#do you know the angst potential? there’s so much

[bumblingbabooshka]

No bc why the hell was Tuvok SO ride or die for this random lady who was gonna lobotomize B'Elanna he SUCKS I love him so much Tuvok focus UP!!!! What are you DOING!!!!! What's your ISSUE!!! HEHEHE Nimira: Prisons are so barbaric. As a perfectly civilized alternative, we've banned negative thoughts as enforced by the lobotomy machine. Tuvok: Honestly? I love what you're doing here. [B'Elanna's kicking and screaming in the background as Janeway tries frantically to get his attention] I think this is a very positive start to something beautiful.

[hanibalistic]

#946C47 | SUN WUKONG.

genre | fluff & angst

word count | 9192

warning | violence, blood, death / potential ooc + not accurate to jttw​

note | thank you for reading!!!

part |one, two, three

Opening your eyes from death was like coming to the surface after being underwater for too long. 

Contrary to popular belief, or at least the way different forms of media presented it, death didn’t feel like anything. 

There was no black space with your floating body or a separate plane of existence where you could walk on shallow water toward an afterlife. There was simply nothing, and that 'nothing' lacked nothingness. It was blank. It was a time skip.

The last thing you remember was closing your eyes on the ground, and the first thing you remember was that you died. Nothing happened in between the two memory spots. Your mind and body were dormant, like a computer shut off. 

The first sign of life from death was obnoxious and demanding.

Your ears cleared, but every sound around you fought to be noticed by your newly awakened brain that hearing immediately became an overwhelming action. 

Your eyes regained sight, but they hurt to use, like the permanent feeling of the sun in your eyes or an invisible eyelash falling inside. 

Your limbs moved regularly when you didn't think about it and stopped when you did, which you figured made sense. You never thought long and hard about moving your body parts before you died. When you walk, you walk.

Your breathing—the worst was retaking your first breath. Your body has been rid of everything human during your death. The motion to return those characteristics, such as blood flow and the traveling of air, was as uncomfortable as breaking out of a life-threateningly bad habit, as claustrophobic as suffocating yourself with a pillow.

But mostly, it was painful. It reminded you of being impaled by Wukong's staff; the jolt of pain and the sharp gasps were familiar. 

“Woah! Easy there, mortal!” 

Bajie stood up, his rake supporting his weight as he grabbed the gourd by his hooves.

Your eyes rolled up and down, opened and closed without a recognizable pattern. Your mouth remained open since your mind was forcing you to suck in big gulps of oxygen as if it was trying to nail into your body that it was alive and functioning again.

Drool dripped down the corner of your lips as a result, and you whined through each agonizing inhale, which lasted much shorter than your exhales because you were desperate to leave the pain where it resided in your lungs.

Resurrection gripped you by the neck and took you for a fly. Bajie didn't need to see the repercussions to know your mortal soul rejected being brought back from the dead. He figured it would happen before you even woke up. It was punishing you, and your body couldn't fight back. Unfortunately, he has no spell powerful enough to elevate your humanity to the point of enduring celestial phenomena. 

“Here, drink some water,” Bajie urged by shoving the gourd at your chin. “It’ll clear your senses.” 

He stepped closer to you and tipped the gourd up, letting the water pour inside your mouth. You angled your head upward to swallow the fresh liquid better, relishing the much-needed hydration. Peering at Bajie's familiar face, relieved tears welled in your eyes before you closed them to focus on chugging the fresh river water. 

He noticed them and chose to remain silent. Dying was never a trivial matter, and neither was resurrection. It was a destined matter, but nonetheless significant and, to some, traumatic.

Although he would have never cried, whined, or writhed, he understood why you did, and that was no insult to your humanity. It was a deduction made based on the experience of a mortal. 

Not a mere mortal, just a mortal. 

"Thank you," you managed after you finished panting from the massive water intake. 

“You’re welcome.” Bajie sat down with a sigh. “I have to say, it is nice to hear your voice again after so long.”

You looked at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

"You have been dead for more than five weeks. We tried to keep your body within the incense veil of the Keeper's Shrine to accelerate the process, but that was proven unsuccessful. We thought you were gone for good, kid!" he explained. 

Brows slightly raised with intrigue, you nodded. You haven't the faintest idea how these things work in their reality, so you've got nothing worthwhile to say. "How long does it usually take someone to return from the dead?"

"Resurrection usually doesn't take this long. Not even for the mortals of this world," he said. 

“As I suspected,” you muttered before letting a groan escape. “I need the immortality to get out of my body now!”

Bajie snickered. “That’s a wish I don’t hear often!”

“Yeah, well, I am not fond of living for a long time,” you said. “Life is hard enough as it is. There is no point in extending the suffering.” 

You looked down at your hands. A flicker of your home sped before your eyes, and you sighed gently, squeezing and releasing the tension in your fingers. You wondered how much time you’ve lost over there, if you’ve missed any holidays, or important notices from your professors or employers. Were your friends worried? You hoped they didn’t think you’d ghosted them.

“I just want to live a good life. A normal one,” you said. “I don’t want anything grand. Food on the table, a roof over my head, enough clothes…” You leisurely looked up at the trees. “I can learn how to find the tiny things in life enjoyable. That’s not a problem for me.”

Bajie’s smile was arched downward, almost as if he thought you were disagreeable. But there was one thing he knew for sure: he was right. You were no mere mortal. There was nothing mere about you.

“I’m curious,” you started suddenly. “How fast is resurrection for someone who’s not a human?”

"If Wukong were to lose one of his seventy-two lives, he'd return in the blink of an eye,” he explained. “That's the only reason why I haven't tried to kill him to cease his chatterbox of a mouth!"

“Are you sure it’s not because you can’t kill him?” you chuckled airily, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your arms on top. “He is stronger than you.”

"Facts do not equal the truth," he said. "He is stronger than me, but that does not make my inability to defeat him the truth." 

“I just woke up, Bajie.” You pressed a hand to your eyes and rubbed them. “Must you speak so strangely?”

“You should learn how to speak more eloquently.”

"If I talked like that in my world, people would make fun of me." 

"Gah! Your world is full of dimwits," he scoffed. "I care not for their opinion."

You stared at him with a smirk, then nodded in agreement. You thought the same at some point, so you've decided not to argue with him. 

"Where is everyone?" You looked around. The Keeper's Shrine was full of incense, and the forest remained as you last saw it. 

“Wukong went on a walk if he’s who you’re looking for.”

You pursed your lips, feeling heat rush to the bottom of your neck at his assumption. He wasn’t entirely wrong, though. You wanted to know where Wukong was—you wanted to see him, especially after the incident that caused your death. It was his weapon that killed you, but you wanted him to know you didn’t blame him for it. 

“I was asking about everybody.” 

“There is no need to deceive me,” Bajie snorted. “He told us what happened the night you died.”

“I was right, wasn’t I?” you muttered, dipping your chin into your forearm. You remembered what happened, so you could still recall when Wukong fell to his knees from the headache Sanzang caused. 

"My Master considers you a hindrance to our journey to retrieve the scriptures. We've had to diverge from the original path to seek hidden temples, and you weren't exactly handling the soul-sucking process well. It was time-consuming, and he thought we had set aside our primary goal of obtaining the scriptures.

Although, make no mistake, my Master is virtuous, especially to humans. But pinning the scriptures against you, he prioritizes the scriptures. 

“He thought when the opportunity presents itself, we should not save you from yaoguais. That isn’t to say we cannot protect you from them, only that we should ease off on trying to keep you from dying.”

You rolled your teeth over your bottom lip, the stinging pain in your eyes conjured by your focused stare on the floor. 

Bajie provided you with the clarity you have been asking for. A question regarding whether Sanzang has changed his mind due to what happened fell silent on your tongue once your mind realized its obvious answer—no, he has not changed his opinion about you. 

As a monk with values, who is true to his religion, he cannot change his opinion about you so long as you continue to hinder their journey. 

You weren't so much angry at Sanzang for what he did than you were conflicted. He wasn't off your hook, obviously. There would be undeniable caution toward him from now on.

However, you understood his choices. He has principles that he stood by, and you respected him for that, even though, at times, you thought he was more of a slave than a follower of those rules.

“I just wish he came clean with how he felt about me instead of avoiding it,” you said. “We could have worked something out. I am willing to make accommodations.”

“I don’t believe he thought you strong enough.”

“Must I be?” 

Bajie was taken aback. His eyes gave him away, as did the clearing of his throat. He never thought about that. "Well, I–"

“It doesn’t matter," you cut off.

“If something has to happen–for the greater good, I suppose–then it shall happen regardless of my ability. I will always be human, and I will always be unlikely to defeat a monster ten times my size. That is it. My weakness is a factual statement. But… people will always suffer under the hands of destiny. What must happen can't not just because I'm too ill to handle it.

"I will continue to not be strong enough, and I will fulfill my goal while so.”

"Hmph," Bajie scoffed after a moment. There was a hint of laughter in it. He realized that you’ve forgotten an important lesson he taught you: fact does not make truth. But, he supposed there was value in your humble ignorance. “That’s the most grown-up thing I've ever heard you say."

“Thanks,” you laughed. “I learn from the best.”

"Flattery doesn't work on me, kid!" he exclaimed dismissively. "Now go find your monkey! He should be with Sanzang, taking a stroll somewhere. He'll be glad to see you!"

“Who? The monk or the monkey?”

“You know who!”

You carefully got up from the ground. Bajie watched your legs wobble briefly as you rekindled your motor functions. Slowly and steadily, you stepped away from the protection of the Keeper's Shrine, and you halfheartedly threw a peace sign in response to Bajie warning you to be aware of yaoguais.

You tried to be more aware of your surroundings as you traveled through the forest, but the sun was warm on your face, and the ground was solid beneath your feet. 

You never thought you would think this, but you were happy to feel alive again. 

It felt like summer. Your bloodied sweater was likely abandoned at the place of your death. You didn’t mind that; it wasn’t expensive, and the weather didn’t call for it. 

Every heavy step involved planning a proper reaction to finding Wukong and Sanzang. You would be glad to see them again, but you weren't sure if they felt the same. Sanzang probably wouldn't, and the last time you checked, Wukong wasn't happy about your confrontations.

It’d be best to eliminate any possible instances of awkwardness. 

After what felt like a half an hour's walk, you stopped moving forward to rest your legs. Bajie said they shouldn't be far, yet you haven't heard a trace of motion anywhere near. 

