#some memories are just too difficult to recall ... or acknowledge

[orbital-inclination]

So... Molt doesn't know he killed the villagers? Fun!!

Also before I even knew of this au I kept wishing there was an au with and corrupted Octo Dream and now here you are with my dream come true I love it!!! 💜💜💜💜💛💛💛💛

SDFslkdfjL Thank you! Though I am far from the first person to make a corrupted!Dream.

[mavrintarou]

[4:38 PM] Oikawa Toru [9]

I'm 89% sure the next part will be the last. This chapter is filled with heavy angst but comfort and understanding.

Warning: implied mild smut, angst & comfort but cliffhanging ending

Eighth part Tenth part

.

Toru glared at the new wall that had been replaced between his and Y/n’s unit. He acknowledges his disdain for it. He detested both the physical and emotional distance that had arisen between him and Y/n.

Within a day, maintenance repaired the wall between their units, putting this unbearable space between them.

In the blink of an eye, everything changed, or more like in a heartbeat, everything changed for him and Y/n.

His heart has been numb since the moment Y/n announced she was pregnant and felt like it had stopped beating when she said the baby may not be his.

Everything became a blur at that moment.

“P – plea – se le – leave… I need sp – space…” she struggled with her stuttering and hiccups from her cries.

Toru was reluctant to leave her alone but to his best judgment, he needed some time to process what she just told him.

How had he not realized the changes? Especially when he had first-hand experience with Lucia when she became pregnant with Mateo.

As he recalled the brushed memories… it all began to piece together.

“Don’t – don’t suck too hard…” Y/n whimpered, blushing from watching Toru and feeling the suction he had on her sensitive nipple.

Another time when he was buried deep inside her, Y/n cried with tears pooling in her eyes. “You feel… you feel so deep…”  

Toru immediately stopped his movements and caressed her cheek, “am I hurting you?”  He wiped her tears away and only smiled when she shook her head, telling him he made her feel good.

These were tell-tale signs he remembered going through with Lucia.

It had been 48 hours since he last saw her but it felt like an eternity.

She has not returned his seven missed calls nor the numerous text messages. He knows he should respect her space but he couldn’t help but feel the distance between them is only pushing them further and further apart.

For an hour, Toru and Mateo hung out in Mateo’s large playpen together. The baby kept himself occupied with the toys Y/n had purchased him and Toru could only wonder what was running through his son’s mind.

Did he miss Y/n too?

It was two short nights but Toru spent every second of it going over the scenario.

Y/n was pregnant.

There was a probability that the baby could not be his.

That meant… it was that man that had visited her weeks ago?

“Woojin?” the name fell off his lips  

All he could remember from that first and last encounter was that this person was tall like him, a slightly smaller physique but he and this man had the same dark hair and body complexion.

Toru couldn’t help but feel jealous of this Woojin person. Who was he to Y/n and what was their relationship? How long have they known each other?

All questions attacked him and he groaned, making Mateo look at him confused.

“I miss Y/n,” he told Mateo, who instantly perked up at the sound of her name. “You miss her too?” His son stared at him as if waiting for her to appear. “Should we go see her on the other side?” He picked up his son and together they headed towards the door.

The moment his door swung open, Toru’s eyes widened seeing Y/n leaving her unit as well.

With a suitcase beside her.

Y/n called his name softly, yet he heard the sadness and pain in her tone.

“Are you… going somewhere?” He shifted Mateo in his arms, who was squirming at the sight of Y/n.

He sensed the hesitancy as she quickly shut the door to her unit before letting out a deep breath. She approached him with her luggage left by her door.

“Where… are you going?” The question weighed heavily on him, as difficult to utter as it was to bear. His heart throbbed with discomfort, reluctant to confront the truth.

“I’m – I’m going to Ko… rea… to Korea for a few days,” Y/n answered, looking at him directly in the eye. She hesitated but reached for his free hand, holding it gently. “I will be back, I promise.” Y/n gazes into his eyes, “I’ll come back to you, I will come back to you.”

Toru untangled his hand from hers and drew her into an embrace, murmuring, “what is the reason?”

Despite knowing the reason, he understood the rationale behind it and knew that it would only inflict pain upon himself by asking, but he felt compelled to inquire regardless.

Her arms wrapped around his waist, and he felt her fist a handful of his shirt. “I should – I should tell him.”

Toru clenched his eyes tightly shut. He anticipated it, and braced himself for it, yet why did it sting even more?

“I understand,” he sighed, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “Okay, have a safe flight and please come back to me.”

“I will,” she pressed her lips over his heart.

.

Mateo slept soundlessly in Toru’s arm for his afternoon nap. Their large living room seemed larger and too quiet than usual. Even for a short period, his living room was filled with Y/n’s laughter, her singing to the wrong lyrics of Mateo’s lullabies. It felt so lively and filled with lots of comfort that warmed his heart.

After ensuring Mateo wouldn’t wake up, Toru laid him in his crib. He reached for Y/n’s wool cardigan that had been in his crib and placed it beside the sleeping baby who found comfort in it.

 He closed the door to Mateo’s nursery and turned on his baby monitor. Toru was about to help himself to a cup of tea to calm his nerves when he heard something strange outside his unit.

If Y/n was on her way to the airport, who would be outside?

Without looking at the camera that pointed out to the lobby shared between him and Y/n, he pushed the door open and was ready to confront whoever it was but froze halfway.

Y/n looks up, startled and half crouching. Her luggage was lying flat on the ground as if it slipped from her hand.

“Y/n?” He blinked a couple of times, even rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands to make sure he was truly seeing her and that she was not just a hallucination. Over an hour ago he had made a tough decision to let her go, how was she… “Aren’t you supposed to be at the airport? Or on the plane to Korea?”

He walked towards her when Y/n quickly stood up and closed the distance between them, throwing herself at him, and wrapping her legs and arms around him.

Toru caught her, his arms naturally wrapping around her and supporting her weight. He sighed and hugged her tightly.

“I couldn’t do it,” Y/n finally whispered, she leaned back to look into his eyes. She quickly explained how she sat at the gates contemplating the situation and made the decision not to get on the plane. “I couldn’t go through it. Woojin deserves to know but I think I’m being too impulsive right now.” She cupped his face and pressed her lips against his. “I should have talked to you, figure this out together… that’s if you… want to figure it out together.”

“I do,” he confirmed quickly. One of his hands snaked behind her head, bringing it down to his. “I want to figure this out with you.”

Y/n brushed her nose against his, “I love you. I love you so much Oikawa Toru.”

Toru sighed, and a soft grunt came from his throat. “I love you too, Y/l/n Y/f/n.” Without putting her down, he walked over to pick up her luggage and towed it behind them into his unit.

.

They lay in the middle of Mateo’s large playpen.

“I want to get a paternity DNA test done.”

Toru rolled onto this side and supported his weight on his elbow. “Okay, I think that’s a good start too. Should we start with me?”

Y/n looked at him confused, “you?”

Toru nodded, a hand reaching out to palm her flat belly. He couldn’t voice how badly he wished and hoped that the baby that was nourishing inside Y/n’s body was his.

It never crossed his mind that he would want another child after Mateo, he’ll be honest that he didn’t want any more children and would be content with just Mateo. But since his rekindling with Y/n and the current situation, would he be so bold and willing to help her raise a child that was not his own?

“To rule it out,” he answered quietly, “it’s a small possibility… but I’m willing to hold my breath that this child could be mine.” He reached to touch her hair, “if it’s my baby then you wouldn’t have to bother talking to Woojin.”

Y/n sat up and motioned for him to sit up and as soon as he was upward, Y/n crawled on his lap and hugged him.

“Toru,” she uttered his name quietly under her breath, “I need to – need to know…” she paused to take a deep breath, “will – will you still want to be with me… if – if this child is not – not yours?”

No matter how many different scenarios he thought in his head, the one that weighed heavily on him was the high possibility that this child was not his. He asked himself if he would be able to raise a child that was not his own and the answer was yes, he would be able to raise another child that was not his.

If it was Y/n, who was also willing to love another child that wasn’t her own, Toru could also love a child that was not his own by blood.

Toru pulled away enough to see her face, he waited until she finally looked into his eyes and he smiled. “Yes, I will still want you even if this child is not mine. I will love them just as if they were my own.”

Y/n smiled, her shoulders relaxing as if his response had blown all the anxiety that burdened her. “I was scared you wouldn’t want to…”

A lingering, unidentified fear gnawed at him, compelling him to seek answers.

“If…” he took a deep breath. “If this child is not mine and is… his… what – what will you do?”

Please don’t say you’ll go back to him, he repeated over in his head.

“Woojin and I have agreed to go our ways a few weeks back and I have contemplated on either telling him or not.” Her face bore the unmistakable mark of guilt. “If this child is his, I know I should not keep it away from Woojin.”

“No, you should not,” Toru concurred, though inwardly he wished she wouldn’t have to confront that man. Yet, he acknowledged that Woojin deserved to be informed about the pregnancy and the child; he deserved to be included in the journey even if he and Y/n had no preexisting relationship. “I encourage you to tell him. If he decides not to be involved in the baby’s life, then that’s his decision. You’ve given him a choice.”

Toru would have been at a loss if Lucia had concealed her pregnancy and the existence of Mateo from him. Despite the life-altering revelation, being a father to Mateo brings Toru immense pride and joy, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He has no desire to return to his life before Mateo came into it.   

Y/n pressed her forehead against his. “If this child is Woojin’s, then we will have to figure out how to co-parent but it’ll be a bridge we’ll cross when we get there.”

The weighty burden he had carried for the past few hours finally lifted. “But regardless of what decision he chooses, I will be beside you.”

Y/n leaned to press her lips to his forehead, “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve me because I deserve you. We deserve each other.”

.

Three weeks later, Y/n was scheduled for the testing.

Toru squeezed her hand, assuring her that everything would be okay. “The nurse said many have gone through this test and there is nothing to worry about, no risk to you or the baby.”

Y/n nodded, squeezing his hand tightly. “We’ll be okay.”

Sometime after they were separated, they reunited again. The same nurse who took Y/n away brought her back. As if sensing Toru’s presence, she looked up and smiled tiredly while sitting in a wheelchair. She reached a hand out to him, which he took and squeezed it lightly.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded, “let’s go home.”

.

Toru gently pulled the covers up to her chin and carefully got off the bed without disturbing her.

Y/n groans, curling up into a fetal at the loss of his warmth. Once they reached home, she began experiencing cramping shortly after they got home. They were informed that cramping and light spotting was expected and normal. Toru wanted her to stay with him at his unit so he could monitor her.

He swallowed hard, despising the sensation of helplessness and his inability to alleviate her pain. Plating a gentle and light kiss on her forehead, he allowed her to rest while he stepped away to make a brief phone call to his mom to check on Mateo.

“Hey mom,” he greeted quietly over the phone, “how is Teo?”

When Toru and Y/n had dropped him off with his grandma, Mateo displayed signs of distress. He appeared apprehensive in the unfamiliar surroundings, clinging tightly to Toru. When his grandma attempted to reach for him, Mateo recoiled, refusing to go to her – a behavior that shocked both Toru and Y/n, as he had never exhibited hostility before.

They had to ease him in and get him comfortable before leaving him for a few hours.

“Teo is just like you. The moment you and Y/n disappeared and he noticed it, he looked everywhere for you two.” His mom explained, “you were just like that when you were a baby. But how is Y/n? Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she’s okay, she is resting,” he felt slightly guilty for not telling the truth to his mom about Y/n’s appointment, only saying she was not feeling good and he was going to take her in. “I’ll be there soon to pick up –“ Toru loses the rest of his words as he turns his head towards his unit door. “Mom, I’ll call you back in a second.”

Walking towards his door, he pressed the button to turn on the camera outside his unit.

His eyes narrowed when he saw someone standing at Y/n’s door, ringing her doorbell and knocking repeatedly on her door.

“Y/n!”

Opening the door, he faces the man head-on. “Can I help you?”

Woojin wiped around, his disheveled hair and ruffled clothing told Toru something didn’t feel right.

“Y/n, where is she?”

Stepping out and closing his door behind him, Toru stood tall, “she is resting.”

Woojin marched across the lobby and grabbed Toru by his collar. “You bastard, is she in there with you?”

Toru emitted a bitter chuckle, “it is none of your business if she is with me, you guys are nothing.”

Woojin shoved Toru against his door, growling, “it is my business when she is my woman and carrying my child.”

Toru’s smile dimmed as his eyes narrowed, and then he shoved him away. “Leave before I have security kick you off the premises and banned.”

Running a hand through his messy hair, Woojin chuckled coldly. “You know it too, is that right?” His silence confirms his assumption. “I will not back down – “

“Toru?”

The two men turned their heads as the door slowly opened revealing a pale Y/n who gripped her abdomen. “Toru?” Her voice shook, “some – something doesn’t feel right…” her legs trembled as she looked down at her feet, her white ankle socks soaked with redness.

. . .

E/n: I know... I know :(

>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy @rukia-uchia-98 @anejuuuuoy @tooruchiiscribs @mommyourcall420 @haikyuubiggestsimp @lilguycoded @random-734 @ghostlyneckoaftoad @abcde12345 @shotenvinsoot @princess-sunshyn @anonymoussimper @junglewoos @basically-an-anime-stan-acct @mih311 @m1nt-3lla @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whatamidoing89 @ssc7514 @lupita97lm @ushygushybaby

[waves-against-a-cliff]

Wanna Try? - Gaz x Reader

Thinking about Gaz in the worst way possible

Thanks to @shotmrmiller for indulging in the brain worms with me.

