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etherealphosphor · 7 months

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Wilting Rose Petals

⟡ Contains: Dottore x Gn!Reader, Sfw, Angst, Dottore has Hanahaki Disease, Mentions of coughing up blood, Mentions of painkillers, Good ending

BIG TW: Dottore is su!c!dal, please refrain from reading this if the content triggers you.

Being the Second of the Fatui Harbingers, Dottore had naturally been a cold and reserved man for most of his working life. Even before joining the Harbingers, he was more or less the same, only interested in his research. To him, conversation was a bore, and small talk was practically torture. Getting his business done while interacting with the least amount of people possible was an ideal day at work for him. In the past, the only people he really talked to were his segments.

However, oddly enough, his entire demeanor shifted when you—his part-time assistant—was around. He would go out of his way to talk to you, completely ignoring his responsibilities for however long he could manage to keep you. Dottore’s affection for you was painfully obvious to everyone who worked in the headquarters, as his mood greatly increased when you walked through the door.

His attitude altered so much when he was in your presence, to the point that if one needed to ask Dottore for a favor, they would wait until after you swung by his office. That was quite a wide-spread tactic in the Fatui Headquarters, and for good reason. Dottore would genuinely consider doing a favor for someone due to the cheery mood you put him in, as long as it was easy enough. However, if they interrupted his time with you, they'd be met with only unreasonableness and an incredibly short fuse.

To Dottore, you were the one thing he treasured in life. In recent years, his research lost its appeal and became awfully boring to him. Day after day, year after year, it was all the same. And for what? Why did any of it matter? What was he even living for anymore? Thoughts like those were normal for him. However, you kept him sane. You were like a helping hand in his time of need. You were the one thing that kept him alive each day.

Dottore’s heart and body yearned for you in ways he couldn’t describe. You were the singular light in his dark and lonely life. Even so, he didn’t want to tell you how he felt, for fear of losing you. Archons, what would he do if you never wanted to talk to him again? If he lost his beacon of hope, he wouldn’t know how to live on. So, instead of pursuing you, Dottore decided it was best to leave you as a fantasy that helped him keep his head above water.

As Dottore was daydreaming of you to distract himself from his mind, one of his segments—Theta—walked into his office.

"Hey Boss, is [Name] going to be here today? I know how much you enjoy their company. You get so gloomy when they aren’t around." Theta said in a playful tone as he leaned on the desk, smirking at Dottore.

Dottore felt a pang of sadness at being reminded of your absence. "[Name] is busy today and likely won’t be present."

"Oh, that’s a shame. You’re all smiles when [Name] walks through the door." Theta laughed.

"I am simply happy to be handing off some tasks to someone else. That’s all." Dottore lied, a smile creeping onto his face.

"Aw, come on. Don’t lie to me! I know you like them." Theta teased.

"I do not." Dottore replied, wearing that same grin that told Theta everything he needed to know.

"So, what is it about them, huh? What is it that’s got the Second Harbinger himself all lovesick?"

Dottore sighed. "..everything."

Theta’s eyes lit up. "Woah, you actually have human emotion? I was starting to doubt it. Man, I gotta tell the others!"

Before Dottore could call him back, Theta had run off to gossip with the other segments. He had always been the same. After Theta left, that happy expression on Dottore’s face faded quickly. He was good at covering up how he felt around other people, putting on a show of confidence for everyone around him. However, his personality completely shifted when he was left alone with only his thoughts to accompany him.

Putting his head in his hands, Dottore tried to calm his mind. Archons, he missed you. It had only been a day since he last saw you, and yet it was still agony to him. He was addicted to every aspect of you; you were his person. His only source of true joy.

How was he supposed to focus on his work if any hope of you coming to visit him was extinguished? If only—against all odds—you'd just walk into his office and give him the energy he needed to keep going.

And, as if his prayers were answered by Celestia itself, you appeared at the door, which was left ajar when Theta had run off.

"Good morning, Dottore!" You greeted him. "I’m sorry for not coming in sooner; as you know, I was busy."

Dottore’s heart fluttered in response. Oh, how happy he was to see you. "No, don’t apologize to me. You’re perfectly fine; everyone is busy on occasion. I assumed you were going to spend the whole day with Pulcinella."

"Well, I expected to originally, but I managed to complete all the tasks assigned to me in quick time. After all, I despise doing work for Pulcinella; I just wanted it to be over." You said.

"Oh? Really? What’s the problem with working for him?" Dottore asked, curious.

"He’s just so set in his ways. If I don’t do what he wants me to do in the exact way he does it, he’ll make me redo the entire thing. Even if it’ll all come out to the same solution! I very much prefer being your assistant, Dottore."

Dottore blushed at the compliment, but since his face was hidden behind his mask, you never noticed. "You do? What’s so much better about the tasks I assign?"

"Well, it’s more about the fact that I actually like you. You don’t criticize my every action, and you’re nice to me." You grinned at him.

"I like you too, [Name]." Dottore replied, before quickly clarifying, "You’re a lovely assistant. Maybe you should ask to work for me full-time."

"Unfortunately, Pulcinella would lose it. He already complains about me spending too much time running errands for you, as opposed to helping out the other harbingers."

"Why should you care what he thinks? If he asks for your assistance and then complains about the way you complete said task, then you are perhaps not the kind of person he is looking for. He should let that go and find someone else instead of berating you."

You considered that for a moment. "You’re right, Dottore. Maybe I should–"

Suddenly, you were cut off by a yell from outside. "[NAME], YOU FORGOT TO FILE THESE PAPERS IN OPPOSITE-ALPHABETICAL ORDER! I ASKED YOU TO FILE THEM FROM Z TO A, NOT A TO Z!"

"Better get back to work, then. We can talk about this later." You sighed before sprinting out of the room. "Coming! I apologize for my error, Pulcinella!"

The moment you left, Dottore was overcome with a strong urge to slam his head into his desk. He felt like a fool; it was so clear that he was begging for you to spend every day with him. He just hoped you hadn’t picked up on his subtle flirting throughout the conversation. After all, he wasn’t exactly good at keeping a straight face when you complimented him—something that could definitely give away how he felt.

'I like you too, [Name].' What was I even thinking when I said that!? Of course, they don’t feel the same things I feel about them. They just enjoy working for me; that’s all they meant by that. But, Archons, it felt good to hear them say that they liked me.

As he inwardly cursed himself, his thoughts began to wander to even more self-deprecating ones. How could someone like you ever harbor the same care that he did for you? What did he even do to deserve your attention? Someday, would you consider him more than just someone you worked for? Was he even worth it? Would you hate him if he confessed?

Now Dottore was stuck between two equally unpleasant options. Either continue his dull and monotonous work or let his brain fill the silence by telling him how unworthy he was. Neither choice was something he particularly wanted, but he knew that his research must be completed for the day.

And so, day after day, he spent most of his time in his office, doing research just to fit the requirements of what was expected of him. Archons, he was so tired of it all. Nothing mattered to him anymore—except for you, maybe.

Each time you walked into his office, his day got significantly better. Unbeknownst to you, Dottore set aside all his work just to talk to you. You had simply assumed he was just so on top of everything that he could spare the time. Dottore had occasionally considered asking you out to a nearby cafe—just as work friends—but he was too worried that you’d take the invite the wrong way.

And so, he held his tongue. Of course, his heart begged for him to just make a move on you, but his brain prevented him from doing so. He knew that if his last reason to live was to be scared away, he’d surely fail to go on. Months went by like this; Dottore desperately longing for your affection.

One day, as Dottore sat at his desk, he suddenly felt the urge to clear his throat—almost like something was blocking his airway. Coughing a couple times, Dottore felt the strange object become dislodged and fall gently into the hand he was using to cover his mouth. Looking down, Dottore spotted a small petal; the shade was barely even pink; one could argue that it was closer to white than anything else.

Met with this odd occurrence, Dottore couldn’t help but wonder if something was wrong with him. After all, one doesn’t just start coughing up flowers for no reason. But after taking a minute to think, Dottore couldn’t recall the last time he was around a flower. After all, flowers in Snezhnaya die unless kept inside, and Dottore had none in his office.

Despite his suspicions, Dottore decided to chalk it up to a peculiar circumstance with no further investigation required. However, when he coughed up another petal, he knew that this situation was much more serious. Dottore was very knowledgeable about all of Teyvat’s various illnesses, so it didn’t take much more pondering for him to connect the dots.

Coughing up petals.. no… no. It can’t be. I can’t possibly have contracted Hanahaki Disease. There’s absolutely no way.

Dottore immediately began pulling books on various types of illnesses off of the shelves in his office, flipping through them, hoping to find something—anything—on the specific ailment.

After about a minute, he found exactly the page he was looking for in one of the books. Quickly, he read through the section on possible cures. There was no chance he was going to tell you of the affection he secretly held for you. And even less likely, have you reciprocate his feelings? Impossible. Simply impossible.

Confessing… confessing… That won’t do—not at all. Even if I did decide to—which I heavily doubt—the likelihood of [Name] sharing my affection.. I don’t want to think about it. It’s impossible. Dottore thought, skimming through the text.

As Dottore continued to read, he came to a realization. His options were either to somehow woo you into loving him or to hold his tongue and die in the process.

When he realized these were his two options, Dottore wasn’t exactly sure how to feel. Any normal person wouldn’t wait for the disease to end them and would instead confess to their person, no? However, Dottore wasn’t the average man. He was tired of work—or, to be more precise, he was tired of living. When he really thought about it, what he wanted most was for it all to end. To eternally sleep in silence and in peace. No more responsibilities, and no more pain. This disease was his way out.

And so, he decided to accept his fate. He would leave the world behind due to his disease, and he wouldn’t look back. Not for anyone; not even you.

More time passed, and each day, Dottore coughed up flower petals more frequently. He observed that the color of the petals was gradually getting darker each time they appeared. However, he wasn’t that concerned. After all, he would finally have a chance to escape the constant cycle of his meaningless life. He was tired of holding on by a thread and a hopeless fantasy; all he really wanted now was to rest.

Even if Dottore wasn’t worried about himself, you certainly were. Even with Pulcinella constantly requesting your help, you still interacted with Dottore on occasion. Perhaps it wasn’t exactly much, but it was still enough to get a good sense of where Dottore was in terms of health. You had noticed his posture had gotten worse, and so had his general demeanor. Before, he used to straighten up when you walked into his office and would greet you with a smile. However, nowadays, he always seemed exhausted and burnt out.

What especially worried you was the strange coughing you occasionally heard from him, which sounded as if he was quite ill. You wished to get to the bottom of what was going on with him, but you didn’t want to inquire about things that weren’t your business.

You knew that if Dottore was suffering from an ailment, he would simply take the measures needed to cure himself. So why exactly did he still seem so sick? Was the treatment not working? Or was it just not taking effect yet? The only other possibility you could think of was that his sickness could not be easily treated. You weren’t sure what it could be, so you tried to calm your mind by assuring yourself that you were likely overthinking. Dottore would get over it in a couple weeks, right?

However, little did you know, that cough of his could very well be the end of him.

One day, as Dottore was strolling through the headquarters’ hallways, he stopped by a window to look out at the falling snow. He never really noticed the beauty of it until now—not until there was a chance he’d never get to see it again. Due to his focus being elsewhere, he didn’t notice Delta—another one of his segments—behind him until he spoke up.

"Something is wrong with you, Boss." Delta said evenly; it wasn’t a question.

Not bothering to turn around, Dottore replied calmly, "Nothing is wrong with me. Why would you think that, Delta?"

"Do you really think you can assure me just by denying my suspicions? First of all, you’ve been coughing for months; something is clearly up with your health, both physical and mental. Secondly, I saw the pages you marked in that book you left on your desk. Hanahaki, was it? Am I correct in thinking that this matter has something to do with [Name]? You’re quite fond of them, after all."

"You shouldn’t be getting involved in other people’s problems, Delta. You should know better than that." Dottore spoke in a cold tone.

"No, you should know better! You’ve always been like this—awfully stubborn. You’re mistreating yourself, Boss! I can’t just stand by and watch it happen. I’m getting involved in your problems because you won’t help yourself!" Delta raised his voice.

"When have you ever had control over my actions? You’re merely my segment; I am the one with power over you, not the other way around. I’d advise you to get your nose out of my business. It is my choice and mine alone whether or not I get help." Dottore walked away from Delta without another word.

Along with Dottore’s fading footsteps, Delta could hear him coughing as he left. He was so frustrated; why couldn’t Dottore just accept his aid? Why did he have to be so stubborn as to refuse to confess to you, even if it meant the death of him? Dottore of all people should have known that there was no alternative cure for Hanahaki Disease. So what in the world were his motives?

Delta was thoroughly confused by the man’s behavior. However, Dottore had his eyes on one goal and one goal alone: ending his miserable life. Absolutely nothing could get in his way. Archons, how he wished for an opportunity like this. All he had to do was wait until his body finally gave out, and then all would be still.

As more weeks passed, Dottore’s Hanahaki Disease steadily got worse. His throat had begun to feel sore, and it was quite painful to speak. However, through the pain, his hope was restored. His disease had gotten to the later stages; his life was coming to an end at last.

One evening, as Dottore was working on his soulless research, Delta came in to check on his condition.

"Boss? Is everything going okay?"

Dottore beckoned for him to come closer, not saying a word. The only noise that could be heard was his slight coughing as some rouge-colored petals fell from his mouth. Once Delta was close enough, Dottore wrote the names of some painkillers on a slip of paper and handed it to him.

Taking the paper, Delta stared down at the man before him. "What do you want me to do with this? Do you need me to get you these pills from your lab?"

Dottore simply nodded.

"Boss, painkillers won’t make your Hanahaki Disease go away. You can’t just keep ignoring it! You are hurting for a reason; your body needs help. The other segments and I are all worried for you; even [Name] is uneasy. You know, they miss you a lot, Dottore. We all do."

At the mention of your name, Dottore covered his ears, refusing to listen any further. He was determined to calm the beating in his heart that was triggered by Delta mentioning your concern for him. He couldn’t let his feelings for you interfere with his plans.

Eventually, Delta gave up trying to reason with him and went off to retrieve the medicine. After all, he wasn’t going to make Dottore suffer more than the man always was. However, there and then, Delta decided that he needed to tell you what was going on. He had wanted to inform you for a while, but felt guilty about breaking Dottore’s trust. But now, in his heart, he knew it was more important to save him.

Once Delta had acquired the medicine, he came back to find Dottore coughing up more petals than normal. He set down a couple pill bottles on Dottore’s desk, as well as a glass of water for him to swallow them with.

Archons, he just gets worse and worse every day. Delta thought, before bidding him farewell and closing the door to his office.

Just before Dottore was about to take his medication, he had another bout of coughing. The glass of water fell to the floor and shattered as Dottore doubled over in pain. This time, it felt absolutely excruciating, and the magenta-colored petals that fell to his desk were stained with his blood.

Dottore felt that crimson liquid spill from his mouth and drip onto the desk. He knew at this point that he was really, truly dying. However, even so, he felt oddly at peace. His years of labor would finally come to an end. His life would come to an end.

He had to pinch himself just to get the pills down, as the pain of swallowing was making his eyes sting. His own blood was enough for him to take the medication with, as the glass of water was no longer an option. All he had to do was endure half an hour of this torture before his throat would go numb.

Just as Dottore was heading to his private chambers to relax a bit as he waited for the pain to cease, he overheard Delta speaking to someone.

Delta was frantically trying to tell you something. "[Name], I have some extremely important information that you need to know about. It’s concerning Dottore and why he hasn’t been his usual self. He has—"

Just as Delta was about to reveal his secret, Dottore grabbed his neck, pulling him away from you.

Through the pain, Dottore managed to say, "That information isn’t for you to share as you please, Delta."

Feeling a hand on his neck, Delta went silent. Dottore wasn’t choking him, but this action was enough to stop him from telling you about the man’s disease.

Dottore dragged Delta away, leaving you alone to ponder what in the world was so important that Dottore had to threaten Delta just so he wouldn’t say it? Meanwhile, Dottore spoke quietly to Delta in an empty hallway.

"Delta. I don’t want to have to do this, as you’re the segment I trust the most. Zeta is too mysterious, Epsilon is too naive, Theta doesn’t take anything seriously, and Psi is never here. That is why I am reluctant to make a decision about your future; you are making things hard for me." Dottore spoke, enduring the pain speaking caused to his throat that had yet to fade.

"What are you talking about, Boss? What decision?" Delta nervously asked him.

"If this continues, I may have to send you away to a different nation, somewhere far away, where you cannot tamper with my plans."

