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lou-bonfightme · 1 year

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Catch Flights Not Feelings || [Amelouse]

In which Amy and Gail are visiting Paris while Toulouse is living there...[takes place in like September, but I forgot to post it when we finished, oops.]

@amelia-o-gabble

[tw -- talks of murder and anti-magick sentiment, vague suicidal thoughts (non-descriptive)]

AMY: Amy arrived the week after Toulouse scittered off to France. His father’s house to be exact, which Amy thought was odd as the two Bonfamilles always seemed to be at odds. She supposed it ran in the family, to be so much like your parents that you couldn’t see eye to eye.

The journalist could have stayed at her mother’s chateau, which was much closer to the incident she was investigating, if not for a variable of things. One, Amy was not speaking to her mother. And two, the chateau was sold to pay off debts of her mother’s making. Still, she made herself at home at her uncle’s estate for the time being. She was surprised, and happy, to have Toulouse’s company, nevertheless. Especially when she had small town rage to convey.

Amy burst through the heavy oak doors of the music room with her tablet in hand, “Can you believe her? Oh, I absolutely detest that Annie Tremaine!”

She threw herself onto the plush bench by the window to lament the loss of a great story to someone such as her work nemesis. “She fancies herself a real writer, you know? She’s a damned columnist, the Squire didn’t hire her to write anything more than fluff! I have a degree in investigative journalism from Cambridge and they have me writing about this memorial fountain! What’s her degree even in? Fake accents?”

The fiery blonde huffed and looked up from her lounged position up to her cousin. She had many theories playing about in her head as to why he was here. It wasn’t safe for Magicks, especially werewolves, in France. She was aware Hector lifted the travel ban from Toulouse recently, that was the only way he’d be able to board a flight. However, the cogs still whirred, not quite clicking into place yet. Amy decided to prod anyway, against her better judgment.

“I suppose you don’t want to hear about Swynlake drama though, since you’ve ran away to brood in your father’s estate?” She phrased it as an inquiry more than an accusation, hoping it wouldn’t strike a chord too harshly.

TOULOUSE: Toulouse had not planned to be accompanied to Paris by his cousins, Amelia and Abigail, but he was not necessarily put out by the idea either. Did he wish that Amelia was Berlioz and Abigail, Marie? Yes. Did he wish they were Hades, Belle, and the children? Certainly. But Toulouse loved his cousins, just about as much as he could love anyone. And he was so, horribly, lonely.

Also, bored. And bored for a depressed, manic Toulouse was a recipe for disaster. Though, he was telling himself that wasn’t how it was going to be this time. He just needed some time. He would return to Swynlake eventually. Or maybe he needed to reinvent himself, buy a cramped apartment on the Rue de Rivoli, along the Seine and spend his days painting and haunting the Louvre.

He hadn’t decided yet.

When Amelia appeared, Lou had heard her coming, even though he had been playing Claire de Lune (one of the only pieces he had memorized) on the piano quietly. She had a bold stride, Amelia. It was impossible not to hear her high heels clacking down the marbled hall towards him. He didn’t stop playing as she came in and draped herself on the lounge, in a very Bonfamille fashion. He did, however, look up at her as he finished the stanza and then let the piano notes fade into silence.

The dig made his eyebrows raise, but he simply took a sip of the glass of water he’d placed on top of the piano forte.

“I designed that fountain,” Toulouse pointed out idly as he placed the water down, deciding to ignore the comment about him running away. Refuting it would be pointless and only open an invitation for Amelia to pry. Instead, he set his glass back down on its coaster and ran his fingers over the keys, playing a little arpeggio.

“It sounds to me like you’re just put out that you did not find out about Princess Elena and Dr. Morey first.” He had decided not to address the dig, but that did not mean that he could not dig back himself.

AMY: Amy rolled her eyes. Of course, he’d have something to say about her comment on the fountain. He knew this was not about the fountain! “Yes, yes. It’s lovely, truly, a beautiful piece,” she complimented dismissively.

If Toulouse thought riling her up about her work would get her off his trail, he was wrong. Amy was like a bloodhound when it came to a mystery. And this certainly wasn’t the first time in his life that she’d hassled him to be let in on his secrets. Her dear cousin should have learned by now that his silent suffering only invited Amy’s scrutinizing gaze. Even so, his comments still made their way under her skin.

She narrowed her eyes, “I could have if writing trashy tabloid articles was in my job description. But alas, I do the work I am told to do for the Squire. I use my real skills on investigating for Foul. Which is why Gail and I are here, by the way. We didn’t just follow you to France.

But don’t take that as me meaning you aren’t under suspicion. Because you are.”

TOULOUSE: “And what, pray tell, are my crimes?” Lou asked boredly, transitioning smoothly into Claire de Lune.

It was said in jest, but he did wonder. Had Ameila and Abigail been sent to check up on him? Absolutely infuriating, if so, but also--they were not the first choice for spying on him, but maybe that made them perfect for it. If it were Berlioz or Marie…Lou might not be so kind. (Yes, he was being nice. For now.) If it were Belle or Hades…the thought made him want to laugh. Neither of them would be coming. They simply did not care.

Anyway, was it really such a mystery why he had run off to Paris?

It was his home. He had not been there for four years. There was no other reason. Obviously.

AMY: “Not sure, yet.” She answered candidly.

Amy was not aware of whatever toilings haunted her cousin’s mind. All she knew was that it had to be something significant to have him seek shelter with his father. Amelia always liked Hector, and even though they did not share blood, she felt as if they could have. Though she'd take the parentage of Drake Gabble any day, the politician parent she had was too ambitious to raise children. Which was why this sudden move made her question Lou’s intentions. She would cut off her nose just to spite her face rather than accept a summons from Laraline. So why had Lou come? Did he not house the same resentment towards Hector that she held for her mother?

Amelia leaned up and expounded, “I never said you’d done anything wrong. Just that you were being suspicious. And you cannot deny that. You can say you felt a rush of parental affection and flew off to dear oncle Hector when he lifted your travel restrictions… but I don’t buy it. You seem troubled, Toulouse.”

“That, and, you are up here. Not having afternoon tea with the rest of the house.”

TOULOUSE: “I came here because my travel restrictions were lifted and I have not been to Paris in almost four years. Does not seem like much of a mystery, you are losing your touch,” he told her.

He ignored the part about having tea with everyone. That was simply because he did not want to. Not because the library was the closest thing he had to his studio back home where he always retreated during his depressive episodes. Lou was safe in the knowledge that his cousins had not lived with him since his bipolar disorder had come on. They did not know his patterns, what he was like. And he was certain Marie had not spoiled it to them, because she was just as embarrassed, if not more so, than he was about it. After all, she’d never once spoken to him about what had happened, all those years ago, at the ocean.

“Aren’t you here for an actual mystery anyway?” Lou asked, trying to turn her snooping around on her. Besides, Amelia quite liked talking about herself (family trait), so he thought it would be an easy distraction.

AMY: “Distraction will only get you so far, but yes, I am here investigating a real mystery,” Amy answered all in one huff.

She kicked her legs off the side of the chaise and sat up properly, ankles crossed. “There was a murder in Compiègne a few years ago, but no one ever really solved it. Abigail and I think we can crack it with some fresh eyes and a bit less… French discrimination, no offense! I mean, they pinned it on one of the victim’s friends who just so happened to be a Magick. He’s still serving his time, but we don’t think he did it. The evidence they presented was all too circumstantial…”

Amy bit her lip as she poured through her memory of the files. Sadly, the French police using circumstantial evidence to seal the deal on any case involving a Magick was too common. It made her fear for her cousin. While he was in France he was in danger. Whether Hector could protect him or not, Toulouse was always going to be a target as a werewolf in Paris. “Lou? I have a question and I promise it has to do with the case and not whatever is going on with you.”

TOULOUSE: Once upon a time, the French discrimination that Amelia spoke of would not bother Toulouse. He had always thought those sorts of things were none of his business. For Magicks to work out with the government. It had been true enough for him, as the kind of person who never got involved in fights that did not directly affect him.

But now: it did.

Maybe if he had not been outed to the government from the moment he’d been bitten, he could have flown under the radar in France, but the English government had found out, which meant they shared that information with the French government and it had been splashed across the French tabloids long before Alana’s trial. Ever since arriving in Paris, the wolf was ever present. Irritated by the clashing sounds of the city. In every lingering stare and shut door in places he used to not only frequent but lord over like a king upon his throne. Now, he was no better than the rabble.

The story chaffed, though Lou did not allow for it to be shown. Instead, he continued playing idly at the piano, only glancing up at his name.

“You are going to ask it anyway,” Lou said, meeting his cousin’s eyes and giving a brief flash of a smile.

AMY: Amy smiled back, despite her tone being somewhat somber when she said, “Do you feel safe here? In Paris?”

