#NOT EVEN AN UNFILLED PAGE

[araveninatrenchcoat]

can SOMEBODY in this wretched angstfest of a fandom PLEASE update the wiki?!?! there are FIVE pages and TWO of them are misspelled. the grammar? atrocious. the links? nonexistent. the information? misleading at best and downright FALSE at worse. ONE-FIFTH OF THE WIKI IS ON A FUCKING SWORD! if somebody doesn’t clean this up soon, so help me Charter, ill do it myself. i don’t even watch streams anymore! but i will! because this wiki is a shame to the SMP. hell

[scribblestatic]

*checks the notes*

Oh, this one's a banger, I see. Well, let's continue it then.

Part 1 here

---

Shen Yuan inherits Shen Jiu's somewhat broken cultivation base. However, he's got different stressors, and the heart demons don't hit the same. So, surprise surprise, he's able to bring out some of Shen Jiu's cultivation in ways the OG couldn't.

For example, it takes a bit, but Shen Yuan learns the very delicate method of using qi to turn pages. Which, honestly, he didn't think was particularly impressive, but Luo Binghe recognizes it for the absolute skill it is.

Since Shen Yuan confessed to growing up in a world without qi or cultivation that he was aware of, he'd never felt qi before. Yet, within a few weeks of being in his world (after Luo Binghe carefully fed him until his hair stopped breaking off and his ribs stopped showing), he was doing the very delicate work of minute movements with qi.

Shen Yuan's also learning how to write with ink and qi, using the qi to move the brush around. His writing is...incredibly sloppy at first, but the more he practices, the better he gets. It's even legible now, and very slowly easing its way into being elegant!

Other movements, like catching water pitchers before they fall and carefully moving a cup to his mouth are a tad more difficult, especially the heavier the object is. Like muscles that haven't been moved in a while, he has to work to improve, and he throws himself wholeheartedly into it. Even if he's sweating from exertion, he keeps it up until he gives himself a migraine and has to be coddled for a while after.

That said, he can't move himself around. As in, Shen Yuan cannot use his qi to float quite yet. So, in theory, he should have an attendant to carry him around.

However, Luo Binghe is also loathe to let anyone else move him. So, of course, that means Shen Yuan spends almost all of his waking hours by the Demon Emperor's side.

At first, Luo Binghe barely let him leave the room, too anxious about losing his 'nice shizun' to someone else's machinations when they just started getting to know each other more (knowing each other in ways he never got to with many of his wives). And, well, he won't lie. He likes being the one A'Yuan relies on the most for his daily care, even if he does feel regret while using his blood mites to fend off his many little pains all over his body as he heals.

When some of the more vindictive wives see Shen Yuan as a threat to their position, they start trying to send little assassins in Luo Binghe's absence, but he's super safe in Binghe's quarters, able to wiggle around on his bed or fall on soft pillows if he manages to roll off the mattress and onto the floor. Every bit of food that enters his room is heavily regulated, and his walls are warded up to the nines.

After the first three wives face execution, the assassination attempts petter off. They reduce further once Luo Binghe starts carrying Shen Yuan around.

Shen Yuan's robes are made with full legs and arms in mind, so a good bit of them remain floppy and unfilled by any limbs. However, they fit his torso, what remains of his limbs, and his quite lovely face nicely. Moreover, Luo Binghe always carries Shen Yuan like he's precious despite the disability he forced on his body. When he has to set him down, it's always on a soft pillow seat...or his lap, as they get to know each other further.

After all, while Shen Yuan did think himself straight, he could admit that Luo Binghe was beyond the limitations of gender attraction. Of course Binghe was more handsome than anyone else in the world, even when he wasn't at his healthiest. As he grows healthier, it's like the man's practically glowing! How could he not be attracted to that, ha? He's only half blind!

As far as Luo Binghe being attracted to him though, well, that takes some time to convince him. After all, he doesn't see himself as very attractive.

For one, he's a man. But, well, Luo Binghe expressed that he didn't really mind men. It just so happened so many of those he encountered and married were women. Men weren't off the table. And, well...Binghe would know himself more than Shen Yuan would know him, right? Because, well, things are so different and events he never witnessed from the book happened, like finding the 'nice shizun' in the first place. So...perhaps a few other things are different than expected? And, well, congrats, men! They're also viable for Binghe! They can rejoice! He absolutely didn't feel a skip in his heartbeat at that realization!

For two, though, he's in the body of one of Binghe's main abusers. Him not being Shen Jiu wouldn't change that (because he's not Shen Jiu, he knows it...right? Those dreams were just memories to update him on the situation. He didn't do those terrible things to Binghe, and if he did, then, shit, he did deserve to awaken in this torn-up wreck of a body--). Surely he couldn't be attracted to him because of that.

However, when Binghe looks at him and says the way he carries himself is so different, he doesn't see his old shizun in him, that does make him feel a bit fluffy.

And, for three...uhm...ugh... There's supposed to be a third point, surely! They just... He's not a good match! Yes, that's it. He's not a good match for Luo Binghe. He's not particularly powerful, beautiful, or smart. In fact, he can be quite lazy and indecisive, just wanting to read books all day! Yes, he helps Luo Binghe with his work, but that's just a given to help Binghe when he asks for it!

Even if it kinda puts him on the spot sometimes!

"How do you think I should punish him, Shizun?"

The 'him' in question is a cultivator from one of the lingering sects, one who attempted to use the terrible, scalding venom of a Carapaced Scorpion Buffalo to kill one of Binghe's advisors or something of the sort. Shen Yuan hummed a little as he thought.

He was in the body of a cultivator, so surely one would expect him to request mercy for the person. But it's not like Shen Yuan knows who the guy is. Moreover, that poison could've ended up in one of the wives' drinks, or even Binghe's! Although he could heal from it, having a scalded throat for any period of time would be quite terrible.

"Well, he brought the Carapaced Scorpion Buffalo venom to poison someone's drink. Then, if we were to tie him with immortal binding cables, he would be able to experience what he almost forced on someone else, right? Ah, though, let's not cut off his cultivation completely. Though he'll heal slowly, he should be fine in the end."

Of course, Shen Yuan doesn't know the sort of image he makes, sitting on a smaller throne next to Luo Binghe's his seat less ornate but just as elegant and powerful as the Demon Emperor's. Although his limbs don't move, he's using his qi to move a fan and fan himself a tad stiltedly, but considering such oscillating movements are difficult for many cultivators, it's still a show of his increasing expertise.

Despite his clearly maimed form, he didn't hesitate to suggest it as a punishment, though Luo Binghe didn't tell him that the very person the cultivator was trying to poison had been him, presumably out of pity for his condition.

Luo Binghe grins from ear to ear.

"What a wonderful suggestion, Shizun. I think that's perfect."

I think, after a few more incidents and relying on A'Yuan's judgement for certain issues, receiving positive results, he decides to officially marry him. Which, yeah, that really shocked Shen Yuan...but...well.

He can't very well deny Binghe what he wants when he can reasonably give it, can he? Besides, if Binghe wants him despite everything...

Stop that, heart. Stop feeling so swollen with love and affection. His face is too thin for such emotions.

---

I think I'll actually talk about the crowning ceremony if I continue this, cause, like, I am thinking about how fuckin enraged Yue Qingyuan would be upon hearing that Shen Jiu was being named Luo Binghe's empress. Because, surely he couldn't have agreed to that of his own free will.

Yes, it was about time for Cang Qiong Mountain Sect to be more adamant about retrieving Shen Qingqiu, isn't it? They had become stable enough now after the merging of the three realms. Although they suffered many casualties, getting him back would, at the very least, ease their anxieties over how he's being treated.

He has suffered enough. To be made into a fool as some ridiculous ploy to humiliate him... Enough is enough.

---

Part 1 Part 2: here Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Part 11+: links on Part 10

AO3

[gavisuntiedboot]

Just Pretend (Gavi x reader)

Part 8

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Epilogue

Warnings: ANGST! Idk if it's actually that angsty but I made myself sad. Very very brief mentions of kind of hurting yourself but not really? I actually can't remember what I wrote so if I miss something that needs a warning pls lmk

Word Count: 16.0k (fun fact: if you've read the whole series, you've read 105 pages single space)

A/N: y'all it's literally almost 1 am but I need to start this before I get crucified by the cult following I have created with this series. GIF credit @gavidaily

"You... are considering leaving Barca?"

Xavi looked at you with one brow raised. The same girl that had been fighting for her position at the club just 6 weeks prior was now thinking of quitting her job?

"You know Miss y/l/n, we are about to lose Antonio, and with how hard we push our players, we need to retain the largest amount of medical talent possible. You know that we think extremely highly of you and your ability, which is why you were selected specifically for this role. What can we do to make the job here at Barça more compelling than that of other clubs?”

You took a deep breath. You knew this question was coming. You had worked jobs and been in negotiations before. It would be a lot more expensive for them to hire someone new than to just give in to what they predicted would be a demanded increase in pay.

You looked at your lap, sighing with the weight of the feelings you had carried for God knows how long. It had sat on your subconscious, but was now bubbling to the surface, too powerful to be stopped. “Honestly, mister, I don’t think there’s anything that can be done.”

There’s a funny thing about women letting go. Some people call it the severance theory. Men are heavily guided by their emotions, contrary to popular belief. In a fit of rage they are capable of anything: screaming, blows - any number of crimes of passion. So when an extreme emotion overcomes them, be it sadness or anger or fear, they can end a relationship suddenly. Once they return to a base state of logic, that’s when the crawling back and groveling begins. Because they come to realize that her absence is a stronger pain than whatever drove him away. They exist in binary states: zeroes and ones. Either hatred or love. They don’t understand gradients or in-betweens. They don’t understand that there is another person who must also decide to return to the relationship.

Women on the other hand are much more resilient. It’s why we find the most gorgeous muses with the slimiest excuses for boyfriends. A woman will fall in love not with what she sees, but rather what she hears. What she is told. All the flowery, lovely promises about a glowning future, that’s what she clings to in the midst of a gray and bleak present. The soft whispers of “I love you” and “I don’t know how I would live without you” act as bandages, plugging the gaping wounds left by his actions. But her resolve slips the longer those promises go unfulfilled. The longer those holes go unfilled. She begins to see the truth of her situation, and realizes that the road she’s skipped down is a dead end. She imagines once again. She thinks of all the possible ways that he could change and be the man she wants. She searches for glimpses of it in his words, his movement, his aura. She does the silliest, most foolish thing a woman can do: she hopes. She holds on until not even her delusions can be a comfort. She realizes that there is no way for her to be happy with this man. That’s when she finally leaves. There’s no groveling, no tears, no remorse. It’s a clean severance of dead weight. She’s empty, and it lightens her being enough for her to walk away. There is no way to save it. The bridge has been burned and she was gone forever.

The funny part was, this didn’t just apply to men. That’s the thing about emptiness: it consumes everything. Loneliness is a black hole that swallows every ray of light that it encounters. That was your life recently. No light and no joy - not even sadness. You couldn’t feel anything strongly anymore. You picked up little habits to try and feel. You heated your food to scalding temperatures just to feel the heat on your lips. Your showers were icy, the pinpricks distracting you from the desire to cry. You no longer felt strong anger or desire or really anything. The color was slowly draining from your life, grays and sepias replacing the once vibrant existence around you. The beauty around you had mangled into gnarly trees and threatening uncertainty as you foolishly waited for the sun to peak through. But it had abandoned you. The sun had taken its rays and warmth elsewhere, almost mocking you as you shivered in the dirt. So maybe it was time to crate your own light: burn down the forest and start anew.

“Nothing? La, that can’t be true Doctora.”

Your eyes shot up at the title. There was, in fact, one feeling that you still sensed: pain. You could still feel physically pain, and inflicted it on yourself often just to experience an emotion. But nothing could compare to the sharp stabs and dull aches that lived in your heart. It was hard to look at Gavi without feeling like you wanted to fall on your knees. Realizing that you were in love was not beautiful or romantic. It was torturous, like snakes and thorns taking home in your throat. Reality was the salt in the wound; the knowledge that you two were destined to fail before you had began was a pill too big to swallow, suffocating you instead.

“If I can be honest, mister, I don’t feel like I belong here at Barça. I’ve been here for six months and I still don’t feel like part of the team. Maybe it’s just not a good environment or fit for me. That’s not something that can be fixed with just a salary increase. I just can’t tell if this is the place for me.”

Xavi looked at you, bringing his elbows to rest on the table and interlocking his fingers. He wanted to adamantly refuse, but there was truth to what you said. It was evident that there was a disconnect between you and the general environment of the team. You were close to some of the younger players, but had difficulty gaining the trust and respect of the older crowd and the medical staff. Your ideas for treatment were too modern - too far removed from what everyone else was used to. Hell, you were upsetting one of his players, and that was the opposite of your job as the support staff. But he would by lying if he said you weren't effective. The plan for Dembele that you had first presented got the striker back on the field weeks earlier than any other predictions. Your diligent maintenance had prevented players from getting injured as often, keeping the ones you were closest to on a strict exercise regimen, ensuring their continuous improvement. He cared for his players and his club. And if you were the miracle cure to keeping them healthy and playing, then he was going to keep you there, even if he had to tie you to the columns of Camp Nou.

"There must be something we can do to keep you. You're very familiar with the players and the equipment, as well as the workflow, and you're very good at your work. Hell, Gavi hasn't even had a cough since you started here, and he's quite accident-prone. Please let me know what I can possibly do to keep you with us."

"I really am not being shy or sneaky. I really have no demands. When then team heads to the UK for the game against Man U, I will visit the Chelsea facility and meet the staff. If I like what I see, I'll be moving there. I'm just... not happy here anymore."

There it was. The confession you had not even made to yourself. You were at the club of your dreams, living everything that your younger self had always wanted, and you just could not be happy. This was a disappointment that was hard to describe. Everyone always talks about shooting for the moon, but no one talks about what happens when you actually make it there. You work hard and your dreams become a reality: you're on the moon! But the moon is so, so far from Earth. And when you're cold and lonely and looking down on all of the people that could be loving you, then the moon doesn't seem so worth it anymore. When you realize the moon is just a rock, then what hope do you have left?

Thinking back, you recalled all the people that you pushed away to further your career goals. You think of the family gatherings and events that you missed to study and work. You think of all the friends you have lost touch with because they were never a priority. They were never smart or driven enough to keep up with you, and so they were left in the dust. You had a few, but none you could confidently say would pick up a call from you at 2am if you needed help. Boyfriends were even worse. Since your heartbreak in college, men had fallen to the wayside. You justified it to yourself, saying that you just needed to be successful, and you would attract someone at your level. Someone who wanted an equal. But here you were: alone, depressed, and thinking of running away from what you once thought was your life's purpose.

Before Xavi could respond, a loud thud from the hallway distracted the two of you, followed by shouts that chilled your blood.

"Gavi!"

You were out of your seat in seconds. There was no force that could stop you, feet and hands moving on their own accord as you entered the hall and laid eyes on the body on the floor. There was no air in your lungs or your larynx to make a sound, let alone scream.

Why was Gavi on the floor?

Your hearing was shot, like you were underwater. The faces of those surrounding were panicked, and all eyes were on you, shouts and points and calls for action flying straight over your head.

Why was Gavi on the floor?

Your stomach was twisting itself into elaborate knots, coiling tighter while pushing the bile further up your throat. Your eyes went in and out of focus, willing the scene in front of you to disappear. You blinked hard hoping for the image to change when your eyes opened again.

Why was Gavi on the floor?

"Doctora, please look at Pablo - he collapsed suddenly and we need to make sure he doesn't have a head injury. Move!" It was Antonio's hands on your shoulders and shouts that finally got you to move from your frozen position.

Kneeling over, Gavi looked even worse. His skin was pale, and he was crumpled like an aluminum can - limbs everywhere, like his life force had just abandoned him. You had to remove Gavi from the situation and pretend he was a practice dummy at school. You had to pretend he was plastic and rubber, because that's the only way you could go through head injury protocols with a calm mind. He couldn't be Pablo, because if he was, then the thought would have to fester in your head: Pablo was hurt when you had been distant. He was hurt because you had been distant. Worst case scenario, he could disappear from your life now, all because you hadn't been able to handle the proximity like a normal person. Your thoughts were spiraling now, painting scenarios of death and disease and making it even harder for you to stop the tremble in your hands.

But you had decided that his cold heap of flesh before you wasn't Gavi. It couldn't be. It wasn't even a person. You recited the head injury checklist under your breath: consciousness, breathing, vision, vomiting. Placing a hand on Gavi's neck, you felt a pulse, stopping you from performing CPR. The last thing you needed to do was unnecessarily crack a rib. You shook him several times, and received no response.

"Shine a light in his eyes!" "Shake him harder!" "Should we pour water on him? Get some water!" "You're not yelling his name loudly enough!"

You ignored the shouts of the peanut gallery, repeating the list like a mantra in your head. You would have time later to be angry at the staff for their utter uselessness in the situation, but right now, you just needed to keep going. Blood was pounding in your ears as you opened one of his eyelids. Consciousness, breathing, vision, vomiting. It snapped back into place, and Pablo's face was now in view. Other than his pale complexion, he looked perfectly at peace. His face was identical to the night you had spent sleeping next to him - sleeping atop him. His breathing was deep, as if he had spontaneously fallen asleep in the middle of the hallway. He was beautiful. And for the first time in days, it had allowed you to be filled with a warmth somewhat foreign to you now. Pablo was in your arms and beautiful, and you could not imagine how you were meant to go on with life seeing him every day and being denied this privilege. You didn't allow yourself to dwell on the thought. Breathing? Yes. Consciousness? No. That needed to be remedied.

"Pablo, if you can wake up now, it would be really helpful. Otherwise I'm going to have to cause you a lot of pain."

You waited for a response, but none came. You sighed deeply, moving your hands from the supple skin of his cheeks downwards, gripping the hem of his shirt and pulling it upwards, exposing the expanse of his chest. You made out the sounds of taunting and whistles, but they were promptly silenced by staff who reminded the crowd that this was not an appropriate moment for jokes. Forming a fist, you placed your knuckles on the center of Pablo's chest, pushing down and rubbing. Hard. His eyes shot open within seconds, and he threw your hand off, howling in pain. His breathing was shallow and panicked, vision erratic as teammates, coaches, and other staff all yelled questions and instructions at him.

"Everybody shut up! Let me do my job."

That was the voice he needed to hear. As the yells settled to murmurs, his breathing slowed and he began to see more clearly. His eyes fully focused on you, and it soothed the ache in his chest. His heart was racing faster than he had ever felt, causing Pablo to grab onto your shoulders to ground himself.

"Pablo, can you hear me?"

You were here. You were real. He could still hold you and feel you. He nodded slowly, not trusting himself to speak. The nausea that he had felt before he blacked out still lingered, and the last thing he wanted to do was projectile vomit on you. He flinched slightly at the feeling of your hand returning to his face, but settled quickly, listening hard to your instructions. There was nothing easier than focusing on the sound of your voice.

"Look at me." You said, shining a light in Gavi's eyes, checking for any hemorrhaging or internal bleeding. What a silly request, he thought to himself, squinting under the brightness. How could he look anywhere else when you were in the room? How could he ever tear his eyes from you? How could he waste a single second of you before him, especially with the prospect of you leaving at the end of the month looming?

"No bleeding. Are you experiencing any double vision?"

A headshake no. You instructed someone behind you to grab a bottle of water, and then turned back to Pablo.

"Good. What is your name?"

Gavi swallowed thickly, and took a deep breath before speaking. "My name is Pablo Gavi."

"Good. And who am I?"

"Ah don't worry, Doctora. Even with amnesia, I could never forget you." There was that stabbing feeling in your chest again. That feeling that accompanied Pablo's sweet words and kind eyes. The cold shard of reality that reminded you that he would fade away into an Instagram mutual in a matter of months.

"Alright, Gavi. No internal bleeding and no memory loss. We need to go through more of the concussion protocols and make sure you're okay, but we can do this in my office. Are you okay to stand?"

After a curt nod, you helped Pablo stand, and began walking with him towards your office. You informed Xavi of the next steps, and he told you to do whatever necessary to make sure his 'golden angry bird' was okay. But of course, you could never know a day of peace, as each one must be filled with the noise pollution that was Ferran's voice.

"If the door isn't open, just know that Pablito isn't moaning in pain." A round of snickers was heard from both players and staff. But before they had time to add on to the nasty comment, you swiveled around to face the group. You were seething with anger, and one very important realization came to the center of your mind.