"Oh really? You want to send me away? And what plans? What plans have you ever had!? Do you really intend to pass away just because you don’t want to tell [Name] that you love them!?" Delta yelled at Dottore.

"This is exactly what I mean. You get too involved with other people’s worries." Dottore spoke coldly.

"I’m loyal to you! That’s what this is, Boss! Loyalty! I want to save your life above all else, don’t you see!?"

Dottore sighed. "Yes, I see that, Delta. However, my orders are for you to stand back."

Now, Delta was extremely frustrated with him. "I care about you! I can’t just watch you perish! Boss, it’s almost as if you want to die!"

"MAYBE I DO!" Dottore snapped. "EVER THOUGHT ABOUT THAT, DELTA!? HAS ANYONE EVER CONSIDERED THAT!?"

Time seemed to stop.

"I—Boss? What?"

Regretting his words, Dottore quickly walked away from him, heading to his private chambers. "Forget it, Delta. It doesn’t matter."

"No—wait—this is serious. Boss? Boss, are you—" Delta tried to go after Dottore, but the man had already locked himself in his room.

"Please, leave me alone." Dottore said from behind the locked door.

Dottore fell onto his bed, exhausted. Archons, it hurt for him to speak. And yelling on top of that? He was surprised that it only hurt a medium amount, and didn't feel like his throat was being ripped open. He could feel blood dripping onto his bedsheets; he’d have to clean it up later. Now all he could do was ignore Delta’s desperate pleas for him to come out as he waited for the painkillers to kick in.

Meanwhile, you were absolutely shocked. Curiosity had gotten the better of you, and you had eavesdropped on their argument. All this new information had hit you like a truck. You had no clue that Dottore felt the way he did.

Dottore is dying from.. Hanahaki Disease? What is that? He wants to die? He.. loves me..? Archons, I’m so confused.. You thought, before running off to the library stationed in the Fatui Headquarters.

You were certain to find something on diseases in there, as it contained shelf after shelf of informational books on every topic under the sun.

As you rushed through the doors, the librarian slowly looked up at you. "Need something, honey? You look like you’re in a hurry."

"Yes, I do need help." You said, out of breath. "D-do you have anything on Hanahaki Disease?"

"Aw, someone’s lovesick, huh? What a shame; all you can do is hope they like you back." The woman said lazily, typing something up on her computer. "Well, we do have a couple books containing some information on that illness. Follow me, honey."

"I–the book is for.. a friend." You clarified.

"Mhm, that’s what they all say. Just make sure you return the book before you die; it’s such a hassle to go looking for them." The librarian replied as she led you over to a shelf.

"I’m not dying, ma’am."

"Sure you’re not, honey. Denial is all you have left, I suppose."

The woman began to pull a couple heavy books off the shelf, handing them to you. You nearly fell over due to the weight in your arms.

"Ma’am, I think I’ll be okay with these for now. Thank you." You said, nearly about to tip over.

"Good for you; have fun. Or don’t. I don’t really care. I’ll be at my desk if you need anything." The librarian walked away, leaving you to do your research.

You skimmed through the first one of the thick books, looking for a section on Hanahaki Disease. Once you found it, you thoroughly read through the entire text.

Unrequited love.. You could feel your heart beating quicker. Of course, you held very tender emotions towards Dottore, but you were too afraid to say anything before. Now was not the time to be getting butterflies over him—he was in serious danger.

You now knew you were the key to saving him. However, you were lost on what to do. Dottore had himself locked in his room and wouldn’t even listen to his most trustworthy segment, Delta. If you pushed him, Dottore would only hide away further. And then you’d truly never get the chance to save him.

You’d need to lure him out somehow, wouldn’t you? But how would you accomplish that? You were still pondering that as you walked out of the library, awkwardly carrying one of the giant books. As you headed towards your room to give yourself time to ponder, you overheard Delta pleading with Dottore.

"Boss, we can talk about this, okay? It doesn’t have to be this way. If you just let me help, things can get better. Please don’t give up like this."

Still hiding behind that locked door, Dottore responded, "I don’t need your help, Delta. Just leave. I want to sleep."

"No, Boss. I’m not leaving. You need help; you just don’t know how to accept it. I’m staying out here until you’re ready."

Your heart lurched painfully at that. What in the world would you do? You weren’t sure exactly how far along the disease had gotten, but he was still talking in clear sentences, which was a good sign that he wasn’t on his death bed yet. Still, when you thought back, his cough had started quite a long time ago, so he was likely in the latest stages. At best, he had maybe a week left. You didn’t want to assume he’d hold on for much longer, so you knew that you needed to act fast. You’d try to save him in the morning if he came out of his room.

Meanwhile, Dottore was just trying to fall asleep. Archons, his body was so exhausted. Delta hadn’t stopped begging him to come out and likely wouldn’t for a while. Dottore’s eyelids began to feel heavy, and he could sense himself drifting off. He wasn’t even quite sure if he’d see the next day; he really hoped he wouldn’t. Then his pathetic and miserable life would finally come to an end.

However, to Dottore’s great disappointment, he did wake up the next day. His body felt weak and oddly warm, and he longed to go outside in the snow to cool off. When he opened his door, he found that Delta had spent the night curled up outside of it.

Dottore carefully stepped over his sleeping body and began heading towards a door to the outside. That particular exit to the Fatui Headquarters wasn’t well known and therefore didn’t warrant being guarded. It was almost too good to be true, as the last thing Dottore wanted was for his plans to be discovered by anyone else. He didn’t want anyone’s help.

Once Dottore reached the exit, he stumbled outside, slowly making his way out into the snow. He wasn’t wearing the proper layers, just a collared shirt and pants, but he still felt too warm. The falling snowflakes melted on his skin, cooling him down just a bit. It still wasn’t enough for him.

When he was about ten yards into the snow, he began to have another coughing fit. He was in pure agony this time, as he had forgotten to take his pain medication that morning. He fell to his knees as blood poured from his mouth, leaving a stark contrast in the snow. Along with his blood, tears flowed down his face. Archons, the pain was unbearable. Pure red petals were scattered all around him, a sign that his disease had gotten to its worst stage.

Dottore didn’t even have the energy to stay balanced, and he fell to his side. Blood still dripped from his mouth as he lay in the snow and let the cold embrace his feverish body. All he could think of was that he could finally rest—forever this time. Just before his eyes began to shut, he caught sight of a figure running towards him, yelling his name.

Oh. It’s [Name]. At least they’ll be the last thing I see before I die.

When you reached him, you dropped to your knees beside him and removed the mask from his face.

"Oh no.. no.. please be okay.. please be alive.." You said frantically.

Dottore looked up at you as you did so, those crimson eyes of his matching the blood that was still dripping from his mouth. Those eyes that were wet with tears that had yet to fall. Likewise, you could feel your own tears dripping down your face.

"Dottore.. please don’t leave me. I love you; I always have. Just hang on for me, okay?" You spoke softly to him, gently stroking his cheek as you wiped away his tears.

Because of your heartfelt words, Dottore’s wretched curse was broken. However, at that point, Dottore was too weak to care that his attempt had failed. All that he cared about was the fact that you shared his feelings. His aching heart had seemingly been revived. You held Dottore closer, embracing him as you cried into his shoulder.

"Please, Dottore. Don’t try anything like this ever again. I’m going to get you the help you need; please just keep holding on."

Dottore had felt as though his existence was worthless, but now he was comforted knowing that it meant something to you. You loved him. That alone gave it purpose. Archons, it felt like a dream. His one reason to keep going had saved his life yet again.

Slowly, Dottore began to speak, "[Name].. I—I love you too.."

You smiled at him, tears still streaming down your face. Gently, you pressed your lips to his, your kiss as soft as a feather. It was at that moment that Dottore truly realized that he would no longer have to struggle alone. You’d be there for him every step of the way to recovery.

His life was finally worth something again.

167 notes · View notes

lillazyboithings · 6 months

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thoughts on different rtc ships?

I'll start listing off all the RTC ships I can recall, by that, I mean EVERYTHING

Nischa (Noel x Mischa): OTP, my beloveds, you can literally see how much I love them just by scrolling through the nischa tag on my blog

Spacedolls (Ricky x Jane/Penny): they're okay, they vibe together, I like it, they're like little skrunklies that I put in a cage and feed cookies to

BlackRose (Constance x Ocean): I'm sorry but no, just no, no thank you, not even my cup of tea but I will respect if you ship it anon, whoever you are

Perfectdolls (Jane/Penny x Ocean): also okay with it, pretty cool! They're like character foils of eachother

Mischalia (Mischa x Talia): also cool, there's also an understandable canonical basis for it the same way nischa has, also literally has a song so fbsnvdnsvenw

Sugardolls/sugarsheep (Constance x Jane/Penny): love it, they're my beloveds, pry it off my cold dead hands you cretins /j

Sugarspace (Ricky x Constance): absolute cuteness overload, they're like a domestic couple, I love it

Spacerap (Ricky x Mischa): not my cup of tea but I can see the appeal, they're cute actually, they're homies, they definitely hang out together

Starrypoet/HornyBoys (Ricky x Noel): also not my cup of tea, but I really like the dynamic that they have, like they both use their imaginations to be someone else, there's potential, also hella gay /pos ( laughing my ass off because horny boys is a funny ship name, congrats on the bonus points for this)

Topcomment (Mischa x Ocean): pretty cool ship despite not me seeing much content for it, it's like good girl x bad boy, I'm sure there's people out there who really love it but for me? No, I don't like it. It's cool but just no.

SoundCloud/Candyrapper (Constance x Mischa): also pretty cute but I see them more as siblings than a couple

Rosenpotts/gingerspace/perfectspace (Ocean x Ricky)(idfk what you guys are called AUGH): also kinda no on this one, but I will respect your opinion if you want to ship it. They're more friendly that coupley in my eyes

Perfect angel (Ocean x Tammy): I do not see potential for it, ocean and Tammy definitely have a frenemies dynamic because of their belief systems

Perfect bride (Ocean x Talia): how??? Ocean is literally the one to say that Talia is fake, I mean, I will respect your opinion but just know I will stare at you like I will be studying you as part of my research project next year.

Perfect love (ocean x hank): no, hank is already dating her cousin in some canonical iterations

Perfect rap (ocean x corey): pretty hilarious, same comments as topcomment but more to the left, also to whoever wrote that one fanfic I saw for them on ao3, shout out to you

Perfect bugs (ocean x trishna): I don't see potential, sorry. They're just not the right people the other would date

Frenchrap/Norey (noel x corey): I love them, they're the kind of couple to be MESSY. THE DRAMA. Comedic fr fr (helps that this is technically a predecessor to nischa)

Tragic Love (noel x hank): I don't think these two would go well together tbh since there's not much in common (lack of hank content)

Rap Dolls (Mischa x Jane/Penny): I kinda also don't see potential with this, they're more like chaotic siblings in my eyes tbh but if you ship them, good on you

Rap Angel/Angel Accent (Mischa x Tammy): guys, what??? To the 0.01% who ship this, I need to know who you are, scratch that, come here I need to study you under a microscope

Love Rap (Hank x Mischa): I'm praying for you and your one way trip to rarepair hell because oh boy, I'm so sorry for you and its lack of content (for everything hank is involved in, in general)

Rap Battle (Mischa x corey): the ride or die duo, these dudes will literally get each other arrested, and would release shitty rap together

Rap Bite (Mischa x Astrid): What??? Huh??? I am questioning your life choices to whoever ships this (not in a judgemental way, more like I'm genuinely curious what's going on inside that head of yours) anyways rarepair hell to you

Rap Bug (Mischa x trishna): same thing as LoveRap, there's also kinda no dynamics to base these two off so I can't really see anything for it

Angel Cats (Tammy x Ricky): okay, cute, I will respect that but there's also kinda something conflicting between Tammy's Religious beliefs and Ricky being SABM

Space Bride (Ricky x Talia): ???????? Huh ??????? Okay, questionable, maybe online relationship? Rarepair hell either way, I'm sorry

Space Love (Ricky x hank): okay, understandable, nothing much to say about them tbh

Space Battle (Corey x Ricky): really? Horny boys part 2? /J. Okay but in all honesty, I feel like it wouldn't mingle well together unless you want it to have the same dynamic as SpaceRap

Cat Bite (Ricky x Astrid): maybe?? No??? I can't see potential, down to the rarepair hell for you

CD player (penny x Tammy): you guys really went ham on these two when y'all read the Legoland script, I like it lmfao

Love Dolls (Hank x Jane/Penny): rarepair hell to you

Battle Dolls (Corey x Jane/Penny): and you

Doll Bite (Astrid x Jane/penny): and also you

Bug Dolls (trishna x Jane/penny): okay I can see potential, girlies are just curious of the nature around them, just one is curious about bugs while the other is curious about life itself and why she's there-

Bride Dolls (Talia x Jane/penny): rarepair hell to you as well

Sugar Angel (Constance x Tammy): Sweet (pun intended), also very domestic in my opinion

Sugar Battle (Constance x corey): rarepair hell to you, also I don't think constance would love being in a long term relationship with this sleazebag rapper

Sugar Love (Constance x hank): Cute, but also rarepair hell to you

Sugar Bite (Astrid x Constance): rarepair hell, also if we're basing off fanon + canon depictions, I don't think they'd be a good match with each other

Sugar Bugs (Constance x trishna): domestic, fluff potential, adorable, no judgement on my part

Digital Cafe (Constance x Talia): shout out to zolarianstarman for unintentionally making me see how cute this ship is

Love Angel (Hank x Tammy): I think I can see potential with the boy next door x religious girl type, not the best pairing though but oh well

Love Battle (Hank x corey): it kinda like a vague predecessor to spacerap if you think of the timeline as to how the characters got to where they are. But I feel like they'd be more on homies than dating

Love Bite (Hank x Astrid): canonically engaged, beautiful (cut) song, I love them

Love Bride (Hank x Talia): rarepair hell. No exceptions

Angel Battle (Corey x Tammy): dayum, the "I can fix him" couple but it's a shitty YouTube rapper and the very religious Catholic girl

Battle Bite (Astrid x corey): the only way Astrid is gonna even touch Corey is kicking his balls and punching him, I rest my case, they're siblings, your honor

Battle bugs (Corey x Trishna): I can't see the potential, I'm sorry, rarepair hell to you

Battle Bride (Corey x Talia): also rarepair hell, I literally cannot see anything for this

Angel Bite (Tammy x Astrid): so the pink soft girlie x "I bit my cousin with no regrets" girl, got it

Bug Bite (Astrid x trishna): cute, I can see potential, a girlie interested in bugs and her vaguely European girlfriend who would love to listen to her talking about bugs

Bride Bite (Talia x Astrid): rarepair hell button has been pressed, no more other comments

Bug Angel (trishna x Tammy): I feel like this would work out I think? This is kinda normal tbh

Bug Bride (trishna x Talia): rarepair hell to you, I'm sorry but it's true

Angel Bride (Tammy x Talia): ah yes, we're shipping the two girlies who have not made any canonical appearances in their respective musicals besides mentions from the established characters there

Electricity (Karnak x Virgil): guys, why are we shipping the rat and the fortune teller? Funny, but I question us as a fandom sometimes LMFAO

Polychoir (basically all 6 of the main characters): cute, but noel stays platonic with the girlies, okay?

PerfectSugarDolls (ocean x Constance x Jane/penny): girlies squad assemble be like

SpaceRapDolls (Ricky x Mischa x Jane/penny): chaos trio, no more comments, your honor

SugarSpaceRap (Constance x Ricky x Mischa): I mean...sure??? Okay? You do you pooks

Nischalia (noel x Mischa x Talia): I like it, Noel and Talia would definitely be best friends, and do rock paper scissors on who keeps Mischa for the weekend (loser keeps him/j), also Mischa has two hands, of course this is possible

PerfectEggDolls (ocean x Mischa x Jane/penny): I'm sorry but are we seriously gonna let Ocean practically date(babysit) two of the most chaotic beings in that choir?

TragicSpaceRap/Escapism trio (Ricky x Noel x Mischa): they need to get out of uranium together tbh, I don't make the rules, get them outta there

PerfectSugarSpace (ocean x Constance x Ricky): okay, understandable? Maybe? I respect your opinion tho

PerfectSugarAccent (ocean x Constance x Mischa): respectfully, I can't see potential, I'm sorry *presses rarepair hell button*

Stargirls (Ricky x Jane/penny x Constance x Tammy): the ship name sounds like they're all in a band together omg, but yeah, it's cute in my eyes, whoever ships this, you guys are chill

PassionFrenchRap (Corey x Noel x Mischa): LMFAO noel and his two rapper boyfriends, bro literally got duplicates of the same boyfriend

FrenchPassionSlutCats (Corey x Noel x Mischa x Ricky): hectic. That's all I'm gonna say, they're all hectic and gay together, good on them

LuckySugarStars (Jane/penny x Constance x Ricky): aweee they're so adorable together guys, I can't, help me, dhsnshsnhwje

LoveBugBite (Astrid x trishna x hank): yes, cute, adorable fr fr (Winona if you're reading this, you have definitely influenced me)

Special mention:

Mookie (Mischa x Cookie): perfection, 10/10, I refuse criticism, the highschool version of the script definitely influenced this.