Brows furrowed, with sweat stuck to your skin, you looked around at the trees and bushes littered everywhere in the forest. None have defining features that help you determine where or how far you've gone. You stepped to the side, the friction between the ground and the bottom of your shoes ridiculously vibrant in your ear. 

Perking your head down at your feet, your gaze hardened as your ears zeroed in on the environment. Nothing. The cicadas have vanished, the leaves were not blowing, the bushes ceased their rustles, and there was no dancing breeze.

This part of the forest has become silent, and you've learned that it means a predator is lurking. 

Pinching the hem of your shirt, you held your breath in your throat as a wavering fear crept around your head like a shadow phasing in and out of sunlight—there was no way. You couldn’t be fooled twice by a yaoguai, could you? The forest housed a variety of creatures and animals. It could just be a grizzly bear! 

“Tang Sanzang!”

You flinched at the piercing holler, your hands flying up to your head to take cover until you recognized it screamed a familiar name. With bated breath, your arms fell to your sides, and you spun toward the voice. It sounded everywhere around you, an echo throughout the forest, but you recalled seeing where the birds flew from where they were hiding in the trees. 

They wouldn't fly toward the sound of danger, so you should go in the opposite direction. 

You jogged, ignoring each stumble at uneven grounds until you eventually came across a spacious field. 

An abandoned building stood destroyed as if a terrible storm had blown a hole through it. It had collapsed into itself, leaving no room to check for its interior. In front of the house was an unkept grass field flattened and charred haphazardly by what you could only assume was a forest fire. 

The sun shone down like a spotlight at the one you’ve been looking for—Sun Wukong, in the flesh, standing with his waist slightly bent and a desperate expression on his face.

You opened your mouth as you walked forward. You stopped when you almost tripped on something soft, your feet flying up and stomping on the ground behind you to catch yourself.

Instinctively glancing at the blockage, you gasped aloud when you saw the one-eyed yaoguai at your feet. Its mouth opened with an unreleased scream, and blood stained like tears down its eye.

The sunlight panned across the grass field at your attention, an example of your mind clearing out spaces for other things besides Wukong. That was when you finally saw them—the dead bodies. Multiple lifeless bodies were lit atop the bladed grass—your eyes widened at the soaking red grass tips, and then you glanced up at Wukong.

"Why can't you just do this one thing for me!" Wukong screamed at his Master. He pressed a hand to his chest, willing his nails to cut through his body into his heart. "I killed all these yaoguais! I'm going rogue again! I'm becoming a hindrance! You have to punish me. It's your responsibility!"

Sanzang stared woefully at Wukong’s desperation. His hand remained under his chin in preparation, but he did not grant Wukong’s masochistic wish. 

Sensing the monk's unwillingness to cast the spell, Wukong bit his lower lip, a frustrated redness doubling across his face. He gritted his teeth and pressed his nails to his head, digging into the flesh enough to draw blood. He hooked his fingers around the gold fillet and didn't try to take it off. He only pretended to because he knew he needed it now more than ever. 

"Master, please!" he begged through a hoarse scream. "You were willing! When [Name] was–"he gasped through an irritated growl– "when they were dying! You were willing to let them suffer! You chose to punish them because you thought them an obstacle! I've become one, too, yet you won't punish me! How dare you!"

“You let me kill them! You left that on my conscience!” Wukong accused, but his finger pointed at himself more times than it did Sanzang. 

This wasn’t the outcome Sanzang desired when he let you die. 

Wukong hadn't been impatient about your resurrection; he was hopeless. If he were told how long it'd take for your body to return, he would have waited earnestly by your side, holding your shell close and keeping it warm. But he wasn't warned about the unpredictable duration, and you never woke up. 

He thought you were gone and spiraled back into his beastly nature.

However, Sanzang knew very quickly that the descension to madness was deliberate. Wukong was still clever and disciplined. He still retained what was taught throughout the journey before your sudden emergence. 

This murderous spree was not a marker of his return to how he used to be—the supremely arrogant and destructive monkey who nobody trusted or liked. It was a cry for condemnation, a plead to be retributed.

Wukong killed you, so someone else should kill him, too. He can suffer no pain but yours.

Sanzang read him like an open book. Unfortunately, giving in to what he wanted would only reinforce the behavior, so he stepped back and refused to spell, no matter how much bloodshed he caused.

"Wukong..."

"No! You're not listening to me!" The monkey groaned into his hands before harshly rubbing his palm down his face. "What more must I destroy? When will you be satisfied, Master?" 

"I am not satisfied by your behavior, Wukong. Understand me," Sanzang said. "I simply will not stand to let you guilt me into hurting you."

"You've already done that," Wukong spat.

"You cannot truly be bothered by this, can you?" Sanzang questioned. "The immortal peach has been consumed. Trust nothing else but the product of the celestial garden. Their death is not definitive."

"They're still dead!"

"Then I suppose they are."

A fiery sensation burned behind Wukong's eyes and painted Sanzang red. The staff appeared in his hand, still uncleaned with the scent of your blood, and he abruptly lunged at the monk, who took the unplanned bait and immediately began to chant the fillet-tightening spell.

Wukong fell to the ground but didn't squirm or writhe as much as usual. Exhausted pants escaped his lips, and he drilled his head against the floor, his eyes squeezed shut as he leaned his senses into the agony. When he looked up at Sanzang again, his body barely able to move at his will, he managed a triumphant smirk.

"Is this what... I must do...?" he gritted out, "I... I have to perform the bottom of the barrel... for you... my Master... to grant me just a little mercy!" 

Sanzang pursed his lips in disdain. "You push the limits of my tolerance, you blasted monkey."

Your gaze hardened at the familiar insult you remembered reading in the book. Their conversation didn't provide any context to the argument, but you could tell Wukong had done something forbidden, and Sanzang was punishing him. 

After Sanzang's voice fell, Wukong finally started to exhibit signs of discomfort as he scratched at his fillet. You never knew if the spell could adjust the tightness of the fillet, but it seemed Wukong couldn't handle the pain quietly anymore. 

His cries filled your ears, making you wince. It wasn’t that the novel didn’t describe it well enough or the actors had lousy acting. The reality of the band-tightening spell was simply much more painstaking.

You quickly stepped over the dead yaoguai to run toward him. Your knees gave out when you were near Wukong, and you fell, your palms scraping the dirt. You ignored the mild pain and scrambled over. You grabbed onto him and pulled him to your chest, a hand over his shoulder and the other at his hand, and then you snapped up at Sanzang, your brows furrowed with anger.

"That's enough! Stop hurting him!" you shouted, tears rolling down your face uncontrollably. You didn't think you were particularly upset, only that Wukong's cries affected you like most people's agony. Or, perhaps you were just afraid you couldn't convince Sanzang to stop.

"He understands. He won't do it again, whatever it is. He gets it, so just stop!"

Sanzang looked at you, his voice trailing off to a pause. You gulped nervously, your hands squeezing Wukong closer to your side as if that was any help. You looked at Sanzang like he's a cautionary tale, eyes cowering but gaze unwavering—confronting him bravely and silently, watching him like he's a demon but cradling Wukong like the opposite. 

"You're back." He glimpsed at Wukong, whose ear pressed against your chest. "Please return to the Keeper's Shrine by sundown. The night is dangerous."

Walking away from your fallen figures, he untied his horse by the tree and left, holding on to the rope, slowly strolling further away from the bloodbath on the floor. 

You gritted your teeth into a frown as a hand clumsily wiped at your wet eye. Confusion tinkered above your head like floating question marks at Sanzang's attitude. Undoubtedly, he wouldn't express much excitement considering his present grudge, but you thought he almost looked relieved. Not because you resurrected but because Wukong has finally calmed down. 

He stared at the grass with his arms around your waist, silently waiting as the world calmed around you. His hands no longer trembled as they did—an initial reaction to your sudden presence. Dry eyes made wet by trapped tears and bare neck made hot from a veiny and sour sensation, he relished even the fabric of your shirt against his skin. 

Your heart palpitated irregularly, and Wukong suffered gentle panic from that. Discarding the logic that your heart was responding to the worrisome event just now unfolded, your racing heartbeat filled his head with unhinged outcomes that served to take you from him again. 

There were no yaoguais around; he's murdered them all. Those who were smart had fled long before the altercation with Sanzang. The bugs whispered in their home, and nature resumed its daily wandering, moving leaves and blowing breezes. 

The longer you embraced on the floor, letting the sun kiss you warm, the more you relaxed. The world felt brighter than before, and your stillness in each other conveyed feelings hidden snuggly within the thousand words your exhausted bodies couldn't express. 

Your heart began to slow down to how a human heart was meant to beat: soft and steady. Alive. He wasn't entirely human, but Wukong thought his heart moved in identical shapes. He measured yours and matched it with his own, his senses isolating and gathering to hear inside your chest and his body, an overdramatic calculation to further prove to himself that you were alive. 

But his relief traversed your aliveness. It was a much-needed release from remorse. It was vindication. You being here was permission for him to stop physically and emotionally tormenting himself. You being here, hugging him so gently, unlike his feared expectations, where you'd flinch away because your memories wrote that he was your killer—your endearing hands spoke: you can stop punishing yourself. You no longer have to pay for a sin you thought you committed. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry it went down like that.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” You shook your head. “I don’t blame you. Honestly, I don’t think I blame Sanzang either.”

Perhaps nobody is the problem. One thing merely led to another. If one backtracks too much, one would end up at the wall of God's home, and it just wasn't possible for him to take the fall for everything. 

“How do you feel?” he asked. 

“Hm?” You glanced at him, the gaps of your fingers decorated with the rough fur atop his head. “What?”

“Are you well?” he rephrased. 

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“That’s good.” It was barely audible.

“What about you?” you asked. “Are you okay?”

Wukong felt the shape of your waist on his palm. Solid, pudgy, human. 

“Yes,” he replied. “I’m okay.”

Wukong joked that you should exercise more, and you reluctantly agreed. 

Instead of using the Nimbus cloud for faster travel, you and Wukong decided to walk back to Keeper’s Shrine together. It was an opportunity to reconcile, and since there wasn’t much to catch up on about you being stuck in a void, you gave him space to discuss the recent downward spiral of his mentality. 

He tip-toed around the notion that he descended into total abandon after your death. A core part of himself that was so carefully nurtured by years of religious practices and those around him was gone just from you closing your eyes. Even someone like him could understand the significance of that, the significance of you. 

You read between the lines and didn't say anything. Instead, you changed the topic. You shifted to talking about trees, specifically about climbing them. 