You had nothing left to lose.

It was Pablo Torre who was closest to you, and he was the person that received the start of your wrath.

"What the hell are you laughing at? The fact that your teammate could have serious head trauma? Or at the fact that, with Gavi potentially out of commission, they might take you off the bench long enough for you to remember what grass feels like?"

He was silent instantly, eyes wide. He had never received words this harsh from anyone at the club. Or anyone not on Twitter. You turned to two more assistant physios, Luca and Gabriel, who stood next to him, still muttering to one another in hushed tones.

"And you two! Do you want to know why everyone has to rush and get me whenever someone hits their head? Because out of everyone here, I'm the only one that knows proper concussion protocols and how to identify trauma. I have more medical knowledge in my fingernail than in both of your heads combined. I have to take him to my office because you two are incompetent at your jobs! And instead of doing anything useful, this is how you occupy your time: slacking, cigarette breaks, speculating who I'm sleeping with, and doing absolutely jack shit when a player gets injured. So keep giggling like school girls. I can't wait to see you both giggling on the street corner while begging for spare change."

You held Gavi harshly, storming off to your office. Your speed and the bounce was making him nauseous, but he knew better than to speak in this moment. His chest had swelled with pride. He was patiently waiting for the day that you would put the guys in their place. None of them were bad people - it had just been a while since most of them interacted with a woman they didn't want to sleep with. Gavi loved that you were capable of defending yourself, but could not ignore the part of him that wanted to be the one to defend you.

Call it a toxic trait if you want, but Pablo had always taken pride in his ability to intimidate. He had eventually come to terms with the fact that he was done growing at a sweet 5'7, despite his desire to break at least 5'9 (because his friend Hanna at La Masia told him that was the shortest a girl would go for. Looking back, taking this information from a 5'10 female footballer was probably not the best idea he's ever had). It had taken a while, but after weeks of daily affirmations in the mirror about how short Messi was, he held his chin higher. Once he started receiving praise from fellow players, coaches, and media, Pablo gained more confidence in the fact that he could be part of the next generation of great Barcelona football. This allowed him to go up against any player with no worries or fear, winning headers against people with a foot of height on him. Pablo began building his upper body in the gym as well, compensating with strength. A broad and reckless teenager, there was almost no one he wasn't ready to take on.

He sensed that same quality in you as well: a desire to prove yourself, no matter the cost. But he didn't want you to. He never wanted to see you scowl or have to hear you yell (despite it being semi-hot). Pablo wanted to be your knight, whose sole purpose in life was making sure that you never experienced feelings but joy and pleasure. He wanted others to go through him before daring to speak to you. Because how could every person just have access to the beauty that is you? To the radiant soul and shimmering aura that fills the room? How could he be content with you shouldering the burdens of living in this world? Even if he never got to have you romantically, Pablo wanted to shield you from every harm in the world. And not a day went by when he didn't feel it.

This was one of those moments. He wished he was able to verbally berate Ferran for the garbage he spewed on a regular basis, but he could do nothing except let himself be dragged by you through the halls of the sports center until they reached your office, where he was promptly flung towards the exam table. He watched as you brought him your small office trash can, setting it beside the bed. He was brought back to your first month at Barca, when he had challenged you and been proven wrong. There was a confidence in yourself and your abilities that had dissipated from then to now. Pablo smiled stupidly as he remembered the excruciating pain and discomfort of trying not to throw up in front of the pretty physio. If only he had known then that it was nothing compared to the pain of holding back these feelings.

"Lay down on the bed. Look up at the ceiling. If you need to vomit, do it in there." You instructed curtly before moving to sit at your computer. Short nails clicked harshly against the raised keyboard, keys slamming down rapidly, sound reverberating around the room. Gavi wanted so desperately to flip over, lay on his stomach and stare at you. Just to see the curves of your face and the way your eyes reflected the light. But he looked up at the ceiling like you asked, more worried about pushing you further away than watching you type. He took several deep breaths. This didn’t feel like the last time he was concussed. Last time, he had felt his brain rattle against his skull, waves of nausea starting immediately. His head ad throbbed, spots forming on his vision. His jaw was clenched, and he could’ve sworn there was a crack down the center of his cranium, blood oozing out of it onto the practice pitch.

He remembered that day so vividly despite the head trauma. He had been livid, Ferran dragging him to a new and inexperienced physio. Gavi had interpreted it as sabotage to that Ferran could get the left wing back. And then he saw you. Angry that he was he wasn’t receiving treatment by the best, he couldn’t say he was upset to look at you. You were a stunning kind of beauty, young and lively and clad in cool gray scrubs. But you were three years older than him, wildly advanced and talented, and he couldn’t swallow his pride - especially not with this nausea. He could not swallow the fact that you looked so damn familiar. He had seen you somewhere before: those eyes had looked at him with that same distress and concern. But he could not place it for the life of him.

Pablo thought back to how sweet you had been to him that day. How you had encouraged him to take pride in himself and be confident in the fact that he deserved all the success he had seen. He was so overwhelmed that day. His brain was absolute porridge, and he was doing his best for it not to pour out of his ears, all while his cheeks burned under your gaze. He was too preoccupied by his desire to muster one ounce of hatred to replace the overwhelming admiration in his brain that he could not determine where the hell he had seen you before.

And now here he was, once again staring at the ceiling, head throbbing, and the thought came to him again: why did you look familiar? Despite having known you for half a year now, the feeling that there was history had not left him. It wasn't that you had a common face. There was something about the way you looked at him, with a knowing and sadness, that touched a part of his soul. Like you knew things he had never even admitted to himself. While he thought that was just your way of being, he was coming to realize that look was one reserved specifically for Pablo. Now he wasn't nauseous, and focused on the rhythmic sounds of keys being slammed. He poised himself to ask a question, but not the one gnawing at his brain.

"What're you typing so excitedly? Hopefully not your resignation."

You looked up in time to watch Pablo's chest heave with the breathy (and very fake) laugh that he forced out. Your fingers rested against the keyboard, pausing your aggressive typing. How did Gavi know about your plans to leave? Had he been listening at the door? How long had he been standing there before-

"Is that why you fainted in the hallway? Because I'm leaving the club?"

"So you've already decided that you're leaving? You aren't even going to wait until you see whatever shithole you've been offered a spot at?"

There was an emotion that made Gavi's voice wobble, and you couldn't pin it exactly, but it sounded akin to betrayal. You finished the last sentence of your email, the swooshing sound indicating the message had been sent. Pablo bit his lip and stared hard at the fluorescent light. He didn't want you to see the distress in his face, but he couldn't help it. He hated how the dynamic between the two of you had been so warm, so close to the spark he desperately sought, just to go back to how icy your interactions began.

You pulled up a stool to sit next to him, and grabbed a pair of gloves as you approached. You noticed the slight quiver of his lip, and turned away to put your gloves on. The deep sadness in his eyes, the way his body tensed, the voice like a hurt child - was this all because of you?

"I was doing what I should've done my first week working here: I sent an email to HR about Ferran's nasty comments. Barca can't have a sexual harassment scandal right about now, especially not during the transfer window. And if they fire me, then they..." Your voice trailed off, throat closing up. It was still hard for you to process the possibility.

"If they fire me, then that's one less decision that I have to make."

You ran a gloved hand across his crown, feeling for any bumps or lacerations because of his fall. You felt worse the longer you continued the exam, the feeling that this was your fault sinking in. You had pushed Pablo away wordlessly after brining him in so close. But the majority of your brain screamed back at you how selfish it would be to drag Pablo into your black hole, ruining his career so that he could run after a girl who didn't even feel. If the sun in its greatness could not warm you, then how could ask this of Pablo?

"Now we need to talk about your fall in the hallway. It's quite obvious that you fainted but-"

"Were ever going to tell me? Or were you just going to freeze me out until you left the country?"

Gavi propped himself up on his elbows, eyes meeting you directly. You didn't know what to say. You couldn't tell him how you felt, especially not now. Not right before you disappeared.

"Have you ever fainted like that before? What have you eaten to day?" You asked, moving to throw away your gloves. "If you're having frequent spells of losing consciousness, then we need to have your blood iron tes-"

"Are you being serious right now, y/n? You're on the verge of quitting your dream job, packing up and leaving the country, and isolating yourself from everyone who cares about you, and you're asking about my blood iron? No."

Pablo stood, getting off the table faster than someone with a head injury should. He walked towards you, anger evident.

"No. You don't get to change the subject and talk about my iron. Or sit and try and diagnose me with anything. You know that I'm perfectly healthy. Want to know why I fainted? I'll tell you, Doctora."

Gavi was right in front of your face now, heavy breath fanning against your skin. You swallowed thickly, breathing just as heavy as you met his blazing stare. For the first time in weeks, your eyes started to moisten. Why was this scolding from Pablo going to bring you to tears?

"Because from the moment I laid eyes on you, I felt like I knew you. I don't know if I saw you on the street or in a dream, but a part of my brain recognized you, and since then I've been in pain. Pain that you can't even help me with. Nobody can. It's so hard to watch everyone take advantage of you all the fucking time. It tears me apart constantly. But it let me get closer to you. You let me get closer. And I tried so hard to keep it at bay, to be the friend that you need."

Pablo was now cupping your face, holding it like it was the only thing that would tether him to the earth. He rested his head against yours, and suddenly it was too much. All the feelings that had escaped you for so long were coming back all at once, stacking on top of each other and smothering you. Your eyes welled with tears, and you wished the ground would swallow you whole to escape Gavi's piercing eyes looking straight through you.

"But you have to know that I don't just see you as a friend, Doctora. You have to know, even if you don't feel the same way, that I am -"

"We met before I got my job here. That's why you recognize me."

Gavi let go of your face, taking a step back. He looked at you with confusion and hurt. You both knew what he was about to say, and he couldn't understand why you wouldn't just let him get it off his chest. And as selfish as it was, you just couldn't take it. Pablo deserved better - someone that would lift him up, not hold him back. And if he said it, if it was out in the open, then you would never be able to put his needs first.

"The week of my interview, I went to pick up Angelika from the club. Angel went to get her from the VIP section and he left me in charge of keeping an eye on you."

"You... were watching me while I was drunk?" Pablo's brain was processing a thousand things at once. You had met him and remembered him? What had he said while drunk to make you hide that fact from him?

"Why didn't you say anything before?"

There were so many ways to answer this question that you didn't know where to begin. How could you explain to Gavi that you had been so captured by his beauty that night that it had thrown you off your axis, making you wonder if you had died and this was the angel sent to guide you to the pearly gates? How could you describe the intense pull Pablo had over you, tugging at your soul, urging you to stay with him? How were you to say the way your heart broke on his behalf, wanting to hold him in your arms and protect him from everything that made him feel less than the most special person alive? All you had wanted was to kiss him, to pull him in, to never let him go. But none of the words materialized. Because to you, the cruelest thing you could do to Pablo was keep pulling him into you. He was pure light, and you couldn't bear the burden of being the one to extinguish it.

"It was an insignificant moment in a club. Nothing worth mentioning. I didn't even remember until Pedri reminded me when I started."

There it was. The sentence that made Gavi crack. You watched the hurt seep into his features, and a heavy air filled the room. Brows coming together, he looked at you expectantly, waiting, praying, that you would take it back.

"Meeting me was ... insignificant?"

Eyes locked, there was nothing you could say that would erase this moment. You swallowed the lump in your throat, playing with your fingers. You spun the ring you wore around your finger, trying to occupy your mind with anything other than the thought that you were the human embodiment of garbage.

The silence remained, growing thicker with each passing second. It enveloped the both of you, tendrils wrapping around and ripping the two of you apart, fraying whatever string of fate had brought you together.

"You think it was just a coincidence, meeting me in the club weeks before we become coworkers? Friends? Something... beyond that...and you think that coincidence was so forgettable that it wasn't even worth mentioning?"

There it was. The cold front that you put up, the one that pushed everyone away, no matter how hot their love for you burned. You were the ice princess, destined to go through life cold and untouchable and alone.

"Some people you just meet, Pablo. It doesn't mean they're meant to be together. I needed to get my friend out of the club and I just ran into Angel. He left me in charge of you so that you wouldn't do anything stupid or childish while drunk. I was in a club babysitting an 18 year old kid who was pouring his heart out to me while wasted. I didn't say anything to save you from the embarrassment."

That was the straw that broke Gavi's heart. He stormed towards the door, unable to look at you any longer. Had he really been lead on; allowed to believe that you were his friend, or at the least respected him, when this entire time you just saw him as a little kid. His last line to you was spoken so softly you almost didn't hear it over the deafening slam of the door.

"They're going to love you in England."

~

"Your English is very good for someone educated in Spain."

You looked up at Steve, flashing a practiced professional smile that showed no indication of offense at the objectively offensive statement.

"Thank you, Dr. Hughes. I did complete my baccalaureate degree in the United States, but I'm glad the last two years in Barcelona have not damaged my language."

Now it was his turn to laugh uncomfortably as he lead you through the garish blue halls of Stamford bridge. The entire plane ride you had told yourself that this could be the fresh start you needed. This could be the opportunity to turn your life around, and so you should approach it with fresh eyes and an open mind. But the walls were hurting your eyes, the blue and white making you think of Martin in his kit. You were lead into the trophy room, which was a lot smaller than you were used to.

"Here you can see some of the club's shining moments. We have had an... interesting season this year, but you know that performance fluctuates between seasons. We hope to be back on top again very soon, especially with an entirely new medical team coming on board."

You scanned the shelves and glass cases, admiring the look of trophies you were familiar with, and ones you had never seen before.

"An entire new medical staff? No one is staying on?" You asked, confused. What kind of club replaced everyone all at the same time? Usually at least one person remained to pass the torch, to maintain familiarity. It set warning bells off in your head.

“Ah, well, many of our staff members were quite loyal to Dr. Henry, you know he was here for 17 years after all. So they all followed him out. But we are excited to usher in a new wave of sparkling young medical talent!”

You swallowed hard, still feeling from the information. You still hadn’t finished your degree, and yet you were being offered a head position at what was supposed to be a huge and well-respected club. You couldn’t help but think of the blaugrana.

Something flitted in your chest, a feeling that surrounded you whenever you walked into the camp. The feeling of family, like you were home. The coldness of Steve’s answer didn’t spark anything close to that feeling. Not every workplace needed to be a part of your heart, a new family. These days. You had no idea what your family was supposed to be, or if you had one at all. Your brain begged you to ask what the environment was like, how close the staff was, what created such a high level of loyalty that they would all follow this man wherever he went, abandoning club and home. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it, asking instead,

“Do you only display the most recent. Champions League trophy?”

More laughter from Steve, but of the fakest nature. “Yes we have one on this side, one on the other. They’re … ehem, all of our UCL trophies are displayed here.” Your cheeks warmed with subtle embarrassment. You knew nothing about this room or this club, and if you were honest with yourself, you had no desire to. You missed Barca. But you had to give this club its chance – an honest shot to be your new home.

The two of you continued through the halls as Steve showed you all the medical equipment and facilities that would be at your disposal should you accept. At the end, he led you to the players’ lounge, offering you a seat. The blue had given you a baby migraine, and you were incredibly grateful for the ability to sit and rest. You refused the gracious offers for food, sipping on a bottle of water to dull the throbbing against your skull. You searched the room for something, something familiar – a face, a number, to make you feel like everything was going to work out in the end. But it never appeared, the bright colors and foreign faces more of a discomfort than anything else.

"Make yourself comfortable, Doctor. Let me get some of the players that you'll be working with, and you can hear from them what the environment is like."

You nodded sweetly, sitting up straight with ankles crossed in the way Princess Diaries taught you to. As the footsteps faded slowly into the distance, a sigh passed between your lips. What were you doing? Despite the lecture given to yourself on the uncomfortable plane ride over (Chelsea would only pay for economy), it had all gone out the window. Your gut was in knots, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you were doing something wrong.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and the screen lit up in your hand to read "One Football: FC Barcelona vs Manchester United - Starting lineup now available." The notification had been pressed before you registered what was going on. Your eyes scanned the list just to land on one name. Your mind went back to the last conversation the two of you shared. The most venomous words had slipped past your lips, and you had finally done it: you pushed the last person who cared for you away. The sentiment was harsh. How could anyone ever recover a relationship after shattering it so completely? Despite how much much it hurt to grip the broken shards so tightly, you held on nonetheless, packing Gavi's hoodie in your bag, the '6' embroidered into the pocket cutting open a gaping wound in your heart, and yet you enjoyed its presence there.

"Doctora, I'm pleased to introduce Kepa and Christian. They have been with the club for a while, and they would be happy to answer all your questions."

~

"A scoreless first half here at Old Trafford as both Barcelona and Man U return to the locker rooms for half time. As we saw Pedri went down in those final minutes of the half, and we've received a report that he is out for the rest of the match. His injury status is unknown, but if the magician is out of commission, this could be a very easy steal for United."

The sounds of fists slamming against lockers was loud enough to be heard all the way home in Spain. Pedri Potter, the star, the leader of Barca's new era, was now in icing his right hamstring in some medical examination room, while the rest of the team scrambled to figure out a scenario in which they would win without him in a mere 15 minutes. Gavi bounced his leg anxiously, eager to see his friend and make sure he was okay.

"Listen up boys. We can win this game without Pedri. The score is now 1-0 to Man U, and all we need to do it score once to tie. Then we are back home, our turf and our fans. Robert, Rapha, your goal is to put the ball in the net. I don't care what you have to do. The middle, you need to get the ball in a good position for these two. That means Gavi, you'll be- Gavi pay attention!"

Head snapping up, Pablo's eyes met Xavi's directly. He knew he should be paying attention - this was the first of several games that needed to be won until they reached a trophy. He needed to be on his A-game, and yet, his mind was drifting. He wished it was just concern over Pedri capturing his attention. But in the corners of his mind, your voice lingered. "Babysitting... insignificant... embarrassment." All words you had used when talking about him as he was on the verge of pouring his entire soul out onto the linoleum for you. He didn't understand the anger that flowed through him. It was a sense of ... incompleteness. If you had let him finish, let him say the words that he didn't fully understand, then he would have been okay. He would have watched as you kicked his beating heart against the wall, telling him that you could never feel that way towards him. He would have been okay: relieved. But you had left him dangling off the edge of a cliff, with no relief in being pulled to safety nor mercy in being allowed to fall.

Xavi gave his instructions to the midfield and the defensive line, going over the weak points that needed to be addressed.

"Pedri is most likely out for the next eight weeks, missing both the next match and the SuperCopa, so this is your opportunity to adjust to playing in high-stress situations without him."

Gavi's head raised fully at this. Eight weeks? It has been forever since someone was out for that long. Since the beginning of the season... since you had joined the team. A pinch in Pablo's chest. His brain repeated over and over that the best thing to do was let you go. To let you be your own person, grow and be independent, saving himself the heartache because the one girl he wanted was the one he couldn't have. Yet his heart held on with an iron grip. It refused to release you, reminding him of every sweet moment shared in cars and offices and bedrooms. It was quick to forget the pain of being perceived as a child. Pablo's heart begged him to wait for you, because it was incapable of letting go of a devotion so intense. His heart ached for you, longing for the day he be deemed worthy enough to love you wholly and completely.

"Eight weeks is insane - we have never gone that long with our midfield handicapped. Is there no way to speed up recovery? Who gave the estimate?" Robert asked, wiping the sweat off his brow.

"Luca is the only one from the medical staff who is here right now. He is the one who made the determination. Of course, the rest of the staff will be free to reevaluate when we return home. But Luca will be the one continuing with the course of treatment, and so we will go with his estimate."

"What? Where is y/n?" The question came from Alejandro, followed by hushed agreement. Even if you were not the first point of contact for all the players, you were a team staple, becoming as familiar to them as the crest embroidered on their uniforms. The older players had watched as you performed medical miracles on their teammates that rivaled what Jesus did for the blind, allowing the team to prosper all season. 15 points at the top of the table, and at least half had your name on them. The youngers had felt your impact directly, following your instructions like gospel. They knew how much care you showed to every single one of them, from the starters to the bench warmers. Your hands had put them back together. A touch of you lingered in all the success achieved, and your absence felt closer to abandonment than anything else.

"You should ask Pablito - he would be the first one to notice that his girlfriend wasn't on the flight." Ferran's voice: the closest human equivalent to nails on a chalkboard. After everything that had taken place, it was a wonder he still had the energy to be an ass.

