in line and wait for it to fill again for your turn!"

That's not how anything has ever actually worked. It would frankly be absolutely insane if it actually did, but like, this is an idea people get in their heads because history textbooks really like to gloss over all the stuff that makes the country look pretty bad and promote this whole "stuff is just always getting better!" vibe. But no, sometimes, things just straight up get worse for people. Ten years ago I could go to the damn bathroom, I could have social media accounts, I could access all the medications I need to live, I could safely set foot in any given state in the country... at least if I kept some witnesses around at all times to verify I was not in fact hitting on my would-be murderer in any of the black states on this map.

The problem is NOT that with Trump in power, the pause button is getting hit on trans people climbing towards some state of finally getting to be regular people. We were (largely) already there, and there's been a huge push over the past decade to strip that away from us. And Trump plus the rest of the Republican party in general have made very specific promises to make that way worse real real soon, including several things that will straight up kill a ton of us.

Like, when I'm talking about losing access to necessary medical treatments, I'm not talking about "THE SURGERY" and magic pills that give you boobs or beards. A lot of trans people are trans because there's weird medical stuff that in addition to messing with what does and doesn't grow mess with things like whether your blood flows properly and whether various organs do what they should. Just one of those many things the average person doesn't know, because everything written about us is from deranged bigots making crap up.

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

Aha I’m back for the oc ask game! This time around, mayhaps any of these?: Kaleb x Taryne, Sarra x Yorick, Aldreda + Brandon, and Kaleb + Cassana?

Can I hear a round of applause for world class slut & professional other man for Lord Kaleb Dormaire?

We have already established with the Aldreda ship that this man is willing to bottom, but I really think Taryne would push that limit. Does he love a strong woman? Yes. Will he take the strap like a champ? I fully believe in his ability to do so. Can he exclusively be a sub? Honestly, I don't know if he's got it in him & Taryne will not give up control in the thing she's doing Just For Herself. That said, I don't think they wouldn't not work. I feel in my bones that Kaleb & Taryne would be more a "friends with benefits" type thing than whatever exactly she has going on with Gwayne.

It'd probably start out in a similar way of "I have a pre-established relationship with Alicent, & when I came back to King's Landing to see her here is some rando she's made part of her household since Lyonel Strong's promotion/Jasper Wylde got a job. Things have now spiraled a little out of control a little bit." Kaleb would definitely have more tact than Gwayne upon first contact, but he'd wind up in a similar situation of picking up the queues of how awful & traumatizing Taryne's marriage is, & once some level of comfort was there between them he'd offer some form of companionship at the very least just to give her some moments away from her husband, & from there it just kind of builds until they act on whatever attraction is there. They'd both definitely be having a nice time, & letting Taryne be in charge on occasion is probably nice, but bestie I am looking at this man's amount of kids & his pullout game is not good enough for Taryne to have him be her regular Other Man unless he's willing to never put it in. Kaleb, I see your breeding kink. You can't hide it from me. My son, Yorick, is the same fucking way, I perceive you whether you like it or not. Taryne's definitely fond of him though! He's an actual good, genuine man who won't hurt her, & that really goes most of the way for her. Not a long way, like 90% of it. The bar is on the ground.

They've definitely got "judging & side-eyeing people at the function, & maybe they hookup after it" vibes.

Yorick & Sarra sounded familiar, so I did hunt through the tag & I have ruminated on this before actually! So linking

Oh, you mean her step-son by way of fucking both his parents?

Gonna be real, she looks at him & just sees her youngest brothers, because some of them died young enough that temporarily being heir to Lonely Light or the expectations of their dad or Ironborn (specifically at Lonely Light) never had a chance to super get to them. So Brandon is kind of a What If scenario for her. "Would any of my brothers have been like him? Would they have been friends?" That type of thing

I think he'd be interested in Aldreda as a person regardless of what canon we're going with (Alicent alive at Lonely Light with Aldreda or her canon fate) just because she's important to his parents & "she's a cool warrior woman who let me have a knife!" And that would obviously evolve as he gets older to probably seeing her as some sort of extra parent or aunt or something--how that plays out I think would just really depend on what happens with Alicent (& by extension probably where he winds up going)