The smile slipped and Amy leaned forward, invested in her cousin’s answer. She remembered loving Paris as a girl. The time she spent here with her cousins as children, and in Swynlake, were some of her fondest memories. But they weren’t clouded with the fear that her eldest cousin could be whisked away at any moment, a fear she had now.

Swynlake was much safer, even for Magicks deemed dangerous like werewolves. It wasn’t that Amy thought Lou was defenseless. But she knew all too well that there were some things a name couldn’t fix. “I just worry. It’s been on my mind since we started looking into this case and you flew to Paris for the first time since… You don’t plan on staying do you?”

TOULOUSE: Toulouse was glad he was not looking at Amelia when she spoke, for she actually surprised him enough that his face showed it. His fingers didn’t stop on the keys, but if she was listening closely he missed half a beat before he got back into the melody properly.

It just surprised him. Her being so blatant. I just worry. No one said things like that. Marie, he supposed, sometimes, but only when she was particularly upset. It must be their soft English upbringing. That was what he would blame it on. Her soft British father.

He wasn’t sure how to respond. His cousins had never been that close. Yes, they came for holidays every now and then. Christmases and summers on the coast of France, but that was all. Lou cared about them, of course. They were family. But he somehow never expected that affection returned. Certainly not enough to be voiced.

“That isn’t about the case,” he finally said after a moment of quiet, only the music still playing very softly, his fingers dancing thoughtfully over the keys.

“Unless, you would like for me to speak on the discrimination that pervades against Magicks here. In which case: yes, it is different than before but I’ve never cared about what people thought and I don’t intend to start doing so now. I am not worried about it for myself. I am privileged. My father exists in a position of power here. I am not an average person like whomever was involved in your case.”

AMY: Amy did have a surprising thread of softness through her, and it did not come from her mother. It came from years of doting, bedtime stories, scavenger hunts, and the kind smile of her father. Sentimentality was his middle name. The Gabble girls grew up tough, in posh London schools where their mother’s name meant everything. Amy wore a cold, calculated demeanor like armor; too much like Laraline. But inside, inside was all built by Drake Gabble. The wonder, the love of mystery, the softness Amy felt for Toulouse now. The worry.

“It could be, if you agree to be an anonymous quote…” Amy made up an excuse.

She stood and leaned against the piano, much closer to him now, so that she could lean over, “I know you say you don’t care what people think about you. It’s not what they think of you that worries me, it’s what they could do. Oncle can protect you from the law, yes, but what about the people who might wish you harm?

They’re trying to fight Magick discrimination and crimes against them in Swynlake. It’s rampant here, Toulouse. I’ve got a box filled to the brim of cold cases across the hall. All of them, the victims were Magicks.” Amy felt herself getting more passionate towards the end, she took a quick breath of air to calm herself. Maybe she was being selfish, scared to lose her cousin to distance again after just settling into a life with him in it. Still, her heart was in the right place, no matter how soft it was.

TOULOUSE: Toulouse gave Amelia a doubtful look at the anonymous quote thing. He thought it was best they dropped the pretenses that this was about anything other than her concern for him. She should’ve just come out with it from the first moment, if that was her intention all along. Amy was dogged and determined. He liked these things about her. She was not delicate. He liked this about her too.

He stopped playing as she came towards him. His hands slipped off the keys and went to his lap.

“I can take care of myself,” he told her plainly. “I am a wolf.”

And would it be so bad? he thought to himself, but did not say. Amy did not know that secret. It was well protected and he was not the sort to say such desperate things. They stayed, for the most part, locked behind his teeth, rattling around in his chest. That didn’t make them any less true for him to think. Would it be so bad?

If he simply disappeared one day? No one would know what had happened. He could rest, finally. If someone killed him for being a wolf, it would be for the same reason that things should end regardless: because Lou was a monster. If not of magic, than of his own making.

“Ne t'en fais pas, Amelia. I will be fine. Paris suits me better than Swynlake. I understand her. She will learn to treat me as one of her children again soon.” He said this to convince himself, as well as her.

AMY: Amy could see that in his melancholy, Lou would not be able to see past the clouds in the way she did. Her world was new and undiscovered territory in Swynlake, and for some reason that she could not understand, her cousin was amid a fog.

It was not in her power to pull him from it. She set her face, sternly. Replying a quick, “Quelqu'un doit s'inquiéter, et ce ne sera clairement pas vous.”

She only spoke back in French to be scathing. Much like she’d toss a retort back at her mother, slipping past her father’s discerning ears. “Now will you be joining us for tea, or will you continue to wallow and play your ghostly tunes and haunt this room as if you’ve already died?”

TOULOUSE: Toulouse scowled at Amelia.

There were two paths here.

He could refuse. Continue to play the piano and ignore sitting down with Amelia, Abigail, and his father. This would be petty and the option that would get him talked about the most. He hated giving into demands. Especially when quipped at him like that. Perhaps if Amelia had asked softly, with big pleading eyes, so that he could make a show of placating her, he would not feel the urge to simply say no and ignore her.

He could go, but to do so would be to agree, at least marginally, with Amelia’s assessment of the situation. And while it was correct, Toulouse did not like being caught out. Most of the family knew to leave him alone if he was sulking. He was not going to be good company. It was best for everyone if he simply did not attend tea.

But if he did not go now, Amelia would worry even more and this whole conversation was so Lou could prove that there was no reason to be worried. And the way to win that check from Amelia was to go downstairs and pretend everything was perfectly fine. Smile when needed, speak when necessary, and be the version of himself that everyone knew and, many people, even liked.

The thought of such things was exhausting, but still Lou rose, because he hated being looked at in the way Amelia had been looking at him.

“You are far too morose for someone so pretty and lively,” he told her with a teasing smile as he rose from the piano bench. “Don’t think so darkly.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed both of her cheeks before sweeping past her and down to the dining room.

#swynamelia #amelouse #catch flights not feelings #i really like lou and amy's relationship #bc i feel like she matches him more toe for toe #than marie or ber does #there is less baggage there #and they're still family so she gets away with it #but also lou still feels v protective and affectionate towards her #it's nice

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manysmallhands · 2 years

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#17: The Orb - Orb In Dub EP (Perpetual Dawn Remix) 12"

youtube

Released - July 1991, reissued - 31 Jan 1994

Highest UK Chart Position - #18

First Heard - bought on reissue

The Orb were probably the group that I listened to in my teens more than any other, by which you should probably gather that I was a teenage stoner and constantly looking for something to drift off to. Orb In Dub EP occupies a little space of its own in their catalogue: nominally, it was the remix 12” for Perpetual Dawn, but it actually functions as a kind of concept EP, comprising of bass heavy remixes of their two main reggae inspired tunes, Perpetual Dawn and Towers Of Dub. So, rather than 20 minutes of ambient wash based around a Steve Reich sample, this one’s a bit more substantial than most.

First of all: the bass on Perpetual Dawn! It just throbs and pulses and dominates the entire record! Every time it drops out, I’m waiting for the moment that it comes back in so I can feel it rattling my brain again. And then, well, there’s everything else too. The syncopated guitar feels distinctly Floydian, something of an achievement to rescue a sound from The Wall and make it feel entirely in place here. The steel pans roll across the top like heralds, the keys skank infectiously and there’s a guy doing that thing where you you wobble yr lips about while making a noise from the OG Perpetual Dawn as well, just to remind you of what yr supposed to be listening to. But this is the ultimate version: everything’s bouncier, spacier and generally more fun.

Then flip it over and you have Towers Of Dub, which isn’t as good but is still very good. There’s about five minutes of gentle electronic wibbling where synth arpeggios flutter from from speaker to speaker like butterflies, before the bassline finally arrives: not rangey and powerful like on Perpetual Dawn, but a more subtle driving force which propels the song when it’s allowed to. Only it isn’t - we keep cutting back to the electronica, and then inexplicably to some agreeably hazy comedy routine about a hippie called Claud Nine who’s been stopped for speeding, before finally it gets going and kicks on for home. On a two sided affair, this was the stoner track, the one where you lie down and put yr head between the speakers. I guess that Perpetual Dawn was the one where yr supposed to move around a bit if you were so minded? This feels a bit optimistic for Orb fans tho: remix or no, you were still more likely to find us lying in bed.

#Uncool50 #50favouritesingles #The Orb #Ambient House #Andrew Weatherall #Electronic Music #90s #Youtube

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robert-de-niro-only-fans · 3 years

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Dewey Decimal System

Max Cady x Reader in the library, no plot, just smut

Dedicating this little work to @droogiesanddiscourse who just today found out she's graduating with honors!!! I'm so proud of you bb!!!!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️

TW: smut, public sex, explicit/raunchy dialogue, Max Cady in general?

Word Count: 2.2k

“My baby’s so smart, knowing how to find any book in the library,” your boyfriend, Max, coos quietly to you as you saunter through the aisles and aisles of books, softly leading him with his hand in yours. “You know I didn’t learn to read until my stay in the big house, but I never did learn numbers all that well. I’m glad my little princess can navigate this, uh, what do you call it? Dew something?’