"Maybe you should ask Ferran about his HR investigation, which is a main reason that she's touring the Chelsea facility fight now. Hey, maybe you'll see her this summer when you get sold there. They're always looking for people to keep the bench warm while the important players are on the field." Gavi spoke calmly and evenly, like he was stating pure fact. He stood, leaving the room to avoid the round of questioning that was about to occur regarding HR and the doctora's new home.

The click of Pablo's cleats echoed loudly in the hallway a she approached the medical room, where Luca was fumbling with bandage and his laptop, while Pedri waited on the exam table like a fish at the market. His head turned at the sound of Gavi's approach, and he gave a weak smile to the younger player.

"I finally pushed it too far. Great timing, eh Hermano? It's only a Champion's League, a SuperCopa, and a potential classico that I'll miss. Nothing significant."

Gavi could do nothing but let out a slight laugh, cupping Pedri on the back of the neck. His heart hurt for his friend. This is what every player dreamed of: playing for cups, winning with the team of their dreams. And Pedri was going to miss all of it because they had relied on him to heavily, asked him to bridge too many gaps.

"Please don't say that word to me ever again. Luca, how's it looking? Eight weeks seems a little excessive for a sprain." Gavi knew that Luca was doing something wrong. Or stupid. Or, the most likely option, both. When Ansu had sprained his hamstring, he was back on the field in 28 days under your care. Alejandro had a minor tear in his meniscus, and yet still he was faster than the speed of sound 6 weeks later. Now there was no you. No melodic voice explaining muscle strain and stride length and tissue recovery. Just a stupid, lanky Spaniard in free Barca merch putting "leg hurts" into Web MD and seeing what he can diagnose with this time.

"Why don't you let the medical professionals do their job, Gavi, and you go back to putting your head in front of peoples' feet."

Looking to quickly diffuse the situation, Pedri turned to his friend, wanting to stop looking at the man who might end his football career with a wrong move and an 'oops'.

"I'll just let y/n look at it when I get back home. She'll fix me up in no time. That is, if you give me one of your spots on her schedule."

"Yeah, that's if she even comes back to work."

Pedri looked at the younger boy with confusion. It had been several weeks since he had seen Gavi with his favorite physio. Initially, he thought the crush had faded - that Pablo had found another pretty thing to maintain his interest, and you had fallen to the wayside with the other failed football loves. But Pablo was so clearly unhappy. He was more irritable, spending more and more time on his phone while avoiding the group all together. He sat silently in Pedri's passenger seat, screen illuminating his face but remaining silent.

[Doctora]: Good morning Pablo - running late. Will bring you an apology smoothie

[Doctora]: im going to need you to send me a video of you tying your shoes as proof

[Doctora]: i'll tell you when i see u tomorrow

Gavi had spent two weeks going back over every message you had ever sent him. He watched the way your tone changed from proper and professional to something lighter, more friendly and familiar. Over and over your voice played in his head.

"Pablo."

Pride be damned. He missed you. As he stood behind his teammates, whispers about the staff still whirling around the tunnel, it dawned on him. Barca, the club of his dreams, the fantasy of his childhood, would never - could never - be complete again if you left.

"And we're back in Old Trafford for the second half of this UCL match between the Historic FC Barcelona, and the red devils of Manchester United."

~

"That's incredible that you went to school there! I'm a ride or die for their basketball team, so you already have my respect."

You flashed Christian a smile - a real one, the first genuine display of joy you've been able to muster in a while. Both of the players had shown a genuine interest in getting to know you, trying to sell you on the idea of joining the club. Kepa had gushed over how much he loved living in London, citing his experiences as a fellow Spaniard.

"You're around so many Spanish speakers at the club, you hardly miss home."

Christian, the more injury-prone of the two, talked about his experiences with the medical team, and the close relationships he had built there. All of the medical team had become family to him in some way or the other. It calmed your previous anxieties. Maybe it was just a fear of change keeping you tethered to Barca, and all you needed was time to adjust.

"I think you'd get along really well with the other players, of course, the ones that opt-in to working with you."

This statement from Christian caught the attention of both you and Steve, who rushed over before you could ask for clarification. Opt-in? How could you opt-in to medical treatment?

"Miss, I think that Kepa and Christian have both done a wonderful job of providing just a small taste of what it means to be part of the Chelsea family. We don't want to keep them from afternoon training."

You said your thanks and goodbyes, but before they left Kepa turned to you, as if suddenly struck with a lightening bolt of realization.

"You're the Barca physio that works with Gavi, right?" He asked in Spanish. "He mentioned a girl physio during international training."

Another knot in your stomach at the mere mention of his name. "Yeah that would be me."

Kepa's face shifted, brows downturned and lips pursed. "Let me give you my contact information, in case you have any more questions." This line was in English, spoken more in Steve's direction than in yours. He approached, taking the phone from your hands and switching back to Spanish.

"Don't leave Barca. Gavi talked about you a lot during the break. They respect and value you a lot there - don't throw that away." He handed the phone back to you as you tried to contain your expression, suppressing the shock you felt from displaying itself on your features. What could Pablo have said that would make this man go out of his way to prevent you from joining this club? What had been so compelling that Kepa worked against his own best interest?

It was now just you and Steve in the room, and you turned to him, his skin flushed, to ask about Christian's little slip.

"There was something mentioned about players opting out of treatment?"

"Ah, just a small clause in your contract. Just says that players can choose not to be treated by club medical staff and find their own if they feel uncomfortable. It's all there in the paperwork somewhere. You can call my assistant if you read over it again and have more questions. Now, I know that you need to go soon, but I wouldn't be able to let you go without meeting one of our new signings. Someone else who knows what it's like to decide to make the shift from La Liga here to the old PL. Come with me."

You rose from your seat, migraine returning from the stress onset. What was being kept from you? Obviously you hadn't read your employment offer close enough. You walked through the passages somewhat mindlessly, following Steve with your body as your mind drifted elsewhere. What was being hidden from you?

"Joao, nice to see you again! This is Doctor y/l/n, and we're trying to convince her to make the same switch from Spain to London."

All of your medical education had told you that the masticator and other jaw muscles were voluntary; that they could be controlled and moved when you wanted. Not today. Your jaw went slack, and it refused to shut as you stared at the Portuguese beauty before you. There was no way. How had you missed the news of his move. How unprofessional was it to say 'pinch me' during what was essentially an interview.

"Nice to meet you, Doctora. I'm quite relieved that I don't have to speak in English - apparently my accent is not as good as I thought."

Joao Felix was shaking your hand. You had yet to say anything or even shut your mouth. Joao Felix was shaking your hand. You laughed lightly at his statement, muscles moving independently of the pudding that was your brain currently. Joao Felix was shaking your hand.

"I'm sorry, it's so nice to meet you, I'm just a little overwhelmed. You're one of my favorite players in football right now. I've been following you since your debut. Oh my God."

It was Joao's turn to laugh, a light and glorious sound. You had made him laugh. You wished someone was recording so you could send the video to Angeliika. And your mom. They would both go into cardiac arrest. His skin turned slightly pink as he scratched the back of his head, flattered by the admiration of someone so accomplished (and, as he would later reflect, gorgeous). Despite not understanding a lick of Spanish, Steve knew he had made a winning move by introducing you to Joao. The two of you leaned into each other as you spoke, and he motioned towards the field, inviting you to a stroll around the turf to chat.

All of your pride and prejudice fantasies were being realized in this moment. You were taking a polite stroll around the grounds with a man that you had salivated over while watching football on TV. A golden boy and future champion. He was something incredible. Witty and charismatic and easy to talk to. Everyone says not to meet your heroes, and yet here you were, floating several inches above the ground beside Joao.

"So, what club are you moving from? Can't be something in Madrid - I would remember you."

Lord, this was too much. You gave a silent thanks to the heavens, all the good karma you had accumulated throughout your life manifesting on this day.

"Oh no, not a Madrid club. Just a small Catalan club called Barca. Heard of it?" You teased as Joao stopped in his tracks. It was his turn to go wide-eyed and slack jawed.

"You're the Barca girl physio? I have heard of you! One of the physios at Atleti is your classmate. He said you're crazy smart."

How were you staying alive when all the blood in your body was in your face? How had so many people in the football space heard your name with you blissfully unaware. The smile on your face was not just due to the compliment. Maybe there were people ready to be there for you, and you just needed to reach arm out to them.

The conversation came to a close as you watched other groups come onto the field, preparations being made for upcoming matches. You thanked Joao for his time, once again involuntarily gushing about how surreal this experience was.

"Ah, there's really no need. The pleasure was all mine. I hope that I'll get to see more of you, Doctora, no matter what decision you end up making." Stretching his arm out, pulling you in for a hug. He enveloped you, arms wrapped tightly around your frame in a way that was borderline inappropriate for a goodbye. He smelled heavenly, the warmth radiating from his body akin to a fireplace. This was the stuff of dreams and imagination.

And yet, Joao was not the name on your mind. He way he smelled was beautiful and yet unfamiliar. Your thoughts traveled back to the last hug like this you had shared with someone. To the scent of One Million and powdery deodorant, mixed with something that couldn't be bottled. To the feeling of strong arms sitting lower on your waist. To brown hair and brown eyes and a brown leather couch. To white shirts and white bedsheets. To the soft voice and smooth voice that called for you.

"Doctora."

Logic be damned. You missed Pablo. And then the empty expanse of your soul filled with a feeling of dread. You had made a mistake. So many mistakes. Pushing away Pablo, lying to your friends about how much you needed them. Considering another job. Nothing in the the blue and white had given you even 1% of the feelings you experienced walking into Camp Nou every day. But you would never be able to go back if Gavi was angry with you. Ferran was cattle waiting to be sold. Gavi was a contender this year's golden boy, a powerhouse on the field, a bright star for both club and country. You reached into your bag, staring at his name in your phone. But your fingers shook too violently to press the call button. You remembered the hurt on his features, the way he couldn't even look at you as he passed in the halls. You weren't ready to see [Call Declined] appear on your screen. Instead you rested your phone on your lap, reaching in to retrieve your Chelsea contract.

Obviously, your eagerness to run away from your current life had blurred your vision. On page 22 of 31, there is was in what appeared to be a smaller font than the rest of the agreement.

"Under FIFA and British Football regulation, players may refuse treatment from club-appointed medical staff for any reason, including but not limited to feelings of fear, discomfort, lack of safety, and lack of confidence. Providers will be compensated on a fee-for-service basis, where compensation is scaled based on the number of players consistently treated. Should more than 40% of players request alternative treatment, the club may terminate the contract with the provider before the term of the contract has elapsed."

Your eyes widened, brows knitted together in confusion and borderline disgust. Women in medicine were already at a disadvantage, and that increased tenfold for women in sports medicine. Should the players feel uncomfortable with you because of your sex or age, you could spontaneously be out of a job after picking up and moving your whole life?!

Before you could pick up the phone and tell Steve that he would need to find someone else to fill this cursed position, a buzzing came from your bag. Who was calling your work phone?

"Hello?"

"Good evening Doctora y/l/n, hope that your visit at Chelsea went well." Andreas was Xavi's secretary, and he was the closest thing you would ever get to the cast of The Devil Wears Prada. He was rather cold in the way that he spoke, but never rude. Well dressed and straight to the point - commanding of respect.

"Went very well, Andreas. I got to meet-"

"Mister Xavi has asked for your presence on the flight back to Barcelona to discuss your future with the club. It is of the utmost importance that this meeting occur as soon as possible. So you need to be in Heathrow by tonight at 11pm for check in with the rest of the team."

"But my flight back to Barcelona is tomorrow and I-"

"You'll be fully reimbursed for the cost of changing your travel. We are leaving from Terminal 2. Have a wonderful evening."

Just like that, you were wondering how fast you could pack everything and leave in the next 6 hours when your personal phone buzzed in your lap.

[Pablo]: I know u said u need space but

[Pablo]: i rlly need to talk to u

[Pablo]: can i meet you somewhere?

Heart racing, you typed back as fast as you could with trembling fingers, telling him that you would be so happy to meet him, giving him the address of a café near your hotel. You didn't want him to see what your salary could actually afford (since Chelsea didn't cover your travel accommodations). You let out a sigh of relief. He wanted to see you. He wanted to speak with you. He wasn't completely lost.

~

Packing had been fast - you had only brought the essentials to London to avoid paying a bag fee on the budget airline you had traveled. Fixing yourself in the mirror, you let out a deep sigh. What were you even going to say to Pablo? Begging for forgiveness seemed the most logical choice. You practiced your apology in the mirror, and yet froze every time. How would you respond when he asked you why? Why it had been so easy for you to push him away, to strike him down, to make him feel so utterly unimportant to you and your life? You didn't know how you would respond.

Feelings of the heart are often the easiest to articulate. They're not like emotions. Emotions are straight forward: happiness, anger, sadness, jealousy. Things that were caused by one identifiable source, and could be expressed easily with words and actions. But the matters that went beyond feeling, those were the most difficult to understand, let alone communicate. Despite his form, it wasn't lust that drew you into Pablo. Those thoughts had made you breathe heavy and push your thighs together. The glimpses of Pablo's bare form were painted on the edge of your mind, soft skin and hard muscle, inviting you in for a touch, a taste. It was an exciting idea, but not the one that riled you up the most.

No, it was something different. It was a scene that had plagued your mind for weeks upon end, always causing you to wake in a cold sweat with a tightness in your chest, breaths labored. You pictured yourself laying on Pablo's bare chest, drawing circles on his skin as his heart beat rhythmically for you to listen to. As you drifted off, he would place a kiss on the top of your head, running a soothing hand down your spine. It wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer into him, as he whispered softly.

"Mine."

It was a magnetic pull that Pablo had, a force of nature that you were unable to escape. It could be described as nothing other than desire, like you would make the world stop spinning until the two of you were united. There was a higher force tying you to Pablo, and etched in your bones was a knowledge that you would never be able to leave him. But the sentiments died on your tongue before they could ever take to the air, never to fall on the ears of a certain Spaniard.

As your heels clicked against the city pavement, a sense of calm washed over you. He had reached out to you. There was an olive branch being extended. He was ready to hear what you had to say. Yet upon entering the small space, a different voice called out your name.

"Pedri?"

It was impossible to hide the disappointment in your voice. You had built up the confidence to come here solely based on the premise that Gavi wanted to see you. Your ego had deflated, back to feeling like utter garbage for the way you had treated the person who, in reality, was your closest friend. Before the self pity could fully sink its claws in, you noticed the full-leg brace that Pedri was sporting.

"I'm sorry that I used Pablo's phone to text you - didn't have your personal number, and it would be a little... salt-in-the-wound-ish to ask him for it right now. Especially since you asked him not to speak to you."

"I never said that!" You exclaimed a little more enthusiastically than intended, causing a couple people to glance in your direction. Pedri escorted you to a table in the corner, offering to go and get you a coffee to fight the chill of a London January.

"No please. It's completely fine. You shouldn't be standing with a torn muscle anyways."

Pedri looked at you inquisitively. He had not seen you in a while, especially with you and Gavi not on speaking terms. He had missed the quips and sarcastic comments he was able to catch during training. He missed the feeling of safety whenever you cared for himself or others on the field, as he knew that you were to be trusted with their bodies. He missed the fire you sparked in Pablo, leading to unparalleled passion and unprecedented performances. The air of natural confidence that you spoke with is what brought the smile to his face. Not hesitation or wobble in your voice. No need to consult a dozen others. Medically, you knew your shit.

"A tear? Luca told me it was only excessive strain on my hamstrings."

A scoff and an eye roll that widened Pedri's smile. "I wouldn't let Luca perform medicine on a Barbie. That's the wrong kind of brace if it's a sprain. It's immobilizing. You need something with compression - a thigh sleeve most likely. Have you been icing it?"

"How could you leave Barca when your successors are idiots like Luca?" His arms folded across the table in front of him as the realization spread across your features. You were acting like his physio on impulse.

"How did you know I was thinking about leaving?"

"Everybody knows. No one could focus on today's second half because of it. When I went down everyone was scrambling to find you and call you. Everyone, myself included, was waiting for you to run across the field, bag in those magic hands ready to come and give me a new leg. But then you weren't there. And I was just praying that Luca didn't schedule me for an amputation."

A shy smile and a breathy laugh. You met his kind eyes, piercing though you. It was surprising when you felt the wetness on your cheeks, registering you were crying only after the tears had rolled down to your chin. He brought his chair in closer, holding your hand, and you held on for dear life. Your tears were falling in earnest now, fat and fast enough to hit the table as you used Pedri as a lifeline.

"Come back to Barca."

"I can't Pedri. I've... I've just made such a mess of everything."

"You're talking about Pablo."

"I'm talking about everything. I have a player that actively hates me and is looking for every opportunity to get me fired. Everyone on the team thinks that I'm sleeping with Pablo. And Pablo - I can't even explain how much I messed up. I told him to stay away from me. To give me space. I don't want space." You rested your forehead against the cool wood of the table. "I just want him to talk to me. When you sent me that message I was so excited. I thought he was ready to forgive me."

"Don't worry for a second about Ferran. We heard about the complaint to HR and I'd be happy to speak on your behalf about the dogshit he says to you. Everyone with a brain knows you're not sleeping with Pablo - they all have so much respect for the work that you do. Dembele came to me after the match and told me to contact you. He said your first assignment for Barca was to work on his leg recovery, and it was the best treatment he's ever had." You raised your head, tears turning your eyes red and puffy as they stained your cheeks.

"This may be selfish of me to say, but I would do anything to have you stay at the club and work with me. I can't miss all of these cup games because the physios don't know what's going on. This is everything I have ever wanted in my life. And if you're the person that can help me get there, then nothing, especially not Ferran and the other airheads at the club, are going to hold me back."

He moved to grab your other hand as well, looking you straight in the eyes. There was not one indication that he was exaggerating his sentiments. He wanted to win more than he wanted to breathe.

"And Pablo? Don't worry about him."

"How can I not worry, Pedri. I was so cruel to him. He'll never speak to me again."

"Doctora, don't you know that there's no one on this earth he holds in higher regard?"

~

The terminal was surprisingly quite busy upon your arrival. It seemed that everyone was catching an international red-eye, causing you to stumble through crowds with your small bag and exhausted demeanor. You approached the airport staff, utterly lost in trying to find the meeting place. It was 10:56pm, and you didn't have the money to be missing the company-sponsored return flight.

"Excuse me, I'm with the F.C Barcelona team. Where can I check in for my flight?"

"I don't remember them becoming a unisex team.'' Your expression remained neutral as the staff member chuckled at his own joke. You didn't have time to give a lecture on the dangers of misogyny. "I need to see your Barca ID."

"I don't have my team ID badge, but if you let me speak to-"

"Don't you women have something better to do than try and fuck a footballer? Lord, you even have a suitcase and everything. I suggest that you go home and stop with these little charades - it's embarrassing."

You stood speechless as the man walked away, stationing himself in a different area of the terminal. Behind you, screams were heard coming from the door, followed by flashes of light in rapid succession.

"Gavi I love you!"

"Pedri Pedri! You're my idol!"

"Xavi have my babies!"

Your attention shifted to the security guarding the entrance as the Barca squad filtered through the doors, all dressed in coordinated pale yellow. You speed walked towards them, pace catching the attention of one of the guards.

"Miss, you need to maintain space."

Gavi turned to look at the person that was causing a disturbance. Usually it was a child who had gotten a little too excited to see their favorite players, and often the soft spot in his heart compelled him to give them a picture or signature. It was hard to have your dreams crushed as a child by a celebrity that didn't care, and he was determined not to be that type of person. That's when his eyes locked with a pair oh so familiar to him. He stood in place, frozen as his teammates narrowly avoided bumping into him and causing an awful domino effect. It felt like forever since he last looked at you this way: like you were the only person in the room.

"Ah, Doctora y/n, glad Andreas was able to coordinate with you. Sir, she's with us." Xavi's word was law, as usual, and you were allowed to pass through with the rest of the group, ushered to a more private area of the terminal, the screams of fans echoing behind you.

Pablo watched as you stood alongside the coach, chattering away about God knows what. Eric and Pedri were beside him, making conversation about the new additions introduced in the FIFA update.

"Did you know she was going to be here?" Gavi asked, interrupting Pedri's rant about how expensive different skins and expansions were. He had been desperate to see you, thinking of all the ways he might reconcile once he saw you again. But not now. He wasn't ready to face you - not ready to be told 'no' again. For the first time in years, a cold vein of fear ran through him. Was this it? Were you handing in your resignation, coming to Spain only to collect your things before moving to the gray fogginess of the Premier League?