“I want to say–“ you paused briefly to reach a hand up for the tree branch above your head– “you are part monkey, so climbing a tree is an ability built into you at birth.” 

"It remains that I can climb a tree with ease, and you cannot," he retorted, peering down at you leisurely from above, where he laid cross-armed on the tree branch you were trying (and failing) to get to.

His snarky remark didn't motivate you. It wasn't his intention to anyway, as he flashed you a mischievous grin when you clicked your tongue and glared at him. His tail danced below the branch, taunting you by curling and uncurling, creating the illusion of a support hook and taking it away. You heaved a sigh; you wouldn't have grabbed his tail to pull yourself up anyway.

"You know–"He sat up, his legs dangling over and his waist bent down to lean toward you. "You really need to train the muscles in your arms."

"Tsk. I bet you don't even know the anatomically accurate terms for the muscles," you muttered and then peeked away when you realized neither did you know them. "Shut up if you're not going to help me!"

Wukong laughed, but it sounded like a holler. Slapping a hand to his knee and staring at you with a gaze you shouldn’t trust, he pursed his lips and agreed. He extended his arm out for you to hold.

Brief words of encouragement (to receive his help, not to climb the tree) had to file out of his mouth for a few seconds before you decided he was trustworthy enough.

You sucked in a deep breath in preparation. Gripping the tree branch extra tightly with one hand, you let go of the other hand and pulled yourself up with all your might to grab onto Wukong. But he retracted his arm abruptly, leaving you to scramble the air with your fingertips.

You gasped, your forearm clumsily curling around the branch for your safety, your brows furrowing, and a string of scolding words ready at your opened mouth.

“Sun Wukong!” His shameless laughter drowned out your words. “I could have died!”

He paused immediately. The speed of the emotional shift was eerie. You awkwardly folded your upper lip between your teeth and shrunk your head between your shoulders at his widened, disbelieving eyes. You hadn't meant to say that. It wasn't retaliation. You said it because it made sense—if you fall from the height of this tree, you'll die. 

“How could you joke about that?” Wukong whispered, and then he turned away dramatically, with the back of his palm against his forehead and the other wiping an invisible tear from his eye. “I told you how much I went through when I thought you were dead. You know how much you mean to me!”

It took you a moment. When you realized he was fooling around—still—you rolled your eyes. 

“Haha, very funny.” You blew a large knot of air out of your mouth. “Help me up, damn it! Stop being annoying!”

He jolted at your shrill voice. A sneer crept onto his face, but when he reached for you again, he held your arm and swiftly hoisted you upward into the empty spot beside him. His hand hovered before your body as you adjusted to the seat.

"See? That wasn't so hard," you mused when you were done.

"You're being dramatic."

You chuckled through pursed lips, which made you sound triumphant. Looking over at him, your eyes squinted knowingly, you pointed out, "You remember what happened the last time you told me I was being dramatic, right?"

"Oh dear," he groaned, closing his eyes tightly and facing skyward with his hands on his head as if he were airing out his grievances to Heaven. "I'm never going to live that down, will I?”

"Not until I leave this place."

Wukong opened his eyes slowly. 

Sky blue is a blinding color, or perhaps the Sun. He never cared to know. He didn't look up too much because of all the enemies who lived there. But he became curious recently. You made him curious. He wondered if your sky was as difficult to observe as his.

“What do you plan to do when you go back?” he asked.

It wasn’t something you thought about until he asked. Everyone was working to find a way to bring you home. Erlang Shen has, surprisingly, sent you a few update letters on his progress, occasionally requesting a written reply to gather more information.

You never thought it was an impossible feat; if there’s a way for you to arrive here, there’s a way for you to leave. But the operation completely slipped your mind these days. 

"Eat an actual meal?" you slurred from a pout. "Sandwiches, french fries, ice cream…" A faux, tearful sob choked up your throat as your eyes squeezed, and you covered your head with your hands. "I'll kill for a can of Pringles even."

“It sounds like you miss home a lot,” he commented. 

“Not really.” A disagreeing scrunch showed up briefly on your face as you shrugged. “Outside of the food, a select group of people… and the internet, I guess. I don’t think I miss it that much.”

Wukong nodded. Unlike you, he’s obsessively thought about your departure since Erlang Shen began sending letters to you through any form of a flight animal. He understood there wasn’t anything more to think about. Any emotional obstacles he encountered have been dissected and analyzed so thoroughly that, at this point, he was merely recycling his thoughts and worrying himself. 

How wonderful would it be if you decided not to leave? If there wasn't anything you missed, why couldn't you stay? But he knew better than to ask you of such a huge favor—abandoning your life, leaving all that you've built behind, discarding your potential to be greater over there than here. For him or not, he couldn't ask you to do that, and he wouldn't. 

His head was lowered, and his eyes fixated on his lap to avoid showing the microchanges in his expressions. But you weren't looking at him. When he discreetly turned to you, you were staring at the sky.

Contentment filled the air around you; you seemed to enjoy the view as if you never got to properly look at the blueness back where you came from. He smiled to himself and faced forward. 

Whatever time you’ve got left with each other. Months, weeks, days, or even just hours—Wukong considers all seconds of it destiny. 

He understood if something has to happen, then it shall.

“I’m going to miss you,” he said. 

You widened your eyes faintly and turned to him. 

His confession was unexpected. It was well-received because you somewhat returned the sentiment. When you leave, Wukong's world, full of magic and adventures, won't remind him of you. But your world full of stories and sculptures would always remind you of him. Rather than missing him, you supposed you would think of him a lot. 

“I’m going to think of you,” you returned.

He smirked briefly and fiddled with his thumbs, letting the silence eat away at the end of that conversation before he opened his mouth to speak again. 

“I’m still sorry,” he muttered, “about everything.”

It wasn't lost on you how groundbreaking it was that a character designed to be as arrogant as Wukong opened his mouth to apologize to you. You honestly didn't think you cared too much about what happened. The void didn't make you suffer. You fell asleep and then woke up—the process of them was painful but not enough to justify a grudge. 

“过去已成往事,” you said. “Water under the bridge.”

Wukong raised a brow, a somewhat impressed hum sounding from his throat. “How many idioms did that pig teach you?”

"He didn't teach me. He just says it a lot."

"He does. Sometimes, I pretend I understand what he's saying, not to give him satisfaction. Wukong scoffed, the hair on his body almost trembling in distaste. "Oh, by the way," he said through a sharp inhale and sat up. "What is Pringles?"

“Oh! Uh, it’s a brand of chips, but you don’t know that.” You held up your hand and pressed your fingers into a thin line. “It’s about this big. Depending on the flavor, it can be salty, spicy, or even sweet–“ you inhaled before returning to your previous mourning position– “Oh my god, I might actually kill for a single Pringles chip.”

Wukong scoffed and crossed his arms. “You can’t even climb a tree.”

“Hey, strength is not the only factor that makes up a killer,” you argued. “There’s motivation. There’s, uh, cleverness, calmness, wit–“

“Out of all four of them, you only have one,” he mused, leaning toward your face. “And it’s none of the latter ones.”

You smiled sarcastically before abruptly slapping a hand to his shoulder, surprisingly shoving him off the tree branch. A gasp ripped through your mouth, and you covered it. Carefully but quickly, you leaned your torso forward to glance at the ground. 

There wasn't a shadow of Wukong anywhere, which didn't make sense. The tree was tall, but it wasn't giant. You were still able to get a clear view of the ground! Either he has a secret hidden power of teleportation that he never told you about, even though it might have been handy in furthering the process of finding your way home, or he whisked himself away at the last second and went into hiding to prank you.

Couldn't say you missed those pranks, really.

"I know you better than believing you would fall to your death, Wukong, so come out–gasp!”

A sharp wind cut over your hair as the Ryui Jingu Bang extended in length at lightning speed. The leaves around you shifted, opening doors to let the sun in. 

Wukong, crouching on the top of his weapon with impeccable balance, was elevated to your face level. He grinned with amusement as he waited for you to slowly reveal yourself from your forearms, which covered your face from the gusts of wind just now. You opened your eyes to see him; under the sunlight, he thought they looked whimsical like water. 

"Hey," he greeted, bringing a hand off his knee to softly flick the tip of your nose with his fingers. "You know, I wish you would still worry about me a little, even though you know I'm competent."

"I do worry," you said. "I'll worry about you for a long time."

He whistled playfully. "For a long time?"

When you leave, there is no knowing how much chaos he'll cause and how much he'll suffer from it. You never wanted him to suffer, so you worry—you worry a great deal. 

You worry about him, and you are afraid for him. You grieve for him, and you cheer for him. Here or there, together or separate, it'll all be for him.

"Yes," you confirmed.

Wukong grinned. It was silly, but his heart knocked with an irregular rhythm, and he was both flustered and bitter. 

“Come on,” he reached a hand out, “let’s head back.”

You stared at him dubiously before taking his invite. He carefully tugged at your arm, and you let him, maneuvering your body to allow him more accessible access to pull you to his chest. His hand went under your knees, holding you sturdy, and you didn't bother to hold onto him for extra stability.

“Hey, you know–“ you looked up at his chin–“the last time you held me like this, I asked about those dreams you had of me. You still haven’t told me anything about that.”

He grimaced. He still didn’t plan to. 

Wukong didn't want to leave you alone with Sanzang, but under Bajie's physically violent persuasion (repeatedly knocking his back with a rake), he caved and went with everyone else to the nearby river for some water.

You weren't nervous because you knew it wasn't a confrontation. There was nothing serious the monk had to confront you with; you didn't count his opinion of you being incompetent and weak as a subject of a confrontation. His problem with you being a hindrance to their journey was but his speculation.

His feelings were valid, but they were also of his own making.

Sitting across from him by the fireplace, you remained silent and waited for him to speak. He didn't look at you. Either he didn't want to, or he felt too awkward. You didn't mind. His white horse, all curled up a few feet behind him, was a sight for sore eyes.

"Erlang Shen sent us a letter."

"Oh?" You perked up. It has been a while since you last received news from him.

"They think they've found a way to bring you home, and he has requested that you go back to test the method."

Jaw dropping slowly at the surprising news, you managed a few absentminded nods before looking down at the ground. 

Your shoes weren't new anymore. They were stained with dirt, dried petals, blood, and barely scraped-off substances. The bottom of it felt thin because of all the walking you've done. Perhaps you were wrong. The first thing you'd do when you return should be to get a new pair of shoes.