Noel x Any girl: fuck you (in a negative way), he's canonically gay and if I see you ship him like that outside of platonic ones, I'm sending you GAY to hell.

Tags: @joeseventies (credits to them for the master list doc of all the ship names), and @witchstormm because you asked me to, have fun reading

I'm so sorry anon if this took so long to answer but here you go

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liwaywaydreamer · 1 year

Text

My Savior (Ch. 1)

(Time travel au, Royalty au, BTS x Reader)

Synopsis: As a hopeless med student that has been accustomed to the roller coaster of mishaps in life, you were sure nothing could get worse than the current situation you’re in. Unfortunately, that thought didn’t include being transported back in the 1400s, nor did it include you being an apparent reincarnation of the person you hated most. Now, can this get any worst?

Pairing: BTS x reader

Warnings: Inaccurate history, angst, bystander effect, verbal abuse (reader received some insults and humiliated), harmful thoughts, implied politics (in connection only to the story, there are no real politician mentioned here), corruption in politics, unreliable narrator (if I forgot something, feel free to comment or send an ask?)

A/n: university life is shit and I was eyeing for this to be at 5k words but if I stuck to that, I wouldn’t finish this. If you like it, please reblog. Reblogs are worth more than likes here right?

Masterlist

Chapter 1: Like fate, like destiny

You're fucked.

Two words you continuously repeat in your head as you struggle to gather the mess of thesis papers you've left messily across your table the night before. Glancing at your alarm clock not surprisingly on the floor blaring 10:30 at you, sporting a dent not so hidden even if you're three feet away, (a surprising quality for such a cheap thing).

Your class starts at 8.

You tried your best to get to your university as quickly as you can, wishing time would stop a little, or even just go back, afraid of what is about to come. Despite your efforts not to get annoyed (and failing miserably) with the bodies you bumped into on the way and the occasional yelling here and there — from the moment you almost forgot to pay the bus fare to when you're facing your professor right now in front of the faculty lounge, the same professor which you needed to pass your research to— coffee splashed onto his shirt, a cup on the floor, and you on the receiving end of his anger.

He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture that you might have found endearing if he had been more physically appealing. You waited with bated breath, so used to his antics. Although some might see this as an attempt for him to control his anger, you however can see past his huge ego and idiotic narcissism, he was only doing this to attract more traction, the audience for your humiliation.

His prolonged sigh was your calm before the storm.

"You can't do anything right, do you?" he sneered as if trying to prove a point to the spectators, relishing in every second of your embarrassment.

If being a disappointment was a job, you'll be the CEO in no time.

"Sir, I'm really sorry, I didn't mean—"

"SHUT UP!" he screamed as he loosens his necktie. You can't do anything but wait and hope that whatever he does next would suffice for how much you've messed up time and time again.

"You, what can you do right?" With each word, he poked and prodded you, pushing you closer and closer to the deep end. You whimpered, trying to not lose control but failing miserably as there was nothing that you could do to stop it, and whether you were just failing by your standards or the fact that he does not care, he continued his barrage of insults, never letting up despite your attempts to apologize.

"How long do I need to put up with you?" he slurred as he now prods your shoulder, harder and harder with each word.

"Sir, I'm sor— "

"HUH?!" a smack and you were on the ground. All the people in the vicinity just stood there, watching, unwilling to help— being a mindless watcher to the abuse, the true definition of a bystander effect.

Why is it in every discipline, violence needs to be included? Is that how we're programmed to learn? Through nothing but violence? You hoped for someone to help you even if you already knew that no one would. Yet, you hoped still.

If this was your first day in school, you would've fought back. You would've stood up for your pride. That a spilled coffee is not enough to humiliate you like this and that not every misfortune is because of you. But you know better; this isn't your first day, nor is it your second. You know how the system works and who it favors, and unfortunately, it doesn't favor you.

"...waste of space. If it weren't for your parents..." You didn't hear the other words he spoke as he walked away not forgetting to throw the papers he held— papers that were your best effort at reaching your dreams, thrown away with your hopes of being better than what they said.

Needless to say, you were suspended due to behavior misconduct; words that you no longer know the meaning of anymore. You're back to your cage-like rented dorm, whilst your head is everywhere but.

What a cruel joke, you thought. The first time you wanted something so badly for yourself and had dedicated your whole life to had to happen with the world's hatred for you was at its peak. Or had it ever really stopped?

You gripped the handle of your balisong, tracing the delicate and intricate designs you engraved on it as waves of atrocious thoughts crashed into your mind. How morbid, you mused. The same thing that you want to hurt yourself with right now is the same thing that made you feel grounded. You're aware that these thoughts are anything but good, but you're also aware of the fact that no one is going to help you.

Simply because no one wants to.

A medical career was not your parents' choice nor was it ever in their choice, but it was in yours.

You're not unconscious of the fact that a career in the medical field is a lot to take financially, and to be the only one in the medical field in a family of lawyers? You alone destroyed the dreams put on you by your mother who vicariously lived through you, but you wanted it.

And you thought that was enough.

But now, as you sit back on the barren floor of your sparsely furnished room that you once hoped would've at least shown evidence of the life of someone healthy in their early twenties, you had nothing other than your worn-out bed on the corner and a circular dinner table doubling as your makeshift desk, cut off from all financial stability that your parents could've provided you if you only heed to their wishes. Now, you think about whether your current situation is worth the sense of independence you fought so hard for.

Was it a foolish decision to stand your ground? To try to live your life on your own terms? Because you know for a fact that it doesn't matter if you followed every whim of your parents as they will always find something wrong and below their standards with you. With every breath, every change of clothes, every food that you intake, even your education— you were taught that everything that they have given you was a debt you owed them, and because of that they are within their rights to choose for you.

After all, parents only want the best for their children, don't they?

You are by no means the most intelligent person on the campus, nor were you trying to be. But you're committed to what you chose, and you hoped that that commitment can be seen through your effort and hard work. And yet, despite your commitment, those words, those words still echoed in your mind— you can't seem to un-hear those words.

“If it weren't for your parents.”

You wanted to choose a life separate from them, to forge a path of your own. But no matter how much it pains you to admit, you know now, clearer than ever, that it does not matter how far you run, you'd always be hidden beneath their shadows.

To only be recognized as the black sheep of your family.

Instead of indulging your self-pity and sulking alone in your room with a blade on sight much longer than you had intended to, you opt to browse the internet for some fun things to do; a piece of advice you got from the internet since seeing a psychiatrist would be a luxury for you.

And whether it was your misfortune running out finally or yet another adventure of mishaps waiting to unfold an announcement caught your attention:

"Join us for a free tour down the historical lane to commemorate the House of Kim, with events set to reenact the life our ancestors had lived!"

There were more words to the article but as you read on, your eyes fell on the tour's schedule.

"Gyeongbokgung tour is going to take place at 1:30 pm," you murmured to yourself.

It was an opportunity you couldn't miss, a rare sight to see. Despite the mental baggage weighing you down, this was a chance to experience something new and forget about your troubles, even if just for a little while. Maybe this was the way of the gods trying to make up for all the shit storm your life is at right now, but whatever it was, you'll take it.

So, without hesitation, you got up, grabbed your purse, and with the little money you have left, you headed out. You knew you had to take on more shifts at the store or find other jobs to cover for your sudden trip, as your dream of becoming a doctor was fading quickly and surely anyway. But for now, all you cared about was the prospect of exploring a historical place that had opened its doors on a day it usually wouldn't.

Arguably, no one other than yourself knows what decisions made on a whim can do to anyone. Whether this is your intuition telling you to go back to your room to help you or just to spite you away from society, you didn't dwell long on the thought.

All you needed to know is that you're drowning quickly, and you would hold unto anything, even a pair of gilded chains to let you breathe again.

"Gyeongbokgung Palace, also known as Gyeongbok Palace, was the primary royal residence and the largest of the five grand palaces that still exist today in South Korea. Built-in 1395, this..."

As you don't have a lot of money to waste, you stuck to the free guides the palace provides although not very effective when you're standing in the back of 50 people. And looking at how detached and uninterested your tour guide is whilst speaking, without a doubt, you knew that this was just an additional job to her. Not really enough to complain about since the constant chattering of the people around you easily engulf her almost robotic voice anyways.

This trip already cost you more than you expected and standing still to nonsense chatter was not part of your nonexistent plan. So, with the palace map in hand, you left the group with ease.

"Gwanghwamun: the southern gate that became the main gate after some time. It is one of Seoul's iconic sights, having been restored after being largely destroyed by the war," you read while gazing up at the magnificent building in front of you, the swaying of windchimes singing their lullabies in the background. Your eyes carefully scanned every nook and cranny, not wanting to forget this beautiful sight. Although you can't be sure if the scenery is exactly as it looked when it was originally built, the idea of having remnants of the past soothes your soul.

You've always been intrigued about the things that have already happened, or perhaps that's an understatement as your mind always seems to be occupied with thoughts about what they could have done differently and the effects of it on the modern world. Whether it really is fascinating to you or just a form of escapism, you don't want to know. All you do know is that you're a product of the modern world, but something within you suggests that itself was a mistake.

Especially when the Kim dynasty has the best-looking aristocrats you had ever seen.

No, you weren't attracted to them, you tried to defend yourself from your inner turmoil as you gaze upon the paintings displayed. You just know how to appreciate beauty when you see one, even if it's just paintings on a wall. This was once again your Philip Hamilton but with much more injustice. At least with Philip, there were actual pictures of him to bestow the world with his beauty. And although you can commend the talents of the painters of the past considering they did not have the best art supplies during their time, you still cannot grasp the idea that these people existed. Not when they are reduced to the mere splat of colors made to resemble a person.

You couldn't clearly see the features of each man in the paintings, but it's not really anyone's fault for it's just the evidence of time. Nevertheless, your admiration for them never lessened, because it's more than their artificial perfection that deserved your admiration and respect. They were also the ones who did more than any other aristocrats ever did for their people. They were the true embodiment of a regime existing not for the regime itself, perfectly aware of who gave them power. Although yes, it wasn't a democracy, but even democracy has its problems.

All you can say is they did their best to lead their people. At least for some time, as they were the foundation that made South Korea what it is now. Sure, their reign could've ended better, still, they were an integral part of history.

And history should never be forgotten.

Although it disheartens you that their achievements and sacrifices are slowly being forgotten; the wars they've won are now taken for granted, you understand that life goes on and people have their own lives to live. It's another reminder that time doesn't stop for anyone.

As the wind chimes fluttering in the breeze, abruptly ceasing your thoughts. Somehow, you felt a sense of belongingness, despite their faintness that could easily be muffled by the chirping of birds. Nonetheless, it was truly fitting for the place as it only elevated the experience the palace could only give.

You couldn't quite understand why wind chimes would be placed in Geunjeongjeon, other than to elevate the experience, but since the cold breeze was constant ever since you stepped onto the palace grounds, you're certain that the people who are in charge knew exactly what they're doing.

You continued observing the place, trying to imagine what events had happened on the concrete that was paved hundreds of years ago. Was it quiet? Were the roads bustling with people constantly? Or were there just only a handful of people seen from time to time walking along?

You were so deep into your imagination that for a few seconds, you felt as though you were transported back in time. You were seeing groups of three to four consorts walking and talking to each other, palace women walking briskly with a basket on their sides, and a few eunuchs scolding some servants who probably messed something up. And then suddenly, everything came to halt when a booming voice from behind you commanded, "Make way for the Prince!"

As you turned to face the source of the voice, you found yourself making eye contact with a man whose attire you could easily recognize from the K-dramas you'd watched, and even with the distance between you, you can't help but feel he was looking straight at you.

"Excuse me, is this yours?" A little girl's voice interrupted your daydream, her voice so cute as she lightly tugs your shirt, holding out your phone.

"Oh, thank you so much!" you exclaimed, realizing that you were in your head so much that you didn't feel your phone fall off your pocket. You would have another problem added to your bulk of problems if it weren't for the girl.

"No problem, have a good day!" she gleamed brightly and ran off. The kid was so energetic you couldn't even give her something back.

As you opened your map once again, you accidentally dropped your phone and with it, you see a pocket watch on the ground. And it didn't take you to think twice to know to whom it belongs. Hurriedly, you followed the kid toward the path of the Hyangwonjeong pavilion.

"Where did she go?" you murmured, you were sure that you had seen her walking towards the pavilion, but as you see the bare grounds of the place, you realized you had lost track of her. The pavilion was nearly empty except for a few tourists, and you felt torn between searching for the girl to return the watch or continuing to explore the palace grounds.

As you were going to turn around and try to find the girl, you stopped in your tracks. After all, did you really spend your money to travel here just to end up focusing on returning a girl's missing watch when the palace was only open for a limited time? It would be a waste of time going here if you didn't enjoy your time, right? As you stood there contemplating your decision, the constant breeze grew stronger, making the wind chimes nearby flutter and although messy, they still somehow created the most beautiful melodies. The sound disrupted your thoughts, but somehow provided an answer to your dilemma. You decided to keep the watch and continue exploring the palace. After all, you didn't want to waste your money and time searching for someone who would likely be enjoying the sights with her guardians. You could always return the watch to her later.

As you stroll on the bridge named Chwihyanggyo, your fingers lightly tapping the railings, you thought of one thing that could make this experience a million percent better.

"Why are hanbok so fucking expensive?" you huffed, frustrated at yourself for not being able to afford one. But since you can't do anything about it, you continued walking with a pout toward the buildings that housed the aristocrats of the past. The melodies of the windchimes grow louder as you come closer. And that's when it hits you.

How do you keep hearing them considering you haven't seen one since your first step on the palace? If this was a scene in a drama, you would've thought that the windchimes were following you, serving as the background music for the main protagonist's introduction. But this was no drama nor were you a main protagonist material, and you couldn't help but feel curious about it.

As you stepped inside the pavilion, you felt like you were slowly reaching your dream of going back in time as you gaze at the antique furniture that filled the place. Your fingers trailed the rough edges of the desk, which had subtle engravings that seemed unreadable at first glance: 다 괜찮을거야.

Everything will be alright.

The phrase repeated in your head as you wondered what it meant. Was it a message from the past or just a meaningless inscription? You felt a sense of longing to uncover the mystery behind it, and you wouldn't have noticed it if you hadn't felt it, but the pavilion was closing soon, and you had to leave to look around more.

As you were about to exit, the chimes called out to you again, tempting you to get closer and follow their sweet melody— almost as if they could sense the curiosity in your mind. You followed the sound until you stumbled upon a backroom, which looked like a storage room that had been converted into a makeshift bedroom for the caretaker. You stepped across the redline, both figuratively and literally, unable to resist the urge to explore further.

From the balcony, you caught a glimpse of the wind chimes dangling from a branch over the lake. The constant ringing didn't falter from luring you in. You scanned the area for anyone who could catch you and when you saw no one, you leaped over the balcony and headed toward the chimes. There was something about the chimes that piqued your interest, but whether it was the chimes themselves or the confusion of how you keep hearing them from afar, you weren't sure, and nor were you going to find your answer.

Because as the popular idiom goes, curiosity killed the cat, and with a slip up your feet into the lake you go.

♛♛♛♛♛♛♛

The row of daisies sat atop the windowsill, bathed in the golden light of daybreak. The silent whims of the wind filled the space, stirring the dried leaves on the small makeshift table below, made with old planks with jagged edges, where jars of medicines sat alongside a worn notebook filled with hastily scribbled notes. There was the usual sound of footsteps and the creaking of floorboards. The palace's physicians and attendants began to trickle in, their visits indicated by the soft chimes of wind chimes hanging above the door.

And the wind blew one more time. As if it's intentionally done to send a message as the image of blurred sketches comes through.

All was well.

Until the peaceful scene was shattered by the thunderous galloping of horses that had shaken the rooms. Until there was the clash of metal on metal that filled the air as swords were unsheathed. And until there were faces with features you couldn't make up.

Muffling, shuffling, screaming, shouting.