"Yeah. We had a little chat earlier." Say what you want about the IQ of footballers, but Pedri was incredibly intelligent. He himself had given up a career in medicine to explore football greatness. This meant he was smart enough to have deleted the messages that he sent from Pablo's phone before he did his 78th re-read of all your text messages. He was also smart enough to figure out that Gavi had wanted you practically since he laid eyes on you. Contrary to what many may think, Gavi didn't really look at girls. He was usually absorbed in conversation with a friend, whether in person or virtually, and was not prone to looking at every pretty girl that crossed his path. He was hard to please and even harder to impress. So when he started seeking you out more often, mentioning you during random drives, he knew that Pablito was infatuated.

It was several months, however, before Pedri realized the extent of Pablo's affection towards you. It had been during the international break, when Pedri sat and played FIFA with Nico, the only worthy opponent among La Roja. Pablo was half watching the game, half staring at the illuminated screen when he stood suddenly. Pedri watched from the corner of his eye as Gavi stepped out onto the balcony in shorts and his training shirt in the bitter chill of December. When the match had ended (3-1 to him of course), he followed the younger outside, and found him with his phone pointed towards the horizon. The sun in its retirement had painted the sky the most vibrant shades of oranges and pinks, bleeding into a royal purple. The hazy, circular glow kept the sky warm, and the colors stretched out over the wide expanse of the city, painting everything in the golden light of dusk. That's when Pedri heard the shutter click.

"Since when do you take pictures of the sunset?" He was teasing again. It was always fun to rile up his fiery teammate.

"I'm sending them to the doctora. It's so pretty, I want her to see it."

"Isn't she in Barcelona right now? She's probably looking at the same sunset."

"But it's just so beautiful from this high up." Gavi said, eyes still transfixed on his phone as he searched for the most worthy flick to send you. "I just want to send her something beautiful. I want to send her every beautiful thing in the world."

Yes, Pedri was a smart man. Smart enough to see that Pablo's feelings to you were stronger than he had ever experienced for another. Probably the strongest he had ever experienced at all. He was smart enough to approach Alejandro and Ansu, while Gavi chewed on his lip at the prospect of speaking to you, to organize the seating during the flight home.

~

"Don't get too comfortable, Doctora. You'll be joining me upfront for a chat after takeoff." You laughed politely at Xavi as he boarded the plane. You gathered your things, acutely aware of Ferran's gaze on you while you bent over.

"Have a good time at Chelsea? Try and ruin any lives while there?" He asked, voice laced with annoyance. HR had approached him about your complaint, informing him that they would be asking other players and staff about comments made at your expense. While he could keep his friends quiet, he had done too much to piss off Gavi, leaving him vulnerable to everyone in his camp. His only hope was to get you to leave before the investigation had concluded.

"I would prefer we didn't speak about non-professional matters. Thank you, Ferran." You said, smiling so sweetly he felt his teeth throb. You boarded the plane last with the rest of the staff, Luca rushing past you like he would be left behind if he wasn't seated soon. Glancing down at your ticket, you read out your seat number. Row 6, seat G. Walking onto the aircraft, you were stunned by the beauty of the first class cabin. It was furnished completely with plush leather, with every two or three seats getting their own dividers from the rest of the passengers. You walked to row 6, and made your way across the aisle to the right side of the plane where your seat was meant to be. In row 6, seat F, sat Pablo. He looked up at the aisle at the sound of shuffling, and the two of you just stared at one another, wordlessly communicating a shared hurt. All you wanted was to pull him in and say how sorry you were. You just didn't know if he'd be ready to accept.

"Um, I think I'm in the seat next to you." You told him sheepishly. He moved from his place, allowing you to sit next to him by the window.

"I thought the staff usually sits together." He said, trying to prevent it from sounding like a complaint, because it truly wasn't. He wondered what force of fate had allowed your seat to be placed next to his. Little did he know that fate was from the Canary Islands. You sat next to him, adjusting your seat and the belt, before bouncing your leg nervously. The speed increased when you felt the vibration of the engine, watching the plane move from its parked space onto the runway. You wanted to say something - anything - but your throat was dry and the words failed you. You didn't know what to say to ensure that you would be forgiven. That was probably the scariest part: knowing that the forgiveness may never come.

"Are you afraid of flying?"

You turned your head at the question. Gavi's eyes were fixated on your sweatpants-clad thigh as it bounced at incredible speeds. There were many things you were scared of in that moment, but the plane didn't help quell any of them. You were going to be stuck next to Pablo for the next two hours at the least. The anxiety of not knowing how he felt towards you gnawed at your skin, eating you alive. You nodded your head, because in all honesty, it was the same fear, wasn't it? Flying, falling - all terrifying prospects.

Gavi put one airpod in, extending the other to you. It was a peace offering, the olive branch you had waited for. You accepted it graciously, muttering a quiet thank you as you slotted it into place. Your body turned back towards the window, 'Sky full of stars' playing softly in the right half of your brain. As the plane continued to move slowly down the runway, you felt a hand rest atop yours, bringing your bouncing leg to a halt. The skin on skin sent shockwaves through you, electricity running up and down your arm. His hand moved sideways, sliding under yours to lift, and then proceeding to interlock your fingers. The warmth of Pablo's hand, the strength of his grip. The slight squeeze as the plane began picking up speed. Despite lacking the confidence to look at him directly, you peaked at your joined hands. Pablo was here. And through the presses of his fingers and the soothing motion of his thumb, he reminded you that Pablo would always be here, so long as you would have him.

"y/n, Mister Xavi would like to see you now."

You hadn't even realized your hand was still laced with Pablo's until one of the assistant coaches came to collect you. Gavi had drifted off into a light sleep, waking as he felt the cold hit his once warm palm. He grabbed your wrist as you tried to follow the assistant coach.

"Don't leave." He said, voice dry and raspy. You weren't sure if he meant now or the club. You moved your hand to join it with the one on your wrist, giving a gentle squeeze of reassurance, as he had done for you.

"Don't worry. I'll be right back."

This was your first time on a plane that had a lounge. The coaching staff was spread across all four sofas, drinking champagne and discussing the efforts from this trip. Xavi sat at a table, an empty seat across from him.

"Doctora, welcome back from Chelsea. Did you enjoy your visit?" He asked, offering your a flute that you politely declined.

"It was wonderful. The staffand players were all great. I'm grateful for the opportunity."

Xavi raised an eyebrow at the diplomatic answer. You were not giving him much of an indication as to your decision. He reached into his bag and extracted a medical file, sliding it over to you.

"As I'm sure you saw on TV and online, Pedri suffered quite a severe injury during the Man U match. Pedri is a key component of our midfield, and Luca has estimated eight to ten weeks for his recovery. I'd like you to take a look at his medical examination report and recommend a course of treatment."

You took the papers in your hand, looking at Xavi cautiously. What was the purpose of this exercise?

"Well, I've already told Pedri that his brace was incorrect, and gave him the specifications for a sleeve to buy once we return home. The eight to ten weeks metric is based on the healing with this immobilization boot. Using the correct compression sleeves and ice, as well as rest, Pedri should be back on in 4 weeks. Five if you want to be safe. That would mean his first appearance back would be the SuperCopa semifinals."

Xavi laughed to himself, collecting the files and returning them to their place. He pulled out another sheet of documents, the words "Adjusted Contract" in bold at the top.

"Doctora y/l/n, it has become increasingly evident as I watch you practice and treat our players that you are a generational talent in sports medicine. You have a deep understanding of the body that few others, both in the club and outside, can fully grasp. At Barca, we strive to do everything in our power to keep generational talents in Camp Nou. I would like you to consider remaining at the club until the summer, when contract renegotiations occur. This would allow you to see out a season that you have contributed so greatly to."

"Why the new contract now then?"

"Just a few clause adjustments. Firstly, we have increased your compensation to absorb your living costs. Those will now be covered by the club. The other change is on this page here. It states that your main focus must be on starters, injured prioritized before healthy. So, if you choose to accept, Pedri would be the top priority as an injured starter. You would dedicate all the necessary time to his treatment."

You scanned the document, and it was just as he said. No other nonsense, just the clauses on compensation and prioritization.

"This is all so flattering sir, but..." Your voice trailed off, shy to speak in front of a legend and the man holding your future in his hands.

"What can we do to make this deal irrefutable?"

"The contract is perfect sir. What I would need is a promise from you. Chelsea's base compensation was higher, but the compensation was based on the number of services the medical staff provides. I could be fired at any moment if not enough players were comfortable being treated by me. I felt, or well rather I didn't feel the sense of loyalty, of family, that I get as Barca. And so I would need a promise from you."

"Name your demand."

"When the summer comes and my contract needs to be renegotiated, keep me on the team. Don't try and pawn me off to someone else. This is my team, my club, my family. So you have to promise me that I have a future here, or else I'll save the heartbreak and leave now."

Xavi placed a pen on the table, bringing his chair forward to be as close as possible to you. "Doctora, you are an incredible and frankly priceless asset to us. We were able to hand select you from the best of the best new physios in Spain. Our successes, any trophies and titles, we owe them in part to you. Help me finish the season with a strong and healthy squad, and I swear to you on my life that you will have a place at Barca until the day you die." He stretched out his hand, and you took a deep breath, meeting the shake midway. It felt weird, signing your contract again, but for more money. You definitely didn't expect to be in this position before you've even graduated, but it brought a pride to your soul. Xavi saw something in you. A generational talent. Somebody believed in what you could do.

You returned to your seat and found that it was Gavi's turn to bounce his leg. You sat down, and he followed you with his eyes. After a moment of silence, he spoke.

"Did you enjoy your trip?"

"Very much so. I got to meet Joao Felix."

Gavi's face turned to you, catching the beaming smile that broke out across your face.

"Yeah? You like him in person, or was he a disappointment?"

"He was less... dreamy than I had anticipated. But still sweet nonetheless. It was a cool experience."

Gavi responded with a hum, turning his music back on and looking away from you. His other airpod sat on the tray table, right where you left it.

"Pablo," it was your turn to rest a hand on his bouncing leg, "we have to talk."

Pablo turned to you, eyes sad and lip between his teeth. "Do we? I feel like you've said everything there is to say." He knew he was being difficult. He knew he was being petty. But Pablo could not let himself get hurt again, especially not in front of the entire team. If he was going to mourn your departure, it was going to be in the comfort of his own guest bed, the one piece of furniture he could sleep on for 7 continuous hours because it held no memories of you. It was your turn to find his fingers and slot them between your own.

"I didn't mean it. Any of it. I have so many reasons why I didn't mention meeting you, Pablo, but I'm just not brave enough to tell you yet. It wasn't because it wasn't important. It could never be. You are one of the most important people in my life. You're one of the only people I have left. Please don't push me away."

His eyes met yours, and he knew there was no way he could remain angry. It was you, after all. The person that made Pablo believe in the possibility of a soulmate. The one that Gavi thought of whenever songs about incredible love came up on his playlist. You were it. He gripped your hand tighter.

"Going to be hard to support you from several countries away, but I will try my best."

"You don't have to. I'm staying."

Gavi's eyes widened, face lighting up like a kid who had just been gifted an entire candy store. "You're staying?"

"Mhm. Barca is my home. My family. No matter how bad it gets, I could never leave this place behind." It felt as though you spoke those words right into his soul, breathing life back into his very being. You were staying. Your voice, your laugh, your energy - all of it would be at Camp Nou, waiting on the sidelines as he fought tooth and nail to capture your attention. "And plus, Pedri and Xavi basically begged me to come back so Luca doesn't have to treat him."

Gavi let a laugh fill his lungs and spill from his throat, maybe a little louder than necessary on a midnight flight. But he was feeling genuine joy course through his veins. He was a man on death row with a second chance at life. He removed his hand from your grip, bringing to above you and resting it across your shoulders. Professionalism be damned. He just wanted to be close to you right now.

"Xavi was more convincing than Joao? I bet that would be a blow to his ego if he found out." It was comfortable, sitting with Pablo in this way. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to be this close to him. You pushed up the hand rest so that the two of you could get even closer. Professionalism be damned. They wouldn't fire you while Pedri was still limping.

"Oh yeah. Portugal boy is cute, but Xavi in 2010? That was my first love. I could never refuse a request from him." More giggles from Gavi. You wished you would bottle this moment, eager to make his happiness perpetual. He was human sunshine, and he deserved every light and happy and beautiful moment life could offer.

"The spiky hair? Really?"

"Shut up!" Coupled with a smack to the chest. You rested your head on his shoulder, exhaustion of the day and its stressors finally catching up to you. "Every man looks hotter when carrying a trophy."

Gavi let out a light laugh, turning to hide his blush. Yet another motivation to lift as many cups as possible this season. He offered you his other airpod again, which you accepted, inserting it as a soft melody filled your ears. Your eyelids were heavy, and you were drifting in and out of consciousness.

"One day, we'll need to talk about it properly, you know." Pablo said from above you, voice soft and serious.

You nodded your head, letting out a quiet "Mhm" in a agreement. You knew it was an inevitable conversation. You would have to eventually face the music, let Gavi free himself from whatever feelings were sitting on his chest. But you couldn't do it now. Not with your future up in the air. Not with your feelings for Gavi still a massive tangle of emotions.

"Not tonight." You said to him softly, as he turned his head to meet your eyes.

"No, not tonight."

Your eyes finally closed and you began drifting off. Pablo's arm remained wrapped around you as he leaned in closer, basically cuddling you on this plane. Thank the lord for blessing the engineers with enough foresight to install dividers. As you breathed rhythmically against his chest, he pressed his nose into your hair, breathing deeply. Why was everything about you so intoxicating?

In the haze of your sleep, you heard Pablo speaking to you. You listened intently, hoping to catch these special words that he only released to your sleeping form.