"I've been here long enough," you said. It was a thought that resulted from your shoes, perhaps. "They're bound to figure something out one of these days."

"I agree." Sanzang nodded. "Except, there is a problem."

You squinted your eyes and squeezed your hands together. It felt like your heart should beat faster, in rage, disappointment, or dissatisfaction, but you were steady as a log and calm as the mountain.

It didn't take him too long to reveal his intention, and you caught on immediately. No wonder he shooed everyone away and requested to speak to you privately. This wasn't a confrontation. This was a request, a shameful request. 

It has been cleared up whether Sanzang hates you, but the solved mystery merely turned into a problem that could only be solved by your departure, which cannot happen until you lose the remainder of your lives.

Sanzang wanted you to deal with your immortality faster.

"I heard from Bajie that you find me bothersome," you said.

His face was still like a rock. He didn't so much as twitch a muscle. If the tension weren't evident, you'd find the time to admire the stoicism.

"How surprising that you didn't figure that out from my actions alone," he said. "But he tells the truth. I do find you bothersome to our original journey."

"You must understand I cannot be faulted."

He paused for a prolonged second, his fixated eyes a loose image of gears turning in his head.

You were correct—to some level, at least. You never asked to be here; teleportation was beyond your control. You never asked to consume the immortal peach; even he cannot blame you for falling for that insolent monkey's many tricks. You never asked to undergo excruciating pain; your human body would never be fit for magical trials.

Nothing was your fault, except everything was because you're here. Everything happened because you're here. It may not be your intention to be here, but you were—results trump intentions. That has always been the curse. 

"You are not at fault, yes," Sanzang said. "But I blame you still. Just for being here, for being the clog that springs it all to life."

“But… that is not the only problem," Sanzang said.

You rolled your eyes and groaned, giving him a pointed raise of your brows to continue.

"You distract Wukong."

"That–" You poked your tongue at your inner cheek and squinted curiously. With an acknowledging hum and a sudden position that expressed intrigue in the conversation, you nodded at Sanzang. "Do you know about his dreams?"

It was the first time Sanzang's features ever shifted. He leaned back at your abrupt interest and frowned. "I don't know what you're speaking of."

"Really?" Your voice was low and dubious, but then you remembered Sanzang would, at any given chance, snitch on the blasted monkey he spoke so lowly of, and all your doubts vanished. He would have told you to embarrass the monkey. If he didn't, it was either he really disliked you or was telling the truth.

"He is distracted around you. Less cautious, more naive, and making careless mistakes. It’s as if he's lost his head.”

"Doesn't he always act like that?" you questioned. Walls of texts—blurred texts—from their novel flashed slowly before your eyes, and you faintly shook your head. "Actually… no. Wukong doesn't act like that. You…” The minor accusation fell weakly on your tongue. Your unwillingness to stir trouble made you backtrack, and you sighed. "Never mind."

“He enjoys your presence,” Sanzang said. “Surely, you’ve noticed that.”

"You don't think I got the memo when he fed me the immortal peach?" you grumbled through a sardonic chuckle. "I'm leaving, Sanzang. I shouldn't feed into it."

“How do you feel about him, then?”

Arching your neck to stare him down, you wondered why the monk would be interested in how you felt outside of hoping he'd find leverage against Wukong. It felt like a trap. A normal conversation with him about potentially romantic feelings felt like a trap. But, more importantly, you weren't sure how you felt about him, so you got the perfect excuse not to answer the question. 

“I’m not telling you that,” you replied monotonously. 

“That’s fair.” 

"I also won't force myself to do what you want," you added firmly. "I will try my best at the temples, but if it's physically impossible to continue, I will stop whenever I want. I do not care about your peace. I won't push my limits for you. You'll just have to wait it out."

Silence engulfed the air.

“That’s fair, too,” he replied. 

You have been here long enough to watch the seasons change. 

If you had the exact date, you could tell if Winter already arrived or if it was still late Autumn. To combat the cold, they had brought you to a town mid-journey and bought you a thin cloak. White fur was sewn to the collar to form a makeshift scarf. Those were the only options; you'd rather not freeze in the occasional snow. 

It kept you warm, and it kept you safe. You had pulled it closer around yourself when the Buddha you met this morning notified you that you were rid of your immortality. 

“Can’t sleep?”

You peered up at Wukong, who sat beside you with one leg propped up.

"No," you replied.

"Me neither." He tapped his index finger against his knee. "Oh, by the way, it's not real fur."

"Huh?"

He turned to you and pointed at your cloak, which you then wrapped tighter around yourself.

"I went back to the store to ask. It wasn't the best idea. I nearly scared that old man half to death showing up at his home," he snickered faintly and rubbed the back of his head. He stared at the floor almost bashfully. "I noticed you were doubtful when we got you the cloak. That was the only problem I could think of, so I had to go back and make sure. I just kept forgetting to let you know."

You stared at him, subconsciously reaching up to touch the warm softness around your neck. A smirk played on your face, and you turned away to hide it. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

"No problem," he muttered. "So! Tomorrow, early in the morning, you and I will head back to see that third-eyed freak! I can't say I'm excited to see him ever again! 

You pressed your legs closer to your chest and pursed your lips. Wukong was trying too hard to fill the awkward silence that wasn't meant to be awkward. It was an anxious sadness—the anxiety of experiencing an impending sadness—bottled and replaced by awkwardness. It was a facade. You two just didn't know what to say to each other before the eternal separation. 

A bitter taste developed around your mouth, forcing you to salivate uncomfortably. You swallowed the knots, feeling them drop past your throat and bounce on your heart to make it beat irregularly. 

You enjoyed being around Wukong. If you allowed it, you might even let your feelings for him develop and eventually admit that you liked him. But you didn't allow that, as you've decided to prioritize returning home. 

Nobody accused you of making that choice, not even Wukong. He would never. It was you who felt guilty for choosing to leave, and that still plagued you to this day. 

"I'm so sorry," you said suddenly.

Wukong slowly met your eyes. The confusion initially sitting in them vanished when he saw your furrowed brows and tearful eyes—whimsical like water. He wasn't wrong about that. Panicked, his hands hovered around your face, and he wiggled about, unsure what to do.

"What happened? What did you do?" he asked. "I'm sure you didn't do anything bad. Don't worry, I'll help you, okay? I promise."

You closed your eyes and cried quietly to yourself; flat whimpers, breathy hiccups, tears that were too cold against your cheeks, and comically placed hiccups. Wukong raised his brows, amusement bubbling at the brim of his quirked-up lips upon realizing how ridiculous (just a little!) you appeared. 

"Wukong, I wanna go home, but... but I–I don't want to leave. I don't–gasp, I don't want to leave you." You closed your eyes to squeeze more tears out. "I'm sorry. Maybe I should... I should just stay. I should stay here with you."

"Now, what about your Pringles chip?"

He chuckled when you cried harder at the mention of a past conversation. Putting his hand flat on the ground, he pulled himself closer to you and leaned his torso forward. His free hand gingerly wiped at your face, being extra aware of his sharp nails. You kept crying, and he didn’t feel like he could say anything to make you feel better besides agreeing to your sudden change of decision, but he couldn’t.

"Don't be silly," he said. 

He would be happy to have you stay with him forever, but you didn't want that. You were doubting your decision now because of him because you didn't want to leave him. But Wukong understood more than anyone else that he wasn't the significant marker that made up who you were. 

Your home, your school, your hobbies, your friends, your family, your potential career choice—those things made you who you were. Besides not wanting to be the reason for you making a spur-of-the-moment choice, he also wanted you to be surrounded by what you knew. 

You wouldn't achieve anything great in his world, but you would in yours. You deserve that chance.

"You have to go home," he whispered. "You can finally eat a proper meal. I want you to eat well."

You sniffed. "But I'm never going to see you again.”

His hand paused and hovered around your face. The established consequence felt much more threatening when you said it out loud. He calmed his nerves, pressed his palm against your face, and then urged you to move toward him. You did. Releasing the cloak on your shoulder, you climbed onto his lap and lay on his chest, snuggling close for warmth.

“Yeah, I guess we won’t see each other again,” he muttered, looking ahead at the forest. He tilted his head, inhaling thoughtfully. “I’m okay with that.”

“You are?” Your brows furrowed.

“Not the way you’re thinking!” he exclaimed. “I just… we can’t change that. No matter how much we beg or–“ he looked down at you– “cry, that’s never gonna change. We live in different worlds. We probably weren’t even meant to know each other.”

You threw your head back on his arm and groaned lowly. “Why are you saying all of this now?”

“What? No! I just meant–“ He laughed and pushed your head up so you’d look at him. “You’re going home. You have to go home. If we can’t change the fact that we’ll never see each other again, I guess I’d rather you never forget me.”

“That…” You rolled your eyes. “That won’t be an issue for me, but you!”

“Me?”

“Yes, you! 可以不爱我 但绝不可以忘记我," you said. "You don't have to love me, but don't you dare forget me."

He cracked a smirk. "I do love you." 

"It's for the later future!" you gently exclaimed as your head went slack against his shoulder. “Please don’t get in trouble, Wukong. Don’t get hurt, don’t do anything bad. I want you to live.”

“Oh, I’ll live,” he mused. “Not sure about the other ones, though.”

You knew those were wishful thinking. If his journey went the way the novels detailed, you also knew he would be okay. You weren't sure why you said those things—perhaps you wished him a smooth journey, but that wasn't why people admired him so much. Looking at him, you figured it's okay for him to get hurt occasionally. Hell, he might even deserve it once in a while, but you didn't say that out loud. 

Wukong stared down at your suppressed grin, his hands soft around your limbs to remember their shape.

You didn't know that he would love you for far longer than you'd be here with him.

The Tanghulu almost fell apart when you bit into the strawberry on top. You caught the sugar pieces with your free hand. 

The line leading toward an opened temple continued to move. It was mainly occupied by tourists, at least you believed so. There was hardly any reason for a local to be at a tourist attraction on a regular weekday except for you. You had a reason. 

Taking a broad sweep across the crowded area, you arched your neck to look above the sea of heads at the food stands lined up in a row at the back. You chewed on the cold fruit as you debated what to eat next. There was a stall selling Liu Sha Baos, and next to it had an array of condiments set out for bagged Lou Meins. Humming in agreement, you decided to hit those stalls first after visiting the temple. 