It was only chaos and bloodshed, and as it worsened, the ringing in your ears grew louder and louder, drowning out all other sounds and leaving you with nothing but a sense of overwhelming disorientation.

Then, just as suddenly, it all heeds to a stop. The ringing faded away, and nothing could be heard other than the flipping of the pages, the smooth gliding of a pen, and the wind chimes outside the window that began to tinkle once again. You looked out the window and saw a tranquil scene: rows of green grass and golden hay, and the majestic curve of a mountain in the distance. There were no whims nor whispers of the wind.

All was quiet and still.

As if everything was at its stalemate; the equilibrium.

And then, as if a stick had been broken, it happened.

The scene began to shift and blur, colors and shapes warping and twisting like a nightmare. The ground trembled beneath your feet; the tremors so strong that you could've sworn you felt it all as images flickered before your eyes. You saw a crowd of men gathered around someone lying on the cold hard floor with colors ranging from black to white, their sorrows crystal-clear even with the constant ringing. Then you saw a field of yellow flowers, a scenery of green and gray with men running toward something in the distance, their faces twisted in anguish, kneeling and begging in the middle of a field.

The images kept shifting and switching back and forth. Everything was in chaos as if fate itself was unsure of what was to come. But through it all, you struggled to hold onto each fleeting image, desperate to make sense of the chaos that surrounded you. And then, with a sudden jolt, you were pulled back into reality, coughing up water as you gasped for air. As you opened your eyes, the last remnants of the dream slipped away, and you were left with only the memory of the intense emotions it had stirred within you.

Dazed, and confused. You looked up, meeting the gaze of the man who had pulled you from the water, his eyes filled with concern and relief.

You were certain you hadn't met him before, but you could've sworn that those almond-shaped eyes were something you could never forget, etched into your memory with an inexplicable familiarity.

To be continued...

Thanks for reading!

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perdvivly · 4 months

Note

🔥 beauty

*abhumanex0, bubbliterally, perdvivly and tranxio are sitting around a fire*

abhumanex0: 🔥 beauty bubbliterally: How are you doing that with your mouth? perdvivly: I'm trying out beauty. bubbliterally: What does that mean? perdvivly: It means that for a long time a particular brand of brainworms I've had comes from the Platonic conception of beauty as this horrible deciever. I'm trying to shed that. tranxio: That's an anachronistic genealogy of the idea. perdvivly: Huh? tranxio: Plato does talk about the interplay between truth and beauty. Notably in the Ion and in The Republic, books two, three, and ten. Plato is worried that the arts and specifically poetry in the Ion, as Ion of Ephesus was a rhapsode, are persuasive by means of rhetoric rather than an appeal to the truth. Specifically, an account of truth that Plato takes to be his idea of Forms. But Plato is chiefly concerned with the interplay between mimesis, from the Ancient Greek mimos, meaning "imitative" and diegesis roughly meaning "narrative". For Plato, the poets are doing a bad job of representing the beauty of truth; they are unable to capture its virtue. But that doesn't mean that Plato doesn't care about beauty or reviles beauty. Plato considers the Form of Beauty to be very important! He talks about it at length in the symposium and does note the associations in many more dialogues. e.g. phaedo, phaedrus, parmenides. I think this is most obvious when you consider what surviving writings we have from Plato. They're dialogues. He was writing creative fiction. He was engaging in a memetic artform, but one that he hoped would transcend the pitfalls of poetry. A "pure crystalline theatre of the mind". I think that the idea you had in mind dervies from the Neoplatonic tradition as it was interpreted by Christianity. The works of Plotinus come to us by way of his pupil Porphyry-- bubbliterally: --wait! You're saying that Christianity takes its philosophical foundations from Neoplatonism? tanxio: That's right. Dean Inge emphasises this point in his book on Plotinus. He says there is "an utter impossibility of excising Platonism from Christianity without tearing Christianity to pieces." Or if that isn't convincing consider that Saint Augustine-- perdvivly: --the saint who fucked. tranxio: That's right, the saint who fucked. Consider that he says of Plato's system that it was the "most pure and bright in all of philosophy" and he talks of Plotinus as a man in whom "Plato lived again". The early church owes a great deal of philosophical debt in this regard. bubbliterally: That's fascinating, so you're saying that Plotinus distrusted beauty and that's where the seed that Viv is picking up on originates? tranxio: Aha, no. Not quite. There is nothing in the mysticism of Plotinus that is hostile to beauty. But he is the last religious teacher for many centuries of whom this can be said. Plotinus founded the Neoplatonic tradition but he wasn't the sole arbiter of their beliefs. Beauty and all the pleasures associated with it came to be thought to be of the Devil. Pagans and Christians alike came to glorify ugliness and dirt. Julian the Apostate, like contemporary orthodox saints, boasted of the populousness of his beard. bubbliterally: But how did all this happen? tranxio: That's a matter of historical debate. The Neoplatonists found themselves in dialogue with the Gnostics for long while. And Porphyry suggests that there is precident in Plato for turning away from the physical world of matter. Perhaps it happened as an extension or outbranch of these dialogues? I'm not certain. But I can go and do more research on it if you would like? bubbliterally: No pressure, but I'd really enjoy the answer if you could find it! tranxio: Of course! *tranxio leaves, presumably to go to the library*

bubbliterally: That was an interesting historical perspective, but can you say more on what you meant Viv? You're "trying out beauty"? perdvivly: Right. I grew up in a pretty heavily Christian dominated soceity and personal environment. My grandparents were missionaries and I went to Sunday school. And because I grew up in England, you can bet that that sect was Anglican. Protestantism is... Austere. It's in a really sharp contrast to Catholicism. You know, you imagine these elaborate ornate robes, the alters decked-out with gold and you have these huge buildings with complicated architecture... And then you have, what I was raised in, which is, sort of an extreme embodiment of the famous saying "simplicity is the ultimate sophistication" so imagine like, wooden pews so upright they could fix quasimodo's posture, plain homespun clothing, nothing ornate or elaborate just this very bare aesthetic. And gradually through a sort of cultural osmosis I think I took some of this in without meaning to or critically evaluating whether or not I wanted to. abhumanex0: So, that's a more personal etiology, it doesn't really answer the question of what you mean though. perdvivly: I know, and I don't want to mess you about, but let me give one more take on why this feels so forceful to me before I expand on what I mean and why I want it. abhumanex0: Go ahead. perdvivly: Have you ever seen something really beautiful and been compelled by it? Or, someone even? bubbliterally: I think we all know about being horny. perdvivly: Right! Sexual desire is actually a really good use-case here. abhumanex0: Not what use-case means but continue. perdvivly: It feels deep down gut-level wrong to be forced by my own body to want something without regard for its... wholeness? Without regard for all of it and all of its interactions with me... Have you ever been compelled against your better judgement to eat junk food that you know will make you feel ill? That to me feels like the same pernicious facet of force that beauty compells. Beauty in this way, sort of forces a passitivy of choice. bubbliterally: the same kind that David Foster Wallace was talking about with Eric the other day? perdvivly: Exactly! Think Catullus 85. I am beset on all sides by emotion and the waves of those emotions are bigger and stronger than I am. I'm afraid of being drowned by them. I'm afraid of being killed by them. Beauty is chief among these emotion makers. abhumanex0: Have you considered that when you say "It feels... wrong to be forced by your own body" that's an extension of the cultural Neoplatonism you absorbed through Christianity? Seeing this sharp distinction between mind and body? perdvivly: I... Hadn't... That's actually a really astute point. bubbliterally: I see... So that's why the issue is so forceful for you. But you want to try beauty out? Okay, maybe I don't see. You love and you hate beauty at the same time? perdvivly: There's no escaping it. So what I mean when I say, "I'm trying out beauty" is that I'm trying to integrate an appreciation for beauty into my life. And there are so many things I find beautiful. That I'm slowly realising I can appreciate without being destoryed by... It''s a long and hard journey. And I'm nowhere near being very good at it yet. But I think it's probably a pretty crucial step on the path of fully realising my own autonomy. bubbliterally: I think it's interesting that this whole discussion has had the locus it's had. That you've situated yourself as the desirer in world of objects to be desired, but you haven't really talked about the effects of being desired. perdvivly: Oh, well. One thing at a time. But I pretty much think that the feminists of the 80s were right about most of it. I could say more but maybe that's a story for another time. *abhumanex0 and bubbliterally both nod* perdvivly: So, how about you guys? bubbliterally: Us? perdvivly: Yeah.🔥 beauty bubbliterally: Okay seriously, how the fuck are you doing that with your mouth?

#thank you so much for the ask #sorry it took me so long to respond #<3 #being the change i want to see in my dash re: ficticious dialogues

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mamadoc · 1 month

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Hey there, I’m slow to post on here, but I posted the fifth chapter of my current Chenford story, Worth the Wait.

The outline of this story has 3 acts. The first and second act have a decent amount of angst (but no major character deaths). The third act is full of happiness and dreams coming true. If you’re not ready for angst right now, please protect your mental health and read some other fluff. But if you’re up for lots of angst with a happy ending, please read and enjoy the ride.

Here’s a segment of the story to pique your interest.

Ashley was staring mindlessly out the window most of the time, lost in thought. But Tim had a plan to make the trip back more interesting than just driving the 5 through the middle of California. He remembered a conversation they had had a while ago about wanting to drive along the Pacific Coast Highway. So, he navigated them around Monterey Bay where they stopped to see some sea lions. Then he drove her down to Big Sur to see Bixby Bridge and the gorgeous scenery there.

As they approached San Simeon, he stopped at the elephant seal colony to watch them flopping around awkwardly for a while. He offered to take her up to Hearst Castle, but she declined and gave him a funny look. I must have remembered that wrong, he thought to himself. Next, they stopped in Morro Bay to see Morrow Rock and watch the sea otters living their best life in the kelp just off the shore.

While they were in Morro Bay, Tim picked up some lunch, and they found a spot along the ocean to sit and eat. As he was eating his cheeseburger and fries, he said, “Well, is this trip down the coast as good as you thought it would be?”

Ashley squinted at him. “I mean, I love looking at the ocean,” she said hesitantly. “And seeing the marine animals along the way has been… interesting.”

Tim furrowed his brow at her. “But you told me a while ago that you always wanted to take this trip along the coast. We talked about what we would see and where we would go. I know we talked about going all the way north to see the redwoods, but if we end up living up there it would be easy to go another day. And you really wanted to see the otters and elephant seals and sea lions, right? You said otters were your favorite marine animal.”

She tilted her head and looked at him for a moment. “Actually, I hate seals and sea lions. They’re bossy and invade huge sections of the beach. Plus, they are so stinky and loud. Otters are fine, I guess. We don’t have issues with them in LA. But if I could find a beach where seals and sea lions weren’t an issue in California, that’s where I would prefer to be.”

Tim scrunched his brow in frustration. He knew they had had this conversation. That’s why he had researched all the vista points along the way to make sure that Ashley could see everything that she had wanted to see.

“Maybe you’re thinking about a conversation with Genny? Did she want to take her kids to see all the animals?”

“No. We talked about going to Hearst Castle, too, and Genny’s kids wouldn’t have enjoyed that.”

“Hearst Castle? Huh. That kind of thing doesn’t really appeal to me either.”

It took him several minutes to realize who had had this conversation with months ago. He remembered talking about making the trip together and all the things that they would see along the way. He even remembered searching for the best restaurants in the area. Then a light bulb flicked on in his brain.

Lucy.

It was Lucy that wanted to take this trip. Lucy that wanted to see all the marine animals and Hearst Castle and Bixby Bridge and the rock formations in Big Sur and the famous Pebble Beach tree. The whole conversation rushed back into his mind. They were at a stake out one night, and she just kept going on and on. But it kept both of them awake, so he just let her talk. And, not one to enjoy sitting idly, he had joined in her search for the best things to do and see and eat along the route.

Once he realized the mistake that he had made, he became quiet and focused on eating his food. Ashley noticed the shift as his posture and facial expressions changed.

After a few more minutes, she said softly, “It was Lucy, wasn’t it? You had planned to go on this trip with Lucy. She was the one that wanted to see all of the things you took me to see.”

Tim looked over at her in surprise. He didn’t have to say anything for Ashley to see the truth on his face.

“I think I’m done eating,” she said. Then she stood up and walked briskly away from him.

Tim quickly gathered the rest of their food and threw it in the nearest trash can. Then he jogged to catch up to her. When he found her a minute later, she was vomiting behind a shrub.

“Ashley…” he started, but she held up her hand to silence him.

When she was done throwing up a minute later, she took a wipe out of her purse to clean her face and hands. Tim had his mouth open, eager to explain himself, but Ashley glared at him. “I think I’d like to go home now. No more stops.” Moving quickly, she navigated back to Tim’s truck.

Crap.

He’d really screwed that up royally. How had he managed to think it was Ashley who wanted to take this trip? For a moment his mind imagined how excited Lucy would have been to see the sea otters rolling around and playing with each other or the elephant seals barking and rolling over each other or the extravagant and beautiful rooms at Hearst Castle. But he had to suppress those ideas down as far as they would go. That would never happen now.

Now he needed to focus on mending the tear in his relationship with Ashley. He jogged after her and helped her into the truck. The last two hours of the drive were in complete and heavy silence. The tension between them was palpable. Tim had tried to apologize several times, but Ashley wasn’t interested in hearing it.

They had to stop a few times along the way for Ashley to throw up. But when Tim offered to help or asked if she had her nausea medicine, he only got a stony glare in return.

When they made it to her apartment, he had to run to keep up with her. He tried to follow her into her apartment, but she turned around and blocked the entry. “I just need some space right now. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Ash… Please. I’m sorry. It was an honest mistake. Really. Both of you really like the beach and the ocean, and I must have just mixed it up in my head.”

Ashley scowled at him. “How many of your coworkers have you ever gone on a trip with?”

He was surprised at the question. “Uhhh. None.”

“But you planned to go on this trip with Lucy?”

“She was just talking in the shop on a stake out. We didn’t… We weren’t going to go as a couple. And it’s not like we were actually going to do it together. We were just talking to stay awake and fill up time. At least, that’s what I think I remember,” he said as he thought about it harder again, his brow furrowed.

“See,” she said, pushing her index finger into his chest. “This is exactly what I’ve been trying to get you to see. Lucy was way more than your gopher or your partner to you. She probably still is.”

“She was my friend,” he said defensively. “You know that. But I did what you asked me to do. I haven’t talked with her since she visited me at the hospital. You already blocked and deleted her number on my phone. I don’t know what more you want me to do. I…”

“Save it,” she said abruptly with a fire in her eyes. “I…” she started, searching for words to match how she felt. “This is why I asked you to end your friendship with her. You two together…” She was at a loss for what to say and just stood there for a moment with her mouth open. Then she shook her head and said, “I… I just need some time alone. Don’t call me. I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

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chewyjellycable · 7 months

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[Cappu-or-Treat - CW: None]

"Trick-or-treat!" Rang the excited crowd outside of the prosecutor's door.

The sound of cheerful kids and adults out and about nearly made Cappuccino slam his head into the wall next to him. This was one of his only vacation days, yet he was spending it handing out cheap candy to people in shoddy costumes bought at the last minute. Heading to the door of his rental home, he'd grab the bowl he left on a small stand- accidentally knocking over a couple of empty cappuccino cups- and open the door.

Immediately, he was met with shrill cheers from a crowd of kids that made his head hurt worse than staying up this late already did. "Yea, yea- take your candy guys!" Though bitter, he'd still try to at least force a playful form of disdain, even if it was laced with too much of the real thing. "Happy Halloween, guys! Stay out of trouble, or I'll prosecute you personally!" This fact was only half-true. At this point, Cappu feels like he could sue for emotional distress against this entire holiday. Ugh… he does not want to think about all the hoops he'd have to jump through to sue a recognized holiday.

Closing the door behind him, Cappuccino wouldn't even make it halfway across the room before getting another knock at his door. It took nearly all the strength the prosecutor had in him not to just keep walking and ignore the knocking. Though, if he did, there would just be more knocks and more annoyances. And if the parents were stupid enough, Cappu himself would be taken to court for 'unfair treatment' in handing out candy. People these days will cause legal trouble for any reason imaginable. Turning back around and opening the door with a forced smile, the people on the other side of the door would strike fear into Cappuccino. A nearly perfect trio of costumes- a highly customized card set. Queen of hearts, king of clubs, ace of spades…

Langue de Chat… being the Ace with a Jack of Diamonds in their headpiece... with their parents. "Trick-or-treat!" The three of them would chime together. "Oh, right, uh-" Cappuccino reached over and grabbed the bowl he forgot he left back where it usually was. He was absolutely not presentable. Hair greasy and knotted, attire a far cry from what he'd wear in court. Hell, he wasn't even in costume! For someone who didn't really care much about this holiday, being presented like this in front of people so important made him entirely conscious of his lack of Halloween appeal.