"Doctora, I would wait for you forever. Even when you hit rock bottom, I'll be there, waiting for you with a ladder. You will always have me, no matter what."

~~~~~~~

A/N: Guys I did it!!! My longest part to date! I am so flipping tired. It's 4am. I don't remember a time before I started writing this part. Anyways, we are chugging along y'all! Only two parts left in the main story!! I surpassed my 15k word goal. Maybe next part is 18k? I think the next part is going to be my favorite. I haven't decided if I want the big boom pow event to be in part 9 or 10. We will see. Again, apologies for the long time between updates, but semi-decent writing takes time. As usual, please leave thoughts, feedback, predictions, etc. in the replies - I love reading all of them so much!!! If you notice any easter eggs/ small details, feel free to point them out!!! There are so many and I love when y'all get them. IDK when part 9 is coming out but when it's done y'all will be the first to know. Ok love y'all byeeeee.

Also please comment if you want to be added to the taglist ok bye

*~*Taglist*~*

@l0verl4ne @vibinwkay @anastasia-nova @mxgvmiii @mads-grace4 @bubblebeep69 @katluckybear @scuderiabarca @alwaysclassyeagle @simpingmyassoff @grlwithprblms @lqvesoph @pink-manz @graziemille @xxenia14 @nngkay @icedlattewithextracaramel @gyusrose @vip-access @julianalvarez9 @lavie3nrose @ge0rg1ewaa @i8yul @lovefordilfs271 @remuslupinluver @thattaylorswiftobsessedbitch @chaotic-taco-collector-blog @kaismybabe @notanenthucutlet @fullsun9890 @venomwh0re @renaissancewhxre @gaviandgrizisgirl @altgojo @urmomdotcom5678 @eliseline @invidia-of-alhambra @pixwls @stell4rrrs @80sloverry @car1no-xx @mrsgavira @888bear @kylianmbappee @ivyhrry @gaviypedrisbride @grlwithprblms @dessxoxsworld @user6373738

[kurain-genealogy]

i said i was gonna post about it and i am. i don't think william afton hates his kids. i don't think william afton is a mad scientist that kidnapped and put children in hallucinogenic gas chambers. whatever the fuck dittophobia said about afton doing all that, plus not stopping/furthering the bullying between michael and cc, is just dumb & wrong. william wanting his kids to fight, even die, is comically evil in the "bad writing" way. him being characterized as someone who experiments on children (including his own with no regard for their lives) in order to achieve immortality or whatever his supposed motivation is, is just really... nothing? as a character there is nothing to make him feel real. in an attempt to flesh out this character, they made him into a cartoon villain with "evil" being his only defining trait. whatever, i could talk for so long about how dumb i think all the dittophobia stuff is but i think most ppl on tumblr are on the same page regarding that.

to me, william afton is best characterized as someone who, at the Very Least, Doesn't Want His Own Children To Die. he can be a shitty father all around, or he can be a genuine loving father who is also a serial killer, as long as he Cares if they Die? most of what makes william afton an interesting villain, and where a lot of people interpret his motivation comes from, is how despite all his best efforts, he cannot prevent the death or downfall of his own family. he is in a tragedy of his own making, a self-imposed hell crafted by his hubris and violence. if you take this away, why should i care what happens to him? william afton was scariest when he was just purple guy and we knew nothing. william afton is most interesting when we have all these relationships and dynamics where we can seriously study and speculate the circumstances behind/around his actions, when he has something to lose (and will lose). william afton is most stale when more things are added to his story without purpose, filling in gaps that were better unfilled or we didn't even know were there – anything after UCN, basically. bro isn't scary anymore because he's either peepaw afton who's brought back despite his story being over, or he's cartoon network's newest over-the-top villian that you can't take seriously.

okay anyway. ANYWAY. william doesn't hate his kids. even if he's a shitty father, i think he still loves his kids. why else would he try and scare his kids away from the robots if he didn't want them to die? why would he design circus baby after his daughter if he didn't care for her, adore her, even? if you believe the theory that he talked to cc through the fredbear plush (idr if that's actually canon), why would he be trying to protect/comfort him?

i don't think he's a perfect, or even a good father, by any means. if you interpret him to be on the better side, that's great and fine. i'd love to hear how other people interpret/characterize afton if you wanna share! continuing on for this post, i'm going to lay out how i personally see william afton.

to me, he is someone who is very concerned and preoccupied with his image and how others view him & his family. even if he's super shitty and awful towards his kids, he at least cares that they all look good as a family unit, that they're well behaved, that he can send family portrait holiday cards to all his business partners and investors.

he strikes me very much as the typical authoritarian parent of the 80s. harsher on his sons because "men don't cry," wants his kids to say "yes, sir," and "no, sir," believes in "tough love," often says "my house, my rules," he has the final say in everything, maybe thinks hitting them from time to time is a normal, necessary punishment. not all entirely malicious, but thinks he's doing what's best, what's right, acting like a parent and father Should act, perhaps how he himself was raised. unfortunately, a very common parental mindset (even outside of serial killers). maybe he was a little scarier sometimes though, a little more unhinged or violently angry. who's to say.

but he's still just a guy who could exist in real life. he still eats dinner with his family every night, hangs his kids' drawings on the fridge, had to turn the car around because they wouldn't stop fighting in the backseat, attended awkward parent-teacher conferences, everything. he was once a new father who happily came home with his first newborn, lost countless nights of sleep over the course of two more, loves them because they're his.

meticulously and senselessly killed children, then came home and tucked his own into bed and kissed them goodnight.

he can be abusive and still love his kids. he can be a murderer and still care for his own kids' lives. maybe the loss of his own kids is what triggered his actions, or maybe it was something else. i'm fine with not knowing because we don't need to know everything, and it's more interesting when we don't.

Something Is Seriously Wrong With This Guy And We Don't Know What or Why. when acquaintances find out he's a suspected murderer, it should be shocking and upsetting. he's such a great man and father, he wouldn't murder those kids! when michael discovers his father's crimes, he should be in denial. sure, he could be scary sometimes, but he wouldn't kill anyone... right? there's a great cognitive dissonance between who he appears to be and who he actually is.

whether william descended into grief-induced madness and obsession, or was just always some kind of freak, or both, i don't think he saw his own family as disposable. even if he didn't truly love them, he at least needed to keep up his own facade as a friendly family man. personally i like to see him as someone who was a shitty father but still loved his kids, because people like that exist, and it makes him a much more interesting, realistic, and nuanced character than if he just didn't care about them At All.

[hyuukais]

Take My Time

You want to help but you don’t want to be alone. There’s just never enough time for the two of you. He’s got too much work, you’ve got too little, beginning taking up tasks no one has asked for. Maybe all you need is to take out each others time instead.

word count: 2.1k

genres: Prince!Taehyun x Fiancé!Reader, established relationship, some angst, some fluff

warnings: a little suggestive but nothing too hard, reader is referred to as a “fiancé” tho remains otherwise gn!

author: hello everyone!! it feels like it’s been a while, and it definitely has. i’ve been super busy as of late but i’m super excited to be getting back into a groove of writing! anyways, this is my submission for @kflixnet ‘s exchange event ! dedicated to the wonderful @byeolhyesisi (byu)! i wish i had realized earlier that you were a stay, so i could have written something more personal for you </3 either way i hope you still like it !!

Silence echoes in the high ceilings of the dining room. Only the lonely sounds of your chewing break through. The grand table, decorated with pastries and meats and fruits from across the four kingdoms, surrounded by nothing but air. Your solitary presence takes up a minuscule corner seat. This loneliness is routine, simply another requirement to being the crown prince’s significant other. Each morning, the royal cooks and servants laid out extravagant meals, all to be enjoyed by the royal family and advisors. And each morning, you were usually the only one sitting at the table. Some mornings, the Queen would stop in for a moment, though she never stayed long; Huening was a frequent visitor, only ever grabbing a handful of tarts before skittering away. It wasn’t their fault. Ever since the king’s abdication coupled with your engagement, everyone in the castle was suddenly a lot busier. You seemed to be the rare exception. In the days, when Taehyun had been stolen away by countless court officials and the sight of his face seemed nothing but a faded memory, you so often found yourself in this very position; alone. The empty echo of grand rooms unfilled, the hollow thump of your feet in lasting corridors, the quiet page flip of a book almost finished.

Now, breakfast finished, you place down the little silverware you used upon your plate, readying it to be returned. The staff usually tried to stop you when you showed up in the kitchen; going on about you not needing to do their work, sometimes panicked as though they’d failed to do a far more incredibly important task than collecting your breakfast dining ware. However, you found it felt nice to help out in any way possible, despite most’ consistent rejection of your need to work. You’d even begun a quiet project of restoring the library’s most neglected corners, though you doubt anyone went in there as often as you to even notice. 

The click of your shoes follows you through the stoney stairwell down to the kitchen. Swirling around yourself, down down to the landing where the scent of fresh bread is permanent and heat permeates from the walls. The deep hum of conversation flies beneath the door; something almost familiar in the way it flows. You reach for the door, balancing the dirty dishes in one hand before it swings open by itself. The shock shoves you back a step, almost toppling the plates you were holding. Swift hands jump out to save you from the disaster, steadying your fall. The rough of calluses scratch at your skin with palms hesitant to touch you.

“Ah, sorry about that, your highness. I was in a bit of a rush.” The kind voice of Royal General Choi betrays some tremble of nerves.

“No, no, it’s okay. Thank you, General, and please, call me Y/n.”

“Well, then, please call me Yeonjun.” He breaks away from his fairly tense smile with a chuckle you join in on. “Have a good day, Y/n.”

He quickly brushed past you in a hurry. “You too.” A thought suddenly struck you, turning you around. “Wait, Yeonjun, do you know where Taehyun will be today?”

The man’s eyes go wide, very obvious in how you caught him off-guard. “Taehyun? Well, um, I believe he’ll be in meetings with the-uh-King’s Council all day. Yeah. Why, is there something you need him for?”

Your heart falls a little, as though you didn’t already know; he’s going to be very busy from now on, as is any king. You may be his fiancé but, unmarried, you were less than his consort. That was your sacrifice for a love you cherished more than anything. “No, no, just curious. Thank you, Yeonjun.”

The burning hearth warms your heart as you greet the young maiden tending its flames beneath a tray of exquisitely made sweets. She nods back, used to your presence down here. You move off toward the sinks, saying hello as you go, workers greeting you in return. They shuffle around with grand trays and brooms; the loud thump of those slicing up fruits and vegetables. Approaching the old woman hunched over a small bucket of water, you watched her shaking hands work into the already shining silver of a large platter.

“Good morning, Alice.”

She stops scrubbing, wiping the suds off on her apron and softly taking the dishes from your hands. “Oh good morning, dear.” The plates placed to soak in the soapy water, she pulls on your hands to have you sit on the stool beside her. “How was breakfast this morning?”

“Oh, well, nothing new. The muffins were very good.” Her wrinkling fingers rubbed slowly over yours.

She hummed before leaning over, a puckish smirk now stretched up to the glint in her eyes, “And? Any sight of his majesty?”

“Ah.” You find yourself looking away, suddenly much more interested in alleviating her of some of the china all piled high next to you.

“My goodness! You ate alone again?”

“He’s very busy, Halmeoni, he’s about to be King. The last thing he needs is to be distract-“

“Ah!” Her hand snatched yours out of the warming waters, “Don’t you finish that sentence. I cannot let you say that word. You are not a distraction. Excuse my disgrace, but King or not, you are his partner. If he cannot give you the time for a simple meal together, after you have left behind your life to come here and be with him. Then, my child, he is not worth your time.” Her kindly features wrinkled with her downturned brow, with the greatest strength she could muster, her hands squeezed into yours. Her eyes held wisdom beyond your years, locked behind a lifetime of lost chances.

“I-“ Some rotten feeling deep down inside of you knows she’s right. Still, the most rational part of you knew that nothing of this was purposeful. He was preparing to lead a nation, no simple feat, and yet. You had given up your relatively stable life in the village working as a florist, which is how you’d met Taehyun in the first place. When he kept coming back to your quaint little store on the edge of the capital, week after week, buying bouquets and arrangements, which he eventually confided all went in his private study. Things simply evolved from there; dates, dinners, walks, until he asked you to marry him, which meant moving into the palace. Of course you accepted and that’s where you were now; alone in the home he promised to build with you. 

“I’ll talk to him, Alice. I promise. Now let me help you with some of these dishes.”

The musk of paper was shrouded behind the mounds of dirt filling the air. Particles fly, with every swish of your hand the haze gets heavier. Your rag has almost lost all its original color beneath a smooth coating of dust. Towering above, the delicate curves of the mahogany shelves are perhaps the cleanest they’ve been in centuries. Your small corner of respite, lit up only by artificial light, was slowly finding new life. This section, tucked in the very back of the library, past the rows and rows of classical titles and grandiose histories, was perhaps your favorite genre of all. Three wide-spanning bookcases, all piled to the brims with books on horticulture. Books full of plants and flowers and soils and meanings. One detailing the language of flowers, the most well-worn in the section, mainly from its use by you. As a florist, of course, you already knew much of the information here, but your heart yearned for everything to keep in touch with the knowledge.

You set down the dusting rag, taking a step back to admire your work. The rich browns, intricately carved with scenes of nature and gods, shimmer like they’re glossed and new. All of the books settled along the shelves are just as clean despite their varying states. Your hand reached for the one you’ve read time and time again, curling up in the armchair stuffed in between bookcases. Here, the world slips away. Taken in by the plush feeling, the woody scent, the low light, and the beautiful sketches laid out on the paper before you. You fall into a peace where this time alone is cherishable. Words swallow up your thoughts, sounds around you faded, and you forget everything. Until the soft thump of footsteps filters into the air. An odd sound, you had never seen anyone else coming in here before. The sound grows closer with its source soon rounding the corner.

A blue head of hair comes into your view. You take pause for a moment, reeling in a state of shock. Taehyun’s face lights up as he makes eye contact with you and begins walking forward.

“Y/n.”

He’s dressed to a tee, a starched suit dipped in midnight blues and dressed in accents of gold. Jewels and medals dripped down above his breast pocket. He looks amazing, expensive and royal and elegant. Yet, with the undone buttons slowly creeping further down, there is a sense of exhaustion in his stance.

You stand from the chair to meet him halfway down the aisle. “Tae-what-what are you doing here?”

You aren’t prepared for when he immediately took hold of your hands and brought his lips onto yours. In the rushed moment, his lips still land softly, hands slowly encircling your waist and ever so slightly tugging you closer. Your eyes stay open in surprise, hands not knowing where to fall for a moment. Yet, as he pulls you in tighter, your eyes flutter shut, succumbing to the heat his mouth trails upon your skin. When he pulls away, it takes a moment for them to crack open. Faces still so close, you feel every heavy breath he takes pounding in his chest.

The heady silence draws your words out into a whisper. “Love…what are you doing here?”

His breathing is replaced with a heavy sigh as his grasp around your waist loosens. Big, round boba eyes open up to meet you. “Do I need a reason to come see you?”

“Well-no, of course not. It’s just…” His eyes move back and forth, trying to catch yours as you look away.

“…I’m sorry I haven’t been around very much.” You shoot your head up to find the regretful smile he’d placed in his lips.

“No-no, Tae it’s not-you-you’ve got a lot on your plate! You-”

“I should never be too busy for you.” The delicate sweep of his fingers over your temple causes a swift thumping in your chest. “I’m being pulled in so many different directions at the moment and you’ve been so patient with me; thank you for that. I haven’t been taking the moments I’ve had to spend with you. I really am sorry. This King stuff is important, but before all of that should be the person I’ve dedicated the rest of my life to.”

His thumb rubs a sweet circle around your cheek. In a rush, you pull his face back down to yours, taking him by surprise this time. In the farthest corner of the least-traversed room, you took in his heat, his love, his time and gave him all of yours in return. Even startled, his hands wrap back into position, pressing you into him. The overwhelming smell of his black cherry scent melts you down deeper. His lips are rougher this time, pushing back against you with a new fervor. Your hands travel up into his hair, tressing through the blue silk. A sigh slips between your lips and there’s a noticeable relaxing of Taehyun’s shoulders.

You pull away first still bumping the tip of your nose onto his.

“So,” His breaths are heavy, “I guess that means I’m forgiven?”

“Tae, love,” The smile he wears is far lighter now. “You didn’t have to apologize in the first place. You’re busy with a lot of really important things; I understand that. And I was never mad at you, I-I was just lonely. I want to be there for you in any way I can, but I barely see you in my day-to-day. We just need to learn how to make the time. You know I’ll miss a few hours of sleep just so I can spend time with you.”

“I love you, Y/n, but don’t go missing sleep over me.”

You giggle while leaning up to his cheek. “I love you too, my prince.”

“I still have some time now, not sure how much. I lost the tailor and Soobin maybe, 20 or so minutes ago. He probably won’t find me for a while.”

“Wait-wha-Taehyun, you ran away from your tailor!?”

“You weren’t the only one feeling a little lonely.” He seals the words with one final kiss filled with laughter and love. Taking up your slowly ticking time together.

© HYUUKAIS 2023

tagging: @ibyeonjun

[bonefall]

Glowworms

(because i keep getting asked about them)

[ID: An adult female glowworm of the species Lampyris noctiluca. It has a bright green glow and clings to a plant.]

Before I even get started, let me lay down some education on the entire Lampyridae family so that we're all on the same page about the specific species that I'm going to talk about for the UK. I've done more research on this topic than the last time I brought it up, and I come bearing knowledge

Lampyridae is a family of beetles, descended from a bio-luminescent ancestor. There are more than 2000 species of Lampyridae, and they can be VERY different. This family is called "fireflies," "glowworms," and "lightningbugs" but ALL of those common names are AWFUL for referring to the full family becaaaaaauuuusee...

Not all lampyridae can fly

Not all lampyridae can glow as adults

Not all lampyridae light up passively; some use it as a lure or a warning

Not all lampyridae light up during flight

In the US, our most iconic species light up during flight, and our most common species have males and females capable of flight. So when I'm talking about "glowworms," remember that those traits are not shared by ALL species of Lampyridae, and especially not this one.

The UK has one species of glowing Lampyridae, Lampyris noctiluca, the Common Glowworm. There's one other, non-glowing species but it's extremely rare and only in the south, and an occasional visitor from mainland Europe.

GLOWWORMS

Only the female lights up, and her final stage is not capable of flight. This is called a "larviform female," because she looks like the wormy adolescent stage that all Lampyridae go through.

The female will climb up to the highest blade of grass she can find and wiggle her butt around until a male, who CAN fly and does NOT glow, finds her. Then she lays eggs and dies.

So because the adults do not eat and quickly die after reproduction, most of a glowworm's life is spent as a larva.

The larval glowworm is a SPECIALIZED predator of gastropods. They hunt snails and slugs for ONE or TWO YEARS (depending on how much food there was in the first year), hibernating over the winter, then waking up and doing it again. All movement in the species is done by the larvae; they have a REALLY hard time establishing new colonies because of this.

This is NOT a pioneer species. You need to have undisturbed grass, moor, or heath, no pesticides, not overgrazed, not brightly lit, for generations of these insects AND their prey. It's REALLY easy to decimate the glowworm population in an area via carelessness.

(let alone the horror story in the Glowworm Survey page where a tiny colony was intentionally destroyed, which is why they have a policy about keeping quiet on reports of certain colonies except to researchers ;_;)

so LOOK AT ME

HOLDING YOU BY THE SHOULDERS

You need to protect glowworm populations when you can. If you ever briefly hear posts in passing shouting about sterile lawns, light pollution, and pesticides, THIS IS WHY. If you live on the island and feel like there's a shit ton of slugs in your garden for some reason? Might be because these factors killed off their specialized predators, leaving you with an unfilled ecological niche.

Environment

Hypothetically, glowworms should be distributed all across Great Britain, except the Scottish highlands, though they have the strongest concentration in southern England.

Functionally, their population is incredibly fragmented. They need tall grass or heather, low light pollution, undisturbed (no pesticide) land, and lots of gastropods to eat. While they can work with forest verges and railways, places for them to thrive are getting rarer and rarer in the UK.

So to restate their very specific environmental needs;

Undisturbed land Glowworms and construction don't mix. Pollution, pesticides, and destruction can destroy the little patches of land glowworms have left. They need up to two years to go from eggs to adults, and a safe place for that to happen in.

A population of gastropods Baby glowworms eat slugs and snails. Because of that, they can't live where it's too dry.

Tall grasses, shrubs, or heathers, but not TOO tall A tree won't do! Glowworms do not live in trees! The females need a tall stalk to climb to the top of, so that they can signal to flying males. At the same time, they can't hunt or find each other in a savanna or a wheat field. Well-managed heathlands are excellent habitat for glowworms.

Low light pollution If it's too bright, males can't find females. Highways with heavy traffic, urban areas, and anything else that gives off constant light will affect the glowworm population.

They glow in June to May, in summer, at night. You won't find glowworms in winter, as all the larvae are hibernating at that time.

BB FAQ

When I determine if something will show up in the Better Bones AU and my Clan Culture expansions, I use iNaturalist to suss out if people are seeing it in the modeled region. Lads, there is a bald spot in my modeled regions. It's almost comical. The closest is in DERBYSHIRE, RIGHT out of reach.

So I'm still unsure about adding them. For now, they are not in BB. I GOT A REPORT FROM A FAN I will be adding them to BB.

"How do Clan cats feel about them?" They're unfathomnably holy, especially because they spend their larval stage eating snails which can be used in divination rituals. WindClan in particular considers themselves blessed for living around them.

"Can you use glowworms to light up the night?" Yes but that's really bad for their populations; leave them be! Clan cats wouldn't use something so holy in such a trivial way.

"Can you eat glowworms?" No they taste really bad. The chemical that makes them light up is REALLY bitter, and it's present in both the larvae and adults. Plus Clan cats wouldn't eat something so holy.

[trekkie-lkm-archive]

Kink meme archiving project: Star Trek

Hello! I've started a personal project in 2024 to archive the old kink memes on livejournal for my favourite show: Star Trek. I'll be working my way through them all slowly- so while I'm starting with the reboot one (which is a huge undertaking! will definitely take me a while) this blog will go through every single one I can find. This is not to repost fictions, you will not find actual works posted here just links to the original threads I find them on with additional links whenever possible to authors personal livejournals and other places they may have posted it, as well as a final link to where I am archiving said fics via the wayback machine-- Which seems to be as screenshots of the kink page as otherwise the comments (where the fics are) does not appear so please forgive any clunky/outdated appearances