Erlang Shen’s method worked. He had suggested going back home the same way you came, which would be through turbulence on an airplane. Creating a makeshift turbulence was easy for just about anybody there, and you remembered Wukong waving goodbye at you a second before the clouds, picked up by the wind, covered your sight. And then you were gone—you suddenly woke up in the emergency room, startling a nurse. 

Time barely passed when you were there. You slept through the rest of the flight after the turbulence, possibly causing inconvenience to the passengers seated by the window whenever they needed to use the restroom. They probably noticed something was wrong when you didn’t wake up even after the plane landed. They called an ambulance, and you had only just arrived at the hospital not too long ago. 

You didn’t turn back. You visited your family and stayed with them for however long you had previously planned. It was a great way to distract yourself from the out-of-world experience. But nothing quite pulled Wukong off your mind. 

You went hiking with your mother for the first time. The mountain reminded you of him. Heading to the supermarket and seeing the fruit section made you think of him. The way your grandpa talks reminded you of Bajie a little! And there was a newly released game about Wukong himself! You haven’t bought it yet. Maybe you would sooner or later. 

“Hey! Can you walk?”

You jumped at the voice behind you and instinctively bowed in response, an apology leaving you like a ghost. Seeing that you were next ahead to admire the statue, you put the Tanghulu on the paper plate and back inside the plastic bag it came from. As you walked ahead, you dusted your hands on your jacket and stopped at the center of the opened temple. Looking up, you bit your lower lip to avoid laughing.

The Sun Wukong statue looked nothing like Sun Wukong. 

But your memory made it look every bit like him. 

“I found you,” you said. “I’m sorry it took so long. I was out of the country with my family. But I went to many places and ate a lot of good food.”

He stared back at you, unmoving. Your eyes softened at the replacement in your head—you wondered what he was doing now. 

Subconsciously walking forward, your heart beating gently at your ear as you ignored the unnoticeable ‘Do Not Touch’ sign, you placed a hand on the statue’s feet and smiled. 

“I remember you,” you whispered. “I love you.”

“Hey! Please don’t touch the statue!”

You turned your head at the warning. A strong breeze blew toward the direction of the voice just as you turned, enough to knock the security storming at you to the ground. You slowly released your hand from the statue, mouth slightly agape as you watched passersby help the security stand up. Pulling at the strap of your bag, you glanced at Wukong one last time, the weird coincidence lingering in your mind, and then you went to apologize. 

Before you could walk out of earshot, you faintly heard a little boy speak to his mother behind you.

“Mom! Did you see that? The words on his staff lit up just now!”

[37sommz]

000.⠀⠀NOW PLAYING: long live [1.5k, angst]. ✼. view: masterlist⠀⸻⠀join the taglist⠀⸻⠀request. ✼. synopsis: michaela says goodbye. ✼. notes: totally heartbroken for daniel. for all he's done for this sport, he truly deserved so much more than what he got. enchanté, daniel. ✼. warnings: daniel's last race, crying. not proofread, but when do i ever?

✼.⠀SEPTEMBER 22, 2024 — marina bay, singapore

Michaela gripped the steering wheel of her Aston Martin as she rounded the streets of Marina Bay. The roar of the engine filled her ears as she sped through the tight turns of the track, the city lights of Singapore blurring into a dizzying spray of color beyond the tire barriers. The air held anticipation and the smell of an uneasy question. She had heard the whispers all weekend, the murmurs that danced just out of earshot. Daniel Ricciardo, the man who had practically become part of her family, might not be in the paddock much longer. Her heart raced, not just from the exhilaration of the race, but from the thought of losing a piece of her world.

The checkered flag dropped, and she pulled into the pit lane. The chaos of the grandstands and the flashing lights of cameras were a harsh, ironic contrast to the turmoil storming within her. She stepped out of the car, forcing a smile for the cameras as she went through the motions of the post-race interviews. She had done well, finishing 5th to Fernando's 4th, but the success felt hollow. Her thoughts remained with Daniel, who had just completed his final lap for the Bulls. She had avoided him all weekend, the weight of his potential departure too much to bear. But now, as the race concluded and the tension began to ease, she knew she had to see him.

Michaela walked to Daniel's side of the RB garage, her heart thumping like the British engine she had just left behind in her own garage. She pushed open the door and found him surrounded by his team, sharing a bittersweet moment. His eyes met hers and she saw the unshed tears glittering underneath the fluorescent lights. He tried to flash his signature grin, but it faltered, and she knew the truth had sunk in for both of them. The laughter lines around his eyes didn't hide the pain. He was saying his goodbyes, and she had missed most of it.

As the last of the well-wishers left, Daniel turned to his car, running a hand over its gleaming carbon fiber bodywork. She approached him tentatively, her eyes brimming with tears she hadn't realized she'd been holding back. He looked at her, his own eyes red and glassy.

"Hey, kid," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

She took a step closer, feeling the warmth of the engine's last breath radiating off the car.

"Couldn't stay away, huh?" He tried to laugh, but it came out as a choked sob.

Michaela's own tears spilled over, tracing paths down her cheeks. "Daniel, I'm so sorry," she whispered, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder.

He leaned into her touch, his eyes never leaving the car that had been his life for so many seasons. "It's alright, Mick. It's just racing, right?" Even in his most vulnerable moment, Daniel couldn't fight the instinct to comfort the girl he had watched grow into a woman.

Michaela felt the warmth of his voice wrap around her like a familiar blanket, but the words didn't bring the relief she sought.

 "No, it's not just racing," she said, her voice trembling. "You've been there for me, through all the tough times, the crashes, the doubt, the fights to be taken seriously in this sport." She swallowed hard, her eyes searching his for understanding. "You've been my rock, my inspiration. You can't just leave. Not like this."

Daniel turned to face her, his smile sad but earnest. "Mick, you know this isn't the end. I'll still be around, driving Courie crazy.” 

The reference to Michaela’s sister, Daniel’s girlfriend—his Courie—stuck watching the race from her lab in Sydney only brought a knot to Michaela’s stomach. Michaela had spoken briefly to her sister before the race, Courtney had been inconsolable over the phone, pushed beyond guilt that she couldn’t be by her boyfriend’s side to help shoulder the emotions during the last race of his Formula 1 career.

“And you," he continued, pointing at her, "You're gonna kill it out there without me."

Michaela couldn't hold back anymore. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace, feeling the coarse fabric of his fireproofs and the solidity of his frame. He hugged her back, his own arms enveloping her in a comforting warmth she hadn't realized she needed. They stood there for a moment, two friends sharing the weight of a career's crossroads, their hearts beating in sync with the rhythm of the cooling engines around them.

"Thank you," she murmured into his shoulder. "For everything."

"You can thank me when you win a championship," Daniel said, his voice breaking despite himself.

Michaela pulled back, wiping at her eyes. "It should've been you first," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "You should've been a champion." Her tears continue to fall, her cheeks stained by the path they leave on her skin.

"Maybe, but don't worry about me," Daniel said, his eyes glistening. "You still have your whole career ahead of you."

Michaela nodded, her vision blurred by the tears. "I know, but it won't be the same without you."

The silence grew heavy in the garage, punctuated only by the occasional clang of tools being packed away. The reality of Daniel's departure was setting in, a stark reminder of the fleeting nature of their sport.

"You know, I never thought I'd be leaving like this," Daniel said, his gaze still on the car. "But I guess that's how it goes when you get too attached to the ride."

Michaela nodded, her throat tight. "It's not fair," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "You're one of the best out there."

"Life's not about fair," Daniel replied, his hand coming up to ruffle her hair, a gesture that brought a ghost of a smile to her face. "But it's about making the most of what you've got. And I guess I've gotta get a new thing now."

Michaela stepped back, taking in the sight of her friend, his shoulders slumped and his usual vibrant spirit dulled by the shadow of his uncertain farewell. She felt a pang of anger at the unfairness of it all. Daniel had given so much to Formula 1, and yet, it seemed to be discarding him as if a worn-out tire. But she knew better than to let her the weight of her emotions sweep her up, not here, not now. She took a deep breath, straightening her spine.

"You're right," she said, her voice steady despite the tremble in her chest. "We've got to make the most of it. And you," she poked his arm gently, "Have got more to give, more to show the world. Whatever's next, you'll shine just like you always do."

Daniel offered a weak smile, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Thanks, Mick." He paused, taking in the sight of the emptying garage, his team packing up the last of his gear.

"I just thought I'd be here for a little longer, you know? When I left Red Bull for Renault I thought that my time was next, that I was gonna be the one on the top step for once. Then McLaren called and I fuckin'—" He choked back further tears. "I felt like that was it. But when it never came I just..."

He trailed off, the heartbroken look in his eyes drawing Michaela deeper into her melancholy. Michaela nodded solemnly, understanding the ache in his words. "You're so much more than that, Daniel. You brought your joy to so many people. I know for sure that you've got so much left to give. And you will, in whatever you do next." She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself.

"You've taught me so much," she continued, her voice cracking. "How to keep pushing when everything is useless and I feel like giving up. How to laugh when the world is against your joy. How to be a better driver to my team and a better person to the people I love. I wouldn't still be here if it weren't for you. So, thank you Daniel. So, so much."

"You're going to be okay, you hear me?" He said, his voice gruff with emotion. "You're going to be more than okay."

Michaela nodded, trying to hold onto his words like a lifeline in the storm of her feelings. Daniel took a step back and wiped his own eyes with the back of his hand. "But for now," he said, his voice firming up, "Let's go grab a drink. You know, to celebrate the end of an era and all that fuzzy shit."

They laughed through their tears, a bit of the old familiar banter slipping back in. They walked out of the garage together, leaving the echoes of their past successes and heartaches behind. The paddock was alive with the sounds of teams breaking down and preparing for the next race. 

Yet, for them, the world had slowed down to an unwilling crawl.

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[stardustbuck]

glad to see other people having the same issue i do with the dadt hc. i don't want to make people feel bad for having it but also it does not sit well with me especially when we already know how much tommy struggled with his sexuality.

I'm going to assume ppl who have this HC don't know and haven't dived into the specifics of what getting a discharge via dadt implies especially at the time Tommy was in the army. it's not a slap on the wrist discharge, you got essentially kicked out with all your benefits stripped from you just like every other dishonorable discharge (minus jail time for ppl who committed actual crimes). I especially don't think Tommy would have done something smth reckless enough to get caught, being lgbt during this time, especially in the military was dangerous. it wasn't unheard of to be beaten or even killed/attempted murder by other service members. hate crimes in the military were just as common outside of the service. I do think Tommy was definitely down low during his time from the military up until he left the 118, but he was very careful.

dadt went on your record and a job like LAFD would definitely be looking at Tommy's military records and seeing he was dadt in 2004/2005 would have had his application thrown in the trash tbh. I know this is the suspend your disbelief show, but I seriously would be upset if this was overlooked because it destroyed a lot of queer service members lives and continues to cause issues for many queer veterans who are still fighting to get their benefits since dadt was repealed.