And yet here Langue was, probably in a costume made by their family to match the three of them. They probably got to pick the theme and materials and everything… Slept so well at night knowing how well the costume would turn out. They likely even got to pick the best area to go trick-or-treating in, getting as much candy as-… Wait. Cappuccino would wind up staring Langue in the eyes as he handed out candy. "You know this is one of the worst places to go trick-or-treating at, right…? Most people around here can barely pay their rent." Unknowingly, he handed out a second piece to Langue… or was that on purpose?

"I know that! You think I didn't research into what places gave out the most candy before we came out here?" Langue would laugh, embarrassing the prosecutor more than his appearance being seen by their parents did. "I chose to come out here to see you. Once we're done trick-or-treating, I was hoping to spend some time with you…" Even while he looks like this? "I know it's sudden, and I had to beg my parents to let me stay so late, but… it's Halloween! I'm staying up late anyways, so may as well make the most of it, huh?" May as well… ha. This defense attorney doesn't know the meaning of 'staying up late' if they seem so happy about it. Even so, with a wobbly smile, the sleep-deprived mess would wind up agreeing.

"I'll clean my place up for you. I mean, it's-" Cappu glanced between the parents that stood behind Langue- "It's already fairly clean, I just need to put away some documents and do a little dusting! I'll, uh. I'll see you later, right?" "Yes! It should be in… about two hours? Trick-or-treating for this area only lasts three hours." That long? Cappuccino didn't want to deal with kids for two whole hours… But if he was to be rewarded with time with Langue de Chat of all people, how could he refuse a challenge like that? Maybe he'll be able to scrounge together a costume in that amount of time, too. "Oh, right, I also need to give you this." The prosecutor perked up, watching as Langue ever so delicately plucked the jack of diamonds from out of their hair and handed it over to him. "We were planning on having one of my cousins trick-or-treat with us, but they got too busy, so… Tomorrow, if you'd like, you can come with us to the other place we plan on going for candy collection. We'll have your costume set up and everything." "Oh! I- sure!" Cappuccino would flush at the offer, taking the card in hand and failing to hide how flattered he was at the offer. He cleared his throat, trying to keep his cool prosecutor demeanor to prevent himself from looking more like an embarrassment in front of the guardians in front of him. It was already too late, but he could at least try to clean up some of the mess. "We can discuss this more once you're done trick-or-treating. I don't want to hold you guys up for too long."

It was surprisingly easy to get the three to move along with that sentiment. The prosecutor would sigh and turn back, closing the door and looking to the card in his hand. Should he laminate this? This felt much more special than he was making it out to be, but… Having not celebrated Halloween for years, and finally being able to with someone so important to him… No, yeah, this is going in lamination. A little 'thunk' was enough to snap the prosecutor from his thoughts. Another cappuccino cup had fallen from somewhere. It was at this moment that Cappu realized that he REALLY needed to clean the place up. He needed to clean himself up, too. As much of a chore as it would be… this place should at least look livable for visitors. Especially if that visitor is Langue de Chat. Well… Cappuccino took a deep breath, setting the candy bowl down and turning off the porch light. Time to get to a different kind of work.

#chewy write #cappuccino cookie #langue de chat cookie #cr #cookie run #cookie run ovenbreak #crob #happy halloween #hello and welcome to a late halloween writing because I wanted to make something but I couldn't get the motivation until today #capchat #if you squint

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metamorphosisff · 1 year

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|Eight| Windows to the Soul

My father is drinking a Corona when I enter the backyard after picking Ariana up from dance practice. Saturday’s are when he gets things done around the house. The lawn mower is still out by the garage as I take a seat by him. He nods his head towards the cooler and I nod my head. Soon a cool bottle is passed my way and I use the beer opener on my keychain to crack it open. We drink side by side in silence for a few moments as we each try to figure out what to say to each other. Like his father, my Pops headed to the military straight after high school. They share the same stoic demeanor except Granddad is a bit more personable. My father is a leader, true and thorough leader. If he isn’t giving directives then he seldom has anything to say unless he is in a big group of people. With us, he’s laid back, allowing us to say what was on our minds when we were ready versus prying it out of us like mom does. So it doesn’t take long for me to strike up a conversation.

“Is having a family something you always knew you wanted?” I asked, causing him to chuckle.

“I can always count on you to keep me on my toes boy I tell you,” he says, using a washcloth to dab at his brow. “But to answer you, to some extent yes. You tryna tell me something?”

Catching his meaning, I cough, and damn near choke on my beer as I shake my head. “No sir, I was just wondering.”

“You always just wondering,” Pops says with a chuckle. “Most curious child on this side of creation.”

“Can’t help it,” I grin, taking another swig from my beer.

For as long as I could remember, I had questioned everything, and for the most part my parents always answered my questions to the best of their abilities. Whenever they did not know something, they encouraged me to research the answer on my own. I was crafting a lecture about learned behaviors and wondered if creating a family was something people all learned to want or something we actually desired.

“Working out some learned behavior scenarios for my class. Thought I’d test one out on you.”

“Sounded like it was connected to some type of bigger message. You really like being a teacher huh?” Pops stated more than asked.

Some part of him always hoped I would join the army but those hopes were dashed once I got a record. To be honest, military life never appealed to me anyway. If I joined, I would have never been fulfilled, and living up to his reputation would have eventually proven to be too much pressure.

“I do,” I replied, taking another swig. “Crafting young minds and helping others with one career is pretty much all I could ever ask for.”

“Which is what I respect about you X, you stick to your guns, for better or worse,” Pops said with a head nod. “Now that sister of yours…rides the wind.”

“She’s a teenager, it’s what they do, it’s what I did,” I chuckled.

He grunted in response and I grinned as I stood to my feet. My sister had been working my parents’ nerves lately with her attitude. I was supposed to give her a talk when I picked her up but I figured she’d been lectured enough. Their talks never worked when I was her age. It was better to level with her by reminding her the better she behaved, the more freedom they would give her. She promised she would try and that was good for me.

“I have to head out of here. Got plans this afternoon,” I said, before finishing off what was left of the beer.

“What’s her name?” Pops asked, raising a brow. At this moment, it’s like I’m looking into a mirror because we share the same face but seldom the same expressions.

“What makes you think I’m meeting a girl?” I replied, walking over to the blue recycle bin not too far away.

“Cause you wearing cologne and you got a haircut,” Pops noted. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t lived at home for almost ten years, he still had me pegged.

“I can’t look nice?” I laughed.

“I ain’t asking that, I asked about who you looking nice for,” Pops said.

“Myself.”

“Bullshit.”

“Bye Pops,” I chuckled.

“See ya son,” he said with an amused shake of his head. “Whoever she is, I hope to meet her one day.”

I nodded my head before giving him one last wave. Jamila wasn’t a secret but our friendship meant a lot to me. I didn’t want to let any outside voices or influences, providing unnecessary commentary or advice. It was still new, the foundation not yet dry but molded with potential which meant it was susceptible to damage if I were not careful.

The sun is beaming as I wait on the corner of Fulton street, facing outward as I look for Jamila who texted that she had just got off of the three train, and was headed my way. My hands are tucked into my cargo shorts as I scan faces. Not even a full minute passes before she comes into view. Braids are piled onto the top of her head in a cute messy bun, she wears a printed short sleeved midi dress that has a cool design of tigers against an olive backdrop, and a yellow pair of Converses. On her shoulder is a tan tote bag that has an image of a hand positioned with the middle finger up in front of a pair of red painted lips. The sight of it and her make me smile as she approaches. This time I don’t have to ask for a hug as she slides her arms around my frame briefly in greeting.

“‘Sup Mila,” I said, giving her a quick squeeze before she slipped out of my embrace.

“Nothing much, sorry for the delay, Papi was following me and was about to get on the train too,” she says with a roll of her eyes.

“I wouldn’t have minded,” I chuckle as we fall into step. We don’t have to walk far, where I want to go first is only a few steps away.

“Trust me you would have. I had to promise to bring him something back to get him to keep his little ass above ground,” she huffed, as I opened the door to Midtown comics.

“What is he into?” I asked, as lead us to the new release wall. There was a new The Batman compilation volume out that I wanted to get my hands on.

“He said verbatim ‘something with Spiderman or X-Men will suffice’,” she says, causing me to laugh.

“The kid has taste. I’ll get him one of the series books so he’s not left hanging about what happens,” I said.

“Oh no, you don’t have to do that. He’ll get a single comic and be merry trust me,” she said, eyes flickering to mine from the display.

Stepping closer to her I say, “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. Thought we got that understood the other night?”

She rolls her eyes causing me to laugh again knowing that I’m messing with her. “For real though, it’s not a big deal, so you're going to let me do this.”

“Fine,” she says fighting a grin. “What did we come in here for anyway?”

“This,” I say as I make a beeline for the cover I had been looking at since its announcement. I didn’t get to read much for fun anymore but I tried to make room for some light reading. Plucking it up, I pass her the volume which has some weight to it.

“Batman. I pegged you for more of a Captain America type but color me surprised,” she says, as she flips the volume over to read the back.

“You’re only saying that because I told you to watch the show,” I said.

“Perhaps, either way it’s true but this looks good, seems interesting,” she says as she passes it back to me. “Looking forward to you telling me all about it.” There’s a small smile on her lips but she heads down another aisle before I can fully appreciate it. I follow behind her wearing one of my own.

We aren’t in Midtown long, only a half hour as we browse for Papi, and I give brief synopsis of storylines until we find what we both think he’ll like. Then I take her to my favorite bookstore that also doubles as a record shop as they also sell vinyls. After pursuing the stacks and finding no novels of note, we start digging in crates side by side. Occasionally our fingers brush as we flip between the records but the slips don’t slow us down. I’m looking at a The Whispers album when I hear her say, “Oh wow.”

In her hands is Mary J. Bliges second album My Life.

“That’s a classic right there,” I said, remembering all the times we had to clean the house to this album.

“Truly. My mom loved this cd so much. I didn’t know they made it as a vinyl though,” she said.

“They’ve been remaking a lot of old albums into vinyls as record players have come back into style,” I said.

“I see,” she said, as her fingers trail over the price sticker. It’s thirty dollars and for someone on a job hunt, seems like an unnecessary purchase which is why she was attempting to put it back before I slipped the record from her hand. I place it under my arm along with The Whispers. “Xavier, it’s fine I don’t need it.”

“Maybe but you want it which is reason enough. Now help me find one more. I try to grab something out of my usual norm to expand my musical palette,” I said, as I moved to the next set of crates.

“Genre matter?” she asks, deciding to go along with me instead of fighting against me. I’m glad because I saw her eyes when she brought up her mother. This wasn’t just a vinyl, it was a good memory, and I wanted her to hold onto it anyway she could.

“Not at all. Whatever you think is interesting,” I say.

She nods her head and then we fall back into concentration. Time slips by but we don’t notice as we take our time. Eventually she plucks out a A Night at the Opera by Queen. The cover and titles of the songs are enough to add to the pile under my arm. I also grab Prince’s Purple Rain and Wu-Tang’s 36 Chambers, making it a total of five vinyls added to my collection before we head to Habana Outpost to grab a quick meal of tostones and fish tacos.

“I meant to ask you earlier but what made you start collecting vinyl?” she asks, wiping her hands on a napkin.

“Nothing in particular really. I love music and my friend Rah got one. I liked how the music sounded coming from it and got one for myself. Now I like finding random music to listen to,” I reply as I finish up my last taco.

“How many do you have?” she asked next.

“Um maybe forty something now,” I answered with a shrug because I wasn’t fully sure. “Would you like to see my collection? We can listen to a few and just chill.”

“When?” she asked, taking a sip of her frozen mojito that was partially melted from the heat that hadn’t let up even with the start of sunset.

“Now,” I chuckled. “I’ll get you an Uber back home.”

“I was going to say yes anyway but now that you’ve sweetened the pot…,” she trails off.

“Just trying to fulfill my Prince Charming duties,” I say, which causes her to laugh.

It’s a musical sound, light and airy, as she shakes her head at me. I thought her smile was something on its own but paired with her laugh it’s infectious. I smile back as she calls me corny for the thousandth time.

“Welcome to my home, make yourself comfortable,” I said, as I turned on the lights.

Behind me, Jamila toed out of her sneakers before padding into the hallway that led into the newly refurnished living room. As she nods her head in approval while looking around, I make a mental note to tell Rah he was right about the style choice. While she eyes the pictures I have on the mantel, I grab us two bottles of water from the kitchen.

“Thanks,” she says as I pass her one. “You have a nice place.”

“My best friend helped me redecorate. I needed a reset,” I replied, as I set mine on the coffee table.

“From what?” she questioned, watching me go to retrieve the bag that held the vinyls. She’s level with the crate beside the record player eyeing the collection.

Skimming through the bag in my hand, I pulled out hers first. Since she didn’t have a record player, I wanted her to hear how it would sound once she did.

“My ex. Felt like she was too entwined in my space and I couldn’t have that any more,” I said, walking back.

“That’s real. This feels like you, expressive yet centered,” she said.

I hummed my agreement as that was the vibe I was going for as I placed the vinyl on the platform and dropped the needle before going to lay down beside her. Jamila had stretched out on the carpet and was putting her phone away. We’re head to head as our bodies stretch out in the opposite direction. We lay side by side, enjoying the album in mostly silence. One of the things I like most about hanging out with her is that I don’t always have to speak. In fact, I spend most of our time listening with intent because learning about her has become my new favorite thing. I’m always finding different ways to get her thoughts and it usually takes me a while to figure out what to ask. It isn’t until we reach the title track that a question comes to mind. “What do you think when you hear this song?”

“I think of the pain because it’s what I hear, the emotion…the unquelled hope. If I knew how to any more, I might be moved to cry.”

“How does one forget to cry?” I ask next.

“When one learns it changes nothing. That even after the last tear is shed reality remains and all of that effort could have been spent towards figuring out another solution. I taught myself how not to cry, how to just roll with the punches, and now I think if I ever do cry again, I might not ever stop,” she said, causing my head to turn in her direction.

She knows I’m watching her but her gaze remains towards the ceiling. I study the way her eyelashes brush her cheeks as she blinks a few times. It’s something she does when she’s nervous in addition to playing with her hair. I’m sure if I raise my head a bit, I’ll see her fingers wrapped around a braid. While I watch, I consider her words before responding.

“It’s not a question of ‘if’ Mila, it’s when. You right in the fact that crying changes nothing but it’s not supposed to. Crying is cathartic. Crying isn’t a way out of our problems…it’s a way through them,” I muse, letting my eyes glide across her face.

Her brows are pulled inward letting me know she is processing that line of thought. “Maybe. When was the last time you cried?”

“I think it was three weeks ago to be honest. It was my turn to watch my Granddad but my cousin Ryan joined me. We all fell asleep watching a game but Grandad had a really bad nightmare, reliving something from Vietnam. I uh, had to tackle him because he started choking Ry, and then GiGi my grandma started yelling at us. It was just a lot,” I breathed out.

“I can only imagine, dealing with dementia is hard. The person you know is slipping away in real time,” she said.

“What actually makes it worse is the times when he is completely lucid because for a second you hope the doctors were wrong or that a miracle is happening but then within a blink you can see the confusion creep in,” I said.

“It’s good that you don’t have to go through it alone and that y’all are helping each other through this experience. Your grandma was probably scared that day,” she said.

“She told me as much but I wasn’t going to hurt him or at least I wasn’t trying to. I couldn’t standby and watch Ry die either,” I said.

“No you couldn’t have. It was a tough choice to make but you made the right one for everyone involved,” she says, words soothing a wound that was still in the progress of healing. The guilt from that incident remains a main focus in my therapy sessions.

“As for having a big family, it helps but it also makes it hard because sometimes our love stops us from making the best decisions for him. I’ve recommended he goes to a facility that specializes with dementia because he needs full time care but no one was trying to hear me. Accused me of not loving him because that’s not what family does,” I said, clenching my jaw as I thought about that night a year ago when the whole family ganged up on me.

No one wanted to accept that the help and care that Grandad went beyond any of our capabilities. It didn’t matter that my degree was in social work and I saw the signs clear as day. Saw the strain it was putting on GiGi who took everything with a silent grace that was sometimes unsettling. Saw how my own father regarded his father with sterile hospitality and how his siblings followed suit since he was the oldest. Saw how the weight of the situation might be on all of our shoulders but only a few of us were willing to carry it for real. Saw how the outcome regardless of who did what would destroy us all.