Content Warnings - DUB-CON. I cannot stress this enough, this is dub-con, pretty much bordering on noncon. Anal, PiV, throat fucking, weed usage, Gaz is maybe kinda lacing the weed. Photos and videos being taken and sent to others without consent!

I've never been high before so; inaccuracies!!

You are responsible for your own media consumption. Don't read this if you KNOW you won't like it.

You had been curious about getting high. You'd never done it before but the way other people talked about, well you were curious. So you brought up with your boyfriend Kyle, asking him about it. He had been open about his personal usage for weed, helps clear his head after coming back from deployment and with the aches in his joints.

So of course he was willing to let you experience the high. He rolled up a blunt and handed it to you, demonstrating the best he could on how to handle the smoke. You coughed and wheezed the first few times but the fuzziness set in almost immediately. "Totally normal love. It's your first time after all."

Your movements are sluggish, it feels like your brain is a static TV. Your tongue feels swollen and heavy, too thick in your mouth. Your words slur like you're drunk and you can vaguely feel Gaz undoing the buttons of your trousers.

"What're doing?" You slur, trying to focus your eyes but find it too difficult so you close them. Some part of your brain acknowledges what he says, even if it's drowned out by the static. He doesn't sound like you do, do you even recall if he had more than one puff?

"Taking care of you. Don't worry."

Vaguely you wonder what can you do? You must've said it aloud because he murmurs something about taking it. Gaz absolutely enjoys seeing how oversensitive you are. Every other sense is dulled down but the way he works your already slick hole open for him. You're overly aware when his hot tongue swipes at your clit but your mouth feels like cotton you can barely moan.

The world spins and you jolt when you feel something push into you. Your nerves are raw, every sensation drawn out and at least tripled. It stings, it burns.

"Kyle," you whine and you feel him slip something sweet into your mouth.

"Chew and swallow dove." He commands and you do as he says, mind numb to the glint in his eyes.

"You can't." You slur.

"You can and will take it."

You wake up sore, it kind of hurts to sit and your memory is fuzzy. You were sure just smoking weed wasn't supposed to give you such fuzzy memories. But Gaz tells you it's normal, it was your first time getting high, what do you know? You suppose that's true and it did feel nice to get out of your head for a little while.

He's pushing you to do another session sometime that week. "You enjoyed it yeah? Let's do another then love."

Convinces you that the reason your throat hurts is because you aren't used to the weed yet. Still, something within your gut is ringing the alarm. That weed wouldn't result in your ass hurting or how sticky your panties are after sobering up.

It's a few weeks later, and several smoke sessions, that you need to use his phone since yours was dead. He handed it to you without thinking and pressed a quick kiss to your lips saying he's heading down to the store to grab a few things for dinner. You can't help but think about how doting he is, how wonderful he's been these last weeks.

It's curiosity that has you checking his gallery app. And maybe a want to find a cute picture he took of himself to use as a new lock screen. Your breathing stops and your stomach rolls when you see his latest videos and photos. Of course there's the usual selfies he takes with that radiate smile but you see pictures of yourself.

Pictures of you looking up into the camera, your lips stretched around his cock and spit dripping down your chin. Eyes glassy with tears and red from the weed. You tap on the most recent video, taken the same day you smoked with him. His hand is in your hair, soft grunts coming from his lips as he pistons his hips against your face. Soft gags coming from you that turn more violent the harder he fucks your throat.

"that's it's dove." He groans and his fist tightens in your hair. You vaguely realize he's coming down your throat.

You slide to the next video. Your ass is in full view of the camera, slapped red and raw. Your back arched as he fucks his cock into your ass. He spreads the cheeks with one hand so he can video it better. Your moaning and mewling in the background that gets louder the harder he fucks you.

"you love this don't you?" You weakly nod your head in response, "love it when your boyfriend uses you while you're high? What a slag." His hand comes down harshly on your ass that results in a yelp from you. You close out of the video, close out of the app and set the phone down.

Just be grateful you didn't look into his messages where he's been sending these pictures and videos to the rest of the task force.

[seiless]

This may get a bit dark, but how about some heavy hurt/comfort. I used my irl d&d campaign as my Astarion route Tav (tiefling wild magic sorceress) intending for BG3 to be the next adventure in her storyline after the d&d campaign... then my DM threw some really messed up angst at her, knowing I'm a lover of angst and Astarion. Turns out her mother (a queen & sorceress) had been using her as a pawn to seduce, charm, and eliminate rivals who wished to usurp her throne, then erased the memories and planted false ones.

So maybe dome hurt/comfort of Astarion when Tav finds out what she's actually been through, her life has been a pie, etc etc? If this is too heavy/too specific, pls just delete but the campaign has been being A TIME for me and I need some Astarion affection

(The first prompt is finished, at last! Many more to come! U V U)

You were used. Of course you were. If all your other companions had some sort of difficult or twisted past, why would you be any different?

But it wasn’t that you had one as well that bothered you. What had your stomach in knots and your heart twisting apart was the fact that it had been happening your whole life…and you hadn’t ever once noticed.

That you weren’t just your mother’s daughter; no, far from it. You were your mother’s tool. A weapon for her to wield, to manipulate and coerce others to do what she needed them to do.

Not only did you never have a say in the matter…you didn't even realize it. Not until your memories were forcefully returned by the tadpole and broke whatever insidious curse that kept the truth at bay.

They didn’t come all at once; they started as nightmares, over the course of months. The kind that became more frequent, more vivid.

And then the realization struck; they weren’t nightmares at all. They were memories. Shadowheart helped you come to this realization when you explained what you were suffering through each night.

Astarion had been awre of these dreams that tormented you; sharing a tent did make that easy. But you had insisted he not worry; it was your problem to resolve, and he had enough he had to deal with.

But that didn’t stop him from keeping a close eye on you. So when you strode from Shadowheart’s tent that night and made a beeline for your own, he could tell quite clearly something was wrong.

His gaze flicked to Shadowheart, who had lingered at the entrance and watched as you steppped away. She was worried; that much was obvious.

Astarion pursed his lips, but knew there was little time to wait. With a lift of his chin and a fluff of his tunic, he made his way over to the tent you had disappeared into.

Of course, he could hear the sobs before he’d even reached you. The sound was muffled, pressed into the palm of your hand. 

It did make his heart twist. You had done so little to deserve such distress (well, in his unbiased opinion).

His initial thought was to dismiss any heartfelt attempt at comfort, say something lighthearted and teasing to break the heaviness that suffocated the tent.

He thought better of it, and instead reached out to take hold of your hand, gingerly forcing your attention away from the bedroll you had all but pressed yourself tightly into.

You turned your head some, offering a little acknowledgement to the vampire.

But there was little else you could do; not without a whole new waterfall of tears gushing forth.

“What did they say?” He asked gentlyin a soft voice; gentle enough that it might coax you from the whimpering.

You shook your head, averting your gaze back to the dirt in front of you.

“It was all real. The nightmares…t-they were memories. All of it. .I was…I was a tool. A pawn, used by my own…” You choked back a sob, and he could hear your teeth grind as your jaw clenched tightly. My own mother.”

Astarion nodded quietly; he had suspected as much, given the vividness and the sheer amount of detail you were able to recall with each instance.

You bit your lip, squeezing his hand tightly.

“I don’t know what to think…the things I did for her, Astarion, what I thought was right, what would help her….the people I hurt, that I-!’

“I’m quite familiar with it, darling.” Astarion’s tone remained gentle, if only with a hint of a teasing lilt. “If it’s any comfort, at least you didn’t know the things you were doing were inherently wrong.”

You whipped your glare back to him, pulling your hand from his. “That doesn’t make it any better. That makes it worse. I couldn’t even atone for my sins because I thought it was the right thing to do. That I was doing it for her- Gods, I can’t believe…”

There was a deep, unending understanding in his heart. There were few who could understand what you were going through. 

“I…I am sorry, my love. I know exactly what you’re going through. To have come from your own mother is unfathomably awful. It is something no one deserves…least of all, you.”

You nodded, pushing the tears away as you worked to sit yourself upright. Your expression was bordering on embarrassed; sheepish. Like you were ashamed to be telling him any of this.

“Thank you, Asta, really. But…but I don’t think it’s anything like what you had to go through. I wouldn’t dare compare the two things.”

“You didn’t. I did. You weren’t given a say in your actions; certainly, you may not have been tormented and brutalized in a whole host of different ways, but-”

“My point exactly,” You frowned, this time moving to take his hand in your own. Your body was hot with sorrow; with anger. “You don’t need to try and-”

“I’m not doing anything other than giving you the same compassion you've shown me. You needn't belittle your experiences simply because it doesn't compare to my own.”

“I-I’m not trying to comp- I just- I’m sorry. I’m a mess.” You shook your head, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I don’t want to be this. I hate that this is what I am. I hate that she made me this way, and I didn’t even know it. And I don’t want to t-talk about it either, because I’m hardly t-the only one with issues like this!”

“But you still need time to process it, as we all did. And you will not be alone in this. Quite the contrary; I’m certain there’s a number of people that are willing to be there for you, aside from myself.”

“That’s…that’s true.” You sniffed, taking in a long, shaking breath in a feeble attempt to calm down. “I’m sorry. You're right, I’m just…I’m not in a good headspace. I do need some t-time to process it.”

“Couldn’t agree more, darling.” Astarion smiled softly, “Would you prefer to be on your own? I’ll gladly fuck off, if you demand it.”

“No.” You shook your head, holding out a trembling hand. “I want you to stay.” 

Cool fingertips skated over your palm, and laced with your own as he drew you gently into his chest. Deceptively broad, and reliably strong, you melted into him, unwinding your hands so that you could properly wrap your arms around him and fall into a much needed embrace.

Astarion laid you both down gingerly, prizing your comfort as the floodgatesopened once more.

You don’t know how long you cried, and at certain points, you weren’t entirely sure what your breaths were hitching for.

But when the storm passed, and you finally cried yourself asleep, Astarion was there.

Unwavering in his loyalty, reluctant to let you go for even a moment, his thoughts were filled only with you.

Well, you and a variety of schemes to take revenge on your mother, but you nonetheless.

You were there in the darkest of times, and knew you would remain at his side when he finally found the strength to face his greatest fears.

There could be no doubt that he would do the very same for you. He would never allow such a concern to ever cross your mind.

[beanghostprincess]

Sabo still struggles with memory loss. He had his childhood back, of course, he remembers Ace and Luffy and everything they did together. But he doesn't remember some stuff. Some anecdotes Luffy tells oh so excitedly? He can't recall that those happened. And if he does, it's all blurry and never at all like Luffy says. But he never says anything because that would break his brother's heart, to know his older brother isn't fully back with him, so he nods and smiles and pretends he knows what Luffy is talking about every time.

His room is filled with Post-it notes. Stupid, really. Dumb stuff. But he has all the meetings he needs to remember and the missions he has to do, along with everything he wants to write down at some point properly. The walls are covered in pictures of the people he loves (Luffy, Ace, Koala, Robin... All the others that have ever meant something to him because he refuses to forget somebody again).

He keeps writing dumb stuff down. Anything. He refuses to forget. He denies the possibility of doing it again.

But he forgets. Sabo keeps forgetting important dates. Important parts of his life, like his past with his brothers (he forgets a random adventure they had that he swore he had talked about the day prior) and crucial things he has to do. He has a hard time picturing his memories. Putting them in his brain. Turning them into images. Saying it's frustrating is a huge understatement.

Koala helps him out, of course. She's hard on him so he finishes his paperwork, but she knows it's difficult sometimes. She's his personal calendar and diary. She informs him of what he has to do during the week and always tries to talk and talk about anecdotes that she knows he still remembers but knows he loves to hear again.

His mental health isn't the best either, but he refuses to acknowledge it. There's a revolution at hand, he can't stop working. And fighting. And doing more and more and more. But sometimes it's just too much. Sometimes he goes into depressive episodes he can't control, and the medication is either addicting or the worst thing that has ever happened to him. Sometimes he's a bit too intense. Koala says he needs to calm down, that he has a problem with his fixation on the revolution and his past. Sabo keeps saying that it's fine. But he sometimes forgets or has blurry images of the fights and the people he has killed, filled with energy and excitement and like he has the power of a God. He doesn't like those. Enjoys the moment. Hates to forget it. Hates to know what he did during it too, even if it was for a good cause. Despises the look Koala gives him, also. Makes her promise not to tell Luffy about all of this.

But it's fine, he keeps saying. Sabo will keep trying to never forget anything ever again.

[radiaurapple]

Lucid Dreams of New Orleans: Chapter 11

CHAPTER SUMMARY: IN WHICH one deal is broken and another is fulfilled.

FIC SUMMARY: Lucifer has always kept his distance from sinners. It’s what keeps him (relatively) sane — if he gets too close, he is haunted by visions of the tragic mortal lives that landed them in Hell. But in his new life at the Hotel, it is more difficult than ever to stay away — and when it comes to light that his daughter’s insufferable facilities manager is gravely wounded, it falls to Lucifer to deliver his soul from Death. In so doing, he falls headfirst into the sins, past lives, and heartbreaks of the one human whose contradictions he is powerless to resist.

[AO3 LINK]

New chapter time!! I didn't make art for this one, but I included a link to the crack version of this chapter I came up with while ideating for it, so hopefully that's a good enough consolation prize. Next chapter is next Saturday as always! 📻🍎

Chapter preview below!

Alastor opens his eyes in the hotel. It is the early hours of morning — dim violet light filters through the windows of Lucifer’s room. And Lucifer —

Lucifer sits across from Alastor, taking desperate, ragged breaths. His unfurled wings spill over the back of his chair. He runs a hand over the one he lost in the memory and shudders. 

“Alastor?” Lucifer says in a hoarse voice.

“Yes,” Alastor says.