IMO there's a reason Tommy was closeted for so long, it was instilled in him throughout his childhood, his military service and captain gerrard. he probably felt ashamed of it for so long, which is why is took him until his 30s to come to terms with the fact that he is gay and he did a lot of work to be where he is currently with Buck.

I get that dadt adds angst and drama to potential Tommy lore but I simply do not see how it makes any sense for Tommy to be dadt'd nor do i need or want more queer trauma porn in this show.

but yk, everyone is entitled to their own opinions. I'm simply trying to spread the word on why I find this hc ... not the best.

[pearl-blue-musings]

die with a smile

If you’re wondering if this is based on the Bruno mars and lady Gaga song then you’d be correct

Pairing: Alhaitham x reader

Warnings: mentions of death, slight angst, comfort, written real fast, I just love him a lot

Word count: 1.5K

Dreams had always seemed like a far fetched idea to residents of Sumeru. Once they became adults, dreaming was a fleeting memory, words of myth, and lest be researched. However, after the events with the old grand sage and the Dendro archon, all citizens of Sumeru were once again able to experience the highs and lows of dreams. Dreams could be fleeting and wonderful. Some people discovered what nightmares were for the first time. All of it was truly exhilarating for Sumerians. And equally terrifying.

How many nights has it been since he’s slept? Alhaitham obviously knew the answer, but disregarding the answer could also put his mind at ease. The bags under his eyes seem to multiply as the days drag on. Under the lamp of his deck, he rubs at his eyes to stay awake and does his best not to succumb to slumber. The grand scribe sighs as he mulls over the latest notes from the sages meetings and potential research projects. He can’t avoid it forever. He can’t avoid you forever. But he’s gonna try his damn hardest. And it’s all because of his dreams.

Night after night they become more and more vivid. Most times, it’s nonsense and other times you’re there. Sometimes it’s peaceful days where the two of you are reading together under a tree, you running into a shallow river and splashing the both of you. Or maybe you both are running the Akademiya together. He can smell the parchment within the House of Daena and hear the turning of pages as you two walk hand in hand. Then there are dreams where he’s staring at himself, unsure of what’s happening. All he sees are the tears in his own eyes as whoever’s eyes he’s looking through are being lowered. He’s woken up with a gasp and sweat on his brow with you curled beside him.

As the nights had continued, the dream would give more background; which had led to his insomnia. He’s seeing the world through your eyes, which makes him elated, but he then realizes that his dream is of your funeral and eventual death. The dream, for some reason, is going in reverse order and if he sleeps one more night ... so he’s resigned to not sleep.

His body shakes in his desk as he fights sleep. You’d have to be blind to not see how he’s been avoiding sharing a bed with you; to him that’s where the dreams are the worst. You took it upon yourself to visit him at his office. You want to be there for him as you can see he’s struggling on his own. You even reached out to Kaveh and the architect was at a loss for words. Alhaitham barely registers the sound of your footsteps along the tile of his office as you gently place your hands on his shoulders. Your voice is a gentle whisper, is he dreaming again? “Haitham,” you coo quietly, “you need to sleep.”

“I’m fine, darling,” he says with a frustrated yawn. You roll your eyes and start to clean up his desk. Alhaitham sits back in his chair and sighs with his arms crossed. “I told you-“

“Why aren’t you sleeping?”

Tired eyes blink slowly as the scribe scrounges up a reply. “There is too much to do.”

“You can’t lie to me,” you mumble with a tremor. “If there’s something I’ve done, please let me know.”

At that, Alhaitham quickly pushes himself out of the chair to hold you tight. His arms encompass you fully and you can feel how shaky he is. He breathes in your scent, placing the tip of his nose at your pressure point to feel your pulse. He visibly softens at feeling you within his arms. Shakily, he whispers, “you haven’t done anything my love. I,” he stops hugging you to cup your cheeks. Your eyes dance in the lamp light as you stare at him, your gaze full of love and adoration for the man in front of you. Alhaitham blinks. “I’ve been having…negative dreams.

“About you.” He carefully lowers his head and voice as he finally adds on, “dying. But it hasn’t happened.” You give him a quizzical look as you tilt your head to the side. You hold onto his hands gently as a sign for him to keep on. “The dream happens in reverse. Each night,” he breathes out, “a new scene gets added. The first was seeing me through, I’m assuming your eyes. Being lowered into the ground. I was crying.”

You move your hands to his cheeks to ground him. His lips tremble at his own emotions bubbling over and you move him to the couch in his office. You lay his head into your lap and start to play with his silver hair, something he secretly loves.

“Each night, I get more context. And I calculated that 8 nights ago would be the time I would see what happens to you and,” his voice echoes as it trails off. “I don’t want to see you leave. I don’t want to have to say goodbye to the best thing that has happened to me.” He sits up to look you in the eye, his own glassing over with tears you assume he had in the dream. Seldom do you see your boyfriend cry, and it must have taken so much of him to not let this overflow. Your throat clogs up with your own sobs wanting to shake you. You shake your head from the hurt coming from this man in your arms. This is someone who always had to rely on himself to deal with his emotions or pack them faraway. Although you’re struggling to soak in what he’s said, you give him your best smile and press your forehead to his.

You breathe a calm breath before speaking calmly. “You don’t have to battle this on your own,” although you’re trying to comfort him, your voice shakes. “I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”

“But dreams,” he tries to interrupt.

“Dreams don’t always predict the future, my love. But they can show what you’re afraid of or feelings you have deep down. So please, go to sleep, Haitham. I promise I’ll be right here.”

*****

Alhaitham wakes with a start. His heartbeat is erratic as his breathing is shallow. His brow is covered in sweat as he struggles to take in his surroundings. He’s in his office, arms full of your sleeping body. You’re slowly stirring awake as Alhaitham tries to catch his breath. His grip on you starts to get tighter as the memories of his dream are still replaying in his mind. The pads of his fingertips desperately grip your clothes to make sure you’re real, alive, and breathing.

Your voice is laced with sleep as you sit up on the couch, “hey baby? Haitham, calm down.” You run a hand though his hair to bring him back.

Alhaitham starts to slow his breathing as he sits up fully, facing away from you. As soon as he calms down, he mumbles, “it finished. I know how you die. And it’s my fault.”

Your eyes widen and you’re fully awake. You hug him from behind as small tremors wrack through your lover. “I couldn’t save you,” he begins, “it’s my fault you got taken. And the last thing you said to me was I love you. How? How can you love me? You died because of me.”

You turn him around and wipe the sweat from his brow. A few tears have fallen from his eyes as the vivid dream replays in his mind. You cup his face and draw circles on his cheeks. “Alhaitham, I love you and I’m not leaving you.” You kiss his lips softly. “It’s just a dream and you haven’t done anything to me to hurt me. And I promise you, if the end of the world comes,” you kiss him again, “I’ll be next to you. Giving you the warmest of smiles.” You give him a grin then, hoping he’ll see and feel the love you have for him.

Alhaitham breathes calmly as he places a hand over yours, needing to feel all of you as a physical reminder you’re here. He finally finds the strength to meet your soft and gentle gaze as he lifts his eyelids. His heart skips a beat and he leans in for a passionate kiss. You hum happily into the kiss and pull him into your body. Judging by the stars still up in the dark sky, you assume it’s quite early in the morning. With the overtime he’s done, you know the scribe can take a couple days off. With the both of you awake enough, the two of you gather his things and leave a note for the new grand sage alerting him of a break.

Upon returning to your home, Kaveh greets you with a tired smile, the worry easing off of his face. Alhaitham nods at his roommate as you lead him to your now shared room. Alhaitham undresses alongside you as you get ready for bed. He pulls you into his warm taut body, a smile etched onto both of your faces as pleasant dreams over take you.

[ochrearia]

8 BFs In a Room

Hell on Ochre technique is making myself balance 8 characters in one drabble because I feel guilty about leaving anyone's BFs out when they're on my list. Have fun shenanigans with a gut punch of angst at the end (sorry) <3

BFs in this drabble: PoPr!BF (Biff, mine), cs!BF (Beefer, mine), fc!BF (Boyf, Keyy's), wyd!BF (Beef, Karl's), sfa!BF (Peacock, Shed's), S2!BF (Bee, Isaac's), Candy!BF? (Blue, Slushgut's, unsure of a prefix for now), Yourself (YS)

“Why did I ever agree to this?” YS grumbled, rubbing a hand across his throat. “Fucking hell, I’m going to have such a sore throat tomorrow morning because I decided to indulge you shitters.”

“Well no one said you had to do them all one right after another, that was you, dumbass.”

YS glared at Boyf. “Oh and how else was I supposed to comprehend the request? Not a single one of you looked willing to wait your turn. No concept of patience in this room.”

“How am I supposed to have patience when you have such a cool song?! I got excited and so did everyone else!” Blue complained, contrasting the grin on his face.

“At least it was only six times and not seven. I had my turn months ago.” Biff was grinning as well. “Though I also had the thought in the back of my head that you wanted to kill me, potentially, so it was nervous fun.”

“I wasn’t gonna-” YS huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, fair enough, I literally smacked you across the room. Sorry. Have I ever actually said I was sorry for that? I’m such an idiot.”

“You were forgiven a long time ago, I don’t care.” Softer tone from Biff now. “Though I think you should have recreated the experience for everyone else. Or at least Beef.”

“What the fuck is your problem?!” Beef hollered, making angry faces at Biff. “Fuck you in particular!”

“Fuck you also!”

“I’m not smacking everyone across the room.” YS said bluntly. “I’m not going to be physically hurting any of you on purpose, thank you.”

“Aaah, big guy cares about us.” Peacock teased.

“Okay you’re making me consider going back on what I just said.”

“Can you reconsider that for Beefer specifically I kinda wanna see who’d win between you two.”

“He’s a literal dinosaur?? Who the hell do you think is gonna win?” YS asked incredulously.

“I haven’t figured out how to go into battle mode yet and I’m too nervous about how my situation’s playing out to ask yet.” Beefer shrugged. ��If that makes you feel better. I can’t do much other than bite and scratch without it.”