“I go over there more than anyone else even though I live the farthest. I’m the witness to most of his violent episodes that they like to pretend don’t occur. The anger of feeling helpless and frustrated pushes me over the edge after a while,” I said.

“I felt like that with my parents. For a while, I thought that I could save them but my grandma had to explain that what I was doing was enabling not saving. That nobody could save them but themselves,” she said, pausing to swipe her tongue over her bottom lip.

“The demons they fought were internal and no amount of money or love could slay them. Watching them succumb to their addictions made me feel the same way. The last day I cried was because they had robbed me. Took anything that wasn’t nailed down outside of my clothes and important documents because they overpowered my grandma at the door. She only had it open a sliver but they broke the chain and barged in.”

“That was recent?” I asked.

“Nah, right before my high school graduation,” she replied.

It didn’t take me long to do the math. “That was…

“Eleven years ago,” she said, filling in the blanks, turning her head in my direction.

There are eleven years worth of tears, an ocean’s worth really, pent up inside of her. The realization dawns on me the same moment our eyes lock and for the first time I see the anguish in them. It wasn’t buried under layers of anger and snark. It was right at the forefront as she opened herself to me. Next to the anguish was fear of this…of being open but some part of her knew she didn’t have to be afraid around me. Knew that I could be a safe space to land and it’s not something I take lightly. There’s a protective nature that rises in me around her, stronger than anything I have ever felt. I don’t need to dissect it to know that it’s innate and neither does she as our hands stretch towards each other at the same time. Another understanding has passed between us as Mary’s vocals fill the air.

If you looked in my life and seen what I’ve seen…

#metamorphasisff #slow burn romance #black fiction #black romance #zendaya x mjb

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gingerlee-holds · 7 months

Text

March 13, 1745.

The next chapter! Featuring some new characters heehee (Don't worry, there will be more of them in the future!) I'm afraid that this chapter suffers from severe TWNFSTS (They Would Not Fucking Say That Syndrome), which I blame purely on the fact that I wanted my little Mr. Fernsby flustered and tworded a little. Is that a crime? But yeah, strangers irl don't act like this unfortunately, I just want everyone to adore my little scientist Anyways, I hope you all are enjoying these so far! They're very very fun to write. I just hope it's not too anachronistic.

Word Count: 2282 (holy crap i really let that get away from me huh) Reading Time: ~17.5 minutes Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, un-proofread ofc

I am most certainly now on the right track. I arrived in the little Welsh town two days ago, and immediately, the quaint charm of this place struck me. Really, calling it a town is a bit of a mischaracterization of the location. It is more of a village. Llandeilo, the village in question, is quite, quite picturesque. The streets are cobbled and flanked by brick buildings which show their age. There is not a library here, to my chagrin - this village’s proximity to Talley Abbey, I had hoped, would grant me access to more documents, some of which might have helped in my search. However, it does have a market square, a tavern, and a coffeehouse, each of which may have some inhabitant willing to share their knowledge on the subject.

Cousin Barnaby's guest house is very fitting for my needs! The brute of a man does not truly understand what I am studying, and in his defense, I don't truly know either. Still, the house he has lent me is small, but with a spacious interior. Cousin Barnaby is the high constable for the village, and the poor man does not find intellectual pursuits in the least fascinating. Nevertheless, he has provided me with ample food and firewood for my little cabin, and if there is anything else I require, he has made it known that he is more than happy to provide for my needs.

By that time, I still did not know what was causing the featherflakes, and I was determined, yesterday, to find out what they were, and if it were possible to become exposed to them again - purely for research purposes of course.

That morning, I had decided to first try my luck at the market square. There were merchants from all over, coming to and fro, shouting their wares. The air was filled with many smells - spices, fish, cheese, and various medicinal herbs (which I had perhaps tarried too long in perusing).

The sounds of the market square were far more foreign than the smells. There were words shouted in Welsh, English, French, Irish - all of which I knew, of course, yet the combination of them all had a powerful effect on me. I believe I even heard singing from far off. There were numerous stalls filled with bartering and haggling townsfolk and merchants eager to swindle. I had walked up to one such tradesman at an empty stall, whose curly blonde hair, broad shoulders, and gap-toothed smile made him… quite appealing to the eyes. He seemed young and spoke in a smooth tone.

I straightened my tie and walked up closer. “Good morning, my good sir!” I had said to him, smiling confidently as I rested my hands on his stall, trying to emulate with every fiber of my being that I knew what I was doing. I did not in the slightest know what I was doing.

The tradesman chuckled softly, and spoke with a silky voice that, I admit, had a significant effect on my heartstrings. “Why, what do I have here! A university boy, come to pay a visit to my stall~!” He rested his chin on his elbow and looked me in the eye, almost smugly. “What can I do for you, stranger~?”

The confident, almost flirtatious, tone with which the man spoke put me at once off guard. Despite my best efforts, a blush found its way onto my face, and I found I could not meet his eye without a giggle. My hands fidgeted with the edges of my coat. “W-well!” I had said, “I’ve come to study a p-particular phemonenon- phenomemom- phenomenon!”

The man chuckled and motioned for me to continue with his eyebrows.

“Ah-! You see, I had encountered what seemed to be- a storm of feathers last year at around this time, and I had read accounts that it may have been an event more common around here- I was wondering if-”

“Heh heh… a storm of feathers, huh~?”

His voice stopped me and I looked back up at him. He was smiling smugly, as if he had known something about me that I did not.

“No, sir! I mean- yes, sir!” I stood up at attention, trying to organize my frazzled mind. How was I failing to speak to this man so wholly?

Another alluring giggle escaped his lips. “Well, I don’t think I know much about feathers, and far less about storms of feathers. I’m a traveler, you see - I don’t stay in one place for long. Perhaps you,” he emphasized that word with a single finger-tap on the tip of my nose, “might find better information at a place where the locals reside, hm~? The tavern, perhaps?”

The blush on my cheeks grew hotter, I knew it for a fact without needing a looking-glass. I nodded, eagerly wanting to escape his eyesight to retain my dignity. “Yes, sir! Thank you very much, sir!” I turned my back and began walking quickly away, pushing past a few others who had stopped to watch the conversation.

I heard a few giggles from the tradesman. “Ohohoh, so formal~! Well, I shall see you again soon! I am in town all this week, dearest~!” At those words, a squeak escaped my lips and I broke into a run, wanting nothing more than to escape from the giggles of that quite handsome and flustering man.

I went to some other shopkeepers, but none of them could provide any more information. The market square was clearly a poor start to this investigation. I just hope that word doesn’t spread around town too much about my… disposition.

I had planned on traveling to the tavern next, with or without that merchant’s advice. As I arrived, the sun had arisen over its peak and began sinking into the afternoon.

The tavern was a small one, but it was crowded when I entered. The room was filled with people larger than myself, a scenario with which I was, by that time in my life, thoroughly familiar. There was an out-of-tune fiddle being played raucously in an adjacent room, and other such sounds of frivolity were abundant.

Walking up to the bar, I noticed that the only two inhabitants were a woman and the bartender himself. The woman had a rough look about her, clearly someone used to hard work, if her muscles showed anything. She had her dark brown hair in a bun over her head, and wore a dark leather overcoat. The bartender was cleaning a wine glass with a rag, smiling at a joke the woman must have just told. He had an easy smile and his suave tuxedo suggested he was brought up in more high-class society than this.

I walked up and sat down at the bar next to the woman, motioning for the bartender to come over. “A glass of sherry, if you’d please, my friend!” I smiled at him, nodding when he looked at me with an arched eyebrow.

The woman next to me chuckled and turned to me in her seat. “You new here? I think I would have remembered you if I’d seen you here before.”

The bartender brought me my glass and I set down a shilling for his troubles. He took it happily and put it in the pocket of his waistcoat, smoothing his pomaded black hair. “He certainly seems new. That sherry had been collecting dust.”

“Yes, well, you see, I have a particular quandary, and I was hoping one of you fine people could help!”

The two of them looked at each other, smiled with their eyes, then turned back to me. The woman said, “Why, we’d be happy to help!”

I happily took a sip of my drink, finding it very delicious to taste. “Oh, splendid! All right, it goes like this. Last year, I had an encounter with a flurry of feathers. They had blown in and covered the house I was living in. They were a nuisance, but they caught my interest and held it.”

The gentleman behind the counter hummed, tapping his fingers on the counter as he listened and nodded. The woman, however, seemed uninterested.

“So, you came here trying to find out more? You came all this way to find a bunch of feathers?” She grinned at me and did the same as the bartender, tapping her fingers on the counter.

Trying my best to ignore the finger-tapping and simply focus on the question, I said in reply, “Well, these were no ordinary feathers! They clumped up and invaded my home, and there was an uncountable supply of them!” My speech was stopped by a quick poke to my side. I squeaked and looked down, but saw nobody’s hand.

“Of feathers~?” That was the gentleman behind the bar, now sharing the smile the woman had. They looked at me like two hungry dogs would look at a lambchop. Their finger tapping had increased in speed.

At this point, my face was beginning to heat up again, and I nervously drank the rest of my glass to avoid thinking about it. “Yes, do you… know where I might find these?” I felt a quick poke to my side again and jumped, gripping onto the counter to keep from falling, but when I looked back, there wasn’t a hand there.

The woman smiled and put her hand on my shoulder. “Oh, I think I know where we may find some!”

I smiled eagerly at her, ignoring the hand on my shoulder giving a gentle squeeze. “Where? I’d be delighted to know!”

“Why, outside! There’s a tree right next to here. There’s a rook’s nest up there, it should have some feathers.” With that, she gave me a quick poke to my side, which, with a rather embarrassing yelp, sent me off my stool and onto the floor. I flew to my feet in a huff, looking at her indignantly to hide the blush that had reached my ears.

“Madam! Never before in my life-”

The bartender interrupted my sentence with a chuckle, ruffling my hair. “Why don’t you run along, university boy? …Or else we’ll have to keep you here a while longer~.” His eyes narrowed as his smile grew wider. His finger-tapping on the counter had reached an almost scribbling-speed, making my blush grow wider as I looked at the woman a final time, then fled out of the tavern.

The woman and bartender laughed, the woman bringing her mug to her lips. “What an adorable little morsel. Hope he’s not leaving town soon.”

The market square was unhelpful, as was the tavern, but I was determined not to give up. In a last-ditch effort, I walked over to the coffeehouse. It was evening by then, and I hoped, perhaps naively, that I could still find some information on the featherflakes.

The coffeehouse had a warm glow, and a piano was being softly played in a corner. The landlord was stoking the fire from his seat next to it. I walked in, but upon seeing that there weren’t many people there, I sighed, and was about to leave. Then, however, I spotted a figure slumped over in a booth. Their head face-down on the table seemed… familiar.

I approached and sat down next to them, tilting my head in curiosity. Finally, with a gentle tap on the shoulder, I mumbled, “Hullo?”

The figure shot up with a start, mumbling about Suffolk in delirium before looking at me, and her eyes adjusted in recognition. I gasped softly.

“Clara?” I whispered. Her face erupted into a happy smile and she threw her arms around my shoulders.

“EREN! How have you been, my dear, dear friend!”

With a squeak, I pushed on her shoulders as much as I could. “Uh-! Mr. Fernsby, if you please-!”

“Nonsense! You are and forever shall be my little Eren!”

I growled a little and heaved her off, straightening my coat. “Mr. Fernsby, Clara.”

My old university roommate smiled her easy smile and pinched my cheek. “Whatever you say, Eren~!”

“Why does nobody in this accursed town take me seriously! I am on an investigation!”

“I believe it may be because you’re one of the cutest people ever born?”

“No, do not be ridiculous, Clara.”

She giggled and leaned back in the booth. “You just caught me on my mid-evening nap!”

I hummed an affirmative. “Tell me, which one is that? The fifth nap of the day of the sixth?”

She giggled and winked. “The sixth! You have a good memory, Eren!”

“Mr. Fernsby. Now, you wouldn’t perhaps know of any feathers around here?”

Clara put a finger to her chin and thought. “Well, there are those feather things that look like snowflakes. You mean those?”

I jumped and turned, wide-eyed, and exclaimed, “Yes! Yes, those! What do you know of them?”

She sighed, smiling, and pressed me back down into the seat. “I’ve been researching them for a bit. I could tell you what I know, if you’d like?” She yawned and wrapped her arm around me, pulling me close to her. “On second thought, maybe tomorrow.”

“No, no you-” I tried to protest, but the soft lighting and music, along with that glass of sherry were having a profound effect on my mind. I yawned after she did, and I nestled close to her - for warmth, though, and nothing else. She told me afterward that I was “a good cuddler,” despite the fact that it absolutely was not cuddling.

I fell asleep next to her rather swiftly, unfortunately, leaving the conversation about the featherflakes for the following day. I must admit… it wasn’t the most unpleasant end to the day.

Read the previous entry in The Fernsby Journals! Read the following entry in The Fernsby Journals!

#the fernsby journals #kayde wrote something woah #kayde's in a lee mood tag #eren fernsby #oc fic #ss2k23 warm up

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merakiui · 2 years

Note

We got Childe with actress darling, so how about Azul with idol darling?

Fanboy Azul who hide his fanboy life from everyone, who would spent money just to buy idol darling merch, who would stay up late at night just to wait for darling new MV to drop

Fanboy Azul who knew about idol darling from idia (ofc), scoffed about it at first but end up curious, watch one (1) MV and got hooked afterwards

Fanboy Azul who learn a Few dance here and there (it would be funny if idol darling concept is cute and soft)

Fanboy Azul who planned to kill one of his classmate after he hear one of them bad mouthed darling, by saying that they're only got pretty face

🐏 anon

Aaaaa thank you for putting this worm in my brain!! orz

(cw: yandere, obsession, azul is a hater, unhealthy behaviors)

Everyone around him seems to be talking about you. He can’t fathom what’s so special about a bipedal creature who puts on elaborate and expensive outfits and sings into a microphone while telling the audience how much they love and appreciate the support. He’s seen this plenty of times in business and, unsurprisingly, it always works. Something about singers and idols always garners lots of money, especially if they act like a loving friend or a personal cheerleader. He’d like to try his hand at building an idol from the ground up, but that takes time, experience, and money. And he’d rather make more money than waste it on meaningless endeavors with no certainty of success.

It feels like he can’t escape you or your influence. Wherever he turns, you’re there. The twins are constantly checking your socials and scrolling through old photos of you when they have time and Idia has been enthusiastically relaying your entire life’s story at the board game club. And Azul, not knowing a clue about idol culture or you, asks what the appeal is. A dumb question, considering he can recognize the monetary appeals right away. But a question nonetheless. Idia’s happy to answer and he becomes so animated when talking about you and how your journey and struggles have made you such a strong, independent idol.

That’s not fair. Azul’s struggled, too. Why isn’t he famous? Why isn’t he raking in lots of money for simple things like dancing and singing? He realizes there’s more to it than that, but even so… How can your success feel so genuine and easy when his was mired in darkness? Always cutting back on meals to slim down. Turning away from mirrors to avoid looking at his face. Dirty deals on land and in the sea in order to get the things he couldn’t ever hope to possess. Lacking friends and a social circle because that same circle turned their backs on him and called him stupid, clumsy, weak, a crybaby.

Your motto is ‘work hard to achieve your starry dreams.’ His motto is ‘if you can’t have it, take it.’ And, frankly, your motto is a falsehood that you peddle to the masses like a cult leader selling the idea of self-destruction to brainwashed fools in need of so-called salvation.

One evening, after the Mostro Lounge has closed, he finds himself cooped up in his VIP room, phone in his hands as he analyzes one of your music videos. The production quality is amazing. The outfit and the scenery and the overall feeling have been perfectly tailored to fit the song and its themes. He hates to admit it, but you’re good at what you do. Perhaps even better than him. Maybe you’re up there with Vil. Who is he kidding? You’re probably acquainted with Vil, which isn’t too surprising to consider. Celebrities flock to other celebrities for exposure, to feed the tabloids and media new gossip, to stay connected and network through the rich and famous.

“Azul’s really staring, huh.”

“Indeed. I don’t think he suspects we’re here,” Jade adds with a chuckle. “It seems someone has charmed him.”

Azul’s head snaps up to view the twins as they lean over the desk, gazing at the visual on his screen with glee-filled eyes. He swats at them with a grumble. “This is research. I am not charmed.”

“Oh! That’s our cute, sparkly shrimpy.” Floyd snatches Azul’s phone for a closer look at you as you execute complicated dance moves with flawless grace. He pouts. “You haven’t even liked the video after all of our shrimpy’s hard work?”