This is not an ask blog, a rec blog, or anything else of the sort. It is purely for archival purposes to have everything located in one place-even then it is mainly to be used as a reference point for myself with my work with the wayback machine. As such asks will never be open and besides this I will not be posting anything besides links.

As it is not a rec blog or anything of the sort I will not be vetting the fics- by this I mean I will not be leaving anything (purposefully) undocumented in regards to these fics, regardless of how I or anyone else may feel about their subject matter--it is a Kink Meme and all possible warnings apply. I will be adding verbatim how the original prompts listed its kinks/warning and if an author added any warnings to the very start of the fic I will do my best to add them as well. But if you see a post and decide to read the fic it contains please do your own research if you know certain content upsets you.

I will not be saving unfilled prompts but the content that is there may not be complete either, basically as long as some sort of fill is there and available I will be posting it--If there claims to be a fic but I have no way to access it it will be made into a special post with screenshots and asks for help in regards to original content if I can not find it on any other archive-- a long shot but maybe someone knows someone who has screenshots or was the original author who can add a link to where they have saved their work!

All of this to say, while tumblr is questionable my posts may or may not end up in the tags, so I hope this pinned post is a useful as a sort of FAQ and that I don't get reported for spam or anything

projects like this are a big undertaking, and it's just me doing this, I can't be sure how fast or if at all I will complete this but I believe it's important to preserve fandom history, the kink memes are a big part of my fandom experience, and I've been so so happy to see them start to make a reappearance as 'prompt memes' on tumblr and A03, as the kink memes on livejournal are over a decade old there's bound to be TONS of fans who have never experienced them and find livejournal confusing to navigate, I'm hoping this inspires people to give older fics a try, give lots of love to those fic writers who might come across this blog, and even gives a boost to the current prompt meme revivals!

While asks are off, if you need to contact me you can reply to this post, I'm hesitant to give out my personal tumblr in case the content causes fandom wank--the internet is a very different place than it was a decade ago and terminology and kink that was commonplace in those circles may be harshly met now but we will see how it goes!

ALSO!!! if at any point in the future you see this and think this would be a good idea for other fandoms ( I know Glee has a fucking HUGE kink meme presence for example) you can just straight up go ahead and do it! no need to reinvent the wheel or ask permission if you like how I organized the info you can have the blue print-- I think the important part is archiving on the wayback machine. Think of how much past fandom history has been lost, and how much will be lost once old giants like livejournal and ff.net go down-- hell I think I even use to read fics on sites like quizzila at one point, gone now, and all the other places that existed like geocities, MAILING LISTS!! EMAIL AND GOOD OLD POSTAGE!

While A03 is doing amazing at archiving, places like the kink memes are hidden gems, so many fics are just small bits of love that don't get posted anywhere else and it's so sad to think about what will be lost.

Edit 11/1/24

I think I'm making steady progress! I know its going to be a slug getting through it all, just this one kink meme has 14 parts to it with like an average of 8000 comments each which could be like . . . at least a thousand or a good few hundred fics in each (would it be an 8:1 ratio??? i feel like that's too high) either way combined i'm looking at a good few thousand fics for ONE kink meme and there's TONS out there-- and if i manage to get through all of them before LJ gets shut down (this could very well take me years) then there's all the communities they get cross posted in who have their own fandom events and a whole bunch of fics to maybe also archive. Or just all the authors i'm finding who have other fics on their Journals who haven't been active in years! But I can't think that far ahead or I get overwhelmed, this is at its core a kink meme archive.

I've sorted out an issue I've had with a handful of fics where the adult warning archives instead of the fic. as far as i can tell there's no solution through it using the main archive (there is with other sites, but LJ is a special old girl) but there's a different archive I can use-though i cant seem to then archive THAT on the main site . . . so that's still a problem, but I've tagged those fics 'other archive' to come back to at a later date.

I have a hard time trying to locate other places people may have posted their fics if they don't leave me very obvious bread crumbs so if you (yes, YOU, the person reading this sometime in the future) see a writer you recognize you're more than welcome to tag them or add additional author info in a reblog or just whisper in the tags or reply (if this blog is still active mystery person reading this a decade in the future)

either way, i'm hoping to get through this particular kink meme by the end of the year. I know it's only 11 days into the new year but i'm really trying to pace myself so I don't burn out. I'm almost positive I can get through the first part this month so an average of one a month shouldn't be impossible (so average like a page and a half a day, which is still like 18 fics/per day)

24/1 lmao ok so I started Vyvanse, and I hyperfocused and basically archived 163 fics in the last 24 hours and finished the first of fourteen sections of the first kink meme on my list-- which is golden! Awesome! Spectacular! 410 fics in just that first part,( they tapered off from an average of 11 fics per page to 8 basically) I'm doing amazing! And--this is looking way to far ahead-- but I like to think now that I'm in a solid rhythm (of how to archive not how to pace myself) once all the kink memes are done I'll start a whole new blog and archive all the other trek comms I can find, because theres a lot of crossposting going on and theres just so many comms with their own special events and things that have been archived but on things like delicious which is gone or in blogs that have been deleted as a whole. like st-anon! But anyway I'm having a lot of fun! And I'm probably not gonna look at this blog for a week but I've got days in the bank baby!

19/2 I've reached part 3!!!! I'm right on track where I want to be mid february, there was a small decrease in the number of fics in #2 but a lot more than going through page by page made it seem-- a common theme I've noticed is misplaced comment fics, which is so fascinating! It's so easy to misplace your comment on threads, and instead of hostility or mod culling it's treated with comradery (get it?) and kindness. I'm still looking at around several thousand individual fics just for this kinkmeme and after this one there's so many more, one is already lost to a purge but there's at least one other huge one. My queue ran out the other day because I was dealing with a dead rat somewhere in my kitchen walls, very distressing, and a bit embarrassing cause this blog doubled its following in the last few days, and it definitely feels a bit strange to know that this project is getting attention. Feels a bit like I'm sitting on my bed, back to the window, and every time I peer around my shoulder I see more people peering down at what I'm doing. Which I WANT people to be able to do cause that's the whole reason I'm doing this but it's like a 'damn wish I'd thought to put pants on' kinda vibe. I don't feel very professional. But still . . . we persevere!!!

22/2 horrific news. Just realised I wasn’t counting the posts with multiple fics . . . As multiple fics. So even the posts with five individual fics. Have only counted as one in my count. The absolute buffoonery. The agonising idea of having to individually check each post. The massive urge to quit and sulk for five years. But still. . . We persevere. So I need to come back to stixk 1 & 2 and recount. But from the start of 3 we’re on track.

[remidyal]

Bad Ideas of the Day, Part 7: The Continuing Bad Adventures of the Bad Kids

As usual, my quasi-monthly roundup of my bad ideas of the day from the D20 Fic discord! In this case, about half of these were written before FHJY started airing; I've put in a note at the point where that aired. (Oldest ideas are first on these lists. Part 6 is available here and then links to older lists are available from there!)

Bad idea of the day, making canon even messier edition: At the party, Aelwyn senses the one link in Adaine's friend group even weaker to a somewhat crazy girl kissing them and doing fantasy coke off their chest: Kristen Applebees, whose brain is borderline broken for the subsequent fight. (And who, in the months to follow, is somehow even LESS respectful of how much Adaine does not want to hear about her sister being hot)

Bad idea of the day, we go now to an interview of the deceased edition: A true crime crystalcast starts a series discussing the group of teens involved in the murders and other deaths of their school's lunchlady, guidance councilor, vice principal, and principal and the mysterious circumstances around their arrest and escape from prison. Oh, and bloodrush coach. Forgot one.

Bad idea of the day, 2023 memorial collectable retrospective vintage edition: On the first day of school, Aguefort comes demanding Riz run for the position he was destined to meet: Student Body President, a role that has gone unfilled since a great tragedy turned all the members of the then-student government to stone seventy five years before. Can Riz ascend to the ultimate form of every briefcase kid, or will he become another trophy president?

Bad idea of the day, pact of the tome edition: It's the end of their senior year and all the graduates to be have a period on the bloodrush field in which they're expected to sign one another's yearbooks! Will they fall for this scam, or will they realize that the teacher running this is the warlock instructor, trying to drum up business for his patron by slipping an infernal contract into the pages of one of the student's yearbooks?

Bad idea of the day, a horse is a home edition: Fabian is a rebellious kid early and decides that he must master what his father never could. Since his father was the master of the sea, he must become the true master of the land! Yes, he must become a horse boy! (Katja and Fabian as childhood friends, obviously)

Bad idea of the day, unhelpful parenting advice edition: The bad kids are faced with that classic nonsense assignment of protecting an egg for a week without letting it get damaged; they are not informed in advance that Arthur Aguefort himself will be testing them, making the 'week' rather flexible, nor that no student has ever passed.

Bad idea of the day, niche goods and services edition: Adaine, in her search for a Job and some cash, ends up getting paid by a casino not only to not play but to help them catch other diviners who might try cheating at the games with their ability to see the future, and then ends up caught up in a dramatic Ocean's 11 style heist

Bad idea of the day, unfortunate belief patterns edition: It turns out that Porter is actually a demigod, born of an affair Sol had with a mortal woman long ago, who historically has mostly wanted to chill out and do nice things and ignore all his more powerful side outside of his rages. Unfortunately, it also means his character is vulnerable to changing if someone starts believing in him hard enough, and nobody believes anything about him nearly as hard as Figueroth Faeth believes he is evil…

Bad idea of the day, lost and found edition: Riz finds, to his slight annoyance, that he's been voted in as the student government treasurer against his will (because he was out the day elections were held and Fig thought it would be funny) and thus he is now responsible for returning any treasures the student body accidentally loses over the course of the school year, a responsibility he is the first person to take seriously in three hundred years

Bad idea of the day, final countdown edition: The Bad Kids are forced into the annual Aguefort talent show; Fig and Gorgug have it easy with their band, and Fabian dances of course, but Kristen, Riz, and Adaine are forced to scramble for something. Riz and Adaine end up doing a stage magic show together; Kristen does a ribbon dance and manages to break her leg again in spite of the stage only being four feet off the ground. (Adaine gets talked out of her original plan by Riz of just going on stage and holding out Boggy for everyone to admire.)

(This is where FHJY started airing)

Bad idea of the day, Margaret's bad day edition: After the run-in with the art squad, Margaret jumps to some incorrect conclusions about what her 'friend' is looking for in a 'friend' and begins to take up bad poetry and nihilistic philosophy. Can the rest of the gunner channel snap her out of it before they all reach their limits of free verse in their lives?

Bad idea of the day, jury duty edition: We're shown in Unsleeping City that the unsleeping city side of new york has its own judicial system. The pool of potential jurors in these cases is very, very low; how does Mister Civic Duty himself Ricky handle getting Magical Jury Duty for the eighth time this year?

Bad idea of the day, romance is hatred right? edition: Plinth/Null slashfic fusion of ASO and TUC

Bad idea of the day, a (Basketball) Court of Fae and Flowers edition: BINX would like to reclaim the Court of Craft's lost magic from Apollo and Suntar. Can she do this in the one way that fae tradition allows, a 2-on-2 basketball game where the winner takes all and the first to 21 wins? Can she really trust Suntar's brother to play with all his might, and can they somehow claim victory with all the eyes of all the fae watching and cheering and charging way too much for concessions?

Bad idea of the day, Figueroth Faeth's wild ride edition: The first day of freshman year, Fig isn't in school because she successfully talked Gilear into a quest to look for her real dad instead, sending the two of them to go look into court records in Bastion City and leaving the bad kids down Fig for the corn fight.

Bad idea of the day, talking magical weapons edition: The Sword of Truth from Never After turns up and falls straight into the hands of the most truthful person with sword proficiencies in the party, one Figueroth Faeth. It does not approve of this carrier.

Bad idea of the day, FHJY spoiler edition: Riz handles Fabian making a romaence partner out of a mirror in front of him a lot worse, and sets out to find out if Ecaf is really on their side or is in fact two-faced. Can he deal with seven years of the misfortune of Fabian bitching at him if he need to shatter this mirror and his best friend's heart at the same time? (edited)

Bad idea of the day, Once Upon a Time edition: Instead of cutting through the woods and kind of accidentally murdering somebody, our intrepid fairy tale creatures end up deciding to ride the story of the lost Prince of Shoeburg into the ground in a blaze of glory. This definitely works out for them.

Bad idea of the day, grandfather paradox edition: Ayda, curious about her family beyond Arthur and her phoenix mother, tries to find out what happened to Arthur's parents. The quest eventually reveals that her grandparents haven't been born yet, and in fact Arthur won't actually be born for several hundred more years; he's travelled back in time a thousand years in his very young days, and much of his attention at all times is on making certain he doesn't accidentally do anything that will cause himself to not exist.

Bad idea of the day, you know I had to do it edition (JY spoilers!): Kristen, while having her little verbal pissing match with her competitor for student class president, is shocked when she's suddenly attacked from behind by an offended student who is actually four dogs in a trenchcoat.

Bad idea of the day, cosmic horror edition: There is a way in Spyre to detect those who might be infested with sometimes being possessed by eldritch beings of great impulse and power, those who can seem to reshape the world with their whims, those… 'player characters'

Bad idea of the day, no really this one's kind of bad edition: Fig, desperate to loop in the last bad kid who she's not in some weird way related to, decides to go all in on getting Gilear and Hallariel into some kind of poly swinger situation with the Thistlesprings, going so far as to set up a very awkward dinner party where she tries to prompt them to go for the binder, much to Gorgug's disconcertment

Bad idea of the day, this one's just canon but it was definitely a bad idea edition: The true love story of how Efink met and married Percival very very quickly for what definitely seemed like good reasons at the time.

Bad Idea of the Day, You Get What You Kill Edition, light JY ep4 spoiler: After killing her dad, Adaine is irritated to discover after they get back to Elmville that she is in fact now the official Fallinel envoy to Solace and that she's been fully Santa Claused into another elven position against her will.

Bad idea of the day, Adaine DID seem much more interested in this option edition: Adaine takes one of Aelwyn's suggestions and starts selling weapons in the forms of scrolls of fireball and the like

Bad idea of the day, the ultimate D20 party edition: Come up with an excuse to put Adaine, Fabian, Katja, Efink Murderdeath, and Colin Provolone in the same party to bring the ultimate fear to all parents everywhere. (I honestly might be forgetting somebody. There's been a lot of parent-killing in D20.)

[dailyexo]

[INTERVIEW] Baekhyun - 230223 W Korea: “Days With Baekhyun”

Returning after two years, Baekhyun used the word “comfort” often.

Baekhyun’s only wish is to sing heart-felt, timeless songs for us. Baekhyun talked about the days spent with us and the days ahead of us.

How many days has it been since you were discharged from the military?

Today is precisely the third day since I’ve been out.

You have finally gifted flower shoes to the fans. (‘Giving flower shoes’ is a Korean phrase that means returning to the significant other who had been waiting for their partner to return from military service.)

I know. Before I left for the military, I told the fans that many things could change in a year and nine months. How could I make them wait? I told them to focus on their own lives but come back if they feel like it when I return. I said, if anything, I would try to win them back again.

So, you recently did a live show to celebrate discharge. Seeing you’re still as bright and youthful, fans recalled the time you promoted your second solo mini-album, “Delight,” released three years ago.

Honestly, I was super worried. But I was relieved to see their warm reactions. I’m grateful to my parents. Haha.

You talked about your time in the army during the live show.

Most of my training campmates were born after 1999, except for a few. I was the eldest there. Everyone followed me like their older brother. I still keep in touch with the friends I met then. Recently, I got a call from one of them. He said, “I am working out at the gym right now.” He was a skinny one, and every single day at the training camp, I told him to work out.

Baekhyun, as we know, was the life of the party among the EXO and SuperM members. Your bubbly personality would have shined in the army training camp.

There was no exception. I didn’t let anyone fall behind. Whenever I saw someone wanting to give up, I said, “You can’t lose to things like this,” “If you keep giving up, this becomes your habit,” and, “Real life outside is much harder than this.” I don’t let my friends give up or fall behind. I pull them together.

I presume the past two years have been a time to realize and reassess who Byun Baek Hyun really is as a person, not just Beakhyun from EXO.

Yeah. My MBTI changed during the break from ISFP to ESTJ. I’ve been known as a homebody for a long time among my friends. But I’m actually an extrovert and a very active person. But when I look back on my childhood, I barely had time to spend at home. To the point where my mother always said, “How come I see my son only for breakfast?” I felt like I went back to my real self during the break.

Was it also a time to realize again what your fans mean to you?

Of course. I still have a long way to go to learn about the fans thoroughly. There’s something I learned this time, though. The fact that our existence to each other is a lot bigger than what we think. During the first year of my alternative military service, I looked back a lot. I watched a lot of the past concert videos. At concerts, I had a lot of fun with them. There were times when I saw my facial expression on the stage and thought I really did bust my butt to pull everything. Also, sometimes I felt really empty and felt this unfillable void. At one point, I thought, “Will they still be there?” while listening to the cheers of fans in those videos. They are like a really good teacher who would grade me and encourage me. They inspire me to do my homework. They have had me run, take lessons and become a better person. I want to do well to hear their acknowledgment. If they didn’t exist, I probably would not have tried so hard to come this far.

Your Namu-wiki page has a “Fan Love” section. As we read through the things you’ve said to the fans, we thought even a real boyfriend couldn’t say such sweet things.

Haha. Definitely my mom’s influence there. She speaks so gently. She is the sweetest person, really. And I am the youngest in the family. My family poured sweet love on me. Sometimes, fans ask me how I can speak so nicely. To be honest, I don’t know. I feel it’s nothing special, to me, a very ordinary and everyday thing.

It seems like fans could rarely feel the army break. You filmed 20 pieces of YouTube content ahead of time and released them during the break.

I know how hard it is to wait. Even when we did the EXO concert tour, we couldn’t release an album during that time. So it had been a long-standing concern about how to fill the vacancy. In particular, no one was trying to do something special to fill the vacancy during the military break. At first, I thought about making a small game instead of a video. Like the Tamagotchi game, fans can foster ‘Baekhyun’ from level 1 for 641 days while I am away. Feed him, water him. Haha.

The background in planning the pre-created YouTube Content was to give fans something to calm their longings, but also in some parts, wishing your fans would not forget you by watching these videos, right?

Yeah, that is pretty much it. Actually, I was swamped when we were filming the YouTube videos. I had a hectic schedule. It was just around when my third solo mini album Bambi came out, and on top of that, SuperM’s promotion overlapped. But after filming them, I felt so indescribably proud.

The 2021 album Bambi leaves much to be desired in some ways because it had no official activities due to your military service. Nonetheless, it recorded high sales, enough to bring the double million-seller title. It was also the album released in the year of your 30th birthday, showcasing your finest skills as a vocalist.

Bambi was created strictly with my own needs and vision. I tried everything I wanted to do without looking at anyone, and I wanted to free my mind by doing so. You are right. I put in everything I could as a vocalist. I first rearranged my vocal tone around the time of my first solo mini-album City Lights in 2019, and I wanted to see how much I had grown since then. I became very dedicated because I thought I could make a better sound than two years ago. I tried the vocal ranges that I wouldn’t have chosen in the past because I was too nervous. I purposely chose difficult music because I wanted to experience both failures and trials.

In particular, the title song "Bambi" seems to have been a regular song for the music school entrance exam that year. It’s perfect for showing off your vocal skills going back and forth freely with your falsetto, modal, and head voice.

Well, I don’t really recommend it. It’s a high-risk song, the beat and rhythm are tough. It’s a pretty challenging song to sing well.

With the release of Bambi, Baekhyun’s genre and brand have become more apparent. "Baekhyun" reminds us of groovy R&B beats from "UN Village" in the album City Lights and "Candy" in Delight.

R&B is a genre that I’ve been attached to for a long time, so I’ll continue with it. However, I also want new challenges. I want to try this and that without being too picky. I want to be an all-rounder. I’m interested in singing-rap these days.

Which musician are you paying attention to as a reference these days?

I’ve gotten closer to Colde recently. I like his singing style, and it’s fabulous that he pulls off the melody rhythmically as if he’s rapping. I’ve requested songs from Colde. I don’t know what kind of work will come out yet, but we’ll work together soon.

As a musician, there’s no more valuable experience than getting a “response” to your song. All three solo albums released so far have recorded respectable sales. Did you expect such success?

Not at all. It exceeded my expectations. This record was possible thanks to the efforts of many K-pop singers ahead of me. In particular, the sales volume of the second album was the highest in 20 years of Korean pop music history.

Delight became the first solo album to achieve the million-seller title, and you became the second artist to hold such titles for both the group and solo albums, following after Seo Tai-ji.

Yes, but it’s all thanks to the dedication of so many Korean musicians. As K-pop became more known worldwide, more people started paying attention to K-culture. The Korean artists before me had already paved the roads and I just got to piggyback on them.

I don’t feel any guilt when I listen to your music. Maybe it’s a complete anachronism, but there’s still a certain prejudice regarding idol music. Similarly, some idol music is referred to as a ‘hidden masterpiece.’ But when I listen to Baekhyun’s solo music, I feel like I’m just listening to really good music.

Thanks. I indeed paid a lot of attention to that. I chose a lot of genres that wouldn’t come from SM. SM prefers strong and intense sounds, but I wanted to focus on easy-listening music. It was partly because of my preference and strategic choice to differentiate between EXO and solo activities. Seeing that many of the tracks from my solo albums are still receiving a ot of love, I think it was a good decision.

It is common to spot excessiveness in solo albums by Idol group members. It was rather unique that Baekhyun has an easy mood, as you’ve just said.