“The Dewey Decimal System!” you whisper in a giggle.

“The Dewey Decimal System...” he tried the words out on his tongue, “Well, I’m glad you can lead me in the right direction, angel.”

“Oop, right here!!” you point up at a tall shelf. Max’s body crashes into yours, nearly landing you both on the floor, as you stopped so suddenly.

“Goodness gracious, girlie, you must be excited to do some reading, huh?” his voice rumbles lowly next to your ear. His muscular arms wrap tightly around your midsection, pressing your backside against him. You can feel his arousal stirring already; he really has no qualms about doing nasty things to you, any time, anywhere. “Oh, baby, I’m already thinking about you reading to me... Hearing that sweet little voice say such naughty things, those pretty little lips forming unholy syllables...” And in true Max Cady fashion, his fingertips are already teasing at the edge of your skirt, threatening for his rough palms to attack your delicate thighs.

You feel a single finger creep up to your hip, teasing at the waistband of your panties, “I hope you aren’t particularly fond of these, ‘cuz they’re coming off now, honey.” And with that, his other hand quickly follows the first one up your skirt and before you could even protest, the man is on his knees and the lacy underwear around your ankles. He helps you out of them as is you were a toddler, getting them over your shoes.

He quickly snatches a book from the bottom shelf and flips it open to a random page before stuffing your panties in it and shoving it back on the shelf. “Max!!!” you whisper-yell.

“What?” he plays dumb, standing back up to press himself into your backside again. “You don’t want someone findin’ your panties? Knowin’ what we did in here? Mmm, well I wanna spread the word about you, baby... Besides, they can use it as a bookmark.” His hands grip your hipbones and he gives you a sloppy kiss on your neck, making a loud slurping noise.

“Max! Shhh!!”

“You’re so cute, all worried about getting caught. You think we’ll get in trouble if someone sees us, or god forbid if someone hears us in this quiet place?”

“Maaaaxxx...” you whine.

“Mm, yeah? You like that idea? Someone hearing the way I turn you into a whore for me? You don’t sound as innocent as you look once I get you goin’.” His hand slides around to your sex, teasing you roughly through the smooth fabric of your skirt, and when you let out a little whimper, it only proves his point.

"Alright, princess, why don't you grab us that book we're looking for?" Following his question, Max's strong arms easily hoist you off the ground, lifting you up, up, up to reach that top shelf and pull down one of Max's favorite books: 𝘛𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘤 𝘰𝘧 𝘊𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳. Oh, and don't think that he missed the opportunity to peak under that skirt...

• • •

As you and Max relax in two adjacent armchairs that he scooted close together, you recite prose from your boyfriend's favorite author. Just a few pages in, you're already at one of his favorite parts. You can read the sheer excitement on Max's face when he says, "Alright, darlin', you better speak up for this next part, you know how much I like the dirty bits."

You look around, making sure no one is nearby, and you start, "'At night when I look at Boris' goatee lying on the pillow I get hysterical.'"

"Louder," Max tilts his head forward, looking at you from under his brow bone.

You raise your voice only slightly, "'O Tania, where now is that warm cunt of yours, those fat, heavy garters, those soft, bulging thighs?'"

"I can't hear you..." he chimes devilishly.

"'There is a bone in my prick six inches long...'"

"And what's he gonna do with it?" Like he doesn't already know.

"'I will ream out every wrinkle in your cunt, Tania, big with seed,'" you look around again, checking for any poor passersby, "'I will send you home to your Sylvester with an ache in your belly and your womb turned inside out.'"

Max let's out a low whistle, "That Henry Miller suuuure knew what he was talking about, huh?" He leans forwards and rather directly slides his hand under your skirt, thumb quickly parting your lips to find that special little bundle of nerves.

You gasp loudly, and Max continues, "Yeah? You want me to turn your womb inside out like he did to Tania? Make that little cunt smooth with my big cock?" His voice is just loud enough that it still sounds intimate but anyone walking by could easily hear.

In an attempt to quiet your moans, you press on reading, "’Your Sylvester! Yes, he knows how to build a fire-‘"

"’But I know how to inflame a cunt!’" Max finishes your sentence for you before pulling you up out of your chair and into his lap, where his fingers quickly find their place between your thighs as if it is the most natural thing in the world to him. "Keep reading, princess," he whispers softly in your ear.

You become aware of his hard length pressing into your thigh, as you read the line, "’I shoot hot bolts into you, Tania, I make your ovaries incandescent.’”

Max lets out a deep moan that rumbles your eardrums and presses some kisses to your cheek and jawline.

“‘Your Sylvester is a little jealous now? He feels something, does he? He feels the remnants of my big prick. I have set the shores a little wider. I have ironed out the wrinkles,’” Max starts to rut against you in his lap. His hands take a firm grip on your hips and slide you back and forth against the erection trapped in his pants. You keep going, “‘After me you can take on stallions, bulls, rams, drakes, St. Bernards. You can stuff toads, bats, lizards up your rectum. You can shit arpeggios if you like, or string a zither across your navel.’”

His moans become quite noisy and his hands search for your flesh; one hand slipping under the edge of your shirt to feel the soft skin of your tummy, the other getting an anchor hold on your hair and giving it a rough tug. You inhale sharply wincing at the pain. You can tell Max is getting needy for you; it would never cease to fascinate you how some little girl (anyone is small next to his towering muscular frame) could have so much control over him.

“‘I am fucking you, Tania, so that you'll stay fucked. And if you are afraid of being fucked publicly I will fuck you privately-‘“

“Damn, that sounds like a good idea,” Max grunts out and unzips his pants, “I sure hope you aren’t afraid of being fucked publicly.”

His next few actions only take a few seconds, and before you can even realize it, you’ve been hoisted up and swiftly dropped down onto your boyfriend’s thick cock. You somehow let out a gasp and a squeal at the same time, and Max claps his hand over your mouth. The only other sound is the thud of the book hitting the floor and closing. Where Max wanted you to speak up before, now it’s time for the quiet game...

“How’s that feel? Daddy’s big cock stretching out those tight walls, huh?” Clearly, it’s a rhetorical question since his hand stays clasped over your mouth. It’s Max’s turn to tease you with his words. “You always take me so well, my little princess. You think if anyone walked by they would know that you’re filled to the brim with my prick? You’ve been trained well, baby girl, you can take me and no one knows I’m inside you, but I know how turned on you are, I felt how wet you were when I was touching you. You wanted this, and I bet everyone knows how much you wanted it, I bet that librarian in the next room knows you have your pussy stuffed right now.”

In all honestly, this guy Ryan had just started working at the library; he had hoped it would be more a bit more relaxing than his job at the local drive-in movie theatre. But Ryan recognized you and Max when you came in, and he really, REALLY doesn’t want another awkward interaction with your boyfriend, so he’s gonna leave you to do whatever you want in the back room of the library...

His hand still covers your mouth as you lean your head back onto his shoulder, looking at him out the corner of your eye. His other arm braces your hips, keeping you flush to him so you can feel every time his member twitches. “You feel me, princess? Feel that ‘bone in my prick’ and how bad I want you?”

You nod your head as much as his grip will allow, eyes never leaving his.

“If I can be frank, sweetheart, Daddy’s never been good at this whole cockwarming thing like you are. It always leaves me wanting more, and you know Daddy can’t resist having more of you... Whaddaya say we play horsey instead? I’ll bounce you on my lap like the dumb little baby doll you are, just like your old man did for you when you were a kid."

You let out an excited little whimper, and Max moves his hands to your hips. "Now I can't keep a hand on your mouth anymore. Think you can keep quiet for me?"

You nod your head excitedly and whisper as quietly as you can, "Yes, sir, Daddy. Can I have a kiss?"

"Aww, of course you can, angel," his lips meet yours in a wet, unrefined fashion, giving you the rough kind of kiss you need. Max also takes this moment to start bouncing you in his lap, just like horsey. With your lips pressed to his, it muffles any sounds that escape the two of you.

His thrusts are small and quick, but actually really satisfying at this angle. The girth of him presses against that special spot inside you. That combined with the thrill of possibly getting caught already has that feeling creeping up in your belly. Your nails dig into his hips looking for something to ground you as you find ecstasy in your orgasm.

But your climax isn't gonna stop Max from what he's doing. He continues to bounce you on his lap, whispering, "Mmm, finished so soon? You must like bouncing on my cock. Bouncy, bouncy..."

You bite your lip, still riding out your orgasm as he continually slams into your g-spot. When a drawn out little whine hums out of you, Max shushes you with a "Shhhh, shhh, baby. You're doing so good, such a good girl for Daddy. Just a little longer, I'm so close, princess."

With your brows furrowed and eyes closed tight, you brave yourself on the arms of the chair. You feel two calloused fingertips at your bottom lip, and you open your mouth, taking them in.