Honestly though, Aldreda would probably waffle a lot on if she wanted to be around him when he's younger. She'd never be outright cruel to him or send him away, it'd be more a "do I have the mental capacity to be around a child?" Part of it is her having never thought about her own ability to have kids & the subsequent having of them/motherhood & being at least a little confronted with it by now kind of being his step-mom, & part of it is the weird "my younger brothers were all this age once" that turns into "he's older than [brother x] ever got to be." It's, like, "am I mentally okay to be around the happy, optimistic child? If yes go be near the child. If no, decide if you want to do emotional self harm or not & proceed from there." (I never said Aldreda was the healthiest person out there). She'd definitely be encouraging of him & would probably give him pointers for training, but she'd also be rolling her eyes at the knight thing, I cannot lie. But you can't totally blame her, there's no knighthood culture on the islands! She wouldn't discourage him though, she'd just privately think that there's better things to dream of. Also, she's definitely taking him out on her longship at some point because "every boy needs to go out on the ocean. It puts hair on their chest." Did she tell Alicent or Kaleb beforehand? Maybe.

I think they'd be at least casual friends, with varying closeness depending on if it's SOTF or TRP. Because, like, they were both growing up in The Red Keep, but she was also never really a part of Rhaenyra's friend group until they were both a little older.

In SOTF, it'd definitely be a case of "this is my husband's cousin's boy (aside from Laenor, of course) that I also know & have a positive opinion of. Of course I am going to be kind & welcoming to him!" Because Cassana Strong is, first & foremost, a big sweetie pie. She's a little insecure, but she's a sweetie pie & she will never make someone feel unwelcome unless they've given her a reason to. She'd maybe be a little judgey about him having so many bastards (because she's even judgey about her brother in that regard), but she wouldn't say anything to him about it. Because that's rude & also it's kind of just expected in Westeros. Not stopping her from being gossipy as hell though.

In the TRP crossover AU though, they're definitely closer since he's married to Her Girl. Like "that's Daenys's man, your honor. I have to giggle about him with her, that's girl code." Also, like Rhaenyra, she's definitely encouraging them & probably helping to set them up, because she's watching Daenys moon over him too! Her insecurity would make a bigger impact, temporarily at least, on their relationship here though. I'm not going to go into too much detail, because that's spoilers for her arc in that fic, but there would be a rough patch where she kind of ices him out & is kinda harsh towards him for a couple months. Yes, it would be a bitterness thing & she is butting heads with at least Daenys & maybe even him depending on how much he's willing to try to pus that due to her very sudden 180 on how warm & friendly she normally is. It's not beyond repair, & she gets over it, & I also think she'd be willing to tell Kaleb what was going on more than she probably is Tyland in noncrossover TRP since, like, she's known him since he was a kid.

Overall, I think Kaleb & Cass would have a very nice friendship. Maybe not a best friendship, but a comfortable one.

[bobzora]

there’s definitely a lot of room for interpretation in his character but i think it’s really funny when people misunderstand parts of Akechi Lore that are like. just straight up told to you. like i’m not trying to say anything but i think some people need to rewatch engine room.

[dykedvonte]

Curly not immediately punishing Jimmy for assaulting Anya is something I don’t think a lot of people are viewing in the complex context for Curly as the superior to both of them and closest confidante they had.

Like I am in no way saying he didn’t under react or fail Anya by not being harsh or direct with Jimmy but it really is the case that he really couldn’t. Imagine being stuck in such a confined space with very little areas to genuinely hold someone if they commit a crime. It’s not like this was an event that occurred before they departed or that they have easy communication with The Pony Express to ask for how to proceed when something like this arises. Not to mention, Jimmy’s relative power in relation to Anya as the co-pilot and second in command, he has the knowledge and access to do something to her had Curly directly punished him in this setting.

They were also Curly’s friends. It’s not just the case of him mediating something between his subordinates but people he is personally invested in don’t want to see spiral further in Anya’s case while also not wanting believe his friend go that bad in Jimmy’s actions. They were both suicidal and Curly putting Jimmy’s stability first is both out of bias but also the fact he’s aware at some level Jimmy is a danger to himself and others if not constantly placated. Combined with the fact he was in denial or just not piecing together what Anya said it’s hard to say what he buying time for and what he had treat as urgent. This isn’t even saying he doesn’t care about Anya but he’s not going jump to the worst conclusions about his friends even if part of him acknowledges the evidence saying so. It’s a complicated thing but he’s still human and needed to process it on top of trying to keep a ship that already took on a lot of water from further sinking, metaphorically.

I just personally think that while Curly failed Anya, it was a scenario where there wasn’t much he could do to the best thing by her safely and like Jimmy, we are underestimating what a good leader would do in a very fragile and tense situation like he was in. By the time he may have been ready and had a plan, things were much too late.