I pushed for that. I kept thinking, ‘I’ll make more easy-listening music,’ ‘The music should not change in the middle,’ and ‘The melody should flow as expected.’ I wanted to minimize statement sounds and focus on the lyrics. There was even some feedback from the company that it fell short. But I kept pushing. My motto was to do something that sounds easy to people’s ears, like passive music, even if it may not feel ‘sophisticated or innovative’ for some.

What you just said seems connected to the question of, ‘what is good music to me as a musician?’

Probably. In a way, I’m making music that’s pleasant to listen to. But I don’t usually listen to a lot of music. My ears are so tired. Since I’m a singer, I need to know a lot of songs, but when I find one I like, I listen to it over and over. There’s something in common when I look at the songs I’m hooked on. It’s not too much, and it just has one or two significant factors.

For example?

I especially like old-fashioned pop songs. Fibo Bryson’s "Why Goodbye" is also a song that I love, for example. If you listen to it, there’s a particular section once in the bridge, once in the chorus, and once in the verse. You can listen to it comfortably, and the sound is completely filled with only vocals.

What is the vocal tone you pursue?

If I could have a voice that doesn’t go out of date, I couldn’t ask for more.

It’s also the most challenging thing.

I know. I once imagined, “Will Baekhyun’s episode of ‘Hidden Singer’ come out?” I don’t think so. Because my voice doesn’t have a distinctive feature. But it’s definitely a voice that can give you some comfort. A good tone depends on the time and taste. It’s something that keeps moving without being fixed. So I just want my voice to be peaceful and stable. I hope I can make the sound warm enough to relax your body. That’s all I want.

It’s been 11 years since your debut, and you’re still taking vocal lessons every week, right?

Yes. I have a big desire to evolve. I thought about it when EXO received a lot of attention with Growl in 2013. ‘Why are so many people going crazy? Am I really that good? I don’t think so. If the heat goes away, they will see me.’ That’s why I kept trying. I always criticize myself more than others do. It’s not a matter of high self-esteem and low self-esteem. I’m just continuing to make up for my shortcomings because I know my weaknesses better than anyone else.

To me, Baekhyun is not a person with low self-esteem but one who constantly and carefully self-censors himself.

Yes, that’s right. Maybe I am a perfectionist, and I hate it when there’s no complete ending. If I don’t think I can finish something properly, I don’t even start. I tend to get extremely disappointed with myself if I don’t do something perfectly at work.

A perfectionist who pursues easiness… It sounds hard. Haha

Haha. As a musician, I want to be an easy person who can blend in with the public. I don’t want to be a musician who is so cool that people admire and want to follow. I want to be someone people can talk to easily when they meet me on the street while listening to my song.

The only regret for Baekhyun as a solo musician is that he had little opportunity to tell autobiographical stories in music. What kind of stories do you want to tell through your music as 32-year-old Baekhyun?

I want to deliver encouraging lyrics. And deliver the message that you shouldn’t give up easily and try to face more challenges. I think the disappearance of the “Jeong” culture played a role in making people get easily tired these days. In the past, when a neighbor moved in, we used to make steamed rice cakes. If the next door neighbor cooks a lot of food, they would share it with others. But living in a disconnected world without affection, people seem to think only of themselves. I want to put a hopeful message in my song that we can all unite in harmony again.

It’s been two years since W Magazine and Baekhyun met—, since the cover of the March 2021 issue, right? Throughout today’s shoot, the staff said you were sexy. Baekhyun’s “soft sexiness” that you’ve shown in your solo career seems to be reflected in today’s shoot.

Sexy… Haha. I don’t think the sexiness that I have is the sexiness that’s full of intense emotions. It’s more like this. Sometimes you play with your friends, and you feel unexpectedly sexy. I think I have the sexiness to make people a little curious about me. Haha

Today’s shoot was with Cartier’s Tank Frances Watch and Icon Collection. These are pieces that have been called Wannabe by many artists for their timeless classic aesthetic. Regardless of timea and nationality, who is the greatest artist for Baekhyun?

Michael Jackson! Michael Jackson was the only artist who stood still on stage for a few seconds or minutes and people couldn’t stop cheering. His songs have made many people cry for a long time, giving them joy and happiness. So just seeing him standing still on the stage makes them tear up. There isn’t an artist who can beat Michael Jackson.

Still, what would be your secret weapon that you could win over Michael Jackson?

Hmm… My gentle way of talking? Haha.

EXO recently announced the news of EXO’s 11th-anniversary fan meeting. What would it look like if you were to compare EXO to family?

Children who were raised by a strict father but had an infinitely sweet mother? Maybe the stage is our dad. We work hard on stage until it feels like our bodies would break literally. But when we get off stage, we act like kids. Not one friend is rude, and everyone is so kind. When we talk to each other, there’s no difference from when we debuted 11 years ago or when we were trainees.

What are the three things Baekhyun is focusing on these days?

I’m into golf. Out on the golf field, my arms got so tanned, dark enough to leave a watch mark on my wrist. I feel very relieved when I go rounding and see the open space. The second one is the direction of the vocals. And for the third, I was going to say exercise but I’m going to change that. (Kim) Jong-kook, whom I became close with through workouts, said, “It’s time for you to focus on your back.” But hip workouts are too hard. Haha. The last one is EXO’s comeback. We will return as soon as possible with a high-quality album this year.

Photo links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23

Credit: W Korea.

[mikki-does-simp]

Words aren't worth shit. (Kuroiro Shihai x GN!reader)

surprise you guys, i came back from my grave for the kajillionth time! frankly, i'm slightly sick of interacting with almost of the MHA fandom, but my love for 1B seems to never ever waver, so i'll try my very best to stick to more longform fanfiction and post more-often so that the people who deserve it have actual content.

A/N: i wrote this in literally two adjacent blocks starting at 1AM and ending around 5 AM with a sleep from 4-4:30, so forgive any flow inconsistences or grammar/spelling mistakes because i say fuck the beta

edit: actually never mind next time i will appreciate a beta run more i left so many spaces that were just- *unfilled*

socially awkward kuroiro AND tactical manipulator kuroiro CAN co-exist, it just has to be written in a very specific way, though. despite that, with you, he feels like a cat covered in wet spaghetti, but like, in a good way.

Who the hell came up with the saying "a picture is worth a thousand words"? Or hell, who altered it to have it to relate an action? Kuroiro didn't really seem to convince himself of it, no matter how hard he tried. It wasn't like he was indifferent to works of art- after all, he considered himself a sort of artistic guy... but when it came to a flash, a picture in his mind, a memory- usually it only took up about thirteen words in his mind. He considered himself a writer. Dare he say a poet. He kept piles upon piles of journals of his writing, and where people could not suffice, pen and paper were his greatest confidants. As much as he liked pencils, pens were just- ironically more artistic; even if he had to scribble at the paper if he misspelled a word or accidentally placed the lettering way too close.

He clenched a few papers between his hands, skimming over the writing as he stood in wait for what might be a pinnacle moment of his life. There were too many mistakes in his mind- so many scribbles it seemed like a quarter of each page was just a section or a word, blacked out in ink. He sighed, inwardly admitting that staying up until two am in the morning writing this was a terrible idea it's not like the author is doing the EXACT same thing down to the hour, but he could just not wait. Thoughts seemed to be always running through his head at light speed, from dawn to dusk and in between his dreams like a sickness of his. This is when he started to pace around with the pages in his hand, having to really mentally prepare himself for what he set up on what seemed to be the first impromptu thought of his entire life so far.

Kuroiro had somehow deluded himself so hard that he decided that he was going to profess his feelings for you within the next moment. Or at the very least, his fond admiration for your pieces, large or small that create the entire puzzle. He had slipped a piece of plain notebook paper under your door, even; that's how casual he tried to seem about it, as it could mean a lot of different things under different connotations if you ask someone to meet you. It wasn't a fancy sort of greeting or letter like he would have spent countless hours imagining he would, but it would make due. His pen and paper were becoming restless in it's own right, sick of hearing the same thought in a different variant over and over and over again. He had decided to meet you about fifteen minutes before the dormitory curfew, as to both make it less inconvenient for you and to make sure he had an escape route if anything went wrong. Yet again, his mind seems to be in a race with everything around it, dreaming up every possibility. Every triumph, every pitfall. The churns in his stomach grew more intense as he began to doubt himself,

It didn't take too long for you to meet him, with the casually dressed notebook paper folded in one of your hands. You pocketed it, then closed the gap of distance between you and Kuroiro, standing in front of him with a curious look to the papers in his hand- and how he looked like how he was going to vomit up a hairball. It raised some eyebrows, sure; but you seemed to understand his nature- his mannerisms, his idiosyncrasies: you seemed to accept them as they were, with no complaints otherwise about who he was. Human. A breath of fresh air for a guy like him, really. He didn't even greet you properly for a moment, already seeming to clam up, enamored by your beauty. It took a couple seconds for him to actually remember why he brought the two of you here- but when he did, he slowly looked to the writing in front of him, starting to read it out. Unfortunately for you, it was incredibly difficult to decipher what he was actually saying- he used so many elusive synonyms that the average person wouldn't be familiar with in terms of linguistics, and he would often go back to read a part if he messed it up, or pause for a moment to try and figure out what he was trying to say himself. The more and more he talked, the more Kuroiro realized this the sole brainless idea he had in a very long time- at least in his book, so out of some sort of shame, he started getting quieter as he read. His posture crumpled up more than it was before, and he was mumbling so badly, that it was even hard for him to hear the words that were spewing out of his mouth as he tried to read back He dropped the small stack of papers, much to your confusion; then, much to his incredible embarrassment, he felt his legs start to buckle despite himself as he kneeled to the floor, covering his face with his hands and starting to mumble a little louder about how incredibly awkward this situation was and that you should just forget it ever happened. He couldn't anymore, everything seemed to catch up to him in his incredulity...

You kneeled down to the floor with him, starting to pick up the papers for him. His hand reflexively moved to instantly snatch the papers from you- to hide away and confide yet again in the caverns of pen and paper- but he stops himself, opting to ball his hand into a fist to do so as he starts on an attempt to quell his mild panicked breathing. He felt so... soppy. Dare he say even- pathetic in a way. It took a moment, but he eventually found the strength to look you in the eye, and they lock, the watercolor to his monochrome. You pick up the rest of the pages, and even if it is incredibly messy and out of order, you remember how he reached to grab them from you, and although it confused you on why he would do that, you respected him too much to pry; in a state where he was cracking on all sides of a sphere, where he looked so oddly vulnerable. If you weren't too preoccupied with being concerned about the way he was acting, it would have felt good, about how he seemed to trust you being within this state

"Hey..." you interjected, slowly starting to offer both your held papers; and your free outstretched hand over to Kuroiro, "Take the time you need. You'll find a way to say what you need to say... and I'll flag you down with signals so it won't- get lost within the waters."

You had sort of an idea what was happening- but you could ask for more context later, as Kuroiro seemed a little too nervewracked to answer your questions. He took the both of you off guard, as he shuffled a little closer, his own arms beginning to outstretch as he simply took your simple outstretched gesture to wrap his arms around you in a shakey but gentle embrace. In that very moment, he couldn't believe it but... no words could describe what he felt. He almost lost himself in trying to figure it out, but at the same time, you quelled the tide all the same as you held each-other there.

[c-estmabiologie]

Pangs (Candela Obscura fic)

I'm still obsessed with Arlo. Another character study based on where I thought the her Bleed Scar was going for a little while. Spoilers for episode 2.

CW: body horror, cannibalism (mentioned, lightly implied)

Also on AO3 ! Usually Arlo didn’t leave the bath until the suds had vanished and the water had gone cold. Today, though, she was restless; steam had still been curling off the water’s surface when she’d gotten out. She was standing in the middle of the bathroom, leaving footprint-puddles on the marble. 

There was still a towel draped over the chair from when Auggie had bathed earlier, not getting any drier with the steam from her own bath filling the room. Auggie. They’d had a lovely time this afternoon, picking out new suiting.

It was nice to have a friend. 

But now, she was alone again, naked and dripping in front of her mirror, the condensation wiped away so she could take a good look at herself. She craned her neck to see exactly how far the dead grey flesh crawled up her throat. Her blouse collar could still take care of it, mostly, but she’d have to be careful. No more occult rituals if she wanted to still be presentable. (Lately, much to her family’s chagrin, she found herself caring less and less about respectability, less and less about the costs that might come with frequenting the grimier parts of the city and keeping company with people who would never even dream of setting foot in Briar Green. The currency she held by being from the Black family was undoubtedly helpful, even with the fussiness of her connection to the Eastons and, by mere association to Eddie, their disappearance...but she thought that, perhaps, she might have to find a new sort of social cachet. It had been so bizarre to have to explain about Eddie earlier without everyone in the room already knowing him and trying to remember him as best as they could. Arlo tried to remember him at least three times a day so that she could be sure she was remembering him best of all: how his hair stuck up in tufts no matter how it was brushed, how his teeth looked when he laughed, how he would rub the skin behind his ear when he couldn’t think of something to say. Sometimes those three things formed a touchstone and tufts - teeth- ear was all she could remember, instead of remembering Eddie as an entire person. But if she had at least that she could be somewhat grounded. She couldn’t explain any of that to the Vassal and have them understand. Anyway.)

No more occult rituals if she didn’t want to feel how else the Bleed might change her. Her greyed hand had been unchanged for years; she hadn’t even imagined that it could change, become worse than before.

“You should definitely do something about this,” she said to her reflection. You should cut your hand off. Before you become a monster. 

She looked at her hand, at the void that ripped her palm open. Would the rest of her become the same, hollow and unfillable? What would happen once it reached her heart (or her mind)? Would some magick keep it beating (thinking)? Would she have to become some new creature? The idea left her cold. She didn’t want to become a skin filled with void. A monster.

A gurgle resonated from deep within her and she pressed her hand to her stomach. She was hungry and it wasn’t a usual sort of hunger. Her stomach had been complaining with the same simple, gnawing need she’d felt when she’d examined Mr. Ferris’s hand, and that had only grown when she’d taken on the Gredarn demon in the sewers. She’d thought the bath would have helped more; hot water and bubbles and thick, fluffy towels had always been curatives before for whatever ailed her after working a case, but not this time. Her arm couldn’t seem to get warm. Her body couldn’t seem to forget.

She’d brought her occult text with her to read in the tub — not an unusual pastime for her — but she hadn’t stayed in long enough to desire to read. Now, with damp fingers she turned the pages in her book until she found the entry again. The passage on Gredarn was short, just references to feeding and Oldfairen folk tales. She flipped to the next page and back again, but she hadn’t missed anything the first time. There was nothing to tell her what to expect next from having connected with it so deeply.

Her stomach growled again. The demon had consumed people . It had absorbed flesh and limbs and people fucking in their hotel rooms. She couldn’t do any of that. But she was starving, and if she was hungering like it was, would she develop a taste for human flesh? The idea terrified her, but still she poked her tongue out and licked the palm of her hand, testing. Her skin tasted like salt and soap and it was not unpleasant, but neither did it spike the pressure in her gut. Curiosity spurred her to lick the palm of her right hand, too, to see if it tasted of bleed or death or anything . The tip of her tongue tingled with how she imagined incandescent lights might taste. She inspected her tongue in the mirror for any tell-tale signs of Bleed, but it looked pink and alive.

She’d have to find another way to test the edges of her craving.

--

Where am I?

Seconds crawled by as she got her bearings. She was outside and she was still in Briar Green, that much she could tell immediately, but she was barefoot in the garden of someone else’s estate. She remembered deciding to go out — a constitutional to ease the teeth gnashing in her belly — but she’d been certainly wearing boots when she’d left home. She had a vague sense that she’d spent some time tailing a stranger in broad daylight for no reason other than that her gut had told her to, but she had no idea what had become of him or when she had decided to let that quarry go. (She did not think she’d done anything to him except follow him, but her teeth felt fuzzy and her tongue tasted sour. Her ungloved hand felt like it was filmy with grime, like something might be cakes under her fingernails, but it looked clean enough. She mustn’t have done anything because she was still so, so very hungry. Anyway.) The grass around her was tall and prickly underfoot. As she walked toward the house, she realized that the windows were boarded up. She was at the Eastons’. 

The realization gave her pause. It was better, she thought, to look forward. Closure could only be in the future, after all. It wasn’t in an empty home, and certainly not this empty home. But still she found herself climbing its steps and testing its door just in case it was unlocked.

She hadn’t been inside since that day when the portal had opened up and taken Eddie from her. Every room she wandered into looked like a storm had blown through it. Glass and porcelain was shattered, rugs were tossed, floors and tabletops were chipped and gouged. She picked her way through carefully, sometimes stopping before putting all of her weight into her step so that she wouldn’t cut her foot open on something broken.

She tried to see everything through the eyes of her past self: this was where she and Eddie had sat many times and talked for hours. This was where she had taken meals with his family. This was where Eddie’s mother had given her a cameo as a welcome to the family after their engagement had been announced. This was where she had imagined a very different future. 

But this was also where he had been taken from her. And because of that she was a different person now. 

Could I have saved him? she thought, not for the first time, and certainly not for the last. Years of studying occultism had so far told her that she could not have, but maybe that was just because she hadn’t read the right text yet, or studied the right ritual, or spoken to the right person who just happened to know why and how portals yawn open and suck people away.

She pushed her sleeve up to check her detector: everything was soaking with Bleed. Even after all this time. 

She was still so hungry. 

--

As she crept back toward her rooms she could hear her parents’ voices drifting out from the sitting room. 

“—And that young man she brought home looked like an overgrown urchin. I didn’t realize we were in the habit of clothing the local riff-raff.”

“Don’t be ungenerous. We raised her to be a philanthropist after all.”

 “We raised her to be a credit to the family name.”

Arlo didn’t need to hear any more. She still believed in who she was, but she found it admittedly challenging to be a person in the way that it was expected. She fidgeted with the fingers of her glove. The easy thing to do would be to blame what had happened to Eddie, and her parents would accept it regularly. They saw Eddie as a good man from a good family and that their daughter had been happy with him. Losing that sort of happiness would change anyone. But if she was being honest, it was really everything that had happened after that had shaken apart how she understood the world and her place in it. She knew what she was supposed to do, she just couldn’t seem to do it anymore.

“Auggie is my friend,” she burst out, surprising herself as much as her parents.

“Arlo! We thought you were out!” Her father said, at the same time that her mother sputtered, “Arlo! Where in God’s name are your shoes?”

Arlo tucked one foot behind the other, as if that would hide their nakedness.

“He’s a part of my Circle. We do a lot of good work.” That was about as much as she could explain to her parents about Candela Obscura. They thought it was a social group.

“Of course, darling,” her mother said, more composed this time, “but you know you needn’t work.”

“It’s the sort of work that’s no work at all. You know: charity work. Philanthropy.” Sacrificing some part of your soul to kill monsters was certainly charitable if you looked at it sideways. Certainly more generous than just giving money.

“Yes, and your  …Circle has helped you so much since the incident—” Arlo smiled. No one ever seemed to be able to call it anything but the incident , a term that she felt tidied up the horror that it had been too neatly. A crashed car is an incident. An uncovered affair is an incident. A portal filled with demonic entities that sucks away your loved ones and renders your flesh dead should be given a different name, but it was just another incident because no one else who had witnessed it remained. Anyway.

“—You’ve been holding up so well,” her mother looked down at her hands instead of into Arlo’s face. “I was just telling your father how beautifully I think you’re doing.”

Arlo kept smiling, unsure if she was supposed to thank her mother for the lie and pretend that she believed it. 

“I’m going to have a bath drawn. My feet are dirty.”

--

In her second bath of the day, she stared at the ceiling, memorizing the patterns in the plaster. It was dull and beautiful at the same time.

The ache in her stomach wasn’t getting stronger, but neither was it going away. She soaked in the tub, thinking of what she could tear to pieces if she were a monster. (Maybe it would be a relief.) If the feeling didn’t go away, she wasn’t sure she could keep it a secret.

She imagined telling Auggie. He’d be the easiest to tell and the one she’d like to tell the least. Because he was such a sweet boy, and because she was certain he would still be sweet to her even if she were a hideous thing. 

If she told Charlie she’d wrap an arm around her like a mother. Tell her that everything would turn out fine, even if they both knew it wouldn’t. They’d find a way to approach fine as well as humanly possible. 

She couldn’t tell Howard. He would be fascinated. He would just treat her like an experiment. But maybe what she needed was the experimental. It wasn't ideal, but if the rest knew he'd have to know, too.

Anyway.

Arlo waved her hands through the bathwater, one pink and one deathly grey, and decided that this time she would let the water grow cold with her in it. 

[princessbelix]

Dear Class of 2021,

3044 words

roughly 7 pages

that's how much paper it would take

to fit the names of the last class of 2021

the class that didn't finish the year

the class whose stars collapsed a bit early

the class who was supposed to go to colleges

get jobs

write books

have kids

find love

find themselves 

And

change the future

about 7 pages is what we have left

about 380500 pounds of rock is what we have left

about 54792 years, is what was taken

3044 words

it doesn't look like a lot

it's not a small number by any means but,

not a big one either

that amount of words is at a middle school reading level

          just enough to pack a story

no background

no unnecessary words

no unnecessary sounds

or moves

or breaths 

or-

3044 chairs

Empty

its graduation season

and some seats are left

Unfilled

Uncovered

left

and they stay there

like the ghosts in the hallways,

and they stay there

like the hard-to-clean blood stains on white tile,

and they stay there

like the easy-to-turn-over desks by doors,

and they stay there

even after the bell rings for summer,

when the kids run out of the school

into cars

into busses

into loving arms

into a moment of peace

3044 students

in my graduating class

In the year I made it to the end of my senior year

3044 students

who didn't get the chance to walk across the podium

who will never get that chance

3044 students 

who will never leave for the summer

into cars

into busses

into loving arms

3044 students

who left in black bags

3044 students

who had to be identified by loved ones

3044 students

How many more are left?

[kimberlyannharts]

So...............this is a series that exists!