"There that'll keep you quiet for this next part," Max warns before absolutely plowing his hips up into you as fast as he can. His other hand maintains such a firm grip on your side, you think he'll probably leave bruises.

Max chokes back a deep grunt and pulls you down into his lap to spill his seed inside you. You feel his length jolting and that warm gooey liquid. You both sit there catching your breath, and Max wraps his arms around you in a loving embrace.

He gets you to look at him, placing another dirty kiss to your mouth. Then he pulls you off of him, stand up, places you back down on the chair, and gets his pants zipped up.

"Um. Max?" you whisper, a little tense.

"What is it, little darlin'?" He gets on his knees in front of you, placing his big hands on your thighs.

"Uhhh... I think there's gonna be a little mess on this chair," you get right next to his ear and oh so quietly tell him, "it's, uh, leaking."

"Aww, are you worried about leaving some of my cum on the chair?" he places a hand on your chin, "That was the point, baby. The librarian can handle it." Max gives you a wink before taking you by the hand and leading you out of the library.

Poor Ryan.... Scarred again by Max and his girl, and now he has to clean up after them.

#max cady #cape fear #robert de niro #robert de niro x reader #robert de niro fanfic #fanfic

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shintorikhazumi · 3 years

Text

“Diana.”

A/N: To be honest, I had wanted this to be a Diana-centric fic, from Diana’s perspective. I struggled to find a concept, and had a little help from a friend who sent me a random generator. (Thanks, Kate :>) And when I thought I’d just choose from a randomly generated idea, I came across this video on youtube which was actually a compilation of a tiktok series of the story of two neighbors. Of course, I changed bits of it, and obv the end so if you think you know what the source vid is, dw. I won’t hurt y’all like that ;-; And I’ll just link it at the bottom so no plot spoilers for those who don’t know what it is. Eyyyy.

This fic has a few song recs for y’all to listen to if you haven’t heard them already, lol. ;)

I had been looking for something... “emotional” for Diana’s bday fic. And I think... this works. At least for me, it does. It’s not from Diana’s perspective, but... I think this works. So without further ado, Happy birthday Diana and...

oh, thank you to @tracedinairlwa for some help with the music :> that y’all will see later in the fic :’>. Without further ado,

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

It all started with a sunset and a few familiar notes from a piano.

No, it isn’t Akko’s piano. Her piano has been sitting in a corner of her room, collecting dust- untouched for months. And that is just the thing. Unless her piano has somehow become cursed and has decided to ghostly play on its own, then there had to be some other source.

The source of that gentle sound, Akko eventually pinpoints, is her apartment wall- or more accurately, what lies beyond that separator.

As she sits on her couch, admiring the expressive tones, her mind has decided that it wants to capture this special moment, and keep it stored lest she never experiences it again.

Making a quick dash for her bedroom, she opens her bedside drawer and fishes for her old camera from her university days in film club, back when she was an actual student of the Arts and all that creative jazz. She has tried to maintain it, but being under lockdown allows her few chances of seeing the outside world, and the few corners of her home don’t exactly spark ‘inspiration’ for any project.

Dusting the device off gently, she takes it back to the living room, placing it on her coffee table facing herself. She clicks the record button, thinking of making an introduction; but she quickly abandons that idea as she realizes it may take away from the sounds she wants to ring more apparent on tape.

Maybe she can just edit a few captions later on her laptop. Yes. That sounds good.

So she sits.

And the notes kept playing.

[Video Diary(?) Diary? Is this a Diary? Day... Day 1. I hope it’s only Day 1. I hope there’s a day 2. And a three... and a five.

So anyway, Akko here. And uh... I got a new neighbor, I think. He/she plays the piano. I do too (kinda. Haven’t done that in a while, hehe).

I don’t know why I recorded this... this must seem like I’m being a creep, but... They just... played Chariot’s Melancholy from my favorite show and... it felt sadder than usual. The sound felt sorrowful. I don’t know...

I’m... moved.]

//-//-//-//-//

She does not know what compels her today, to slip that message under her neighbors door; but before she can even think about her actions, they’d already been done.

A simple, “can you please play ‘Ease My Mind’ by Ben Platt, maybe?” haphazardly scrawled on a piece of notebook paper is delivered with the anxious feelings of an interaction-craving Akko, starved of a social life since all this pandemic misfortune began.

She is sure she no longer knows how to string a proper introduction together after nearly a year of being by her lonesome.

This is about to change however. Starting today.

Maybe.

She counts down the hours ‘til sunset.

[Day 2! Yey! So uh... I kind of... went on the attack- no! I didn’t attack anyone! I just... You know how I have a new neighbor that plays the piano? I sent that neighbor a note.

And you might think that’s all fine and cute, but... I’ve never even met my neighbor... but...

I love his/her music. So much.

And I told them. On the note, of course. Duh, Akko.

I asked them to play ease my mind and... they did.

As you can hear in the video... I guess it was a yes. :>

...They eased my mind...

-Akko]

//-//-//-//-//

She wants to try something today.

She has been thinking about it the past few days after continually being blessed with such beautiful music. Music that had attracted her like moth to a flame. The piano’s daily sunset singing compels her to come reunite with her own.

She had wiped it clean earlier in the morning and now sits awkwardly on the bench, punching down a random note here and there.

What a nostalgic tone.

The C major scale then the G. She plays it. A few arpeggios to warm up. F sharp major doesn’t sound too good, with her fingers tangling up as she traverses the scale. What was the fingering supposed to be like again? Right. Start with the fourth and second finger on the left and right hand respectively.

That sounds much better.

She hums a few tunes, choosing from a playlist arranged in her mind. She settles on something gentle and sweet. A Yiruma song. Just to get the feeling back in her hands.

A river flows as notes along the plain that is her silent room, adorning the quiet flourishes and curves, bringing color to her atmosphere.

She misses this. This tingle in her heart as music fills up her entire soul, not allowing her to think of anything else but this exact moment.

Yes.

This... This is nice.

And Akko plays until the sunset comes.

She can’t wait for it to come.

[Day 6. I... I haven’t played the piano in a while, and I’m a little rusty. But brave ol’ Akko here thought it’d be great to ask for a duet from the virtuoso across the drywall, haha. I left a note...

And I though we had something going. I was excited... I said that they could play once I stopped my part, but... did they forget? Or I guess they didn’t hear me.

It’s okay... I can try again tomorrow.

I hope. Tomorrow...

-This has been Akko.]

//-//-//-//-//

She excitedly videos this weekend ‘meet-up’.

Akko still doesn’t know who lives across the wall, but she sure knows his or her favorite songs by now, hearing it daily at the same sunset hours.

She admires the music, as usual, but this time it’s different. This time, they had sent her a note. An apology for missing out last time.

They request a duet with her, to make up for it. Of course, Akko accepts. And now she starts it off, praying and hoping her sound is heard through the barrier that keeps their music apart.

She ends her part of the duet, waiting in the most agonizing few seconds of silence. She briefly worries that her neighbor had forgotten their proposition; or maybe they couldn’t hear her once more.

It’s fine, she thinks... It’s okay. She scratches her cheek, wondering if she should hold on until next time again-

There it is. That beautiful sound, so personal to the one living across the wall. A sound of emotion that could only belong to whoever it was living there.

Akko had never heard anyone else play the way her neighbor did.

She laughs, she feels herself tear up a little. It hurts so sweet in her chest. It’s a fizzy, bubbling excitement. It’s a stretched-out joy across her cheeks.

A success!

A beautiful one, indeed.

[Day 8: Akko here. My wish came true. I... got to play with my neighbor! Yay!

... Maybe I should go meet them now...]

//-//-//-//-//

They do it again.

Akko excitedly bounces in her warmed piano seat, listening to her neighbor go first this time around. She listens intently. Once the wall music stops, she starts. This was their agreement, their deal.

The river’s flow stills a moment, and that’s Akko’s cue to pick up the current’s pace once more.

She plays with shy gusto, caressing the keys in a way that shows how she’s fallen in love again. With the piano? With music? Yes. With- ...

Love, huh. It’s such perfect timing too.

Today is Valentine’s day.

Akko doesn’t know whether or not her neighbor has anyone special in her life like that, but if they share the same situation, all alone in their apartments, locked in by the pandemic, she just wants them to know she receives the message their music is trying to get across to one another.

Her heart feels it. It translates it.

It cherishes it.

[Day 13.

Dear Neighbor,

I just... wanted to share the words we’ve exchanged, not through any verbal means, but through the sounds that reverberate against the very foundations of our connected homes. Thank you for this message.

I know that music is... our way of simply saying

“I don’t know who you are ... But I’m here. You’re not Alone.” This is for you too.

-Sincerely, Akko.]

//-//-//-//-//

It is a challenge.