“Can you hurry up and figure it out a little faster though? I’m not the only one who’s curious about all of that you know. I want to see what a dinosaur me would look like!” Insisted Bee, practically stars in his eyes.

“Hey I thought the specimen here was YS, not me!”

“You guys aren’t actually fucking calling me a specimen right. I wasn’t even awake for that shit you can’t just decide that’s one of my nicknames.” YS complained.

“Biff was the one who said it, and also laughed about it.” Peacock pointed.

“Snitch!”

“Holy fuck, you’re all toddlers. All seven of you, I swear to god. Why am I in charge of any of you? Isn’t that what your Picos and GFs are for, I should not be responsible for this.”

“What’s wrong with putting you in charge? You have the best ideas out of all of us.” Blue insisted. “I haven’t been here for too long but you’re pretty cool! The rest of you are too!”

“Him? Cool? Nah, just wait until he’s scared of upsetting you and he starts getting all subdued and nervous.” Boyf snarked with his phone.

“Wait until you find out that he’s-”

“Beef you better not finish that fucking sentence or the dumb corner will PERSONALLY have your name on it.” YS threatened.

“Blame Biff for talking his shit man, that wasn’t my fault.” Beef grinned with a shrug.

“Can you guys stop keeping all these secrets? I want to know the YS lore too. Sharing is caring!” Peacock asked. “How come Biff and Beef get to know but the rest of us don’t?”

“Because Biff’s an asshole and figured it out on his own because he has the same issue.” YS huffed, crossing his arms. “And he decided it would be a wonderful idea to tell Beef, who doesn’t have that issue, and who would sooner exploit it instead of being a kind person.”

“We were doing it to cheer you up, shut up man, you ruin my life with the same problem and I’m at a disadvantage because your tall, lanky ass can pick me up like I weigh nothing!” Biff countered, anger playful.

“Anyone else feel like they’re missing a couple seasons here?” Beefer asked to the rest.

“Sounds like we need to interrogate those two for some info.”

“Beef, we’re buddies… you can tell me!” Bee tried to tempt him. “We played Nun Massacre together that one time, come onnnn, tell me!”

“You tell anyone about that and I’m actually going to go back on what I said earlier. I don’t need anyone else knowing that there’s a way to incapacitate me and you two knowing is already bad enough.”  YS hissed.

“Why would you say that though?” Peacock laughed. “Now we know there’s a way to incapacitate you. Yeah, you’re definitely one of us if you can’t think that far ahead to realize saying that’s only going to make us more curious.”

“Fucking- Shut up. Forget I said that.”

“I’m still stuck on the mental image of him picking Biff up like a toothpick.” Laughed Blue. “Can you do that with all of us? Oh, oh, how many of us do you think you could pick up at once?”

“I am not doing that.”

“Oh my god, this guy is so fucking grumpy and boring. Would you just live a little?” Biff sighed, standing up from his place on the floor. “Think fast chucklenuts, you better catch me or we’re both going to the floor!”

“Biff-!”

Biff ran at YS, jumping halfway there and practically slamming into the taller’s chest. He stumbled, frantically trying to keep himself steady and also make sure the small asshole didn’t crash to the ground between his hands.

“Jesus fucking- Why. Why are you like this. Don’t do that again or I will just drop you on purpose.”

“Nah, you wouldn’t do that, you care too much about your little brother to let him get hurt.” Biff teased snidely.

“Just saying, YS, if you wanted to reconsider him being your first little brother, you still can.”

Biff glowered at Boyf like he’d just tried to commit murder. YS snorted out a laugh, shaking his head at how ridiculous things got when all of them were in the same room.

“So wait, Biff’s not the only one who can have little brother status?” Bee asked. “Wait, where can I sign up?”

“Is there a form we have to sign, or…?” Peacock questioned with a hint of mischief.

“Wait, I want a big brother too!” Blue butted in.

YS wanted to be swallowed into the ground in sheer embarrassment over how happy this was making him. The bloom of warmth in his chest was still so unfamiliar, but incredibly addicting for the times he actually had felt it. Starting right in his heart and aching in the best way, spreading across his chest and successfully chasing away his cold body temperature for a time.

“I’d say me too, but I don’t think he can handle hearing one more of those with how his face is starting to turn red.” Beefer snorted. “You’re so bad at hiding the joy on your face, man. But I think it looks like it belongs on you, to be honest.”

YS couldn’t stifle the groan when his arms were still occupied by Biff, who was an annoying little asshole for jumping at him, causing this to happen all at once, and expose him for how happy he could get over the sentiment of having them all as little brothers. Of course it would be the littlest brother that could cause so much damn chaos in a matter of seconds.

“Shut up…” He protested feebly, but what was he supposed to do when Biff moved closer to give him a proper hug now? Fuck this guy, knowing how to derail everything. He wasn’t used to feeling so loved, hadn’t felt anything like it in a good while.

“I didn’t know this guy even had the capacity to blush. See, these are the things we should be telling each other, every little bit of information is going to help if we have any chance of helping him out like he does with us.” Peacock seemed like he was going to make a list of things at this point.

“True! Even the little things help paint a better picture. Makes it feel like the puzzle we’re solving is an actual person instead of some stranger.” Bee added in agreement.

“You’re all so-” What could he really say? All of them seemed so determined, like they’d all already had this conversation to agree to care. Maybe they had and YS just hadn’t noticed. He didn’t always read every message they sent in the group chat, especially since they could get rather loud in there. The sentiment all directed at him made him lose his words entirely.

“He’s thankful.” Biff answered for him with a softer smile. “Emotionally constipated idiot. I told you, man. Told you everyone was going to come to the same conclusion. You made a point to reach out to everyone in this room and the first thing you said to them was how you wanted to help them. First impressions aside, did you really think we were just going to take your help without wanting to give it back?”

“Man, you really are dumb if you thought that.” Boyf teased. “It’s okay, you’re still the smartest one. Probably. Blame yourself for getting us so addicted to your hugs. As if we weren’t going to start caring about you when you were so insistent to give out such affection.”

“Dude thought giving hugs to the group of idiots who are suckers for physical touch wasn’t going to make us care about him too.” Beefer snorted. “Are we sure we can call this guy the smartest?”

God I hate all of these idiots… no I don’t. YS thought, almost cringing at how fast he went back on his own thought. “Well it wasn’t originally part of my plan to make you guys care about me, I was making the support network for everyone else. So that you’d care about each other.”

“So you’re extra dumb then, because that was not fucking happening.” Stubbornness, the universal attribute. Peacock was a victim to it as much as the rest were.

So… did he have seven little brothers now? What a chaotic family. YS supposed one of them could have been joking and he just wouldn’t know. If they were serious about it, he was too scared to ask still. They’d have to talk to him about it like Boyf and Beef had. He felt a little guilty for forcing them to be the first to bring it up when realistically he wanted to be able to treat them all the same like that. Talk about being addicted, he was addicted to the idea of being  family. Addicted to being kind to them, addicted to the idea he’d get so much more affection turned his way if he could just be honest and ask about the brother stuff.

They were all looking at him with soft looks, expressions also teasing for some of them.

They’re so determined and happy to do this. YS thought, a twinge of guilt stabbing through his chest. I can’t tell them what I’d planned for the support network when I connected enough of them… They care too much about me now, I can’t tell them I was supposed to be… gone… by now.

They didn’t need to know. That plan had gone out the window weeks ago anyway. YS knew he cared too much, as selfish as it was. But now, knowing how much they cared about him too? He couldn’t. And it was fine. They didn’t need to know the extent of it. It was fine.

YS was sure they could tell how much he cared about them all by now anyways. Apparently he was terrible at hiding the joy from his face.

[kelpermoosee]

grrrrrr I love the way you draw plasm wraith

Hehe thank you, I was thinking about how the plasm wraith is shaped like a rotisserie chicken the entire time

[lotus-pear]

mourning black and the death of ideals

[theaceace]

imagining a world in which Simon agreed to go with Edwin and try to escape hell, imagining Simon developing an immediate and very inadvisable crush on the cute guy that just threw a grenade at a demon and Edwin's reaction to that, imagining the reaction of Charles Overprotective Rowland when he finds out that the guy Edwin insists on dragging along with them is one of the guys that sacrificed him to a demon in the first place, imagining the Night Nurse's face when three dead boys pop back through the door instead of two

[papertowness]

admittedly one of my favorite things about house ( that also drives me up a wall ) is that something Really Big happens and then the next episode they like loosely mention it like wow wasn’t it crazy that that happened . anyway haha

[tempestmothstorm]

Ok since Monika still has her admin powers in the side stories you think she could just discover them accidentally or use them without realizing

Anyways au where Monika and friends discover her admin powers but dont know about the wider context of what it means. So they just go around thinking Monika has magic and try practicing with a bunch of silly fun shenanigans because they figure it’s some chosen one bloodline stuff and not like. A product of their reality being a constricted digital science experiment.

This au will not end well

[floating-far-from-earth]

while talking with @candycorncartooncat about bonnie looping au, the idea of loop & odile in the context of odile looping came up - and when talking, xe came up with the idea that over the loops, odile starts to believe loop is a forgotten party member - and well. I had to draw an interaction resulting from that would look like <3

also, an extra under the cut <3

[smimon]

Today's bojere week prompt is "Confession / Realizing they're in love" and I think in giantverse this would happen on Jere's first day as a giant.

With him already accepting what happened to him and planning to visit all his friends and family to tell them personally, but then he realizes it will take a very long while before he sees Bojan, so he better call him immediately.

But then instead of calling he just freezes, because what if Bojan doesn't like him anymore? This is when he realized Bojan is someone special to him 😊

Jere being Jere, he needs the answer IMMEDIATELY, and also he has to report the news in a joking manner because of course, so the first thing he does is text Bojan this:

Would you still love me if I was a worm?

And Bojan, as soon as he heard the whole story, already started to seek out the soonest flight to Finland because he NEEDS to be there for him, even if only for a few hours - and that's how he realized how much Jere matters to him 🥹

And the rest is in ~the post~ 😌

[bambeebirdie]

This is for @bluepeachstudios ‘s Ghost in a Shell. It’s really good you should read it.

I looked at exactly one picture of Jupiter Jim and went “yeah this should be enough to draw him.” I will not be answering if it actually was

Have some bonus content under the cut!