Lucifer exhales once, twice. Finally he seems to catch his breath. He looks up, his red eyes flickering in the dark. “I’m sorry,” he says faintly.

This is perhaps the last thing Alastor expected to hear immediately after his magic strangled Lucifer into unconsciousness and forced him to relive what was almost certainly the worst memory of his millennia-long existence. “Pardon?”

“I’m sorry you had to see that. I — ah — I couldn’t think of another way to fulfill both my deal with you and the binding from you-know-who.” 

Alastor can find no retort to this, no response. No existing script will be of any use. 

“How are you,” Alastor says at last, his voice barely above a whisper.

As the words leave his mouth, Alastor realizes he wishes to ask every possible angle of that question. How is Lucifer? How does he cope with the paradox he embodies? The creature of stardust, holy thumbprint of God — and the progenitor of sin, the pariah made to bear the weight of mankind’s depravity. Shackled sovereign of the universe’s negative space. It is easy to forget that Lucifer is inarguably another kind of God — a God of entropy, of emptiness, of endings. How is he?

Lucifer chuckles darkly. “Eh — been worse.” He snaps his fingers and a bottle of some kind of hard cider appears in his hand. He pries off the cap with shaking fingers, takes a swig, coughs. “Fuck — I always forget how bad that shit tasted.” He exhales a pathetic wheeze of a laugh and meets Alastor’s eyes. He seems to be seeking some kind of commiseration, but Alastor, having never personally tasted the Bitter Cup of Man’s Iniquity and Sin, cannot relate, and blankly returns the stare. 

“Oh — sorry, do you want some?” Lucifer snaps his fingers and a second bottle appears in front of Alastor.

“Why are you doing that?”

Lucifer looks at the bottle in confusion. “I dunno, it just felt rude to not offer —” 

“No. Why did you apologize? I —” Alastor cuts himself off. He is completely out of his depth; he cannot recall the last time he felt this sick over another person’s suffering. Perhaps not since he was alive. He nearly laughs aloud as he finds himself sifting through Charlie’s redemption exercises for guidance. What would she say in this situation?

“I regret my words,” Alastor finally manages — the acknowledgement burns on the way out. 

Lucifer shakes his head. “Not your fault. I didn’t think about the deal contradiction either. Probably should have.”

“No.” Alastor squeezes his eyes shut in frustration. He realizes belatedly that his smile has fallen, and he’s been speaking without his radio filter — details which would ordinarily alarm him but that now feel utterly unimportant. “I was referring to what was said prior.” 

When Alastor had snapped at Lucifer for considering Hollis — the easiest person in the world to love — a friend. He thinks of Lucifer and Hollis in the pool, or teaming up at bridge, or sitting next to each other in a streetcar, both of them smiling up at him. Alastor has no issue with any attachment Lucifer might feel toward Hollis — quite the opposite. That truth is obvious to him now. 

“Oh,” Lucifer says softly. “Well, I mean — I get it.”

[AO3 LINK]

[karrenseely]

Mother's Day?

This is a hard day. It is a reminder of how much my mother hates me. It is a reminder that she wanted me dead. That I felt loved and cared for by her until the day I told her I was trans and needed help. Of the complete and utter betrayal, of her conditional love.

For any of us who were abused by our mother's. This day is really hard. Society does not acknowledge that not all mother's deserve to have a day celebrating them. It doesn't acknowledge all of us who've been so damaged and hurt by them that we can barely function in our society.

It doesn't even acknowledge how hard this day is for some of us. Instead we get bombarded with messages about wonderful mothers and how we should love them and be grateful for them and all that they did for us.

But when I told her who I was, and that I desparately needed help. That I was hurting so much, and wasn't sure I'd survive the absolute torture of the wrong puberty, she denied me. Shamed me. Made me believe I was a monster. A pervert. That I was unlovable.

Before that day, despite some warning signs in my memory, I felt loved by her, I felt supported, I felt like she wanted me to be happy and to succeed.

But after I asked for help, it was a 180. Her love was completely conditional. But my child brain couldn't make sense of that, couldn't understand that. My child brain concluded I was the problem and I was so horrible that she wanted me dead...

This is a very triggering day. It brings me into emotional flashbacks, and tons of horrible memories. "[Deadname], I'd rather you were dead!" echoes repeatedly in my head. It's the only clear sentence I can recall her saying to me. All my other memories, even though she's shouting or telling me how horrible I am... I don't remember her words, just the horrible feelings she evoked in me. Fear, shame, humiliation, unworthy of existing.

My mother never loved me. Not really. She loved her idea of the son she thought I was. But she never loved me. She tried to hurt me, erase me, kill me.

She blames me for losing her son. A son she never actually had.

And still. I miss her from the time before, from the time when I felt loved by her. Before she betrayed and tried to kill me for existing.

Mother's day is hard.

And then there's the other part that's hard. The reminder that I will never be a biomom. That I never could carry my child and give birth to them and love them and shower them with all the love, support, and understanding I never got. A reminder that I will never have these things. I have children. Sort of. Through my girlfriend. But because of the abuse I suffered as a child and foolishly thinking I'd healed from it. I've never really discussed my relationship with her, or her children. Though I love them with all my heart. I am so proud of them. But I am always aware if my tidy little relationship with my gf ever blows up, I have no right to those kids, no right to see them, or to continue to be part of their lives. And this day reminds me of this all too keenly. Not that I expect that to happen. But I'm still keenly aware of the possibility. It was hard enough, beyond difficult when I couldn't see them for three months during the quarantine at the beginning of the pandemic.

It reminds all of us that could never carry our on children and give birth to them, that we are not mother's. That we will never be mother's in that way. Ever. And that hurt's so very very much too.

Mother's Day is hard.

[goodfish-bowl]

Wired-In

Ectoberhaunt 2023 Day 2: Technomancy

AO3 Link

Summary: Valerie hadn’t noticed any differences at first, just life being a bit easier when it came to certain things. but with the hum now constantly under her skin, it’s difficult to focus on anything else.

Warnings: angst, slight body horror

Words: 805

It had been small and subtle things at first, differences that Valerie could only notice in retrospect. Devices no longer asked for passwords, and the broken cash register at work would suddenly start functioning again after a swift hit to the side. It would only take a good, percussive kick to get the bugged-out ice cream machine working again. All of them were small things that she wouldn’t look at suspiciously, but would make her day just the slightest bit easier. 

Then, some other things became a lot easier. Valerie’s fingers would fly across a keyboard, autocorrecting to exactly what she meant, even if the word was widely misspelled. Using her suit became so close to second nature it barely took the hint of a thought to get it to do anything, from her hoverboard to the manifestation of weapons she had never called upon before. Valerie actually noticed this one, but wrote it off as a progression of skill. That sniper rifle-style blaster had managed to land a solid hit on Phantom before he could even react. 

The first time Valerie really noticed something was up, it had been during a three way fight between Skulker, Phantom, and herself. A vivid image of Skulker’s wings deploying and sending him directly into the closest building flashed in her mind. With a show of teeth, and an audible snarl, Valerie gave into the impulse and harshly shoved the mechanical ghost out of the way. Red flashed beneath Skulker's suit, racing up his arm in a pulse of light, his eyes flickered to her signature crimson. With the sound of skulker yelling inside of his suit as he lost control, the wings deployed and he crashed directly into the office building to their left. Valerie only spared enough time to glance between her hand and the Skulker-shaped hole in the office windows, before forcing her hoverboard to go faster after Phantom.

It had been later that night, that Valerie truly acknowledged that something wasn’t quite right. The screen in her visor no longer projected the tracking formation before her face, but flashed with complete understanding behind her eyes. She accepted it easily in the moment, caught up in the chase, but laid in her bed for hours afterwards. After flicking through the mental computer in her mind for a while, Valerie ended up mentally going over recordings of her own memories, like they were recorded from her own eyes with perfect clarity. Even with her suit tucked away, she could still feel it humming under her skin, and buzzing behind her eyes. It didn’t go away, and she couldn’t find the power button either.  

Valerie couldn’t decide if this was a good thing or not, still lost in her own mind, but still hearing every minute of Mr. Lancer’s lecture as it was recorded and transcribed into a small corner of her mind. It made her feel less human, with every second of her memory being perfectly recalled like a computer log. Now that she was aware of it, Valerie could even feel the high-frequency buzz of electronics in the school building, the call of various devices tucked away behind the textbooks and in bags. It made her hyper aware of everything humming with electricity in this corner of the building. She absently wondered what she could do with it, but these powers reminded her far too much of Technus, usefulness aside it twisted her gut in a way she didn’t like as she was changed without her permission.

Valerie wondered if she should go to the Fentons about her newfound powers, but that brought the drawback of them finding out. Valerie herself didn’t want to know if they cut her open, and took samples, if they would find electricity and ectoplasm mixed into her blood. Chips and wires replacing her veins. Danny was terrified of ghosts, she didn’t want him to look at her in fear, if she turned out to be more ghost-like than human.

Valerie rammed the thoughts about her powers to the side with such mental force she thought Skulker would go through another building (in the room over, a light burst). She was human, some neat and very useful abilities didn’t change that, it was a good thing, it made her a better ghost hunter. If she could link into the local security and traffic cameras, she might finally be able to find out where that awful ghost went when he wasn’t terrorizing Amity Park. She could take him down for good. Valerie hummed in contentment at the thought of finally getting her revenge, matching the humm of the lights above her perfectly.

Valerie didn’t catch the brief glance from Danny across the classroom as his breath released in a cold wisp and caught a flicker of crimson in her eyes.

Ectoberhaunt 2023 Master Post

[teine-mallaichte]

Hi there and happy Friday! How about "Definitely just a cold" from your Bad Things Happen bingo card for Fenris?

Right I've been staring at this trying to find up with an ending for about an hour and decided "it will do" because that is the spirit of DADWC right? 😝

So... Some sick Fenris for @dadrunkwriting and @badthingshappenbingo

Fenris gritted his teeth against the chills wracking his body, the burning ache in his chest, and the relentless cough threatening to tear his ribs apart. "Just a cold," he muttered through clenched jaws, though each breath felt like daggers in his lungs.

He had stubbornly ignored the encroaching illness for days, brushing off mounting fatigue and worsening chills with the stoicism ingrained by years of servitude. Each hacking cough felt like a betrayal of his own resilience, a stark reminder of the vulnerability he refused to acknowledge.

But this morning, Hawke had intervened firmly, putting his foot down and insisting that Fenris was in no state to join them on today's mission. There was even a veiled threat to involve the mage if Fenris didn't comply.

Reluctantly, he had relented, retreating to his derelict mansion while the others set off. Fenris couldn't recall where exactly; it had been difficult to focus during the briefing.

Another fit of coughing racked his body, each convulsion sending sharp jolts of pain through his chest. He clenched his ribs tightly, fighting to suppress the agony and stifle his gasps, as memories of Danarius' punishments flooded his mind. The haunting image of sick slaves, rendered useless and discarded like broken tools, loomed ominously. In his former life as a slave, Fenris knew all too well that one's worth was solely determined by utility. Any sign of inability to work resulted in being deemed expendable—a fate met with punishment or disposal, regardless of the cause.

The thought of appearing weak, of being seen as incapable, gnawed at him. Hawke's dismissal earlier had felt like a challenge to his strength, his capability, his worth.

Did Hawke now see him as fragile, unable to endure even a mere cold?

Restlessly, Fenris paced the empty halls of his mansion, the oppressive silence broken only by the echo of his footsteps. Each stride grew heavier, his body weighed down by fatigue and the unrelenting ache in his chest.

Would Hawke begin to question his reliability in future battles?

He paused abruptly, leaning heavily against the cold stone wall, the weight of exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him. The mansion around him seemed to close in, the silence suffocating. How could he prove his reliability, his strength, if a simple cold was enough for Hawke to doubt him?

Each cough, each sharp stab through his head, every shiver, felt like a reminder of vulnerability—a vulnerability that threatened to unravel the facade of strength he had carefully constructed.

Even in Kirkwall, amidst newfound allies and friends, the fear of appearing weak was a constant shadow. The thought of being seen as incapable, of failing to meet the expectations of those who now relied on him, gnawed at his resolve.

With a deep breath, Fenris straightened, pushing himself away from the wall. The room seemed to tilt slightly with the movement, forcing him to lean against the wall once more.

"It's merely a cold," he muttered once more. His legs gave way beneath him, forcing him to slide down the cold stone wall until he found himself seated on the floor. The ache in his chest intensified with each breath, a reminder of his body's betrayal. He gritted his teeth against the sharp stabs of pain, fighting to maintain the facade of strength that had always defined him.

"The floor is not the most traditional place for resting," Hawkes voice breaks the oppressive silence.

Fenris looked up sharply, surprised to see Hawke standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame with a wry smile playing on his lips. Despite the humor in his eyes, there was a flicker of concern that Fenris couldn't quite ignore.

"I thought we had an agreement? You rest, and I don't drag you to Anders." Hawke continued, his tone light but firm.

Fenris scowled, his pride stinging at being caught in such a vulnerable state. "I'm fine," he muttered stubbornly, though the weakness in his voice betrayed him.

Adrian's smile softened into something more earnest as he stepped closer, his demeanor shifting subtly from playful to serious. "You're not fine, Fenris," he said firmly, crouching down beside him.

Fenris met Hawke's gaze, "It's just... a cold," he insisted.

Hawke sighed softly, "So you keep saying... You should still be in bed. You look like you've been dragged through Darktown backwards."

Fenris scowled, the corners of his mouth twitching in spite of himself. "Darktown backwards? Is that a new insult, Hawke?"

Hawke chuckled, "Maybe it is. Just for you."

"I am not in the mood for your jests," Fenris grumbled, though the tension in his shoulders eased slightly.