For Akko or for her neighbor, she doesn’t know. What she does know is that tomorrow is going to be the big day! She’s finally going to see the face behind the songs that have embraced her tenderly throughout the lonely struggle she hadn’t realized had weighed down on her so heavily.

The interactions they’ve had, the conversations, they brighten up her everyday, and Akko is somewhat afraid she’s gotten attached; addicted- if you will- to this unique bond she’s formed with another she has never actually met.

Her mind strays from her current piece, body autopiloting a song called, “Mind Conductor” that both of them just so happen to like, apparently. Another fact that makes Akko feel all giddy as they seem to share a taste in other media outside of music.

She feels herself vibrate with nerves and excitement.

It’s tomorrow. Tomorrow is the day.

[We’re Finally Meeting.

Tomorrow.]

//-//-//-//-//

Akko tells a story.

She’s met her neighbor, not knowing what to expect. Despite having a lack of said expectations, she could confidently say it was better than anything she could have anticipated.

She rolls up the sleeves of her flannel shirt, readying herself to write the melodious response to the already playing tune in the background of her video.

Though she tries to listen intently, waiting for her turn, she is distracted. She knows she is.

After meeting someone as wonderful as her neighbor.

Blonde hair and blue eyes invade her recall, flashes of a soft smile and calm voice playing over and over in her head.

Her neighbor is the most gorgeous woman she’s ever met. Breath-taking. Akko says this with utmost objectivity as her lungs struggle to function after first meeting the lady.

Hailing from Scotland, the twenty-five-year-old had introduced herself to Akko. They exchanged a few pleasantries, some questions and information.

Akko had asked how she’d never known she had such a talented neighbor, to which the response was an admission from the woman that she had just moved in and was only staying in the adjacent apartment temporarily while awaiting for a relative to come for her after selling their old house back in their hometown.

Her mother... rests. Having had a certain heart disease for a while, her immune system had proven very susceptible to the pandemic reaper that had claimed her life for its tallied count. She never knew her father, it seemed.

Akko’s heart breaks as she remembers these things.

“All I have left is the piano.”

That’s what she’d said to her earlier.

Akko’s fingers glide across the keys, playing her role in this drama for two.

“I play at sunset because my mother came home at that time from work... she was always stressed.

...I wanted to be of help to her. I was happy she loved it. As I grew up, it became a habit.”

Akko fumbles with a few keys, making a slight mistake. She hopes her neighbor can forgive her for being so distracted at the moment, and right after they’d finally met too.

“Thank you, Miss-”

“Akko is fine.”

“Thank you, Akko. You’re playing has, in truth, kept me motivated and less lonely.”

Akko remembers having promised before their parting to their respective units that she would keep playing with her until she moves out.

Akko blushes upon remembering the stunning smile she was offered afterwards.

Her neighbor had been camera shy and so Akko didn’t get the opportunity for a picture. She hopes for the best in the future. She’ll try again if ever the lovely lady was ready.

They have time, anyway.

They do.

[Day 20, folks! Akko here, writing another video caption entry, Diary, thing... haha. The song playing right now in the video is gorgeous right? It’s... her favorite song. It’s called, ‘In case you don’t live forever’. She said it keeps her loser to her mother. It keeps her in her heart.

She plays so beautifully...

She’s just as beautiful. She’s amazing.

She’s... a special soul.

I feel goosebumps.

I’m glad. For her. Her music doesn’t sound as sorrowful as when I first heard it. It’s still every bit as emotional, though. I could cry. Really, I could...

...I’m so happy she’s healing.

It’s a process, but... I’ll be here. I’ll be here for her.

I’ll be here for you,

“Diana.”]

//-//-//-//-//

There are times when Akko thinks she’d like to get to know her neighbor more, a little more chatting, a few more minutes talking.

However, it always seems as though there’s this unspoken rule. This... ‘don’t-get-too-close’, ‘don’t-ask-more-than-you-should’. It’s like a boundary that keeps Akko from learning more, discovering more.

Neither of them purposely meet-up outside their closed doors either, this lockdown and what-not all up in their face.

They see each other around the building sometimes, wave a hand, shake a plastic bag of groceries, but building protocols don’t really allow loitering in the halls, and Akko feels she’d be crossing a line in inviting the girl over, and she doesn’t see herself getting invited instead either.

Despite this longing, she isn’t all too dissatisfied with the current standing of their relationship. Peculiar as it may be, she rather likes this.

A relationship built on a communication based on raw emotion delivered through their music.

If Akko ponders it deeply, it’s quite an intimate relationship, what they have. Thoughts and feelings in their purest form- unspoken, but not hidden.

She might not know too much about Diana. She may not know much of her past, or even her present, or general objective facts about the woman.

But what Akko does feel she knows is Diana’s heart.

And Akko knows its utterly beautiful.

//-//-//-//-//

Moonlight Sonata has never felt so sad to her; its sounds reflecting something they both felt, Akko believed.

Akko feels her heart clench and ache in her chest, her face a little hot and her palms sweating.

Only a week left before the clock strikes twelve and the magic is broken.

Diana is finally moving out.

It is... their final duet.

How unfortunate.

Akko sighs, thinking about the pain she’ll feel later as she edits this portion of the video. Compared to the happy tones and build ups of all the others, this... is something she doesn’t know if she can do.

Maybe she can ask Amanda for a favor this time around?

She’s actually shown some of her closest friends her video logs, and they all had sent kind messages to Akko’s new friend, who in turn, felt worlds and worlds happier.

Akko feels happy as well.

Diana’s joy is contagious. It shows through her expressive music that gives away the feelings her face doesn’t show.

Speaking of Diana’s face... she still hasn’t agreed on showing her face on camera. Akko supposes it’s still too early. Maybe before she leaves? Oh Akko hopes so. She wants to have something to look at physically to remember Diana by. Not that she’d ever forget.

Still, a little memory help never hurt anyone.

Diana’s turn comes in smoothly through the wall, Akko unable to keep her smile from forming.

She’s going to miss this. The playing; the sometimes awkward, but unconventionally amazing duets; the letters shoved underneath door; and the very rare hallway meet-up where Akko can only smile at Diana as they exchange a literal word or two.

Akko reminisces.

The past... two months now, have been amazing. Incredible. Life-changing. Akko wonders what the future has in store for them both after they part.

Maybe they could meet again. Someday. Somehow. Somewhere.

Akko knows she’ll keep playing still. At the same time, on a weekend, as the sunsets. For Diana. She’s promised she’ll keep making the video logs. She’ll send them over to her so that they can still keep this music alive in some way.

//-//-//-//-//

[Day 62.

Hi, Diana. It’s me, Akko.

I... wrote you a song...? Or well, I started to... I’m not quite done yet, hihi. Got a little too ambitious and all... thought I could add some other instruments besides our- the piano... aha..haha...

When you first told me your story, I started picturing it out. A life dyed with all the colors of the spectrum. From the vivids to the grays, it was such a lovely imagery in my minds eye. A painting I could not get out of my head.

And so this song is... yeah. That.

A story.

A story about this wonderful twenty-five-year-old woman who so happened to move next door to this uninspired artist. She’d lost her mother to a stupid virus, and she’d never known her father. Her house got sold, and she had only one distant relative she knew of left.

She spends her days along in a box of white walls and empty silence. That is, until the sun decides to rest for the day, and it sends its golden rays of energy to the girl and to her piano that she thought to be her sole companion in this tragedy.

She plays her favorite songs, filling the emptiness with her own emotions; making the intangible manifest itself and cause a dumb girl next door to one day slip a scratch of paper underneath her door, asking for a song.

A note with a request... and with a message that she’d heard her feelings- her loneliness; and that she’d never let her be alone anymore.

And that’s how they became friends, huh, Diana?

Two pianos, Two people, and a wall that keeps them apart.

They didn’t know who was playing on the other side. But did it matter?

In this dreary, blackened time of the world,

‘You can be the light of somebody else’ darkness, so keep shining.’.

Dear Diana,

In case my playing isn’t as emotionally expressive as yours, I hope you at least know this now. Through this video.

That you were, and are... my light.

-Akko.

P.S. I hope I finish the song and give it to you before you leave.]

//-//-//-//-//

She feels herself hyperventilating, her vision bleary. She can barely stand. She feels like vomiting, and dying, and screaming all at once.

Her anxieties run rampant all over the room.

If this keeps up, she may as well hurt herself beyond help.

She trudges over to the one thing that could ground her at the moment.

The piano.

Her hands are shaky as they do multiple attempts to turn on the keyboard, hitting the wrong buttons and turning the volume knob up too loud that when Akko accidentally leans against the keyboard, hand pressing down on many keys, the sound almost blows up her eardrums.

She curses, smashing a hand against those same keys, the cluster of notes echoing through her apartment walls.

“aaaaAAAAGGHHHHHHHH!!!!”

She allows the scream to tear out of her throat; emotions, wild horses finally released into the open.