Between the mainline series and The Return (which, I should note, isn't even officially released yet), Ranger Academy is already kind of the underdog of Boom's releases right now. And it's not really hard to see why; it's a completely original story set in some part of PR universe, not connected to any unfilled plot holes from the show or unexplained lore from the comics, cast with completely original characters not from any established planet we know. On top of that, it's more for younger readers than the older demographic the comics typically skew towards. If not for the giant PR lightning bolt they paste everywhere, it would be very easy to forget this has anything to do with Power Rangers.

But hey, apparently Zordon founded this school, so that makes it okay, right?

Now I've had my quibbles about this series and just the concept of a Power Rangers school in general; as of the third issue I think it's.....pretty good. But I figure we should give it a fair shot in discussing it (and there's no M/tt) so that means comic recaps!

Let's begin at the beginning with Ranger Academy #1!

= This will be the first of many examples of these Ranger Academy cadets (or just Rangers in general) being referred to as "knights", which I, a bit cynically I must admit, feel it's a way to avoid comparing them to cops. I feel it's not totally incorrect, though

= let Sage say fuck

= MATHIS NO NEARLY EVERY NON-BINARY CHARACTER INTRODUCED IN THESE COMICS HAS DIED IT'S STARTING TO FEEL A LITTLE PROBLEMATIC

= me about to infodump to some poor soul

= while this first issue is basically just the FCBD book with some additional pages, it's worth noting that Mathis's dialogue is slightly edited here.

= i'm not sure the significance of this yet, obviously, but I'm assuming "battling your inner morphin beast" has something to do with how cadets here get their Zords. The series has been taking its time it really laying down how its whole........system works, which is both good and bad, imo

= DILF ALERT! and he'll immediately correct himself if he gets your pronouns wrong. a real man

= when you save some kids' lives it's completely within your rights to call them dumbasses

= Sage my darling you do not want to learn physics. I guarantee it

= I know I've already talked about how this made me hope that part of this book will be about pointing out the flaws in Ranger Academy's system rather than just framing Rhianth as a quitter buuuuuuuuuut future issues have already made some cracks in that. It's to be expected, I guess

= I know when this book first came out the Merrick namedrop caused a bit of a stir, but as of the third issue it hasn't really been elaborated on. I guess with the confirmation that Ranger alumni do guest lectures at this school, this is indeed meant to be Wild Force Merrick, but it's hard to say since a) he hasn't shown up officially and b) other show cameos follow the red/black/yellow/pink/blue color scheme. (Even Cruger does, as he's kind of confirmed to be a black ranger.) Mathis directly talking to him through coms about some random goat story also implies more of a close mentor/apprentice relationship rather than just a random guest lecturer?? But again, nothing like that has been shown, yet. I guess we'll have to see if it becomes relevant later or just an example of Early Installment Weirdness

= Tula you're giving him a bit too much credit there. Though admittedly Tula seems like the type to suck up to teachers by calling all of them the best

= though I agree that she needs to study up on Ranger history a bit more because nearly all the best Rangers got their powers by sneaking, lying, stealing, or all of the above. Rhianth's right that this Academy isn't making REAL Rangers!

[exoluxionlove]

Baekhyun Interview - W Korea March 2023

Days With Baekhyun Returning after two years, Baekhyun used the word "comfort" often.

- - - - -

Baekhyun's only wish is to sing heart-felt, timeless songs for us. Baekhyun talked about the days spent with us and the days ahead of us.

<W Korea> How many days has it been since you were discharged from the military?

Today is precisely the third day since I've been out.

You have finally gifted flower shoes to the fans. ('Giving flower shoes' is a Korean phrase that means returning to the significant other who had been waiting for their partner to return from military service.)

I know. Before I left for the military, I told the fans that many things could change in a year and nine months. How could I make them wait? I told them to focus on their own lives but come back if they feel like it when I return. I said, if anything, I would try to win them back again.

So, you recently did a live show to celebrate discharge. Seeing you're still as bright and youthful, fans recalled the time you promoted your second solo mini-album, "Delight," released three years ago.

Honestly, I was super worried. But I was relieved to see their warm reactions. I'm grateful to my parents. Haha.

You talked about your time in the army during the live show.

Most of my training campmates were born after 1999, except for a few. I was the eldest there. Everyone followed me like their older brother. I still keep in touch with the friends I met then. Recently, I got a call from one of them. He said, "I am working out at the gym right now." He was a skinny one, and every single day at the training camp, I told him to work out.

Baekhyun, as we know, was the life of the party among the EXO and SuperM members. Your bubbly personality would have shined in the army training camp.

There was no exception. I didn't let anyone fall behind. Whenever I saw someone wanting to give up, I said, "You can't lose to things like this," "If you keep giving up, this becomes your habit," and, "Real life outside is much harder than this." I don’'t let my friends give up or fall behind. I pull them together.

I presume the past two years have been a time to realize and reassess who Byun Baekhyun really is as a person, not just Baekhyun from EXO.

Yeah. My MBTI changed during the break from ISFP to ESTJ. I've been known as a homebody for a long time among my friends. But I’'m actually an extrovert and a very active person. But when I look back on my childhood, I barely had time to spend at home. To the point where my mother always said, "How come I see my son only for breakfast?" I felt like I went back to my real self during the break.

Was it also a time to realize again what your fans mean to you?

Of course. I still have a long way to go to learn about the fans thoroughly. There's something I learned this time, though. The fact that our existence to each other is a lot bigger than what we think. During the first year of my alternative military service, I looked back a lot. I watched a lot of the past concert videos. At concerts, I had a lot of fun with them. There were times when I saw my facial expression on the stage and thought I really did bust my butt to pull everything. Also, sometimes I felt really empty and felt this unfillable void. At one point, I thought, "Will they still be there?" while listening to the cheers of fans in those videos. They are like a really good teacher who would grade me and encourage me. They inspire me to do my homework. They have had me run, take lessons and become a better person. I want to do well to hear their acknowledgment. If they didn't exist, I probably would not have tried so hard to come this far.

Your Namu-wiki page has a "Fan Love" section. As we read through the things you've said to the fans, we thought even a real boyfriend couldn't say such sweet things.

Haha. Definitely my mom's influence there. She speaks so gently. She is the sweetest person, really. And I am the youngest in the family. My family poured sweet love on me. Sometimes, fans ask me how I can speak so nicely. To be honest, I don't know. I feel it's nothing special, to me, a very ordinary and everyday thing.

It seems like fans could rarely feel the army break. You filmed 20 pieces of YouTube content ahead of time and released them during the break.

I know how hard it is to wait. Even when we did the EXO concert tour, we couldn't release an album during that time. So it had been a long-standing concern about how to fill the vacancy. In particular, no one was trying to do something special to fill the vacancy during the military break. At first, I thought about making a small game instead of a video. Like the Tamagotchi game, fans can foster 'Baekhyun' from level 1 for 641 days while I am away. Feed him, water him. Haha.

The background in planning the pre-created YouTube Content was to give fans something to calm their longings, but also in some parts, wishing your fans would not forget you by watching these videos, right?

Yeah, that is pretty much it. Actually, I was swamped when we were filming the YouTube videos. I had a hectic schedule. It was just around when my third solo mini album <Bambi> came out, and on top of that, SuperM’'s promotion overlapped. But after filming them, I felt so indescribably proud.

The 2021 album <Bambi> leaves much to be desired in some ways because it had no official activities due to your military service. Nonetheless, it recorded high sales, enough to bring the double million-seller title. It was also the album released in the year of your 30th birthday, showcasing your finest skills as a vocalist.

<Bambi> was created strictly with my own needs and vision. I tried everything I wanted to do without looking at anyone, and I wanted to free my mind by doing so. You are right. I put in everything I could as a vocalist. I first rearranged my vocal tone around the time of my first solo mini-album <City Lights> in 2019, and I wanted to see how much I had grown since then. I became very dedicated because I thought I could make a better sound than two years ago. I tried the vocal ranges that I wouldn't have chosen in the past because I was too nervous. I purposely chose difficult music because I wanted to experience both failures and trials.

In particular, the title song Bambi seems to have been a regular song for the music school entrance exam that year. It's perfect for showing off your vocal skills going back and forth freely with your falsetto, modal, and head voice.

Well, I don't really recommend it. It's a high-risk song, the beat and rhythm are tough. It's a pretty challenging song to sing well.

With the release of <Bambi>, Baekhyun's genre and brand have become more apparent. "Baekhyun" reminds us of groovy R&B beats from UN Village in the album <City Lights> and Candy in <Delight>.

R&B is a genre that I've been attached to for a long time, so I’ll continue with it. However, I also want new challenges. I want to try this and that without being too picky. I want to be an all-rounder. I'm interested in singing-rap these days.

Which musician are you paying attention to as a reference these days?

I've gotten closer to Colde recently. I like his singing style, and it's fabulous that he pulls off the melody rhythmically as if he's rapping. I've requested songs from Colde. I don't know what kind of work will come out yet, but we'll work together soon.

As a musician, there's no more valuable experience than getting a "response" to your song. All three solo albums released so far have recorded respectable sales. Did you expect such success?

Not at all. It exceeded my expectations. This record was possible thanks to the efforts of many K-pop singers ahead of me. In particular, the sales volume of the second album <Delight> was the highest in 20 years of Korean pop music history.

<Delight> became the first solo album to achieve the million-seller title, and you became the second artist to hold such titles for both the group and solo albums, following after Seo Tai-ji.

Yes, but it's all thanks to the dedication of so many Korean musicians. As K-pop became more known worldwide, more people started paying attention to K-culture. The Korean artists before me had already paved the roads and I just got to piggyback on them.

I don't feel any guilt when I listen to your music. Maybe it's a complete anachronism, but there's still a certain prejudice regarding idol music. Similarly, some idol music is referred to as a 'hidden masterpiece.' But when I listen to Baekhyun's solo music, I feel like I'm just listening to really good music.

Thanks. I indeed paid a lot of attention to that. I chose a lot of genres that wouldn't come from SM. SM prefers strong and intense sounds, but I wanted to focus on easy-listening music. It was partly because of my preference and strategic choice to differentiate between EXO and solo activities. Seeing that many of the tracks from my solo albums are still receiving a lot of love, I think it was a good decision.

It is common to spot excessiveness in solo albums by Idol group members. It was rather unique that Baekhyun has an easy mood, as you've just said.

I pushed for that. I kept thinking, 'I'll make more easy-listening music,' 'The music should not change in the middle,' and 'The melody should flow as expected.' I wanted to minimize statement sounds and focus on the lyrics. There was even some feedback from the company that it fell short. But I kept pushing. My motto was to do something that sounds easy to people's ears, like passive music, even if it may not feel 'sophisticated or innovative' for some.

What you just said seems connected to the question of, 'what is good music to me as a musician?'

Probably. In a way, I'm making music that's pleasant to listen to. But I don't usually listen to a lot of music. My ears are so tired. Since I'm a singer, I need to know a lot of songs, but when I find one I like, I listen to it over and over. There's something in common when I look at the songs I'm hooked on. It's not too much, and it just has one or two significant factors.

For example?

I especially like old-fashioned pop songs. Peabo Bryson's Why Goodbye is also a song that I love, for example. If you listen to it, there's a particular section once in the bridge, once in the chorus, and once in the verse. You can listen to it comfortably, and the sound is completely filled with only vocals.

What is the vocal tone you pursue?

If I could have a voice that doesn't go out of date, I couldn't ask for more.

It's also the most challenging thing.

I know. I once imagined, "Will Baekhyun's episode of 'Hidden Singer' come out?" I don't think so. Because my voice doesn't have a distinctive feature. But it's definitely a voice that can give you some comfort. A good tone depends on the time and taste. It's something that keeps moving without being fixed. So I just want my voice to be peaceful and stable. I hope I can make the sound warm enough to relax your body. That's all I want.

It's been 11 years since your debut, and you're still taking vocal lessons every week, right?

Yes. I have a big desire to evolve. I thought about it when EXO received a lot of attention with Growl in 2013. 'Why are so many people going crazy? Am I really that good? I don't think so. If the heat goes away, they will see me.' That's why I kept trying. I always criticize myself more than others do. It's not a matter of high self-esteem and low self-esteem. I'm just continuing to make up for my shortcomings because I know my weaknesses better than anyone else.

To me, Baekhyun is not a person with low self-esteem but one who constantly and carefully self-censors himself.

Yes, that's right. Maybe I am a perfectionist, and I hate it when there's no complete ending. If I don't think I can finish something properly, I don't even start. I tend to get extremely disappointed with myself if I don't do something perfectly at work.

A perfectionist who pursues easiness... It sounds hard. Haha.

Haha. As a musician, I want to be an easy person who can blend in with the public. I don't want to be a musician who is so cool that people admire and want to follow. I want to be someone people can talk to easily when they meet me on the street while listening to my song.

The only regret for Baekhyun as a solo musician is that he had little opportunity to tell autobiographical stories in music. What kind of stories do you want to tell through your music as 32-year-old Baekhyun?

I want to deliver encouraging lyrics. And deliver the message that you shouldn’'t give up easily and try to face more challenges. I think the disappearance of the "Jeong" culture played a role in making people get easily tired these days. In the past, when a neighbor moved in, we used to make steamed rice cakes. If the next door neighbor cooks a lot of food, they would share it with others. But living in a disconnected world without affection, people seem to think only of themselves. I want to put a hopeful message in my song that we can all unite in harmony again.

It's been two years since W Magazine and Baekhyun met—, since the cover of the March 2021 issue, right? Throughout today's shoot, the staff said you were sexy. Baekhyun's "soft sexiness" that you've shown in your solo career seems to be reflected in today's shoot.

Sexy... Haha. I don't think the sexiness that I have is the sexiness that's full of intense emotions. It's more like this. Sometimes you play with your friends, and you feel unexpectedly sexy. I think I have the sexiness to make people a little curious about me. Haha.

Today's shoot was with Cartier's Tank Française Watch and Icon Collection. These are pieces that have been called Wannabe by many artists for their timeless classic aesthetic. Regardless of time and nationality, who is the greatest artist for Baekhyun?

Michael Jackson! Michael Jackson was the only artist who stood still on stage for a few seconds or minutes and people couldn't stop cheering. His songs have made many people cry for a long time, giving them joy and happiness. So just seeing him standing still on the stage makes them tear up. There isn't an artist who can beat Michael Jackson.

Still, what would be your secret weapon that you could win over Michael Jackson?

Hmm... My gentle way of talking? Haha.

EXO recently announced the news of EXO’s 11th-anniversary fan meeting. What would it look like if you were to compare EXO to family?

Children who were raised by a strict father but had an infinitely sweet mother? Maybe the stage is our dad. We work hard on stage until it feels like our bodies would break literally. But when we get off stage, we act like kids. Not one friend is rude, and everyone is so kind. When we talk to each other, ther's no difference from when we debuted 11 years ago or when we were trainees.

What are the three things Baekhyun is focusing on these days?

I'm into golf. Out on the golf field, my arms got so tanned, dark enough to leave a watch mark on my wrist. I feel very relieved when I go rounding and see the open space. The second one is the direction of the vocals. And for the third, I was going to say exercise but I'm going to change that. (Kim) Jong-kook, whom I became close with through workouts, said, "It's time for you to focus on your back." But hip workouts are too hard. Haha. The last one is EXO's comeback. We will return as soon as possible with a high-quality album this year.

Source

[melodie-fleur]

Ink and Memory: The Spellbound Tales of Schérie Marie–Rose

Brief information about her, Schérie Marie–Rose.

December 31, 1988

Schérie Marie-Rose had a peculiar way of greeting the dawn. Her eyes would flutter open just as the first sliver of light pierced through the ancient shutters of their small, creaky house. The air was crisp and cool, carrying with it the faint scent of freshly baked bread wafting from the local boulangerie. A gentle pattern of distant church bells and early morning chirps serenaded the quiet streets of Sceaux-d’Anjou, France. She was born into this quiet town on December 31, 1988, a surprise package left at the doorstep of a bookstore that would become her home and her legacy.

A stranger, but also her grandfather, Jean-Pierre, was a stoic man whose love for books was matched only by his unspoken affection for her. He had discovered Schérie as a baby, wrapped in a blanket with a handwritten note pinned to her chest, the ink smudged with what he assumed were tears. The note was simple, yet profound.

“Je suis désolé. Prends soin d’elle. Elle est destinée à de grandes choses.” ────୨ৎ──── Trans: “Take care of her. She is destined for great things.”

It was a mystery that lingered, one that fueled Schérie’s curiosity about her origins, but also her determination to live up to the expectations of the unknown person who had entrusted her to Jean-Pierre.

Jean-Pierre had been a widower for years, the loss of his wife leaving an unfillable void in his heart. But Schérie’s unexpected arrival brought a spark back to his eyes. He named her after a character from a favorite book, a symbol of hope and beauty in a story filled with shadows. Together, they grew, Jean-Pierre sharing his vast knowledge of literature, and Schérie devouring it, her imagination blooming with every page turned.

The bookstore, a quaint sanctuary of dusty tomes and whispered stories, became their world. It was nestled in the heart of the town, a place where locals gathered for both solace and wisdom. Schérie grew up among the stacks, her curiosity leading her down aisles of adventure, romance, and history. Jean-Pierre taught her the art of bookkeeping and the gentle dance of storytelling. Each book was a friend, a silent companion that whispered secrets of the world beyond their small-town existence.

March 15, 2008

Schérie’s days were filled with the rhythmic sound of turning pages and the scent of ink and aged paper. Her grandfather, a man of few words but boundless patience, would often find her curled up in a cozy corner, her nose buried in a book. He’d smile, knowing she’d found a new friend, and leave her to her adventures. Their bond grew stronger with each passing year, the bookstore acting as both a shelter from the outside world and a gateway to countless others.

But as Schérie approached adulthood, the whispers of the bookstore’s patrons grew louder. They spoke of her grandfather’s declining health, and she felt the weight of their stares as they glanced at her with a mix of pity and concern. Jean-Pierre, ever the stoic guardian, brushed off their worries, insisting that his spirit was as youthful as the day he found her. But Schérie knew the truth. The lines on his face had grown deeper, his steps more tentative, and the spark in his eyes had begun to fade.

One autumn evening, as the leaves danced in the chilly breeze outside, Jean-Pierre called her to his study. He handed her a worn, leather-bound book with a sense of finality that chilled her to the bone.

“Schérie, ma chérie,” he said, his voice trembling slightly, “Cette librairie est bien plus qu’une simple entreprise. C’est un héritage. Et maintenant, elle est à vous.” ────୨ৎ──── Trans: “This bookstore is more than just a business. It’s a legacy. And now, it’s yours.”

The realization that she would soon be the sole keeper of the bookstore’s fate filled Schérie with a mix of pride and dread. She had always known it would be her responsibility, but the moment had arrived sooner than she had ever imagined. Jean-Pierre’s health had been declining rapidly, and the doctor had given him only a few months to live. She took the book, feeling its weight in her hands, and promised to honor his wish.

Over the next few months, Schérie learned more than she ever had about the bookstore. Jean-Pierre shared stories of its history, the people who had passed through its doors, and the books that had changed their lives. He spoke of the power of words and the sanctuary that books could provide in even the darkest of times. As he grew weaker, Schérie felt his strength seep into her, fueling her resolve to keep the bookstore alive.

June 10, 2015

The day Jean-Pierre passed, Schérie felt as if a page had been torn from her own story. The bookstore, now her responsibility, was filled with the echoes of his wisdom and love. With a heavy heart, she closed the door behind her for the first time without him. The town mourned with her, their whispers of sympathy and admiration for her grandfather’s dedication to knowledge echoing in her ears.

In the quiet months that followed, Schérie found solace in the very books that had been her grandfather’s companions. They spoke to her of resilience and courage, of characters who had overcome great losses to find their place in the world. She read by candlelight, the flickering flames casting shadows that danced across the book-lined walls, her thoughts as vast and varied as the stories she consumed.

As the seasons changed, so did the town of Sceaux-d’Anjou. The once-lively streets grew quieter, the chatter of tourists replaced by the solemn whispers of locals who had come to rely on the warmth of the bookstore. Schérie knew she had to act to ensure the bookstore’s survival. With a steely determination, she rolled up her sleeves and set to work, her grandfather’s spirit guiding her every move.

© W R I T T E N B Y N Y X

[dimilethfever]

CuriousCat Answers

Q - Is there a minimum for the gifts art-wise? Like sketch/color?

A - For art, the minimum is a complete flat-colored or black-and-white filled sketch. (And for anyone who has the same question for fics: the fic minimum is a completed fic of at least 1000 words.) You can find the full details on assignment requirements on the assignments page

Treats have no minimum requirement and can be drabbles or rough unfilled sketches. (If you want to do multiple related sketches to fill your assignment, only one of them needs to fill the assignment requirements - the others can be considered treats even if you post them in the same work.)

Q - Do the tags or the offer text matter more for offers?

A - Short answer: both matter. We love matchmaking and our goal is to pair every request up with someone who'll be delighted by it.

Long answer: Under the cut

Long answer: Your tags define the pool of requests your offer CAN match to. For example, if in the Relationships field you offer only M!Byleth, your offer will ONLY ever match to prompts that include M!Byleth. If you only offer SFW (T), you cannot match to a request that's only requesting NSFW, though you may match to someone who's requesting either T or E. The same goes for additional tags--unless one of your offered tags is in the request, we will never match you to that request. (Even if you said in your offer text that you'd be happy to write/draw the thing requested, the AO3 interface physically will not allow the match.)

When we run initial matching, AO3 auto-generates matches based on tags. We then manually review those matches to check that each one actually seems like a good fit--this is where the request and offer text comes in. When we find a match that doesn't seem like a good fit--say a canonverse request with angst tags and an offer that talks about loving fluff and modern AUs--we'll try to find both sides a better match.

As much as we can, we try to optimize the matches so that everyone gets a prompt that's right up their alley. When a request has a strong theme--say BDSM with sub Dimitri, or cheesy Hallmark AU, or dark war prize AU--we'll first look for a match that's enthusiastically offering those themes. If there's something you're excited to create, tell us!

Q - Why are you using a CuriousCat on Tumblr???

A - We're multiplatform.