Adrian's smile widened, the familiar glint of amusement returning to his eyes. "Fair enough. But seriously, Fenris, this is not just a cold."

Fenris sighed, finally relenting under Hawke's unwavering gaze. "Perhaps it is not just a cold," he admitted reluctantly.

[audriel]

let's start thinkin' bout it

chapter 2: lingering wounds

Some wounds need to bleed before they can heal. Otherwise, they linger.

Qiao Yifan finds himself standing in front of the door to the room of Wang Jiexi–his current captain, he reminds himself again. While he has learned to be thick-skinned, Qiao Yifan is still an honest person and acting doesn’t come to him naturally. He cannot pretend to be someone he’s not. His current, older self is so much different than his younger self. His younger self might be a transparent Tiny Herb reserve player, but as his team captain, Wang Jiexi still has enough measure of his character and strength. 

Fang Rui has asked him if it was difficult to recall the memories, the feelings might be easier to recover in order to help him to be in the proper mindset of 18-year-old Qiao Yifan. He knew his hesitation showed, so he quickly assured Fang Rui he could do it. His senior didn’t buy it and suggested a script instead, but again, Qiao Yifan was no actor, he was sure he would come off wooden and forced, which would not help his case.

Qiao Yifan doesn’t like to linger on the past. The main reason is that it's unproductive. The other reason is… his memories in Tiny Herb weren’t pleasant. He never admitted it to anyone, not even himself. 

Qiao Yifan doesn’t remember his parents. The only memories he has of them is the vague impression of gentle hands and warm smiles, and their disappearing backs. All he has of them is the picture of the three of them, his mother’s handkerchief and his father’s watch. His grandfather took him in alongside his other cousins and distant relatives who had parents that were busy or neglectful. His grandfather loved children, and he had a lot of love to share. However, having so many children with such backgrounds to take care of didn’t make things easy. 

His grandfather was no longer young, and he was not a particularly wealthy man. He tried his best, though. They had a roof over their heads, and they never went to bed hungry. They also went to school. Qiao Yifan knew how fortunate he was. So he always tried his best to lessen his grandfather’s burden, trying to help in whatever way he could, however small it might be. He never missed a day of school. He got good grades. He helped with the chores. He never asked for more money. He never started an argument. It did get him into trouble at times, but his grandfather always noticed and acknowledged his efforts. His best memories were spending time with just the two of them, even doing something as mundane as doing groceries shopping and gardening.

However, eventually age caught up with him, and Qiao Yifan lost his last connection to his parents, the only relative that truly cared for him. His eldest cousins stepped up, but with little to no support from other adults in the family, it was too much for them, not when they were barely able to take care of themselves. It caused a lot of tension in the house, and Qiao Yifan often ended up staying out late to escape the stifling atmosphere. It was how he ended up discovering Glory, and finding out that professional gamer was a real job. 

It wasn’t difficult to get his cousin to sign him up for the training camp. Young Qiao Yifan did his research. Tiny Herb was a championship team, so their training camp was the best in Beijing. The students were guaranteed food and shelter. He also had enough savings to cover the registration fee and any expenses he would have. For them, it was one less mouth to feed. With almost all his personal belongings packed in the sole luggage he has, he entered Tiny Herb training camp.

He couldn’t remember what his original class was because when he mentioned his short time playing Glory, the training camp instructor seemed rather keen to see what class suited him best. Being rather a naive and obedient child and having no particular attachment to his account and class, he did as he was told and gave different classes a try. He was sure other students didn’t receive the same treatment. Many of them brought and used their own accounts in the training camp.

Now when he looked back, they all shared the same classes with the active members of Tiny Herb team, and none of the team members were in need of a successor. Until Gao Yingjie showed his potential as a Witch, they were looking for malleable talent, which Qiao Yifan was. 

For the first time, Qiao Yifan found that he was good at something. He also made a friend in Gao Yingjie. In less than a year, he was promoted to the team. He remembered how he felt back then. When he wore the Tiny Herb uniform and received his account and member card, everything felt surreal. The future, for once, looked bright. He shut down his cautious and pessimistic side, and allowed himself to hope .

Only to have it squashed not long after.

Qiao Yifan found himself struggling from the first day. He actually had a brief hesitation when he was assigned the Assassin account. From the different classes he tried, it was among the few that felt awkward in his hands. But he thought his captain and instructor knew better, and thought it would get better with training.

It did not.

From the top of the class in the training camp, Qiao Yifan became the worst performer in the team, whether it was in individual or team practice. In the first evaluations, Captain Wang Jiexi still gave him his personal attention. However, the longer he went on without clear progress, Vice Captain Deng Fusheng took over guiding him. It didn’t help that he had Gao Yingjie who joined the team at the same time. While they had similar personalities, their abilities were vastly different. He ended up always falling short. He was further cast in the shadows against the light of his best friend. Before long he became the transparent Qiao Yifan.

Qiao Yifan recalled the many nights spent training and reviewing videos from his own practice and Assassin players’ matches, only to have nothing to show in the team’s practice in the day. Only Gao Yingjie was willing to be his partner during free individual practice.

Qiao Yifan is and has never been a dreamer. Life made him cautious and pragmatic. He didn’t expect to be a famous pro player or the main roster of a championship team. However, he did expect himself to be part of a team, to contribute as a team member… to matter .

He didn’t pose enough of a challenge to become a training partner. He wasn't good enough to be played in a match. He gave no value to the team.

Those days before he met Ye Xiu had been the darkest time of Qiao Yifan’s life. He kept questioning his own worth. Whatever confidence he had built before joining the team seemed to vanish without a trace. He could even barely remember his grandfather’s warm touch and encouraging words. He had no one to turn to. He was close to no one else in the family, and no one else besides Gao Yingjie in the team. He felt incredibly lonely. He wasn’t even sure why he kept going, when he didn’t know his place in the team, or whether there was a place for him in the first place.

Qiao Yifan doesn’t realize as the recollections are coming back, his body is slowly hunching over as if there are invisible weights. However, he is cognizant enough to know he’s treading on dangerous waters. Before the memories can sweep him away, he forces himself to knock on the door.

“Come in.” The response comes not a second later.

“Excuse me.” Qiao Yifan enters the room cautiously. His eyes are everywhere but on the Tiny Herb captain, standing close to the door.

Wang Jiexi frowns at Qiao Yifan’s behavior. He doesn’t regard himself as an intimidating person, but the way Qiao Yifan is unable to look at him and to come closer makes him question himself. He remembers Qiao Yifan being a shy and reserved child, but he doesn’t completely avoid eye-contact and interacting with people. He is better than Gao Yingjie in that respect. He actually looks more comfortable than his successor on the stage despite the obvious apprehension and discomfort. He didn’t act this way around Fang Rui, either.

His choice in using Ghostblade and challenging Fang Rui was certainly surprising, but what was more surprising was how well he used it, better than he is as an Assassin and against the master of playing dirty, nonetheless. 

Wang Jiexi cannot remember Qiao Yifan showing any preference or inclination towards a certain class or player. He does notice his lack of presence which made him think that he was suitable to be an Assassin. It doesn’t occur to him that Qiao Yifan might be more suitable for other classes, which explains his lackluster performance in the team. As a captain he tries his best to know everything about his team members, but when it comes to Qiao Yifan, he encounters too much of a blank space, which doesn’t sit right for him.

“Come and sit down.” Wang Jiexi gestures towards the closest seat to the door. Being seated should make the conversation easier. Qiao Yifan hesitates for a bit before doing as he was told to.

“Would you like anything to drink?” Wang Jiexi reaches towards the fridge.

“Oh no. I couldn’t possibly- Captain, no need to bother.” Qiao Yifan quickly refuses. Wang Jiexi takes out two cans of soda and juice each and brings it to the table between them. From his experience with Gao Yingjie, refusal does not necessarily mean actual refusal. 

“Just in case you’re thirsty, you may help yourself.”

“Ah yes. Thank you Captain.” Qiao Yifan nods, but makes no further move, if anything his hands are tightly clenched on his lap.

“I’m not aware you can play Ghostblade.” Wang Jiexi decides to cut to the chase before the silence can stretch for too long.

“I… only started playing casually in-game.” Qiao Yifan answers cautiously.

“How long ago?” Wang Jiexi caught on to the choice of words.

“Um, a month ago?” Qiao Yifan answers hesitantly.

If Wang Jiexi is a lesser man, his shock will be obvious. Qiao Yifan’s Ghostblade is already at professional player level. Unless they are Tiny Herb team members and those who closely follow the team and remember their roster, no one will think that Qiao Yifan is the owner of the Assassin account, Dusty Miller. They might even think that he’s the one behind the Ghostblade account, Rangoon Creeper. He also looks much more at ease and comfortable with a Ghostblade than an Assassin. While he’s thinking about all of this, he takes note of the time Qiao Yifan picked the new class. 

“Is it Ye Qiu?” Qiao Yifan makes a deer-caught-in-the-headlights look, confirming his guess. His mind also picks up how oddly easy it is to read the expression of the rookie who managed to hold his own against the master of playing dirty.

“Your Phantom Demon is good.” Wang Jiexi is telling the truth. 

There might be some mistakes here and there, but Qiao Yifan managed to show the qualities that made an excellent Phantom Demon: ability to grasp the overall situation, to make quick decisions in unexpected situations, and to utilize wretchedness to create opportunities. By choosing Fang Rui as his opponent in Rookie Challenge, Qiao Yifan was able to showcase his abilities. Phantom Demon’s greatest value is in the team, but what he has shown in the 1v1 match is already promising, so promising that Li Xuan himself contacted him to ask about Qiao Yifan. The acknowledgment from the number one Phantom Demon speaks for itself. Wang Jiexi will be a fool if he doesn’t retain the talent for his own team.

“Unfortunately, players and characters cannot be changed after the season started. For now, you will take turns with Zhou Yebai in using Rangoon Creeper during practice.” 

“...I don’t understand?” Qiao Yifan asks in confusion. 

“Phantom Demon is not suited for 1v1s, but you did very well for your first time against a professional player. Zhou Yebai couldn’t do as well. His Phantom Demon was only played in team competitions. However, this will change if you are able to coordinate with the team well.”

Wang Jiexi expects any reaction from Qiao Yifan, but he doesn't expect how Qiao Yifan’s head and shoulders only seem to droop lower with every word he says.

“Captain, you couldn’t possibly mean that I’ll be taking Senior Zhou’s place.”

“Tiny Herb doesn’t need two Phantom Demons.” Wang Jiexi is merely stating a fact.

“What’s wrong?” Wang Jiexi cannot understand why Qiao Yifan reacts this way. He has expected for the kid to be excited at the prospect, at the possibility of finally being on stage, to play an official match like any other pro players.

“...I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Qiao Yifan speaks quietly. 

“Why is that?” Wang Jiexi frowns. Rarely he’s so perplexed, most often it is the other way around.

“Phantom Demons are most valuable in a team, when they cooperate with their teammates. But…” Slowly, hesitantly he raises his head to look at Wang Jiexi.

“For Tiny Herb, am I their teammate?” Am I considered one of your own? is the unspoken question.

Wang Jiexi is rendered speechless. He knew that Qiao Yifan is having a hard time meshing with the team. Considering his lacking performance, it is natural for the others to have difficulty to count on him during team competition or consider him as a challenge in individual practices. His personality doesn’t help, either. To say that it's reached to the point that they don’t regard him as a teammate…

“That doesn’t matter. They will acknowledge you when they see your abilities.”

“Do you really believe that Captain?” Qiao Yifan asks calmly, almost placidly, which actually manages to make Wang Jiexi reassess the situation.

Wang Jiexi is used to making snap judgments. He is able to take in a lot of information at once, make a quick and accurate assessment and to come to the best decision for the team on and off the stage. He is also decisive when he makes up his mind and regardless of the difficulties, he has the ability to follow through. It is how he gained the title of Magician. It is how he led Tiny Herb to win two championships.

It’s not to say that he’s always right. He recalls his incorrect first impression of Fang Shiqian. He committed many mistakes in his early captaincy. However, he had his seniors, particularly his former vice captain and God of Healing, to guide and challenge him. As he gained more experience, his judgment grew more reliable. His current and former teammates, and even himself, rarely questions his decisions. Furthermore, with the retirement of Fang Shiqian and other seniors, Wang Jiexi is left as the oldest and most experienced member of the team. He is also the captain and ace player of Tiny Herb, the championship team. His attention is constantly needed not only for team-related matters, but also club-related matters. This season is particularly tough and demanding with so many changes to the team and expectations from the club and for the club from fans and sponsors. 

Then, there’s Gao Yingjie.

Gao Yingjie is unlike anyone he knows, definitely not like himself. Yet, he is the most promising successor to Vaccaria. He is certain he cannot treat him like any ordinary member of the team, so he dedicates the most attention he can give between his duty and responsibility to Gao Yingjie. He doesn’t think it through how it appears to the team.

As a consequence, he… has left Qiao Yifan to fend for himself on his own, and by extension, he failed to foster cooperation and comradeship in the team. He has wanted to encourage competition within the team so they would keep striving to be the best and to aim for the championship, but not to the point that they will only see each other no more than competitors, that they will see their team members, their comrades’ progress and ability, but only see a threat to themselves and their place in the team. Instead of an opportunity for growth and betterment of the team.

This… is not what Tiny Herb is supposed to be. This is not what the Tiny Herb Captain Lin Jie has entrusted to him.

“Captain… I don’t think I’m suitable for Tiny Herb.” Such a sad, helpless expression doesn’t belong to such a young face. “And I don’t think Tiny Herb is suitable for me, either.”