“AGH! AGGHHHH!!! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH”

She falls face first onto the keys, now ignoring the loudness of their noise, momentarily thinking it would be better to allow her ears to bleed out so she’d never hear a thing again.

She wants something, anything, to drown out the pain she feels right now.

...

She sobs against the keys, head lifting as she apologizes to her piano, wiping off the tears that are quickly replaced by fresh ones.

Akko gives up and plays a note. Then two.

Then she’s playing ‘you’ll be in my heart’ and she’s crying more.

She lets herself cry as she plays.

Today, she was supposed to see Diana off. She had left a final note the day before yesterday, asking if she could do so. Help Diana carry her things, maybe swap numbers, and just... maybe keep this connection going for years to come.

Last night, she’d said good night at Diana’s door.

The girl gave her the sweetest smile, an almost unnoticeable blush on her features.

Oh, but Akko noticed anyway.

Of course, she would. With how shamelessly she stared at Diana at that moment.

Diana laughed, stepping closer and patted Akko on the cheek- kissed her there- before turning about to shut the door, along with the lights Akko saw go off from underneath it.

She was excited for the morning.

But when morning came... Diana was gone.

Akko had been thrown into confusion and a frantic state that she’d bolted all around, searching for signs or a left behind message.

Nothing.

She had then run down to ask the land lady, and that’s where she’d found out.

The heart disease Diana’s mother had was hereditary.

Diana had had an attack, and with an emergency alerting device, she’d been able to contact her only family, and had been taken to the hospital.

That was good.

That gave Akko relief and joy.

...so why is she despairing now?

...She didn’t know.

No, not the reason for her despair. She knows that.

The reason she was in this state is because she didn’t know.

She didn’t know what had happened.

She didn’t know Diana had suddenly disappeared in the middle of the night.

She didn’t know where she was, or where whoever took her.

She didn’t know that Diana had that heart disease too.

She didn’t know because she never got to ask.

She never got to learn more, know more.

... Did she not know Diana then?

Her mind taunts her, her heart hurts her.

She doesn’t know a lot about Diana. Not as much as she thinks.

That’s what they tell her.

For all the emotions they’d exchanged through music, that was the extent of it. Had Akko been too presumptuous in thinking she’d known Diana so deeply because of what they’d shared?

When in reality she may as well be a random stranger playing her show tunes and disturbing her neighbors.

Akko almost believes it.

But no... no. She can’t do that. She can’t assume those things. Not about their connection. Not about Diana.

Because Diana had told her once upon a song that she- that Akko had been her light. Her comfort. Akko believes in Diana. So she believes these feelings as well.

Yet these feelings of her own were so conflicting, so daunting. They battle in her mind, questioning and justifying every little thing. All things relating to Diana. Diana and... Diana.

Akko coughs out a few more sobs, throat incredibly dry.

She stops playing for a moment, dragging herself to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Then she goes back to the piano.

She... doesn’t feel like playing again.

What should she play anyway?

What song does she want to play? What song... Song... Song... Diana... What was Diana’s favorite song?

Diana? Song? A song for Diana? A song about-

Akko falls off her piano bench as she scrambles for her coffee table, sighing in relief as the papers for her composition are still there.

With shaky hands, she takes the sheets and a pencil and brings them over to the piano.

And she writes a few notes, then a few bars.

Diana.

Who is Diana.

What does Akko not know about her. Her other struggles? Her sickness? Her trials and her fears? Her past?

That melody... sounded too sad for a parting gift. Akko doesn’t want Diana to feel more sorrow when she moves out...

Then....

What does Akko know? About Diana?

“Diana is...”

Expressive, emotional.

Diana is intelligent, an intellectual.

Diana is sincere and sweet.

Diana is talented and tasteful in music.

Diana is... her neighbor, her... new friend,

....Akko’s... what?

What was she to Akko?

“You are my light.”

-Akko ends up writing as a title.

But that’s a little too embarrassing to give to someone who was just your neighbor and a new friend... right?

And maybe it didn’t exactly represent the whole thing Akko had written.

So she erases it, biting her pencil as she tries to come up with a new name, a new caption for this creation.

What could it be. That describes Diana in her entirety; her life, her struggles, her joys.

Who is she? Who is Akko’s neighbor?

Akko scratches her head in frustration, wracking her brains even more.

With a sigh, she replies to herself aloud, the simplest, somewhat plain, and stupidly obvious answer.

“Well, she’s Diana.”

And it clicks.

That she is.

She is Diana.

And Akko throws on a jacket, a mask, and some shoes and thinks no more.

//-//-//-//-//

[Dear Diana,

I know very little about you

But you’ve changed my life.

Really you have.

You gave me back my passion, and a little bit more of that even. Maybe aroused a new passion within me.

I’d say, “You’ll be in my heart”, but that sounds too much of a farewell, to be honest.

And I’d rather not say goodbye just yet.

Not like this.

Music... Is a powerful thing. Despite the rampaging emotions I’d felt as I found out what had happened to you today, I- I kept playing. It grounded me. It helped me.

Diana, you once told me I was your light.

And you know I’ve told you already. That you’ve been MINE.

Diana. This video might look incredibly shaky and chaotic.

But please forgive me for that, and know that it is because I’m running with all my might to find out where you are. I got a hint for the hospital you might have been taken too.

It kinda seems like I’m a stalker now, huh?

I’m sorry. I just... I-

I can’t say goodbye to you....

Not just yet...

I still... have a song for you.

So... wait for me?”]

//-//-//-//-//

Eyes blink, bright white melting into color. They scan the room, looking for hints to identify her location.

Her body aches, her chest hurts. Her throat is parched. Her head is throbbing.

What is that annoying beeping sound-

Ah. Of course.

The hospital.

Again.

She hates it. She hates the smell of antiseptic and sterile sheets. She hates the taste of badly prepared hospital meals, and too-dry food.

The water has this strange quality to it when you’re in the hospital.

She knows this well.

She hates that she does.

She sighs, sinking into her pillows. At least those are comfortable.

Ugh.

What bad timing, really. For an attack.

She was supposed to move out today. She was supposed to meet with her aunt- who actually has probably met up with her by now, seeing as Diana is in a hospital and her usual alert device seems to be charging within reach beside her. Also she sees Daryl’s purse on the seat.

Maybe the woman had gone out temporarily for something important.

That was fine.

It just meant Diana was left alone again. If only for a short while.

...Alone, huh.

These past two months, she hadn’t been that.

All because of one girl, one Atsuko Kagari that she’d met by chance through a piano and through a wall. The sound quite literally carrying over through a wall.

Diana can’t believe she used to be so skeptical of thin-walled living spaces, wondering how people kept their privacy.

Now, however, she feels blessed that that was the case.

Else she’d never have met... her light.

That’s right.

When everything, her vision, her hopes, her heart had steadily been dying out, through her dim came a glow. That glow was the connection she’d found through her neighbor across a wall.

It had surprised her the first time she realized someone was playing alongside her one sunset session, months ago. She would have thought it creepy had the person’s music been any less captivating.

There were just so many colors in the music, there was just so much warmth. It sounded a little rough, a few hinges rusty at first; but it came along after a few pseudo duets, and then Diana had found these duets to be a staple in her life.

Then she met Akko for the first time, and more warmth and color came into her life.

Diana found herself enjoying the musical conversations they had, intrigued by thoughts that they were actually able to communicate in that way and understand one another to that extent, no words attached.

And she enjoyed these nonverbal bonding moments.

But when they actually wrote to one another, or when they’d have their short greetings when they’d meet up in the hall, Diana found herself wanting to draw even closer, to get to know Akko even more.

And when Akko asked if she could do the same, Diana had found it so easy to open up.

She’d loved to know even more about the girl.

But how would she do it now?

They didn’t have the chance to exchange numbers, and Diana was probably moving as soon as she left the hospital. Her things were already being shipped to her new home, after all. There wasn’t much reason to return to her apartment, really.

“Idiot. Stupid, Diana. Not asking her sooner. What are you supposed to do no-”

Two knocks on her door.

It doesn’t open right away. It doesn’t seem to open at all.

Diana deduces it’s not a doctor or nurse then. And it might not be Daryl either because the woman would have already called the attending nurse to open the door already.

So then, who could it be?

Diana tries not to let her mind wander and get her hopes up, because there is no way- just no way- it’s who she hopes it will be.

The door opens, and her breath is unexpectedly bated- and she releases it, seeing it’s just the janitor.

Trying not to let disappointment leak into her tone, she greets him a good mor-

“I’m glad... I was right.... hah... hah... You’re here... Diana.”

And Diana really shouldn’t just assume things such as being wrong, and that maybe her neighbor was a creep two months back.

Because now her neighbor, all frazzled, sweaty, and out of breath, is right there in front of her, a bunch of papers crumpled in one hand as the other is held over her heart, trying to calm herself.