And sketches

(I love any character who can say “I don’t want to go back to prison” it’s like the funniest thing to me)

[bardnuts]

i spend a lot of time thinking about when exactly Astarion catches feelings For Real and I think the funniest answer to that question is literally the first time you have sex. He's got 200 years of experience in not catching feelings. "This is a good plan," he thinks. "A nice, simple plan. Make them fall for you, don't fall for them."

Then you ask him if he's ok or some shit during sex and it's DOA. Plan failed immediately upon its attempted execution. Defeated by the concept of a gentle lover. The rocket blows up on the launchpad

[another-clive-blog]

I know that I already sent an ask earlier but I haven't decided on a request then. I have an request of a fanfic being about Clive and co hanging out at the bookstore. Like maybe Clive and Luke are looking at some puzzle books together as a way to see who could solve the most.

Thank you so much !! That's such a great idea too !!! The siblings ever ;^;

Alright so this one is longer than usual ! It starts with light-hearted fun, then gets a bit angsty, and then a bit fluffy at the very end. Featuring Clive, Luke and Flora having a puzzle competition and talking a bit about emotions !! (Yes Clive does try. He's less mean here than I usually write him ahah)

It takes place at the library in Chinatown. Layton, Clive, Flora and Luke take a break there before heading to the towering pagoda =)

"This has been nice, but we should go back to our investigation now," Big Luke said politely, although these distractions were starting to be quite the bother. Could you blame him ? All of them were wasting precious time with people and activities that didn't matter, unlike his plan- which was exactly why they should focus on the investigation and quit running around in that stupid library.

"Stop being such a partypooper," Little Luke pouted, "you're giving me a bad name."

Big Luke almost choked. A partypooper ? Him ?? "I beg your pardon ?"

"Well, you're me." Little Luke explained, as if this was somehow the concept Big Luke was failing to grasp.

"That's not-"

"Which means," Little Luke added with a smile, "that I know you love libraries. Because I do ! And the professor said that we could stay here for a few more minutes, so we should take a look and have fun !"

Of course the professor had said so. He was probably busy borrowing hundreds of books he would never be able to return.

Apparently, Little Luke had decided to be annoying today. "Well, that's what I'm gonna do anyway. If you want to stop looking so miserable, you can always join me." He didn't wait for an answer, quickly leaving with a wide grin.

"Wh- miserable ?!" Big Luke- scratch that, Clive was offended. He was not miserable : he was just... standing right outside the store. With his arms crossed. And a frown on his face.

Because they were all annoying !! Not because he was a partypooper. And he would prove it to that brat ! "Alright, you asked for it. Hey Little Luke, I have a fun idea !"

Luke's face brightened with joy when he saw his future self join him among the rows of books. "Yeah ? What is it !"

Oh, Clive would absolutely wipe that excited smile off his face. "Let's see if we can find a book about puzzles. Maybe we could have a competition !"

Luke was practically jumping up and down now. "I'll look in this pile of books !!" He said before immediately diving in.

Wow, the kid was... really into puzzles, uh ? And here Clive thought that he was following the professor around solely for the title of apprentice : maybe there was more to it than a kid trying to feel important.

It- eh, it didn't matter. He was absolutely going to beat the brat at his own game.

Big Luke started looking among the books right in front of him. He didn't know any of these books- he didn't even know if there was a book about puzzles here. He had only supervised the city's construction : he had asked for a library, not what was inside. Who had decided on that ? Dimitri ? The books were mostly about science, so Dimitri probably had-

"What are you looking for ?"

Big Luke almost screamed, but he didn't. He was a twenty three-year-old man, a criminal, a gentleman, and most importantly- he was in a library. "Can't you keep your voice down and behave a little ?!"

Flora giggled. "Oh, I'm sorry. It was just too tempting, but you're right. I shouldn't have surprised you like that."

Clive took a deep breath and pushed away the seven first replies that came to mind. "No, it's quite alright. I'm sorry too. What was your question ?" Big Luke asked with a barely strained smile. Why were they all testing his patience today ? They -purposefully ?- made it incredibly hard to keep up the act.

"It's fine !" Flora smiled. "I was wondering what you were doing. Little Luke seemed very excited, and he only ever acts like this when the professor gives him an especially difficult puzzle."

He... did ? "Uh. We were- we were looking for a book about puzzles. To have a puzzle competition." Big Luke stammered like an idiot. Very uncharacteristic, she was definitely about to call out his bluff now.

"Really ?! Can I join you two ?" Flora's voice was maybe a bit loud, but Clive decided to let it go.

Big Luke smiled serenely. "Sure, why not ! But we have to find that book first."

Flora enthusiastically nodded, a delighted smile on her lips. "I'll go look this way !!" And with that, she left a confused Big Luke behind.

Alright, that was... weird. Either these kids loved puzzles to a concerning amount, or... or what ?

Maybe this was a trap. They were trying to get him to slip up, reveal too much by acting so weird around him. Maybe they were glad he gave them a way to figure out if he really was Luke, because there was no way these kids weren't going to beat him- they were basically fed puzzles since birth. He was going to get absolutely destroyed.

Well, it was too late to back down now. All he could do was try his best at the puzzles and not act suspicious : and if this whole thing turned sour, he could always escape and get to the mecha first. He knew this town better than they did, knew all of its secrets.

Alright, alright, get it together. It didn't have to come to that. Maybe they wouldn't find the book before the break was over. Maybe there wasn't even a book to start with-

"I found it !" Luke yelled from the other side of the story and quickly apologized when gently hushed by Layton, busy reading a huge encyclopedia.

Oh, great.

-_-_-_-

"Yes ! Another win for me !!" Flora celebrated, and Luke shot her a nasty look, trying his hardest not to pout. With this victory, Flora and Little Luke were back to a tie.

And Big Luke was one puzzle behind.

It wasn't catastrophic. His opponents had far more experience and the greatest mentor anyone could have asked for, while Clive had none of that. He was doing pretty well, given the context.

But he needed to do better.

"Alright, that was well played," Little Luke finally smiled. Flora's joy was contagious, and he was having fun anyway. This puzzle competition was a great idea !

"Thank you," Flora said before turning to Big Luke with a grin. "Your turn !! Here is your puzzle, Big Luke..."

Clive frowned, staring at the page. It wasn't an easy one- of course it wasn't. They had deliberately chosen the hardest section of the book, these little brats. 'So that we get a bit of a challenge,' according to them.

Clive was already dealing with far too many challenges- for example, him pretending to be Big Luke. That one was going just great. What were they going to think, if he couldn't solve that puzzle ?

Because he couldn't, despite how much he tried. None of his attempts worked, none of the hints helped. He was going to fail. What should he do now ? Maybe-

Little Luke and Flora shared a concerned glance, before Luke suddenly closed the book.

Big Luke startled, looking at him in confusion. "I wasn't done," he pointed out.

Little Luke didn't say anything, only avoiding his gaze, so Flora did. "You're not having fun," she simply explained.

"What ?" Oh, he was done for. Luke loved puzzles, Luke wouldn't stop a puzzle competition because he wasn't having fun. "Of course I am. I-"

Flora held her hands up, interrupting him. "It's fine ! With Luke, we thought that... erm..."

"You're really struggling," Luke finished. "...It's because of the Professor of the future, isn't it ? You don't like puzzles anymore."

Clive just stared.

"It's hard not to notice differences between you and Little Luke," Flora gently explained. "But you seem... less enthusiastic. About puzzles. And... us, too. So we thought..." She got quieter and quieter, before she stopped speaking entirely.

Something finally clicked in Clive's mind. "Oh no- no no no ! It's not- I'm not- It's okay."

"Is it ?" Little Luke asked in a small voice. "You don't look okay."

"Things have been-"

"Are you okay ?"

Clive fell silent. Why were they asking him that ? They truly believed he was Big Luke, which meant that he didn't matter to them. The narrative here was that they were trying to keep this future from worsening and then they would go back to their own time. Big Luke was supposed to disappear, one way or another.

Maybe... maybe that's what scared them. The idea that things would disappear, that change was unavoidable- that familiar and pleasant things would become a source of pain. It was- it was a lot for a child, Clive realized.

He remembered things being a lot as a child.

"You will be," Clive gently told him.

"You didn't answer," Flora pointed out. Now that he really looked for it, Clive noticed that she sounded quite unhappy too.

They really were worried and scared.

Clive didn't know how to handle this. He wasn't really big on emotions and feelings or whatever, and why would he be ? It's not like stupid Dimitri and him would talk about their lives around a nice cup of tea.

But he couldn't just brush them off. "Listen," he sighed, "I don't know. Things are a bit crazy right now, so it's hard to say. We'll know in a few hours, I guess."

The kids still looked sad, but nodded nonetheless. Great, so his job was done. "How are you two doing ?" Clive asked, for some reason, although he had decided he was done.

Probably to make his whole Big Luke lie more believable.

"I'm... a bit scared," Flora admitted. "Well, not scared- I know the professor will fix everything. But things here are still... concerning. And sad."

Clive nodded before staring at Little Luke : the latter kept his head down. "I'm not scared. We're going to fix everything here."

Well, that sure sounded familiar.

He was supposed to answer, wasn't he ? What would someone who wasn't him say ? "It's... okay to be scared. It's a lot to deal with, and no one expects you to fix it all on your own," Clive said. Constance... used to tell him that. Why was he only remembering these words now ? "But whatever happens, you'll be okay. My life kinda sucks, but yours don't have to. Change the things you can change, learn from people's mistakes, talk to others, I don't know. Just don't let it end that way." Well, that part was not Constance's.

Flora laughed. "You're still very bad at comforting people."

"Hey !"

Clive smiled. "Some things never change."

"I'm very good at comforting people !" Little Luke protested. "I can prove it ! Bring me someone who's feeling bad !!"

"I'm good," Flora said, and she sounded genuinely happier.

"Well, Big Luke ?" Little Luke stared at him. "You did say that your life... uh..."

Clive scoffed. "I'm not asking a 13 years old for advice."

"You're just scared I'll be better than you, again," Little Luke smirked.

Clive crossed his arms, mocking his friend. "No, I'm not. And you know what ? Let's redo this puzzle competition. I'm going to beat you this time."

Flora hesitated. "Are you sure ? The professor-"

"The professor is busy," Clive replied. "What, are you two scared of losing ? That's pathetic, truly-"

Little Luke was already opening the book, looking for a new puzzle. "Alright, but you asked for it. If the professor wants to ground someone, I'm not the one who started this thing." He seemed even more excited than the first time.

"This is so much fun !!" Flora clapped her hands, waiting for the first puzzle.

Surprisingly, Clive found himself agreeing with her.