This thought has actually crossed his mind, but to hear them spoken out loud, by the very person himself only makes it worse, especially when it is no fault of his own. Wang Jiexi can tell that Qiao Yifan is nervous, if not the slightest bit afraid, but he speaks out anyway. The boy is much braver than he can give him credit for. And right now, ironically, he’s embodied Tiny Herb more than anyone else.

Wang Jiexi closes his eyes and sighs in regret. 

“Then… What do you want to do?” Qiao Yifan blinks in surprise, not expecting Wang Jiexi to concede so easily.

“I… just want to keep practicing my Ghostblade if it’s possible, and find a team who’s willing to take me in.”

“Team Void is interested in you. Li Xuan has contacted me.”

“Senior Li has?” Qiao Yifan’s surprise is genuine. He does not expect such a response from Wang Jiexi. He and Fang Rui have come up with various scenarios, but they all share similarities in that there is some resistance from Wang Jiexi. Qiao Yifan doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth if Wang Jiexi is willing to accommodate him even though he’s made it clear that he won’t be staying in Tiny Herb.

“I can give you his contact number. However, if you’d like to keep your options open, the club can contact other clubs on your behalf and see whether they’re interested in Phantom Demon. Maybe… Wind Howl?”

Qiao Yifan jolts up in response, completely taken aback. Wang Jiexi truly lives up to his name as the Magician, Qiao Yifan cannot really follow his train of thought. He has never worked with the number one Witch since he retired before Qiao Yifan joined the Chinese Glory team, and back then Li Xuan was still the most capable Phantom Demon to keep up with him.

“It seems you’re quite a fan of Fang Rui.” Wang Jiexi cannot help but notice the most honest reaction from Qiao Yifan throughout their conversation.

“Ah.” Qiao Yifan finds himself blushing. He’s never good at concealing his admiration for his seniors. Wang Jiexi finds himself smiling at how much Qiao Yifan acts like his age at the mention of his idol. His smile turns sad when he realizes he only discovers this now.

“There’s still five months left in your contract with Tiny Herb. During individual practice you may use your own Ghostblade account.” Wang Jiexi raises an eyebrow at that. Qiao Yifan ducks his head bashfully. He doesn’t comment on that and merely continues on.

“However, for team practice, you will alternate between Zhou Yebai in using Rangoon Creeper, whether in individual sparring or team competition. Forcing you to continue using an Assassin is not beneficial for yourself and the team. However, we only have one Phantom Demon account, I hope you understand.”

Tiny Herb’s young Qiao Yifan might not fully understand, but Happy’s Captain Qiao Yifan can understand Captain Wang Jiexi’s decision. 

It is a pragmatic approach, but also a kind gesture.

Professional gaming is no different than any other jobs. Just because they are playing games, it doesn’t mean they don’t have professional ethics. Qiao Yifan signed a contract when he was promoted to the team. With his lackluster performance, it can be said that he’s not upholding his part of the deal. He is the one at fault. There’s no reason for the club to accommodate him. They have all the rights to force him to keep practicing as an Assassin, or to change his class and use Rangoon Creeper during his term of contract. 

However, Wang Jiexi chooses not to. He respects Qiao Yifan’s decision to change class and not to stay in Tiny Herb. However, he still expects Qiao Yifan to give value to the team as Ghostblade even only in practice sessions, whether as a sparring partner or as team support. It’s also likely that he’s to use Rangoon Creeper as an incentive for the team, particularly Zhou Yebai, to learn and grow.

That’s good enough for Qiao Yifan.

While his sharp, analytical mind goes through all this, Qiao Yifan retains his shy, meek self who is alarmed at the unexpected gesture from Tiny Herb’s God.

“Ah ah. How can I?” Qiao Yifan flails around in embarrassment. “I know I haven’t been performing well, Captain. This is already too much. I’m really grateful. I do not wish to impose further.”

Somehow Wang Jiexi looks sad at his words.

“We’ll discuss more in detail when we’re back in Tiny Herb. I’ve kept you up too long. It’s already late, Yingjie must be worried.” Wang Jiexi stands up, making Qiao Yifan unconsciously follow suit. Only then he realizes how late it has been. 

“Thank you, Captain, for your time.” Qiao Yifan bows slightly as Wang Jiexi shows him to the door. He is about to open the door when Wang Jiexi speaks up.

“Qiao Yifan, I’m sorry. I’ve failed you as your captain.”

Wang Jiexi has failed this boy in many ways. He has failed to see his true potential, assigning him a class that didn’t suit him. He hasn’t bothered to look further, to understand why he wasn’t performing well. He has failed to pay attention to the substitutes other than Gao Yingjie.

The boy’s clear eyes round up in surprise, completely speechless. He certainly doesn’t know what to say to his captain’s words. Honestly, if Captain Lin Jie said the same thing, he wouldn’t know what to say either, so Wang Jiexi isn’t surprised that Qiao Yifan excuses himself in a small voice and hurriedly opens the door and leaves.

Wang Jiexi is left staring at the closed door.

Meanwhile, Qiao Yifan stands dazedly in front of the door. He takes a step, another step, and another, but doesn’t know where he’s going. 

He just needs to go somewhere, anywhere but here. 

His breathing is short and quick, as if he’s been running. But he isn’t running. 

He’s just in the hotel that he’s staying with his team. Tiny Herb, not Happy. Not his team, not his Happy.

Wang Jiexi, Tiny Herb’s captain. Not his captain.

Wang Jiexi, who has just apologized to him.

God Wang, who has just acknowledged his failure to Qiao Yifan.

Qiao Yifan doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t know what to feel. He-

“Yifan?” He turns sharply towards the voice, his eyes wide and wild. Fang Rui looks at him concernedly.

“...Brother Rui?” Qiao Yifan’s voice is dry and hoarse. He doesn’t understand, he hasn’t even spoken that much. Fang Rui approaches him carefully, he telegraphs his movement so he can see what he is about to do. Qiao Yifan only stares blankly as his senior holds his wrist gently, guiding him to the emergency exit. He blinks, adjusting to the contrasting silence and dim lighting. He still doesn’t remove his gaze from Fang Rui’s hand on his wrist.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Fang Rui’s voice is quiet. This time he takes both of Qiao Yifan’s hands on his own, the warm touch grounding him.

“...It went well. Captain… Wang Jiexi, allows me to keep practicing Ghostblade, and not to renew my contract with Tiny Herb.”

“That sounds great.” Fang Rui’s voice is a gentle, calming timbre. Qiao Yifan watches dazedly, humming absently in response as the older man rubs comforting circles on his smaller hands.

“Is that all?”

“He…” Qiao Yifan falters. “He apologized.” Fang Rui doesn’t stop his movement even though he’s obviously surprised. Qiao Yifan is infinitely grateful.

“He said he was sorry that he had failed me.” It only hits him then and there the weight of the words as he repeats Wang Jiexi’s words.

“...Did you accept his apology?”

Qiao Yifan’s instinctive reaction is to say there’s nothing to apologize in the first place, there’s no need for apologies, but those words die the moment Qiao Yifan’s eyes meet Fang Rui’s.

This is the person who has seen him at his worst, when he was starting out as Happy’s commander and later, captain, seeing him struggling and failing. This is his senior who has defended and stood by him when Happy performed badly, when the press and the public dragged his name through the mud. This is his brother who has listened to his worries and insecurities throughout the years, who has understood him best. 

“I-I don’t want to.” The first tears fall. “Does that make me a bad person?”

Fang Rui pulls the younger man–no, the boy–into his arms.

“Not at all. Not at all.”

“I just- I don’t ask for much. I know I’m not as good as Gao Yingjie. I’m not a Witch. I don’t mind being just an ordinary team member. I just want to know what I did wrong, what I should do to be better. I just- I just want to be good enough to help, to stand beside everyone.” 

The words that he keeps buried finally spill out. The hurt and loneliness that he has carried for all those months in Tiny Herb.

“I don’t understand. Why now? Why not before? What’s so different? What makes me deserve an apology? Why my other self didn’t receive one? Why? Why? ”

Fang Rui can only hold Qiao Yifan close as he lets out heart wrenching sobs, burying his face against his neck, his hands gripping the back of his shirt tightly.

This is an old wound that never quite healed.

Fang Rui is really, really glad that he stays nearby in the case of the worst scenario. He never doubts Qiao Yifan’s strength, but he also knows that the strongest people are most often people who have experienced many lows and yet managed to pick themselves up over and over again. It doesn’t mean they don’t have moments of weakness. It doesn’t mean they are completely unaffected, untouched by all the hardships. It doesn’t mean they don’t bear any scars.

He has noticed that Qiao Yifan rarely mentioned his time in Tiny Herb, and when he did it was rarely of his own initiative. He only spoke at length of Gao Yingjie, but precious little of others. There was nothing personal when he described the other team members, not even Wang Jiexi. He was not the only one. Ye Xiu and Su Mucheng certainly noticed. Other Happy team members picked up on it, Bao Rongxing was no exception.

Qiao Yifan was only 17, and he had lost his last and closest relative. He was looking for somewhere to belong, which Tiny Herb and Wang Jiexi were ill-equipped to provide. They might be a team, but they were also a workplace. Tiny Herb did nothing wrong, they did what was best, and Qiao Yifan, young as he was, realized it. He understood, to an extent, but it didn’t make it easier to accept. It felt like a personal rejection, that he was not enough, that he was unworthy.

Fang Rui understands, because he has been there. He was even younger than Qiao Yifan when Blue Rain didn’t promote him to the team. He managed to take the news calmly and even discuss his options with the manager and Yu Wenzhou. But behind closed doors, there was hurt and disappointment, there was even envy and jealousy. Everyone said that Blue Rain is the most inclusive team in the Alliance, why was I the exception? Why couldn’t you accept me?

It might be easier if he was lacking in skills and ability, but he wasn’t. His only flaw was his personal style was too distinctive, too dirty, too unsuitable for the team. When one’s personal style was so closely linked with their personality, how couldn’t he take it as a rejection to himself?

Fortunately, Wind Howl and Lin Jingyan quickly proved him wrong, reminding that he was wanted and needed. His compromise was not as much as compromise but an expression of gratitude for allowing him to be himself, a returning of favor for taking a chance on him, for believing in him. It didn’t matter that he changed classes from Qi Master to Brawler to Thief, changed roles from potential successor to partner. What mattered most was that he was allowed to stand on the stage and fight for the ultimate glory.

However, Qiao Yifan was not as fortunate. He was left questioning himself and his worth on his own for a long time until Ye Xiu appeared. He cannot imagine what the younger man went through. But he imagines it must be worse than his time in Wind Howl during Tang Hao’s captaincy. He was older then, and he was not completely alone. It didn’t mean he wasn’t hurt or tired.

Fang Rui still bears the scars. Some scars still hurt, some others barely register. Time heals all wounds, that is true. However, all wounds need to be allowed to heal before they can turn into scars. These wounds should be acknowledged first, to let them bleed.

Fang Rui sincerely hopes that with this, his little brother can finally start to heal.

Qiao Yifan doesn’t know how long he has been crying. All he knows is that his eyes and his throat hurt, that his nose is stuffed, and… he has been hugging Fang Rui.

At the horrified realization, Qiao Yifan hastily pulls back in embarrassment, nearly hitting Fang Rui’s chin. His face turns red when he sees the huge wet and soggy patch on his senior’s shirt and jacket. Before he can start apologizing, a playful flick on his forehead stops him in his tracks.

“Ah ah ah. If it’s an apology I don’t want to hear it.” Fang Rui then proceeds to take off his shirt and zips up his jacket instead. “Since it’s already wet, why don’t you use it as well to clean up your face? Don’t worry, it’s fresh out of the luggage and it doesn’t smell. I didn’t even sweat.”

Qiao Yifan blinks dumbly, before dissolving into laughter. He just can’t help it. He can imagine Chen Guo scolding him for being insensitive. It has happened before. Fang Rui isn’t being insensitive, he’s actually being considerate, treating his breakdown as if it was something normal, nothing to be embarrassed about. The older man also knows that he’s not willing to go outside with obvious signs of crying. Ergo, the most practical solution is sacrificing his shirt, which is already going to the laundry anyway. Pragmatic Qiao Yifan takes it, and without further hesitation uses it to clean his face from tears and snot.

“Feeling better?” After a while, Fang Rui breaks the silence.

“...Actually, yes.” Qiao Yifan admits, looking down at his hands. It feels like a huge weight off his shoulders. He doesn’t realize he has been carrying this for a long time.

“You know you’re allowed to feel hurt and angry, right?” It is an echo of a past conversation. He didn’t fully understand what Fang Rui meant back then. He had even been confused because he never saw Fang Rui truly lose his temper. He has always been quick to bounce back. He was the mood maker of the team. But he knows better now.

“...Even though it has been a long time ago?”

“Even then. Everything has its own time.” Warm, gentle hand is a comforting weight on his head.

“I suppose… I’m a bit angry at Captain Wang, and at Tiny Herb.”

Fang Rui’s thoughts are written all over his face. No shit. Qiao Yifan purses his lips to hold back his giggles.

“I know I was performing badly, but I deserve better than being left to flounder alone. I was just a rookie… I was just a kid.” Qiao Yifan’s voice was quiet in the beginning, but slowly it got stronger and firmer at the end. The calm, determined expression is actually a familiar one to all Happy team members, this is the expression of their captain when he staunchly defends the team. 

Fang Rui smiles. It’s about time for Qiao Yifan to learn to stand up for himself. 

“Good.” His little captain looks so confused at that, Fang Rui chuckles. One step at a time, he reminds himself. This is not a lesson that should be rushed. He didn’t even realize there was still something he could teach this amazing young man.

“Let’s go back to your room, shall we? Yingjie must be worried sick, looking at the buzzing of your phone.”