“You... hah... didn’t let m-me... Sa-ha-y goodbye... so... you’re not allowed... to leave me waiting in silence and never respond...” Akko huffs. “There’s no more wall preventing you from using words now.”

Her breathing finally slows, and she manages to look up.

“I still have a song for you, after all.”

Diana doesn’t realize, nor does she feel the tears flowing down her face.

Akko doesn’t either.

“L-Let me know what you think... It’s my first song and all...” She becomes this shy blushing school girl as she approaches Diana’s bedside, awkwardly handing over the worn pieces of paper, all wrinkled up from whatever adventure Akko had been on prior to arriving here. “... then maybe we could play a duet again or something...”

She mumbles it so quietly Diana almost didn’t catch it.

She smiles.

She doesn’t think about the reality that was supposed to occur today had she not been taken to the hospital.

Virtual duets aren’t really her thing. She much prefers hearing sound in person, in real-time. She prefers the ability to adapt and adjust to play alongside someone; to feel expression and emotion first hand; to experience a duet in full.

So it’s a simple reply that she has ready, along with a smile on her face as she takes Akko’s hand in hers.

“I’d love that.”

//-//-//-//-//

Diana has told her many times that it’s thanks to her that she was able to recover as quickly as she did, and be out of the hospital in only a week.

Akko sheepishly denies that every time.

They’re both just glad things seem to settle to be alright now.

Diana leans her head against Akko’s shoulder as they share a pair of earphones, listening to the composition play on the latter’s laptop.

“I love it.”

“I know. You’ve told me that the past 4 months, everyday.”

“And I will continue to.”

Akko tries her best to hide the smile that had grown on her face, but it’s impossible. It comes out in laughs and a few soft tears, and she rubs her head against Diana’s.

“You have all the time to, it seems.”

“Yes, and I won’t waste it.” Diana quips, turning her head up to look at Akko with the tenderest of smiles. “Care to play?”

Akko simply smiles, before wrapping Diana up in a hug so deep, and warm, and tender. Without a word, she stands them both up, walking them over to two keyboards now positioned side-by-side.

They take seat. With eyes meeting, and a small nod, they begin.

They don’t need words to figure out the rhythm they’ll fall into, or what they should do, or who plays what part for today.

Akko’s colors seep out, her warmth embedded in her music. Diana’s expressive emotions tell Akko all she needs to know, and they play in harmony.

Together, they tell a story.

A story that began with a sunset and a few familiar notes from a piano.

A story about its music and what lay beyond a wall.

A story once called, “Diana”.

Now,

“Diana and Akko”.

A/N: .... Hrmmm... I didn’t like how i ended it, tbh,,, hahaha. I just... lost my thought process now. I’m tired and lost.

Anyway.

Based off this story

The follow-up to this won’t be now, or anytime too soon. Or tbh, I could just end it like this. But there’s this ache in my heart that wants to know what happens next as well. Or more things such as how Diana ended up staying. But well,

...who knows.

Bye for now.

~Shintori Khazumi

#diakko #dianakko #lwa #Little Witch Academia #diana bday fic #sorry it's sloppy #fanfic #diana cavendish #kagari atsuko

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thatbassistbitch · 3 years

Note

Could you write Wilbur and Tommy being bros? :0

sure thing!

“Hey Wil?” Tommy spoke up after Wilbur fumbled through a half-baked chord progression for the third time in the past two minutes. “What’s that song you’re playing?” Wilbur looked up through his messy bangs, squinting in the golden light of the sunset.

   “I dunno yet, it keeps eluding me.” Wil grumbled as he set aside his guitar for a moment with a huff. Despite his annoyance, he was still very careful with its placement before he flopped onto his back, letting out a groan as his back muscles relaxed. Tommy snickered at that, knowing that Phil would admonish him for his shitty posture if he’d seen how Wilbur had been curled up around his guitar for hours again.

   “Eluding you, eh?” Tommy laid down next to him, staring up at the rosy clouds. They took on a golden edge as the sun slowly sank lower and lower, as if they were on fire. Tommy wondered if that was what Wilbur was writing a song about, or if it was yet another pretty girl he’d seen by the docks. Or perhaps it was one of those parody songs he was so fond of, making fun of men who feel entitled to women’s affections. Whatever it was, Wilbur was quite stumped.  

“It’s always right at my fingertips,” Wilbur complained as he reached to the sky for emphasis, “right on the tip of my tongue, and yet always just out of reach. It’s maddening. I’m going mad, Toms.” Wilbur let his hands fall to the ground with a soft thump. “I can feel my brain leaking out of my ears.”  

“You’d have to have a brain for that to happen, Wil,” Tommy joked as he nudged the man with his elbow. Wilbur rolled his eyes and nudged him back. “I think you’ll get it, though. You always do, in the end.” Wilbur shrugged and reached to his left, absently plucking one of the strings. G, Tommy recognized. His favorite string. Mostly because it was funny to say g-string, and not at all because it was the first note of a particularly angsty song that he refused to mention.  

“I know, I know. It’s just frustrating, that’s all.” Wilbur grabbed his guitar again and pulled it close, not bothering to sit up before he started playing again. He fretted the chords with precision, as always, but once again faltered while transitioning from one verse to the next. He huffed before starting again.  

“What’s it about?” Tommy rolled onto his side, propped up on his elbow as he watched with interest. He loved watching Wilbur play. What the man couldn’t put into words, he could put into song like no other. Wilbur petered off into an arpeggio and tilted his head to the side.  

“Freedom,” he replied plainly. Freedom? Tommy was puzzled.

   “What do you mean?” He asked. Wilbur’s fingers flew across the fretboard with ease before stuttering back into chords, once again throwing him off as he hit the wrong notes.The man paused, then began playing scales instead.

   “Don’t you ever feel like there’s more out there, Tommy?” Wilbur’s voice was soft, as soft as the grass underneath them, as soft as the melting clouds overhead. “There’s people, Tommy. So many people, all with their own stories to tell. I’ve seen you at the docks, staring at the ocean just like I do. Don’t you want to see it?” Tommy went silent as he listened. Wilbur’s eyes burned with curiosity, with intensity. He was right. Tommy did want to know. But it wasn’t as if he could find out. He was just some kid. No family, no home, he only had a roof over his head because Wilbur happened to find his attempts at stealing from him amusing. But he did want to see where this was going.  

“What do you think is out there, Wil?” Tommy asked quietly. They were both sitting up now, and Tommy leaned in closer. He felt like a little kid again, listening to Wilbur’s wild stories or Technoblade’s myths. Wilbur grinned and reached into his coat pocket to pull out a map.  

“I’ve heard stories of a land a bit far from here, across the ocean. They call it Dream SMP. It’s supposed to have great opportunities, and there’s still many discoveries to be made. A new civilization, Toms. Picture it! We could go there, we could start new lives. We can be whoever and whatever we want!” Wilbur poked the map with vigor. “I’m going there, Tommy. And I wanna take you with me.” Tommy’s eyes widened.  

“Me? Wh-why?! There’s so many other people far more qualified, and I-I mean I’m not exactly a skilled fighter, I can build pretty well with cobblestone- stop laughing- but I’m not…I mean,” Tommy trailed off with a stutter. Him? He’s just some kid. Sure, he saw Wilbur as an older brother of sorts, but still. Surely Wil was joking, right?

   “Why not you?” Wilbur retorted. “You’re as good as any other, aren’t you? Big man Tommy Innit, Big T, lover of women and cobblestone, but mostly cobblestone. Why wouldn’t I want to take you?” He ruffled Tommy’s fluffy blond hair, much to Tommy’s chagrin. He shoved the man off with a huff.

   “But how will we get there? Who’s to say they’ll even let us in? What about the expenses? I’m broke as shit, Wilbur, and you’re not much better off.” Tommy pointed out, still skeptical of all of this. Wilbur shrugged casually and folded up the map, sticking it back in his pocket before picking up the guitar again.  

“Just leave all that to me. What have you got to keep you here, anyway? What have you got to lose?” Wilbur launched into a different song, his fingers once again flying across the fretboard with precision and familiarity. Tommy opened his mouth, then closed it. Wilbur had him there. What did he have? Not much. Well, there was one thing…  

“Can we take Tubbo?” Tommy picked at the grass. He couldn’t leave his best friend behind. Wilbur didn’t stop playing, didn’t seem even remotely surprised.

   “Of course. Wouldn’t wanna separate you two. You’re known as the clingy duo for a reason,” the musician teased gently. He narrowly avoided a rock that Tommy tossed at him.

   “Sod off,” Tommy grumbled. “Go back to the other song. I liked it better.” Wilbur nodded and complied, and this time, the chords flowed freely with an air of intrigue and confidence.