With a scowl he reaches for his mobile, but Floyd holds it up and out of his grasp. “Jade.” He glances at the more mature twin. “Tell me. What’s so special about this…idol thing? Be short about it and spare me the earful.”

Jade smiles, razored teeth glinting in the dimness. “Idols like (Name) are usually charismatic individuals who have amassed a loyal following through music, fan interactions, and engaging interviews and collaborations.”

“So why do you like them so much? They’re a money siren, if anything.”

“They’re cute and they wear cool shoes!” Floyd lifts his leg to give Azul a view of his leather uniform shoes. “These are boring and dull. The shoes (Name) wears are colorful and I’m going to own every pair!”

“You’re throwing your money away. And get your foot off my desk!”

“You’re being stingy with yours.” He sticks his tongue out at him, brows furrowed in annoyance.

“I enjoy their captivating performances,” Jade admits, a hand over his heart. “(Name) has an energy that is difficult to describe. It’s…invigorating. Perhaps you are correct when you say they are a siren. If that’s the case, Floyd and I have found ourselves thoroughly entranced.”

Azul steeples his hands as he ruminates. Eventually he hazards a glance at them and asks, “You saw one of their performances recently, did you not?”

“Ah! That’s right!” Floyd drops Azul’s phone, which Jade catches expertly before it can shatter on the ground. Floyd digs his mobile out of his pocket to showcase the pictures and videos he managed to take. “They made us put our phones in these gross covers, but it kept them safe while we watched. Look, look! Isn’t (Name) really adorable? I wonder how they’d look with a tail. Hey, Azul, turn them into a mer.”

Azul gazes at the photos as Floyd swipes through them, stopping at a group photo where the twins pose with you. “You certainly enjoyed yourselves,” he says with a scoff.

“In more ways than one.” Jade’s smile sharpens. “We did invite you, but you refused to join us.”

“I made the right choice.”

“Aha. That’s no fun. You really missed out. (Name)’s crying face is delicious.”

“No need to rub salt on a poor octopus, Floyd.”

“The both of you are fools,” he declares after a minute of trying and failing to form an eloquent comeback. “However, if (Name) were to perform at the Mostro Lounge… Or perhaps we could work alongside our friends at the Mystery Shop once again. An event jointly sponsored… Sales would certainly increase.”

“What’s this? Azul wants little shrimpy to dance for him?”

“Oh my. I wonder if Azul has changed his tune.”

“Perish such idiotic thoughts. This is simply business.”

Yet he can’t help but wonder who you truly are beneath that glimmering façade. Surely you’re not as sweet as your fans claim you are.

- - -

Azul is on his way to Pomefiore to deliver another moisturizer when disaster strikes. The minute he emerges from the mirror and is standing in front of the elegant dormitory someone crashes into him. The force sends both him and the stranger tumbling, the delicate bottle of moisturizer flying from his hands and shattering into shards on the cobblestones. Azul remains on the ground, ferociously stunned into silence as he eyes the damaged product.

He was working on a time constraint, as always.

He wrung Floyd of his moisture, despite his protests at drawing the shortest straw once more.

He had everything perfect, as always.

He was going to uphold his end of the deal, as always.

Along with the now broken vial, his hopes are perfectly, undeniably fractured.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“You fool!” He turns on the cause for this mishap with a nasty glower. “Do you have any idea how important that was?! Haven’t you land folk ever heard the saying ‘watch where you tread’? You’ve ruined everything now and I can’t possibly make—wait.” He stares at the person cowering before him, a look of genuine grief plastered to their face as they spy the damage. You’re wearing a disguise, but there’s no mistaking your familiar voice. He’d recognize it in a crowd of hundreds after spending many sleepless nights watching your music videos, interviews, and much more just to commit your stunning voice to memory. For research purposes, of course. “You’re (Name), aren’t you? That idol from the surface…”

“Shush!” Your hands are quick to cover his mouth. He blinks at you, his flustered face betraying his initial anger. “I… Look. I’m sorry. A few fans recognized me and they were chasing me down. I wasn’t looking where I was going… I’ll pay for the damages. Just please be quiet.”

Azul considers his options. On one hand, he can’t make another moisturizer unless he wrings Jade out and the eel won’t agree to something so painful without proper compensation. On the other, he could just use his own moisture, but that still takes time and effort and he doesn’t want to subject himself to that. You aren’t a mer, so he can’t wring you out. How is he going to make a new moisturizer by the end of today? If he can’t get Vil his moisturizer, he’ll have broke his own contract terms. He absolutely can’t have that.

But you’re you. Jade is fond of you. Maybe he’ll do it for your sake.

“Why are you here?” he asks instead.

“I’m here to see Vil Schoenheit. He invited me to test a few makeup products for a Magicam livestream, one of which is this moisturizer he swears by and…oh. That was the moisturizer, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” He rubs his temples, willing himself to remain as the composed, suave businessman he usually is. “Yes, it was.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“‘Sorry’ won’t reverse it.” He inhales a breath, holds it, and then exhales slowly. “Let’s be sensible. If you’re close with Vil, you can just explain what happened. It’s not ideal for me, but the fault still lies with you. Although it wouldn’t look very good if I broke my own contract…”

“I can explain it to him, but you’re right. I can’t exactly fix whatever contract you wrote up. Maybe I can help you make a new moisturizer instead.”

“Hm.”

Looking at you this closely, Azul realizes you really are attractive. Humans have always appealed to merfolk, but you’re in another league entirely. You aren’t wearing any makeup and instead rely on your natural beauty to charm those around you. No wonder why Vil associates himself with you. You’re so naturally you. No wonder why you have so many fans.

Perhaps through his weeks-long research Azul has allowed you to strike his heart like a cupid with terrible aim. And he can’t believe that, of all the humans to adore, he’s fallen for one that is a star—out of reach, destined to shine brighter than him.

But stars can be bottled and kept safe from implosion. This is a fact that he, as a dutiful collector, knows well.

“I’ve got it!” He rises to his feet, brushing himself free of dirt, and holds his hand out to you. “From today onwards, we are business partners. If you help me solve this little predicament, I’ll consider overlooking your clumsy error.”

“All right. As long as you keep my being here a secret.” Your hand fits into his and he tugs you up from the ground. “So how can I help?”

Azul flashes you a sly grin. “What are your thoughts on transformation potions?”

#twisted chit chat #yandere twst #🐏 anon #bitter and jealous azul is a delicious flavor of azul >:)#but so is obsessive fanboy azul who would do anything for you #even changing himself just to suit your tastes

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silverskull · 1 year

Note

Chenford + they all find out (what should have happened in 5.13)

THANK YOU ANON, for inspiring me!!! I didn't have anything to add to this ep until your ask got the brainwaves churning. I hope this is somewhat enjoyable for you! As far as I can tell, in 5x13 Lucy wasn’t wearing her ring, Nyla was drinking, and Nolan doesn’t have a record player - but this is The Rookie. If the fans can’t take the same artistic licence with the facts as the writers, then what are we even doing here? I did research Camogie teams in SW USA, and that much is accurate. Songs mentioned in this fic:

Jimmie Rodgers - Secretly

The Romantics - Talking in Your Sleep

***

Nyla had won the battle.

Both sets of parents were taking turns calming their sleeping children, exhausted but unsettled in the unfamiliar surrounds of Nolan’s guest rooms, but still the TV stayed tuned for Nyla. It wasn’t the football game, but some terrifying Celtic sport, women racing across a grass field, armed with carved sticks, almost zero body protection and a ball so small it might as well have been invisible. Lucy and Nyla had become so invested that Tim had to remove himself from the sofa before they conjured their own sticks out of thin air and used his head for practice.

He instead found himself perusing Nolan’s record collection, the soft jazz currently playing on the turntable soothing but boring, and the whiskey gently flowing through his system suggesting something more in the style of a live country recording. The selection of records was so surprisingly wide-ranging that he almost didn’t notice Angela sloping up beside him until she bumped his elbow and swiped the Jimmie Rodgers album out of his hands.

“In the mood for some ballads, huh?”

“Not particularly.” He nodded to her glass, picking out another record at random. “Not in the mood for Bailey’s wine?”

Angela scowled, flicking the album over and skimming the track list.

“I drew the short straw. Driving all the babies home if the power comes back.”

“Right.” He said nothing more, but she glared at him over her glass anyway, and he smirked into his whiskey.

At this point, he’d been around pregnant cops long enough to recognise the signs, particularly in the breakroom: consistent supplies of decaf coffee, unusual varieties of dips in the fridge, and large boxes of Tums stashed in every spare shelf and cupboard. The last clue was Angela turning down Nolan’s wine when Nyla was also not drinking, and making bad excuses to cover for it.

But it wasn’t his secret, and if she needed time, he’d give it to her.

“Work go late at the courts tonight?”

Angela started digging through the records, elbowing him out of her way as she replaced the Jimmie Rodgers and began flicking through the cardboard covers. He smothered a weary sigh.

“Not really. It’s pretty consistent.” Sip of whiskey to disguise the boredom. “Just making the most of the A/C at the station. Plus, I can leave earlier tomorrow if I cross off a few extra files today.”

Having found something that appealed to her, Angela slipped the record out of the cover, again shoving Tim out of her way as she moved to replace the jazz on the turntable.

“Well, it’s doing something for you. You’ve got a whole new pep in your step.”

Afraid he’d say something incriminating, he turned a grimace into a smile, covering with another drink from his glass.

“Maybe it’s all the extra sleep you’re getting,” she added.

Awkward pause.

“How’s Kojo dealing with the heat?” She didn’t look at him, flipping the glossy record over in her hands as she decided which side to play.

“He’s in daycare. They’ve got a generator and they’re running an overnight special until the power comes back.” At last, something innocuous to talk about.

“Poor little guy.” Angela sympathised.

“‘Poor little guy’? He’s better off than I am! Costs as much to keep him there as it does to stay at the Four Seasons.”

She snorted at him, replacing the jazz and finally dropping the needle onto the new record. Some vaguely recognisable 80s band began clamouring through the speakers with the distinctive drum reverb and slap bass of the decade, melodramatic romance lyrics accompanied by high-pitched analogue synth.

“The things we do for someone we love, huh?” She turned to him with her fists on her hips and a smirk on her lips. He swallowed.

“I…guess?” He glanced quickly out at the room, but Angela blocked him, stepping into his space and punching him softly on the arm.

“I’m not talking about the dog, dummy.”

“Well.. I…” he stuttered lamely, before shaking his head and glowering down at her. “Then what are you implying?”

“Same thing as last time, Pinky,” she answered swifty, leaning in closer and lowering her voice. “You and Lucy.”

Two shivers went through him suddenly - one warm and happy, the other thrilled and jittery. He hadn’t heard anyone link her name to him like that before, and that it was one of the few people he was most eager to tell was sending little pings of excitement throughout his system.

He swallowed nervously, an uncontrolled smile tugging at the corners of his lips and his eyebrows rising in unambiguous surrender to her implication.

Angela’s face changed too - her narrowed eyes widening and the knowing smirk dropping into a little gasp of surprise.

“Wait,” she whispered, grabbing his arm, “You… you’re- seriously?!” She bounced on the balls of her feet, waggling the glass in his hand precariously. “This is amazing! I knew it, I knew it! When did you- wait, what- no, tell me-”

He interrupted her with a shushing motion, jutting his jaw out at the crowded room behind her.

“We haven’t really told anyone yet, okay? Just… just give it some time.” He was grinning now, his eyes catching the sparkle of Lucy’s ring across the room as she ran her fingers through her hair.

“Fine. Fine.” Angela acquiesced with a theatrical sigh. “I won’t say anything. Yet.” She took a gulp from her water glass, clinking it against Tim’s whiskey along the way. “But you and I are going out for drinks ASAP, and you’re gonna tell me everything.”

Tim rolled his eyes at her, turning back to the record collection and making room for Angela to lean in beside him, flicking contentedly through the discs together.

***

“Hurling.”

“Not hockey?”

“Not hockey. But again, this one is camogie.” “Not hurling?”

“Ugh.” Nyla dropped her head wearily onto the back of the couch. “Can’t you just watch it and appreciate the skill?”

Lucy grinned, tapping her ring against her glass of tequila, and turning her attention back to the game on the TV.

“And there’s really nowhere to see it live in LA?”

“Not that I know of. My girlfriend plays down in San Diego. I’ll link you up with her if you wanna check it out sometime.”

“Mmm. That could be nice. Weekend road trip.” Lucy’s mind wandered from the game on the screen to a sunny drive along the coast, winding roads beside the ocean, salt breeze in her hair, and her hand laced across the console with Tim’s, his smile bright and his skin warm against her own.

She had clearly daydreamed too loudly, because when she clicked back into the present, Nyla was gazing over at her, a knowing smirk pinching the dimples in her cheeks.

“Chen. I’d never have reckoned you for a sports fan.”

Lucy could feel the heat rising along her neck, and she covered it with a dip of her head and a sip from her glass.

“I’m cultured! Besides, it turns out I might have some Irish ancestry back along the way…”

“Mm-hmm,” murmured Nyla, evidently not buying it. “Don’t we all.” She sat up straighter and tipped her glass towards the other side of the room, where Tim and Angela were huddled together over Nolan’s record player. “And it’s got nothing at all to do with Bradford’s sudden change of career, or your urgent need to get him back into the thick of things, huh?”

“No!” Lucy answered quickly - far too quickly. She blinked and bit her lip, dropping her eyes cagily to the coffee table in front of them, leaving down her glass and shuffling through the magazines for something to do with her hands.

“Girl.” She could feel Nyla’s eyes boring into the back of her head, and she sighed, taking a minute to compose herself before turning to look over her shoulder. “What makes you think you could ever get away with lying to me?”

Nyla spoke with humour, but there was truth in it too. Not only was she essentially Lucy’s UC mentor, but she was one of the most perceptive detectives Lucy had ever met, and the facts that she had pointed out about them weren’t exactly the paragon of subtlety.

“...Okay.” Lucy whispered at last. Nyla leaned forward, raising her eyebrows and opening her mouth, and Lucy grabbed her wrist hurriedly to silence her. “Okay, but shhh!”

“I’m ‘shh’, I’m sat!” Nyla argued, gesturing vigorously with her free hand. “Now spill!”

“Well-” Lucy stopped, suddenly stumped, a sheepish smile playing on her lips. “We’re… together. We have been for a while. We just wanted…I guess we just wanted to keep it to ourselves for a bit. See how things would play out.” “Right,” agreed Nyla, nodding wisely. “And given the game of Career Switcheroo we’ve been playing here tonight, I take it things are going well?”

“Oh my god!” Lucy groaned, gripping Nyla’s arm tightly. “It is amazing, Nyla! I don’t know why it took me so long to realise it, but…” she trailed off, running a hand through her hair as she smiled earnestly at Harper.

“You’re happy,” finished Nyla, chuckling and placing her hand on top of Lucy’s. “And clearly, so is he.” She leaned in close, knocking her forehead lightly against Lucy’s. “I’m really glad for you, you know? Both of you. You deserve this.”

Lucy didn’t think it was possible, but she felt her grin grow even wider, mouthing a silent ‘thank you’ at Nyla through her smile.

“Now.” Nyla pulled back, leaving her drink down on the table and rubbing her hands together pragmatically. She glanced quickly across the room at Tim, then leaned in close to Lucy, lowering her voice to a whisper. “This Fuji retirement situation? I think I have an idea…”

***

Unexpected though it had been, it had turned into quite a pleasant evening, and Nolan happily saluted Nyla and James as they swapped out with Wesley for baby-soothing duty.

Wesley sidled up to Angela, who was still guarding the record collection and humming softly to herself. He slipped his arms around his wife’s waist, pulling her into a gentle sway along the rhythm of the music. Angela smiled up at him, pecking him quickly on the lips before tucking her head under his chin and squeezing herself tightly against him.

“Aww… they really are super cute together,” Bailey murmured at his side. “I’m glad things are finally working out for them.”

“Me too.” Nolan agreed, circling his own arm around Bailey’s waist. “Between La Fiera and Elijah - not to mention everything in between - they’ve had it pretty rough.”

Bailey frowned up at him, confused. “Wait, Elijah’s after them now too?”

“Well… yeah?” Nolan paused to think, making sure he had the details straight. “Yeah. Since Wesley cut a deal with him to save Angela - you remember that?”

They both looked over at the couple dancing at the record player, swaying slowly in time with the music, then Bailey snorted loudly.