Only then Qiao Yifan notices the buzzing coming from his phone. He pulls it out to find out that Gao Yingjie has been sending him messages. He resorts to calling him since it’s close to curfew. Qiao Yifan coughs and clears his throat before picking up the call.

“Yingjie? I’m fine. I’m just about to go back to the room. I’ll be right there soon.”

Qiao Yifan puts back his phone in his pocket. He reluctantly returns the folded shirt to Fang Rui.

“See you tomorrow.” Fang Rui reminds him. Whether they remain in the past, or return to the present, they will see each other again tomorrow. The thought brings a smile on Qiao Yifan’s face.

Qiao Yifan hesitates before he opens the door. Fang Rui tilts his head in confusion, before somebody barrels into him, giving him a brief hug before disappearing into the hallways. Fang Rui chuckles in amusement, inwardly relieved that Qiao Yifan recovers quickly.

It may not be a bad thing for them to return to the past, it seems.

***

Qiao Yifan finds himself unable to sleep despite the late hours and the darkness of the room. After his breakdown he actually expected to fall asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. He turns around in his bed, his gaze falling on the sleeping form of Gao Yingjie.

When he returned to the room last night, it was obvious that his best friend had waited for him, most likely keeping himself up in a state of anxiety. However, he only took one look at him and told him to go to sleep, swallowing all the questions he wanted to ask.

He is undeniably glad for the reprieve. He doesn’t know yet what to say to his friend. It doesn’t help that his conversation with Wang Jiexi left him feeling raw and vulnerable. He is not ready yet for another difficult conversation, and he doesn’t want to keep his friend's hopes up. This Gao Yingjie is still hopeful for the chance for them to fight side by side. He might see his performance in the Rookie Challenge and the captain looking for him as a good sign. They will eventually have their chance, but not in Tiny Herb. 

It was only for World Invitationals, and only for three times, which might be nothing in comparison to the times they faced off against each other as opponents. And in those times, Tiny Herb most often loses against Happy.

Gao Yingjie is definitely a genius, he is worthy of inheriting the god-level account Vaccaria. In his hands, Vaccaria remains the undisputed number one Witch in Glory. 

…But he’s no Wang Jiexi.

It was not immediately evident after Wang Jiexi retired, since Gao Yingjie had Xu Bin as his vice captain, alongside Yuan Baiqing and Liu Xiaobie, who have only become more reliable with age and experience. It was not exactly a problem of skill and ability. It was just that Wang Jiexi’s influence was too strong, too deeply ingrained in Tiny Herb, which would take more than to stop seeing him as a crutch to remove.

Qiao Yifan is not privy to the details, but he strongly suspects that Tiny Herb suffers similar problems with Excellent Era. The title of two time championship team that was led by the Magician, God Wang Jiexi has become a double-edged sword.

Thinking of the worn and aged Captain Gao Yingjie in the future, his heart hurts. 

This is not something a rookie and a former transparent team member can tackle. It is pure arrogance to think that he can even make a significant change in the remaining time he has.

“I haven’t talked with Yingjie.” Qiao Yifan ends up texting Fang Rui, not expecting a response. “I don’t know what to say.”

“It’ll come to you.” A chat bubble surprisingly pops up. “You’re best friends, aren’t you?”

Qiao Yifan smiles ruefully at the reminder.

“You might not need to worry about that if we return to our time after we went to sleep.”

Qiao Yifan blinks. The possibility that they might return to their timeline slips his mind even though he has been the one who brought it up.

“Is that why you’re still awake?” Qiao Yifan asks.

“I am leaving a note for my past self so he’s not too confused.”

“And playing Glory.”

“Of course.” A snort escapes Qiao Yifan at the matter-of-fact response. Fang Rui does have the All-Star Competitions to prepare for.

“I am telling him that a rookie challenged me. His name is Qiao Yifan from Tiny Herb. He is such a shy and quiet kid, but he is a Ghostblade, and he can play dirty. He’s only played for a month. His future is bright.”

Qiao Yifan feels his face heat up. Seriously, he cannot recall blushing as much before. It may be the effect of his younger body that he is so easily flustered.

But thinking of young Qiao Yifan reading this message when he wakes up in the morning, from another pro player that was not Ye Xiu… he must be very happy. His eyes soften at the thought, but he also thinks how much it meant for Qiao Yifan of that time.

“We’re changing the future, aren’t we?” In just one day, there are pretty significant changes to their past selves and teams. They did agree to stick as much as possible to their past in the case they did return to their present. Lin Jingyan will leave Wind Howl. Qiao Yifan won’t have his contract with Tiny Herb renewed. Those two main events are unlikely to change. It can be said the changes are merely changes in attitude and behavior, but they are also the kind of change that is most difficult to predict.

“Thinking of the butterfly effect?” Fang Rui asks, easily catching on to his train of thought.

“Yes.” Qiao Yifan responds somberly. There’s no immediate response from Fang Rui.

“Ultimately all I can think of is that our opponents are going to be different. That’s it. You’re the master tactician, you might already have several scenarios in mind.”

Fang Rui is right. Qiao Yifan has run through multiple scenarios and discarded many others in his mind. However, the most extreme scenarios are when ultimately people are in different places, either weakening or strengthening certain teams in particular or the Alliance in general, which will completely change the past as they know it.

“I did.” 

“You’re not worried?” Fang Rui’s question makes him stop and stare. The people they care about, and they are considering changing the past for, are the people that also happen to be their future opponents, and it’s not limited to Lin Jingyan and Gao Yingjie. They have grown to care for many others in their path of glory.

They all strive for the championship, for the ultimate glory. But the journey matters as much, so do the people, the companions they made along the journey. Their companions are not only their teammates.

Glory is never meant to be played alone.

Even so, Happy still is and will always be the most important, more than anyone or anything else. So why isn’t he worried that might make things more difficult for his beloved team?

“I believe in Happy.”

Qiao Yifan’s fingers move before his mind catches up. There’s no single doubt or hesitation, so long Happy exists, so long they’re together, they can deal with whatever comes their way.

“I believe in Happy, too.” Fang Rui’s agreement comes only a second later.

In the face of irrevocably changed future, in the possibility any wrong step will have enormous consequences, it's easy to buckle under the weight.

However, some things will never change, will never falter.

It is their belief in themselves, and their belief in Happy.

Thank you for reading until the end! This chapter sure takes a surprising somber turn when I wrote it, but I decided to keep going anyway. Let me know what you think! I also shared my headcanons and character/team analysis on my tumblr (see the tag bts: let's start thinkin 'bout it). Otherwise, the note will be incredibly long (yes, i'm self-aware enough, thank you) XDD

[saisons-en-enfer]

your traumas and experiences are valid. while living and existing might feel like a unbearably sisyphean task, it is through finding healthy outlets/coping mechanisms that you can pacify such intense memories and ruminations. on behalf of the mutuals know that you are not alone, we care and about you, and love you🍵🫶🏼 wishing you the best on your journey king <3

I appreciate you taking the time and sending this and I just wanted to answer this in a way that is honest to maybe help you understand where I stand, so I do not mean to demean or devalue anything you're saying

Firstly I don't really have healthy outlets/coping mechanism... I've learned the hard way not to ask friends, I don't matter that much for them to keep dealing with my constant distress. I just talk to a therapist but ye, once a week isn't enough and just today when I was speaking to him I made a confession that in the last 6 years, I had numerous times (way too many for my mind to comfortably recall) where I was in such an emotionally suffocating situation that I seriously had thoughts of ending my life. Recently, I seek out help more when it happens but I just feel like people are so desensitized to it and think that I'm acting up for attention, when I can't ever convey to anyone how difficult it is to live life for others, to live life on a thread, on a constant tightrope, because I'm struggling to just stick around for myself.

My primary struggle is that I desperately struggle to find purpose, value, and meaning in my existence, and these are somethings I need because I can't just... be. Because I've mentally touched the void; I've reached such a low point that I don't see or feel beauty and intrigue in the world anymore, I don't feel as vivaciously as before, all I feel is deep sorrow, because I know the world lost it's glow to me and It's not just because the world is going to hell right now, it's because I feel things deeply and having the realization that I have to continue living even when I don't desire it and have to watch everyone I love and care for grow old and fade away and be able to not do anything about it. It's torture...

The problem with purpose is I have to genuinely believe in it or else it'll just crumble into a breakdown and I haven't been successful at finding purpose, at feeling genuine value in my existence.

I made the grave mistake recently of attaching meaning to someone I was in love with in a way that was all too deluded and idyllic and now that that's rightfully fallen through I'm just hurting again. You could say maybe what would give me purpose and value would be love, but I don't know anymore, everyone I've ever loved in my life didn't even feel marginally similar to how I did... besides I'm not someone that catches eyes anyway; I'm not someone people look at twice.

And now I struggle just to exist and continue doing so only because I never want to hurt anyone but I cant begin to explain how difficult it is and how gut-wrenching the sorrow and dread of existence is. I keep having really fucking nightmarish days where I just keep thinking that I can't do it anymore...

I keep continuing but I don't have any hope and I don't believe there is anything good waiting for me in the future... when can I just acknowledge this as a terminal illness and just be allowed to let go... why do people perceive it as preventable when my mind has been so badly damaged it will never be the same again; I find it so impossible to feel or believe anything good or modest about myself:

All I know is misery.

P.S. after years of different therapists, medications, therapeutic approaches, change of life conditions etc. no one has been able to help me ward off the unshakeable thought and "truth": that I will take my life... it may not be today or anytime soon, but I just know it will happen with how intense and unbearable some days get, and those days happen all too frequently and the more they happen the more I just lose my mind and just want to take the leap.

[glowyjellyfish]

OUAT Rewatch Report Part 2: The Shepherd through Fruit of the Poisonous Tree

1. I always expect Snow/Charming episodes to be boring, but the two of them are too precious to be boring. I think it would get old real fast with different actors. Of course, I haven’t gotten up to the “constant relationship drama” phase really, so we’ll see.

2. I’m excited to see more Dr. Whale, and think it’s cute how proud he is of David waking up, all “no way he wakes up on someone else’s watch”. Aw, Victor, did you have a little urge to yell “HE’S ALIVE!”? I’m also convinced that his little mini-success there helped change him, the way the major characters who got episodes to themselves changed when trauma from their previous lives was resolved in the present day. Nudged him from behaving like a womanizer with a wandering eye to more of a Gentleman. (Although I am half convinced he was more distracted by the color red than anything else. It is the first color he ever saw, if I recall correctly. And I am now totally convinced that Regina designed his cursed personality based on her experience of him. “He will be CONSUMED BY HIS WORK and DESPERATELY LONELY, CRAVING ANY CONNECTION, but he will only ever manage to break hearts THE WAY HE BROKE MINE.” or something.)

3. hilarious that Regina was like “I need someone without a heart” looked at Graham with tears falling down his face “PERFECT”. Pretty sure Regina made her decision based mainly on his hotness.

4. ugh poor Graham. Gaslit sex slave with what is functionally heavy depression (that’s the effect I deduced being heartless generally has, because it’s clearly not literally “can’t feel anything at all” but it definitely feels that way and leaves emotions very numb). It’s difficult to reconcile Regina keeping Graham as her mind-controlled sex slave with her eventual redemption. I just have to acknowledge it as one of the worst things she’s done, and I believe she considers him her possession more than her slave (which probably isn’t any better), and I think she thinks she cares about him. And she blames Emma for making her kill him, too. Not cool Regina.

5. If I remember correctly, the main reason kissing Emma broke the curse on Graham is because she’s the product of true love and therefore magic. I like to think it helped that he was developing feelings for her—nowhere near true love yet, but much closer than anything he’s ever experienced—and probably also it helped that his wolf brother was hanging around town clearly knowing what was going on. I mean, I headcanon Graham as being basically like FitzChivalry Farseer in terms of his relationship with the wolf, so it stands to reason if his wolf didn’t get properly cursed with new memories, it would be able to nudge him out.

6. Tiny baby Baelfire! Oh my god what a tragic life this kid has to look forward to. I wish we got about 100% more from his perspective. show what it was like for a kid from a medieval fantasy world to stumble into the real world with no parents and no support! (The pit stop in Victorian England with the Darlings did a bit of that, I think.)

7. I enjoy August so much, knowing who he is and what he’s about. He’s obnoxious when you don’t know what his deal is, but when you do? Chef’s kiss. He’s skilled at Not Lying without being even slightly honest. Also, I guess he needed the book to understand the situation and also restore his pages, but I’m not sure how he knew about it in the first place. If the book appeared with him and Emma, how did it end up in town? If the book manifested in town, how did he know about it? It feels like they were trying to imply he came to town at some point in the past, but like. Regina would remember him, surely? I feel fairly confident that the writers didn’t have any origin story for the book in mind and were writing by the seats of their pants about it.

8. Fruit of the Poisonous Tree is not bad but pretty boring. Sydney really could have used a better backstory. Off the top of my head, I feel like it would have been more interesting if he was a spell that gained sentience and was never a person until the curse.

9. I have a whole theory about how genies work and I’m not sure whether it works for all OUAT genies; it basically goes that the enslavement of a genie is intended to be the prepaid price of magic for the wisher, but it takes into account both the wisher’s intentions and the genie’s subconscious perception and judgment on the matter. So if the genie thinks a wish is too big, or impossible, or dumb, the magic will attempt to correct this by coming as close as possible or extracting a separate price or whatever. Which is how most wishes go wrong.

10. I forgot just how damn enjoyable it is to watch shiny crazy Rumple stick his glittery hands in EVERYTHING. I know it eventually got tiresome when no characters other than Rumple and Regina seemed allowed to have backstory with newly introduced fairytales anymore, but in s1 it’s fantastic. Especially knowing that he’s creating elaborate chains of deals for the express purposes of getting the curse made and cast, making Emma exist to break the curse, and putting himself in a position where he’ll be able to make sure she breaks the curse and he can bring in magic and find his son without losing his power. What fun!

I think at think point I can confidently say I still enjoy this show as much as I used to, and expect that to remain literally true as I get further in and get up to the increasing levels of dumb. We’ll see how much dumb I can handle nowadays; for example I deliberately chose to save Skin Deep for a different viewing session so that I would not be faced with starting a session with the incredible cheesiness of Dreamy. But I’m still having tons of fun, and expect to continue at least through Manhattan.

This time I am trying to select a Simpsons gif to go with each episode I watched (but then it really didn’t want to post 6 gifs, so I stopped at 5 episodes/gifs):

[hey-michael-young-history]

Names

Anonymous: 

Hi again! Sorry if I'm annoying you a lot these days but I have a question. Where did you get the idea of the names you used in your fan characters? I found them so well structured for the cultures that are portrayed in the fic. And of course you don't need to answer if you want! I will definitely understand you! 

A QUESTION!?!?!?! ABOUT MY WORK!?!?!?! Good thing I don’t sleep!

I was that kid who bought baby name books from Goodwill and compiled lists of names “just in case.” Names are extremely important to me, but for this series, oddly enough, most of them come from suggestions. I am still hypersensitive about my difficult-to-pronounce name, which is probably why I take names so seriously. Please feel free to correct me if any meanings are wrong! Whenever I found a name, I tried cross-referencing it with other sources.

This is gonna be long and may contain a spoiler for something I’m working on, so read more if you dare.

The Names

Chiyoko

Chiyoko was originally going to be someone that Hanzo had had a brief relationship with and would betray him by providing Noob Saibot access to Kuai Liang in Ice in the Netherrealm. Noob started redeeming himself so I had to back the hell up and change her role. Her name means “the child of a thousand generations”. Her backstory was going to be that her family served the Shirai Ryu thanklessly for generations. She continued it by being a friend, a confidante, and eventually lover to Hanzo, getting close to him to kill him for the past grandmasters who never acknowledged her family’s sacrifices.

It was not a good idea, far too distracting, and I’m glad I was forced to drop it. Now, I like to think that her name means that she carries the immense knowledge of the medicine people before her.

Makaira Takahashi

Her name means “One Who Brings Happiness.” The Takahashis and Briggs and Hasashis definitely needed some of that. One little angel that brought three families closer and gave me an excuse to keep Jax in the fold and write some background Kenshi (and soon Kenshi actually interacting with Hanzo!). So fun fact, Jacqui being pregnant was originally a short foreshadowing for Kuai Liang being pregnant but I kept wussing out. Also, her second name is Vera, but only Jacqui and Takeda know that (so far).

The Bears

Bao can mean a few things, depending on the characters, but Kuai Liang’s Bao is “treasure.” Once he felt safe enough to give him a name, he gave him the only name he could recall that was ever said with love.

Kuai Liang was kidnapped when he was four, Bi-Han was eight (at some point I had justification for those ages but that has been lost to time). He doesn’t remember much about his mother, but he does remember that she used to call him Bao and Bi-Han remembers that it’s because she would swaddle him and he’d look like a bao, or a dumpling. Does Bi-Han share that, no. Would Kuai Liang appreciate him sharing that memory, yes.

Baobei has a similar meaning (precious, treasure), and can be used as an affectionate term for a young child or a lover. Like “baby” in English. Kuai Liang preserved the memory of Bao, so he named his second bear after his first, with extra love.

Bei Er came from a super helpful suggestion made in a discord group that I’m was part of. The pronunciation sounds like “bear,” and I was already sold, but this helpful guide in language also explained to me that it comes from the term 宝贝儿, and is the basis of the name Baobei (Băobéi er). Bi-Han trying to say, “I’m sorry.” I don’t take credit for that name, but it’s brilliant, and I love it.

Bi-Han accepted that Kuai Liang wouldn’t accept his replacement bears. It was too late, and Hanzo already had it covered. So he did the next best thing, gift his niece a bear, like he wished he could have done for his brother when they were young, just with added protection. He can’t protect Kuai Liang, but he can still prove that he has Lì-Yán’s best interests at heart.

Lì-Yán

When I tell you how I STRESSED over this name. I didn’t stress so hard over making my damn kid.

I had a LOT of requirements for her name. And I only fully, 100% committed to it because I was publishing the chapter with her name THAT DAY.

Her name roughly means “beautiful flame”. I decided to break tradition and not go with an ice name because it represents his father’s side, and Kuai Liang is hoping that her cryomancy is recessive. He wants to see Hanzo when he looks at her.

“Lì-Yán” sounds/ phonetically looks like “Bi-Han” - his relationship with his technically younger older brother is uncomfortable and frustrating but even to the very end, Bi-Han loved and protected Kuai Liang the best he knew how. Which is pretty impressive, considering he was also a traumatized child.

Bing-Yun

I swear I’ll stop tagging @mcbethins but she came up with this name and as soon as I saw it, Ice Dad actually became a character to me instead of an abstract child kidnapper. “Bing” is the obligatory “ice/ cold” and “Yun” which can mean a lot. A lot. But my favorite meaning so far is “born in the clouds”. It gives me “space cadet” which is how I write young Bing-Yun, before the Lin Kuei broke him and turned him cold (see what I did there). Just like I write younger Kuai Liang more sensitive, naive before the Lin Kuei broke him and left him broken. Bing-Yun cared deeply for Kuai Liang and struggled with his guilt over conceiving his sons, taking them, their lives, and what finally, finally broke his heart - their mother’s death. It’s just, you know, the Lin Kuei is all “lol ew” when it comes to feelings.

That’s it! I appreciate the question anon, I’m never bothered by questions and I enjoy talking about my process because I’m super proud of this series.

December 28th, 2021 4:27am

[child-of-atlas]

Aspen Trees and Raindrops

My fear is my fiction; my fiction is my fear.

My fictions have consumed me, in every waking moment between every demand of daily life. I have given my heart, soul, and mind to the phantom shadow of a man that I haven’t yet verified truly exists.

These fictions play in a shadowy theatre of the mind when I’m lost for inspiration, or when I find myself stranded in the quagmire of my somnolent once-romance, or when I allow myself to wax hopeful for a different future waiting for me at a different time, in a different place, with a different man. These dramas are shadow plays of a deep-seated wish that there may be a future of mine where my image of this man of my imagination exists, and for now, the phantom shadow takes his shape, and his alone.

Perhaps the seamless shift from real to fiction is how much of my image of him is grounded in how I know him to be: captivating, brilliant, lovely, genuine, achingly handsome, addictive wit, and the occasional flash of something darker beneath the surface that only makes me want to dive deeper. (The guilt that eats at me to write this while attached to another is still not enough to keep me from acknowledging the basic truth, yet even with my issues, I would be crushed if my nonfiction partner so much as hints at the attractiveness of another woman. I, hypocrite.)

In spite of myself (my age, my shreds of dignity, my general composure), I find I am no different with him than the introductory co-ed girls in their sighs and smiles for Dr. Jones; in the moments we speak, I cling to his accolades, leap for his texts, and revel in his voice whenever the opportunity arises. On instinct rather than thought, I lose a heartbeat or two when a tall and muscled man with salt-and-pepper hair walks by before reason reminds me that this is not even possible.

As it turns out, all of these fictions in which I’ve painted us are predicated on my own simple crush, spiraled out of control, such is my nature; and somehow, the additional thousand miles between us and more frequent lulls have somehow made it more difficult to navigate.

In the face of my (admitted, self-aware, and non-actionable) lunacy, I wither to think that what I perceive is mutual is, in fact, another fiction. And I’m haunted by the idiocy of my own youth underpinning my ability to wrap myself up in a tidy, simple bow and give myself over now—his memories of myself as a younger, unformed, disastrous hyena, circling his classroom and most reasonable boundaries; God help me, I can hardly write anything at all if I think too much about it.

However. I have at least some concrete evidence, or so I believe (though I’m sure Beethoven felt the same für Elise, painfully enough). “I forgot how pretty you are,” said only once, lives rent-free in my mind, with his smile and unmatchable voice. At least once, I’ve seen his eyes wander low to just the right angle on a well-cut dress, and I can’t help but wonder if there were other instances that I wasn’t lucky enough to catch. And, some months later, he didn’t flinch when I nearly put my hands on his across the table the last we spoke (though thankfully, for both our sakes, I caught myself well in time to avoid any sort of impropriety).

Is this coquet bouquet enough to flower these detailed fictions, or inspire them to run behind my eyes whenever a moment permits? Not necessarily; in fact, probably not at all. (Or perhaps I truly am more masculine than I give myself credit for; perhaps this is how the other half of the population operates.) Yet, couldn’t there be chemistry? I would be hard-pressed to believe there wasn’t a spark of something between us. Foolishly, I wonder if there are more obvious notes I can’t recall or missed altogether, and mourn their lost place in my mind if ever they existed at all. (Unless, of course, I am more a Ludwig than a proper observer, in which case, I may just recuse myself from society altogether if nothing else for the shame of being wrong.) I could foster the idea that his allusion to a shared trip to London while I’m “in between boyfriends” was just fun wordplay for him—maybe he did want me to squirm, just a little, just in his subtle undercurrent of the dark side—and yet I visit that set in the theatre of my mind too often, in wee hours where I should be finding sleep instead of more restless fantasy. And while my mind should veer toward all the beautiful history he could lead me to so that I may soak in the beauty and excitement of another land during my first trip across the pond—the sights to see, the music to find, every savory bite of our meals—I imagine instead a shared room, a shared bed, interlaced, frenzied and refined, instinctive and fated, gorgeous and raw; I wrap myself around this idea a million times over and decorate it with his voice, his cologne, the color of his eyes, and down to the bottom of the dream pool I would sink just to experience this once.

Yet below this fiction lies another: a serpent sliding through my carefully manicured visions, hissing their untruth beneath the surface tension of my reflective pool from which I watch these fictions unfold.

In each reverie, I inhabit the body I’ve been subtly tasked with finding from my nonfictional partner: I am strong and lean, flexible and pliable, uniformly pale and without a blemish. I can handle any position, can ride without needing to catch a single breath; I am beautiful from all angles, soundless while asleep, eat perfectly, tipsy but never drunk, dainty and witty, coordinated and clever. In my dreams, I am my own enemy: perfect.

Perhaps my wishful placement of him atop me is less problematic than my glamorized, unattainable mirage of myself I place below him; a bar I still strive to reach for a story that may never unfold.

And more chilling for me yet is my staunch, nonfictional reflection shows more than just a physical issue with my prospective pursuit: in my estimation, I am too full of holes, too unformed, and missing too many pieces to sit at his table. Seven years ago, I had the luxury of youth, arrogance, and stupidity to scapegoat; now, approaching thirty, I have so very little to point to but my own shortcomings for why I am not yet fully autonomous, not nearly so successful, so inexperienced in the finer nuances of intimacy (not for a lack of willingness, I fell the impulsive need to add), so poorly-read and worse-traveled; so painfully unworldly, save those many intangible worlds engraved in staff lines. In a body unmarked by time, perhaps these transgressions aren’t so dire; but the creases around my eyes, the stretch marks that only he would be able to see if all panned out well, the cruelty of my craft on my hands: these marks are not just my faults, but give indelible, irrefutable evidence for every fault I have beneath my skin.

Somewhere in my Grecian blood flows a drop of Daedalus’; like his son, I fly too high and too close to sun after sun out of nothing but arrogance. Who am I to approach this man as I am now? Even more importantly, who am I to approach him as he is now, happy and successful and reaping the rewards of a long-fought and harder-earned career? Have I not learned a more painful lesson in the past with dual-edged blade of a May/December partnership? I tell myself that a lack of commitment, a more liberal and whimsical approach to this union, the emphasis on the physical joys and aiding his conquest of each inch my terrain more than the promises of tomorrows and exclusivity, may chip away at my unchangeable decades of experiential debt, but I have no proof. And I should not have confidence in seeking a man whose time spent where we met covers most of my lifetime. When he stepped into this institution, I was two; when we met, I was twenty; and when I assumed the same title as his first, I had only lived a quarter of a century. Realistically, I was not half his age, but half of a whole human being in comparison.

And yet.

Yet still I visit my hand-painted drapes and backdrops through my day, in various stages of unwind and undress, pining for a ghost of a future that will likely never be, where my body is the visage of a Grecian statue wrapped around the idea I keep of him. I have accepted this as fiction, and fear only how ardently I dreamwalk in the waking shadows of an otherwise plain day.

The fact remains that optimism is just another shade of lunacy. Under this light, life is beautiful and long and full of turns that no one could anticipate. So if I afford myself any hare-brained notion that this could transpire, perhaps, one day, we find each other in the right light and in the right wavelength. Perhaps he holds his own fiction in which I appear, radiant and free, unencumbered with whatever ails his nonfiction partner; and maybe, my fictions and my fears melt away in the face of the right embrace.

Perhaps, one day, I find myself on a plane to the land of aspen trees, and step out to a prelude of raindrops.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

how do you think napoleons mental health fared at st. helena? obviously he was pretty depressed but i like your take on things

Hahaha oh man. Napoleon on St. Helena.

I mean, he had his good days and his bad, but yeah I would say there is a broad undercurrent of melancholy to him on St. Helena - but how much of that is looking back and knowing what a dismal end it was going to be, it's hard to say. We go to him with things already coloured, to a certain degree, which informs how we assess that time.

The first few years we see him in better spirit than later on. Which makes sense, by 1819/20 he knew he was sick - I don't think he knew outright that he was dying, but he knew he wasn't well. (And Napoleon knew what killed his father and that men in the family did have a habit of dying on the younger side (and he would join their number).)