“I’m not talking about Angela and Wesley!” she laughed, poking him in the ribs. “I’m talking about them. Cuddled up on the couch.”

She tipped her head towards the sofa, the channels on the TV scrolling quickly through a variety of sporting fixtures as Lucy jabbed the remote mercilessly at the screen and Tim tried and failed to pull it from her hands.

Nolan pulled a face. “What, Tim and Lucy? No. No they’re just…”

As he watched, Tim finally got hold of the remote, pulling both it and Lucy into his chest, where she wheezed out a soft chuckle, punching him lightly in the stomach, before curling her feet up under her and nestling comfortably into his side. Tim swapped the remote into his other hand, reaching his free arm across the back of the couch and trailing his fingers down along Lucy’s back and through her loose hair.

“...Honey?”

Bailey tapped him gently under his chin, and Nolan realised that his jaw had fallen completely open in utter astonishment, and he clamped it shut with a snap, shaking himself out of his stupor.

“Wait, you really didn’t see that coming?” Bailey was gazing up at him, half amused, half concerned, her eyebrows all but forming a question mark on her face.

“I… I-I…” Nolan stammered, bewildered. “I honestly thought they didn’t even like each other! Tim used to be such an asshole to her, and Lucy did nothing but complain about him all the time. How has this happened?!”

“Oh, honey.” Bailey gave him a look of resigned compassion, pouting at his obvious naivety. “Even since I first met them, he’s always put her before everyone else; and she’s had him completely wrapped around her little finger.”

“How did I miss this?” he asked, still reeling. Bailey sighed heavily.

“Let’s just say your interpersonal skills lie in empathy and communication rather than gossip, hmm?” she suggested, turning his head away from the living room and back to face her. “And focus on a relationship you do know about?”

“Okay… Okay.” Still somewhat shaken, Nolan looked down at his girlfriend - his fiancée, he corrected himself - and decided that if anyone could take his mind off his failings as an off-duty detective, it was Bailey.

“Okay. But if anyone else in this group starts dating, give me a heads up before they start making out on my couch? Please?”

Bailey chuckled in amusement, and pulled him in for a kiss.

***

“What are you doing?” Tim grumbled, shuffling distractedly in his seat.

“Getting myself comfortable!” Lucy said, digging her fingers further behind his back and into the cushions.

“It feels like you’re trying to give me spinal surgery - again. And I would know.” Tim glowered at her, the way his arm tightened around her shoulder belying his surliness. “Can’t you just settle down and watch the game?”

“I was watching the game - you changed the channel,” she argued, her fingers finally finding the edges of the post-it notes she’d been searching for behind him.

“That was a battle, not a game. And it was over.” Tim corrected her, pointing the remote at the screen for emphasis.

“Well, it was a lot more interesting than watching overly-padded men racing towards another ad break,” she countered.

“Trust Nyla to finally lure you into sports - but only something niche and obscure.”

Having finally tucked the last of the stray post-its securely into her back pocket, Lucy curled her arm around Tim’s back, tickling her fingers against the base of his neck, his hair prickling pleasantly against her fingertips.

She settled against him comfortably, the TV droning on in the background in a buzz of light and colour. The air was cool and his body was warm, and gentle strains of light Latin rumba drifting across from the record player lulled her into a cosy state of drowsiness.

“Hey.” Tim shook her gently, his lips brushing against her forehead. “You wanna get out of here? Go home?”

Lucy blinked sleepily, murmuring into his shoulder, “Power’s not back yet, I’ve set a notification. We’ll have no light.”

Tim grinned, raising his eyebrows playfully. “I happen to know someone who has about three hundred candles. We’ll have plenty of light.”

“Oh yeah?” Lucy was more alert now, sitting up straighter and running her fingers along his chest. “And what about the heat? How are we gonna stay cool?” Tim shrugged. “I was thinking of picking up a bag of ice-cubes along the way. I have a few ideas.” His mischievous grin set off a flurry of butterflies in her tummy, and before she could think twice about it, Lucy had stood, pulling him up off the couch with her and grabbing her duffel bag from beside the record player.

Angela and Wesley stopped dancing to watch them, Wesley politely bemused and Angela with a sly smirk spreading across her face.

“Where’s the fire, Chen?”

“No fire,” Lucy answered airily, “We’re just gonna call it a night.” She grabbed Angela’s hand, pulling her into a sideways hug and whispering into her ear, “Thank you for the assist.”

Angela nodded, silently sliding the crumpled post-its from Lucy’s hand into her own pocket. “No problem.” She grinned at Tim over Lucy’s shoulder. “You two have a good night.”

Tim scowled back at her, marching towards the door and yanking it open briskly as Lucy bade a hurried farewell to Nolan and Bailey.

She threw her bag into the backseat and started the engine quickly, and within three minutes they were on the open road and racing towards Elmhurst Drive and her apartment. The night was still hot, but Lucy knew the heat tingling along her skin had almost nothing to do with the temperature of the sweltering air, and everything to do with the man in the truck ahead of her.

And even as part of her schemed and plotted to clear a path for him from courts to metro, the rest of her shivered in anticipation of yet another night together with him.

Because regardless of where he ended up in the LAPD, she was fast coming to realise that the one place she knew she always wanted him to be was right.

by.

her.

side.

#chenford #chenford fic #my fic #ask fic

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knickynoo · 8 months

Text

Back to the Future: The Animated Series, s02ep07 “The Money Tree"

Previous episodes linked here.

In this episode: Everybody is mean to Jules + a "money doesn't buy happiness" plotline.

They really got their money's worth out of the green screen this season, huh? This time, Doc is deep in an unnamed rainforest, researching the deforestation happening (and also eating bananas).

After mentioning how valuable the trees in the rainforest are, he recalls the time his son, Jules, had a tree with a "very different type of value."

We begin with Jules walking home from school. Two kids on bikes come racing by, sending the papers in his briefcase flying. He is quite upset.

Turns out, one of the biking troublemakers is none other than Verne. Jules yells at his younger brother for both his recklessness and the damage he's caused. Verne's reply is awful.

"Good thing you don't got any friends, or we might've hit somebody and done some major damage."

Jail for Verne Brown.

On the other side of the fence, one of Verne's classmates invites him to come swimming, and Verne quickly jumps at the chance. Jules pokes his head into the yard, asking if he can "join in on the frivolity." He's promptly told that he's not allowed, then splashed by a cannonball.

I CRY. Look at him. He is so sad and ostracized. Jail for Verne's classmate.

So far, this episode is no fun at all.

We cut scene to later that afternoon, where Marty is playing some basketball outside the garage while Jules works on his latest project: a genetically modified tree that grows colorful leaves with all different patterns on them. Two thoughts here.

1. This series really pushes the "Marty is a cool, sporty guy" thing. He's played baseball in past episodes, collects baseball cards, helps to coach Verne's soccer team, and is now shooting hoops while excitedly narrating his every move like a sports commentator. And, I mean, I don't really mind it as a whole. It's possible our Trilogy Marty is into sports (though I don't see him as being the sporty type). It just feels kind of forced in the cartoon. As if Marty being his own sweet, goofy self wasn't appealing enough, and they needed to make him into some sort of jock because that's what's expected of a college-aged guy? I don't know. I guess it helps that he isn't particularly good at any of the sports, which feels true to Marty.

2. All of the kids who look down on Jules are wrong. Jules is SO cool. Look at this tree he's created!

When Marty asks Jules why he doesn't have any friends, Jules tells him sadly, "Martin, intelligent children are always outcasts." Marty replies that he's never had that problem, lol.

Verne soon comes running into the yard, upset that Doc won't give him an advance on his allowance. He ends up inadvertently giving Jules the idea to create a money tree.

Some time later, at school, Jules is about to take his turn for show and tell. He's tripped on his way to the front of the class, taunted, and laughed at by all the other children. He remains unfazed and proudly displays his tree, covered in various bills. Naturally, this gains him a sudden influx of new "friends." Unable to see that none of the kind words and attention is sincere, Jules allows himself to be swept up in his newfound popularity.

All the attention soon goes to his head, and Jules soon has Marty and Verne doing all the heavy lifting in an attempt to find the perfect spot for the money tree.

Even though the bills on the tree aren't ready to be picked, Jules decides it's a good idea to start buying things left and right on credit. He gets toys for all his new friends and even has a swimming pool installed in the yard. Though Clara and Doc initially protest all the spending and the attitude change in their son, a trip with him to the mall has them changing their tune when he lavishes expensive gifts upon them.

Doc gets a brand new, giant TV and seven VCRs (one for each day of the week), and Clara gets a diamond necklace.

Jules soon lands himself an interview on the local news, bringing his money tree to the attention of Biff and his son, who catch the broadcast at home. Uh oh...

Meanwhile, Jules hires Marty to guard the money tree, offering him "ten leaves an hour." And since Marty is very rarely at his college attending his classes or ever at home with his family (who may not even exist in this cartoon), it's a good job for him.

I should also mention that the news of the money tree catches the attention of the FBI, who assume Jules is the leader of a counterfeit money ring.

Anyway, Marty is terrible at his tree-guarding job. He stays fast asleep on his lawn chair while Biff sneaks by in the middle of the night to steal it, then continues to sleep through the loud argument Jules has with Verne—accusing his brother of stealing the tree. By the way, this is where things are at in the Brown household...

There's not a single level-headed person in this family anymore.

Desperate to recover the tree, they all pile into the car and take off into town, where a police officer quickly pursues them. This happens.

Doc engages the car's flying mode, and they lose the cop and take off after Biff's tow truck, which has the tree strapped to it. Jules hangs out of the car to try to get it, but his seatbelt rips, and Verne grabs hold of him just in time. Clara then has to catch Verne, who almost falls out of the car, and Doc changes the car's path just before Biff tries to send them crashing into a tunnel.

Relieved that the boys are safe, Clara comes to her senses and realizes that they were all blinded by greed. Doc promptly drives the car to the police station to TURN HIMSELF IN for going over the speed limit and resisting arrest.

Biff takes the tree to a car dealership and buys himself a fancy Winnebago RV. He's immediately surrounded by a group of federal agents, who tackle him and send all the money he's recently picked fluttering around the lot. One by one, the bills all shrivel up and turn brown. So, no money for anyone. Jules's project was doomed from the start.

Things quickly go back to normal around Hill Valley, and Jules returns to being a social outcast. Without the promise of money, almost all of his new friends drop him like a hot potato. Except for Franny—a classmate who reveals to Jules that she likes him for who he is (and has a crush on him!).

The two walk off hand in hand, and we return to Real Doc, who is still hanging out in the rainforest. He shows us the new money tree he had Jules cultivate, explaining that his plan is to allow it to mature and eventually use it so that he and Clara can make their "golden years" comfortable.

And that statement makes me laugh because Doc is already well into his golden years. Sixty-five at the start of the trilogy, then the ten years to build the time train, plus the additional however many years have passed since he and the family moved. (It's 1992 in the series, but I don't think the Browns settled straight into 1985 because Jules and Verne's ages don't line up properly with how old they were at the end of Part III) But anyway! Doc has to be somewhere close to eighty years old. Though, with the medical overhaul he went through in 2015, it did give him an additional thirty or so years, so...I guess it all evens out.

Here he is, sneezing away all the newly-grown money because he discovers he's allergic to the pollen it produces.

Add money-tree pollen to the list of Doc's allergies.

The episode ends with him slipping on the banana peel he had tossed in the beginning of the episode. Silly guy.

Join me next time to see Marty and Verne travel back in time to meet Jules Verne.

#back to the future #bttf #bttf: the animated series

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ashtraythief · 2 months

Note

hello

I'm addicted to the underneath verse, so much so that I must have read it more times than I can count.

it's so well written and I love everything about it, except the fear for Jensen’s life and for him loosing his jared.

now for the stupid part, I love bottom Jensen fics and I love obsessed and possessive jared, but I can't enjoy it because of the age difference.

i know, stupid.

so I do this thing in my head were I read it but keep reminding myself that they are the same age or Jensen is a little bit younger.

my stupid question which I hope you answer anyway if you can, is why did you keep their real age, what if jared had a complete dominance over Jensen, size as well as age too.

i felt a twinge in my heart when jared said to him "is it because of the age difference"?

when Jensen caught him having a good time with the twink 😡

also what do you think about the age thing in general, lije how do you prefer it to go, and why?

thank you for your beautiful writings ♥️

Thank you so much for your kind words about the underneath verse!

This is kind of a layered question, but I’m gonna do my best.

First, I have to say that while your kink is not my kink, no kink is stupid and you don’t have to apologize for it. It’s something you enjoy, for whatever reason, and that’s totally fine!

The whole age gap thing is for various reasons difficult for me and my opinion and the way I write it has changed over the years. I don't really want to go into that too much, but I'll try to answer your questions as best as possible.

The simple answer for the age difference in the underneath verse is that I kept it how it is in real life. Four years isn’t that much when you’re in your late twenties/early thirties, anyway, so it’s not an age gap that makes me go huh, age gap, that’s going to have an impact on the story. And I usually keep their age gap in whatever story I write unless the setup requires something else, i.e. if one of them is a supernatural creature like a vampire.

The in-universe answer is that I wanted Jensen to have realistic job experience. As far as my research went, the FBI generally requires a college degree or/and work experience. And then I wanted Jensen to have FBI work experience. He’s supposed to be very good at what he does and I think that’s something that comes with experience.

And then I just fitted Jared’s timeline to the age he’d have in relation to Jensen and it worked out pretty well. There was no reason why the plot wouldn't work with him at that age, so I had no reason to change it. Actually, I thought it worked out pretty well. It gave Jared enough time to become powerful but early enough that the FBI would go after so hard.

And as for the whole dominance angle, I think I disagree with your opinion that age automatically equates dominance or rather that dominance requires a greater age. (And that’s fine! Different strokes and all that.) While age can play a very significant factor in dominant behavior, it doesn’t have to. For me, age has nothing to do with dominance in the bedroom, certainly not when it's as small as four years. Age gaps can play a role when it comes to experience and confidence, but it doesn't influence whether you like to be dominant or submissive. I totally understand that the image can be appealing and your kink is your kink and it's valid, but it's not one I particularly share. I usually keep the Js rl age gap (tradition at this point? Idk) and it doesn't influence how I write them in bed or their relationship dynamic. If you've read more of my stuff, you know that I write them with all sorts of dynamics and I usually just keep it the rl age gap but I also wouldn't mind shrinking it.

(There are pairings tho where I'm more fixed in the dynamic I enjoy. JDM will always be a toppy bastard to me in bed 😅 but then that could also be JDM-specific and unrelated to his age).

For the underneath verse I also didn’t want Jared to have absolute dominance. In the underneath verse, there's a balance and while Jared is definitely sexually dominant, I'd argue that their power balance in their relationship actually tilts in Jensen's favor. If I had written Jared older than Jensen, I don't think it would have made much of a difference honestly. Jared might have been a little more level-headed, but then you don't grow out of anger issues if you don't work on them. Maybe he'd be more jaded and it would have taken him longer to fall for Jensen, but if Jared were say 38 instead of 28 when they met, it wouldn't have changed anything about their relationship.

As for Jared's question whether it's the age thing, that was a reflection of Jared's very heteronormative attitude towards relationships. I do think for Jared there's a correlation of young and submissive that he sought out on his hookup and the prized value of youth for beauty. Before Jensen, the guys he hooked up with were part of his image and he mirrored what the other powerful rich guys were doing who were all very straight. And these kind of powerful men surround themselves with young beautiful women because that's what's valued in our wonderful and not at all fucked up society. And so Jared did the same, just with guys. Considering how attracted he is to Jensen shows that he's not exclusively attracted to youth and that age doesn't matter all that much to him. I don’t think there was a single moment where Jared thought about Jensen’s age as a significant factor in any way. But he still knows how youth is valued in beauty so that’s why he asks Jensen that question. And I think when Jensen turns the question back on him, Jared immediately says that he doesn't care about that.

I hope that answers your question, nonnie!

TL, DR: While I can enjoy and have written fics where one character is possessive and dominant, for me that only works in specific kink scenarios. When it comes to plot fics where I flesh out a relationship, I enjoy a more even power balance (unless it's specifically a dystopia). I’ve written all kinds of kinky stuff for this fandom though, so my attitude toward this is always let your kink flag fly. We all have an id to feed and as long as we’re all polite and respectful about it and use the appropriate tags, everyone can have a good time. So feel free to imagine the Js of the same age or Jared older if that helps you enjoy this fic. Honestly, aging Jared up here really wouldn’t change much in my opinion (except, you know, Jared’s refractory period 😅) and it wouldn’t change their dynamic.

#anon ask

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