Being sick and in pain brings out the worst in all people, let alone Napoleon who was not a good patient, to say the least. And being sick does nothing for mental health, worsening an already not great situation.

In addition, the living situation wasn't ideal for many reasons (damp, cold, draughty, limited privacy etc.) and then there were the stressors of being a prisoner, not having freedom of movement in the way he did previously, managing the shifting dynamics of Longwood which were many and complex, being surrounded by people who are here because of you and who all want to leave and are not subtle about it, possible personal recriminations (the acknowledgement that he may be slightly to blame for the situation only comes in later years) so on and so forth.

But yeah, I'm not sure what I have to say on this beyond the obvious and what has been said already by better informed historians than myself.

-

I suppose with Writer Hat On, I would say that I think we can see him beginning to unpack some things that he had held at a distance during Empire when he was performing what he thought an Emperor should be (e.g., Duroc's death, Josephine's death, a few childhood things, various resentments he had etc.). Or if not unpack, certainly look at in more depth than he seems to have done previously.

However, we don't have the minute-by-minute account of him from Empire how we do with St. Helena and so it's really impossible to say this with any grand certainty. It's truly just my idle speculation based on the fact that gods' know he had time and also the brain, when you're finally settled and not rushing around working 16h days, starts to do this thing of allowing you to access memories/feelings/etc. that you might not have been able to recall or look at previously and if you want to you, you can work through them. Napoleon, being Napoleon, likely looked at them then said "back into the mental cabinet with you. If I never think about difficult things or talk about them, it makes them go away, right?"

Napoleon was certainly bitter about his situation on St. Helena and that shows up in some of his pronouncements. It's one of the reasons I'm warry of taking Napoleon's assessments about his feelings towards people from this time too seriously. They certainly may reflect how he felt at that moment, and what he believed for that second, but are they fulsome accounts of his thoughts and views and feelings? Not really.

For example, it's on St. Helena where we get his pronouncement of having loved very few people in his life (and Joseph is one of them). Napoleon dared sit there and say shit like, "I have only ever loved five (5) people in all 40+ years of my life" and Bertrand, who has known him since Toulon, has to nod and go, "uh huh. sure. mk."

(I imagine Bertrand did a lot of staring into the camera during St. Helena, I swear you can practically hear it in some of his journal entries.)

Napoleon: fucking English rewriting stuff in their newspapers, changing it all around, full of lies. Revisionism!

Bertrand: yes. we wouldn't know anything about that would we.

Napoleon: get out.

But, all this said, Napoleon was also a person who tried to rally, even in adverse circumstances of which there was no end in sight. Other than death. So, despite low spirits there were plenty of moments of joy and humour and pleasure to be seen throughout his time there.

It is a fun game to go through and look at his declarations about people and events and they do somewhat align with the good days and bad (i.e., he had some beautiful things to say about Josephine and they're generally captured in the front end of their St. Helena stay, when he was still in good health, and they're on days when like the Balcombes visited and Napoleon was in lively spirits because of it. Granted, Mrs. Balcombe looked like Josephine, apparently, so that I'm sure also jogged some of Napoleon's happier memories).

It's as I said at the top, there were good days and bad. Was he depressed? Likely yes. I mean, once again we can't diagnose the dead, and nor should we. But, if you want my "after three glasses of wine, quick ask Ellis their opinions on dead people" view, Napoleon certainly seems to have been broadly on the depressed side for much of his time there. Was he always in the dumps? No. Absolutely not. But does it seem to be an undercurrent of life for him while on St Helena? Yes, more or less.

-

I hope that answers your question! I'm honoured that you want my opinions on these things and endeavour to try and be balanced, in my own way.

And again, because this is tumblr I feel the need to add the usual disclaimer of: don't psychoanalyse the dead in a professional capacity. If you're reading a work that starts going down that path, engage critically and know that it's all malarkey.

I'm personally responding to asks, providing what I hope are reasonably even-keeled replies, and don't endorse the psychological-analysis approach to history that some historians engage in (i.e., the "let's give everyone various disorders and diagnose them based on extant information which is naturally flawed and, of course, incomplete. Because this seems like a reasonable thing to do" approach).

All that said - thank you for the ask! I do enjoy nattering on about Napoleon. ❤️❤️

[miraculouscontent]

I know that you said that it was an one shot, but I really love the idea of marinette stay in Paris with Luka and kagami and avoid all the NY drama! If you can, can you share more of it? Even if just a few little ideas it would be great! (I love your ideas!)

(the one-shot this anon is referring to)

Aw, thank you so much!

And sure, after some thought, I did really want to write a little more with them!

—————

While throwing away their now juice-less cups, Marinette made the realization of how different things seemed with Luka and Kagami. She had already experienced hanging out with both of them separately, but she'd never imagined having both of them with her at once. It wasn't as if she'd always dismissed or despised the idea, but the only time they'd interacted as a group had been with Adrien around, which had probably soured the whole thing and thus involuntarily caused her to never think about it.

With her friends, everything was typically high-energy. Juleka and Mylene weren't very involved in creating such an atmosphere, but Marinette herself, Rose, Alya, and kept things energized. It wasn't a bad thing in general, but it made Marinette wonder if maybe surrounding herself with people who only encouraged her excitable habits wasn't a good thing.

Meanwhile, Luka and Kagami were completely different, both from her and her friends. Neither were particularly loud - though both could be when they wanted to - and they weren't really the kind to tease or mess with her either. Luka wasn't quiet in the way Juleka was, just seeming to absorb the world around him, whereas Kagami only spoke when she felt that there was something of value to say. Marinette had worried briefly that she might've been too different from the both of them, or that she'd overwhelm them due to speaking up the most, but instead, there was a sense of balance. Luka smiled or chuckled reassuringly whenever she caught herself rambling, whereas Kagami would cut in with her own views that were often direct but nevertheless good in their intentions. Perhaps her personality rubbed off on them in a way she couldn't fully understand?

Still, it was nice.

As the three were deciding what to do next, Marinette's phone suddenly went off. Marinette looked at her purse and pulled out her phone, half-expecting a text from one of her classmates about her missing the bus, but it was actually a notification about where Andre the ice cream man was.

Kagami glanced over after noticing the look on Marinette's face. "You want to get ice cream?"

Marinette frowned, Kagami's voice reminding her of the day the two of them had gone for ice cream with Adrien. She still remembered talking to Andre, hoping beyond hope that maybe the man wouldn't make them pick between the three different flavors. His words still stung a little, not because of Adrien, but because of what the words meant.

"Too many flavors mixed together may throw off the delicate balance."

It implied that one of them would always be the third wheel if they were together, no matter what, and it was a hollow feeling that she'd only recently started to accept.

"Marinette?"

Feeling a comforting hand on her shoulder, she looked over and noted Luka offering her a concerned expression. It grounded her, serving as a reminders that things were different now and that Adrien wasn't there which, in a strange way, brought her an immense sense of comfort.

"I'm fine," she assured. Turning her attention back to her phone, she deleted the notification and then made sure that she wouldn't be getting another one. "Ice cream sounds good, if you want it too, but... I think I've got a better idea than Andre's."

Luka and Kagami exchanged curious glances.

—————

"Here's to Neapolitan ice cream!" Marinette declared dramatically, raising her spoon up with flair before shoving it and the ice cream on it right into her mouth.

Luka snorted in amusement while Kagami gave an acknowledging nod, probably remembering the exact phrase from Andre that Marinette had recalled earlier.

They'd picked up the carton of ice cream on the way to Marinette's place, with Marinette insisting on paying in order to spoil them, and while they seemed confused on the specifics of her insistence, they gave in soon enough. Marinette could understand why she'd be the expected person to be comforted, but giving to others made her happy on its own and she felt they deserved it. After all, Luka had tried his hardest to catch up to the bus and Kagami was still dealing with Adrien wanting to leave for New York despite her being in Paris.

They'd ultimately decided on splitting the entire carton between the three of them, with each of them getting a majority of the one of the flavors and then the rest of that flavor going to the other two. Marinette had gone with chocolate, Kagami had gone with vanilla, and Luka had gone with strawberry. It might've seemed like a weird choice to go with since they'd just had orange juice, but it hadn't been much and it wasn't exactly a "treat."

Marinette may have considered suggesting ice skating instead if her first thought of it wasn't her slipping and bringing Luka and Kagami down to the ice with her. Ice cream was the safer alternative to "cold fun."

"Luka," she called thoughtfully, taking another bite before asking, "you're not feeling sore or anything, are you?"

He met her gaze, smiling at the concern but waving his hand dismissively. "I'm alright, Marinette. I'm used to biking around for hours because of my job, so it wasn't a big deal."

Kagami halted, spoon halfway in her mouth while her brows rose noticeably. She finished the scoop, then turned to look at Luka. "You have a job?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I deliver pizza." He grinned, clearly amused by her reaction. "Are you surprised?"

Kagami's expression didn't shift, but Marinette had known her long enough to see that she was embarrassed. "Oh, no. It's... I don't have one."

"There's nothing wrong with that." Luka shrugged. "I just have the time to do it."

"Mm." Kagami looked back at her ice cream, poking at the surface with her spoon. "I suppose it would be too difficult with my fencing lessons."

Marinette giggled sheepishly, happy to join in on the conversation. "I probably wouldn't be able to either. There's all my fashion work with my website, and then there's the unexpected babysitting, the bakery, and I'm also the class representative." She hurriedly added an, "I know it doesn't sound like much, but I'm bad at planning," when she felt that it seemed like such little things. She was Ladybug and the new guardian too, of course, but she couldn't be blurting that out, so she could only hope that it didn't seem like she was whining over nothing.

She averted her gaze, scooping up a self-conscious bite of her ice cream and shoving it into her mouth. She was partway through savoring it when she realized that neither Luka nor Kagami had responded to her. Daring a look back, she saw them staring at her with varying gazes.

Kagami seemed stunned, commenting, "That is... well, much, actually," referring to what Marinette had just tried to brush off.

Was it? Marinette had never really thought about it. In fact, she distinctly remembered back in the day where people might've thought she was just scatterbrained and didn't really do anything. Back when she was hesitant to be class representative and claimed that she was busy, Alya had asked her with a hint of snark what she was busy with, like she expected her to have a free schedule.

Even beyond her role of Ladybug at the time, she still had random babysitting to do and still frequently worked on her fashion projects. Thinking back, it stung just a little.

As Marinette glanced at Luka, she at first felt that the amount of sympathy he was directing at her was excessive, but then she remembered how she had cried in front of him to the point where he'd dropped his bike and guitar in order to comfort her. She blushed, both in shame and from the memory of him holding her so closely.

"Ah—well—it's okay!" she said hurriedly, "Anyway, forget about me! This day is about... um, this ice cream, and ice cream doesn't have problems that you should worry about!"

She nearly gave herself brainfreeze from how quickly she scooped up and ate the next bite, but figured it'd be worth it if they dropped the subject.

It wasn't worth it.

"You should be more careful," Kagami commented critically, an edge to her voice that Marinette knew wasn't meant to be anger at her. "You're my friend, so don't overwork yourself."

Marinette grinned nervously, still trying to lighten the mood. "A-are you saying it'd be alright to overwork myself if I wasn't your friend?"

Kagami's gaze didn't waver, and Marinette slowly tried to sink into her seat.

Luka set his spoon down on the bowl, then chimed in, "I don't know anything about fashion, Marinette, but if you ever need any help with anything—"

Kagami clicked her own spoon against her bowl to interrupt him, as if she felt personally slighted that he'd gotten to say it first. "We're here for you."

Luka nodded to confirm.

"Oh." Marinette blushed deeper, touched by the gesture from both of them. She thought about trying to reassure them again, but their gazes were firm and showed no room for argument, so she settled for a soft, "Thanks."

They resumed eating their ice cream from there, the topic officially concluded. Though the atmosphere felt noticeably different, Marinette was surprised to realize that it wasn't exactly in a bad way. She feared that she'd ruined the mood, but instead felt like she was supported, with Kagami and Luka looking satisfied with their choice in offering help to her.

It was like she was Ladybug, and they were the partners standing at her side, each with their own form of support. It made her smile, allowing her to happily eat away at her ice cream without thinking about anything stressful.

The idea of going to New York was suddenly very unappetizing in comparison to having ice cream with Luka and Kagami.

—————

All things considered, Ladybug wasn't concerned about telling Chat Noir that her plans had changed and she wasn't going anywhere after all. She imagined that Chat would be overjoyed and wouldn't even ask questions about it, just happy to have her back. She found his affection eyeroll-worthy, but he was still her teammate, so she just steeled herself up for whatever ramble he was about to give her.

However, as she waited near the top of the Eiffel Tower, sitting on the guardrail and looking around for Chat Noir, she realized that she couldn't even see him. Checking the time on her yoyo, she confirmed that it was indeed time for their usual patrol, but Chat Noir was completely absent. Even though it was nighttime, which made the black cat's suit blend in with the sky, he still had the blond hair and light skin that should've made him noticeable.

Ladybug got up and paced around the area a few times, constantly peeking down at the city as she wondered if maybe she just wasn't looking in the right spot. When she still saw nothing, she concluded that Chat Noir must just be running late and she'd simply have to wait a little longer. Things happened, after all, she knew that better than anyone, so she began idling on her yoyo, searching for something to keep her occupied while she waited.

They were a team. While their identities had to remain a secret, Chat Noir had always hated it and prioritized openness in their relationship, so he would've told her if something had come up. He was also active in going on patrols, always seeming eager to join her for their runs across the rooftops, and given that he didn't even know that she'd still be in Paris, patrols were even more crucial.

He never showed up.