“So, what’ll it be?” Wilbur asked. Tommy tilted his head back, watching the sun disappear behind the horizon. Stars began to twinkle overhead, their shapes rousing memories of swords and armor, furs and fireplaces, parchment and a low monotone voice.    “Where you go, I’ll follow,” Tommy answered. “But this better not come back to bite us in the arse.” Wilbur barked a laugh, pausing his playing for a moment to clap Tommy on the back.

   “That’s what I like to hear. We’ll head to the market tomorrow and get supplies. Don’t worry about the funds, I’ll take care of that. Hope you’ve got sea legs, Toms.” And with that, Wilbur resumed playing once more, and the two lads quietly listened to the sweet music that filled the air, illuminated by the distant torches on Phil’s lawn and the light of the moon. What will the stars look like in this new land? Will the air taste different? Is the grass softer, a different shade of green? And what of the animals? Thoughts of adventure and discovery filled his head as he began to drift off and lean against Wilbur.  

“Y’know, I reckon we’re like brothers,” Tommy yawned. Wilbur smiled and shifted his position slightly to allow Tommy to lean further.  

“Tommy, I’ve told you this before. Say that again and I will cry,” he joked. Then after a brief moment, he pondered aloud. “Actually, what if we told them you’re my little brother? It’d be a lot easier than explaining why I took in some gremlin gutter child who tried to mug me with a stick.” Tommy snorted.  

“It was a sharp stick,” he muttered sleepily. “I coulda got you.” A hand ruffled his hair as he shut his eyes.  

“Yeah, I reckon you could’ve.” Despite his sudden exhaustion, Tommy felt himself smiling at the tone of Wilbur’s voice. Maybe he did have family after all, even if it was just one person.

#dream smp #pre-smp #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #sbi #sbi found family #dream smp drabble #dsmp #sbi drabble #found family fic

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lonelyreputation · 4 years

Text

Mobile Masterlist

Hi hi! Thought it would be useful to make a master list that can be reblogged and that works on mobile! Newer writings are at the top! I’ll update it whenever I post a new writing :) Happy reading!

Add / Remove yourself from taglist here!

♡ = FLUFF | ∆ = ANGST | § = SMUT

LAST UPDATED: 1.16.2021

SERIES

C’est Toi • Coffee Shop AU (ofc) ♡∆

Different • Unrequited Love (reader insert) •ONE . TWO . THREE . FOUR . FIVE ∆

Chameleon • Spy AU (ofc) ∆

IMAGINES (all are reader inserts)

2021 (WC: 2.6K) - You & Shawn have always been present in each others lives for as long as you could remember. Shawn always saw it as you trying to outshine him…But your feelings for him are a little different. (AU) ∆♡

‘tis the damn season (WC: 12.6K) - You’re back in Canada for the Holidays after leaving for California three and a half years ago. And while you’re home, you run into your ex-boyfriend––Shawn––and things get…Complicated (College AU) ∆♡

Unofficially Official (WC: 2.2K) - Shawn takes you to a hockey game ♡

Trick Or Treat (WC: 2.4K) - The first time you and Shawn take your kid out for trick-or-treating (Dad!Shawn) ♡

Arpeggio (WC: 13.7K) - You’re a ghostwriter for a famous singer and Shawn is head over heels in love with the singer who he thinks writes her own music…But little does he know it’s you. ∆♡

Sharing Is Caring (WC: 1.9K) - Swapping clothes to fit with the fall aesthetic ♡

“Cuts!” (WC: 3.1K) - Your son runs on the stage in the midst of Shawn performing during a concert ♡

Flour Cake & Pastry (WC: 5.6K) - Your favorite flavor is key lime and Shawn tries to bake a key lime shortcake for you (Baker!Shawn) ♡

Pet Names (WC: 2.5K) - Shawn calls you a lot of pet names that you’re not fond of…And you finally tell him how uncomfortable they make you feel ♡

Two Pizzerias (WC: 8.1K) - You’re in a relationship with Shawn, but your family’s have rival pizza shops (Pizzeria Rivalry AU / Romeo & Juliet esque) ♡∆

Ready (WC: 3.3K) - You’re in labor and Shawn is by your side encouraging you (Husband!Shawn) ♡

The List (WC: 2.3K) - You go grocery shopping with your Shawn in the midst of coronavirus and run into some fans (Husband!Shawn) ♡

Screaming Color (WC: 2.8K) - You see everything in various shades of black/gray until you look into your soulmate’s eyes and then you see color (Soulmate!AU) ♡

Cross The Line (WC: 7.2K) - You’re Shawn’s stylist and the line between your relationship is blurred // Friends to Something More (Stylist!ReaderxShawn) §♡

Twenty-Four Hours (WC: 3.2K) - Pulling away from a hug you wish would last longer (Fiancé!Shawn) ♡

In Motion (WC: 2.2K) - You get motion sickness on an airplane and Shawn comforts you ♡

First Time (WC: 3.9K) - Slipping into warm water ♡

The Optimist (WC: 3.6K) - Night wind carrying the scent of freshly baked bread (Baker!Shawn AU) ♡

Not Important (WC: 9.5K) - A boy from your marketing class won’t stop texting you and Shawn gets jealous § ∆ ♡

Sixth Step (WC: 8.4K) - Sensory Prompt; the squeak of an old wooden staircase∆

Caught (WC: 3.9K) - Sensory Prompt; Licking your fingers while eating Cheetos♡

Winner Gets A Kiss (WC: 1.6K) - Sensory Prompt; A glow stick being snapped♡

Peachy Keen (WC: 5.4K) - Sensory Prompt; Plucking a peach off a tree & calloused palms (Italy!Shawn) ♡

Beach Tagger (WC: 4.6K) - “Will you miss me at all” ♡

Landslide (College Au) [WC: 8.5K] - “Well I’ve been changin’…But time makes you bolder.” ∆

Trouble in Canada 2 (WC: 10.1K) - “I’m your husband…it’s my job.” (Husband!Shawn) ∆

Trouble in Canada (WC: 4.6K) - “I’m your husband…it’s my job.” (Husband!Shawn) ∆

CONCEPTS/BLURBS

You meet Zac Effron & Shawn gets jealous ∆

You have really bad period pains & Shawn comes to help you ♡

You get hurt by paparazzi & Shawn gets protective ∆

You babysit your nephew & Shawn is nervous ♡

Early mornings looking at Shawn & Shawn looking at you ♡

You have Shawn’s favorite food at you place & Shawn has your favorite food at his place ♡

You walk around an empty arena with Shawn & Connor captures it ♡

Your kid likes to draw & Shawn buys them markers ♡

You’re playing with your intertwined hands & Shawn is very smiley ♡

You’re at the grocery store & Shawn gets the stuff on the top shelf ♡

You’re out to eat & Shawn is smitten ♡

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sweetshootingstars · 4 years

Text

seamless - hoshiumi kourai

desc: his words may fail him, but his pride for you remains endless.

pairing: timeskip!hoshiumi x pianist!reader

wc: 1377

genre: fluff, and kourai-kun being madly in love with you.

Concert halls are stuffy, but it’s in moments like these where Hoshiumi is grateful for the length of his legs and how they fit neatly underneath the seat in front of his.

For some reason, he had always assumed that being in your mid-twenties meant getting used to suits and formalities. That when you turn 25, it imparts onto you some sort of wisdom of how to do Adult Things like close a deal on an apartment (check), buy a way too expensive suit (navy Ermenegildo Zegna, expensive as fuck, check), pay your bills (surprisingly, check) and navigate a relationship (he’s almost there, he thinks).

He instead learns that having volleyball money can get you through most things, but it won’t get you through the relationship bit. After a particularly nasty screaming match last week (it was mainly you screaming at him, to be fair. And he had kind of deserved it), he realizes that he must put on his big man pants and be a good boyfriend. And here he is! Being a fantastic boyfriend! Like the kinds in movies! Expensive suit, hair slicked ever so slightly to the side, a bouquet of calla lilies on his lap. He knew lilies were your favourite.

Hoshiumi felt as if he was being a good boyfriend. Watching his girlfriend do what she apparently does best- play the piano for a bunch of silent people in a stuffy concert hall.

He scoffs internally. Your fingers flitting across the keys playing Debussy’s Arabesque No. 1 for a silent, enraptured crowd wasn’t even the most impressive thing you had done. He feels a small swell of pride- only he got to see you in your moments of piano-induced ardor in the comforts of your shared home. Relentless repetitions of arpeggios, practicing how smoothly you could reach a fermata, the constant shifting shifting of your creaky piano’s old pedals. The countless times where your body moves in time with your rubato. At the end of particularly expressive pieces, Hoshiumi enjoys the small moments where you appear to be frozen, hunched over the keys in climax. He gets to straighten your back right up with his hands on your waist and shoulders, applying the softest amount of care and pressure.

The real concerts always happened at home. He never sat and watched you anymore, because your music was everywhere. It was in the lilting tones of your speech, how you’d time your footsteps to whatever you were listening to, the rhythm of your breathing. He had long grown used to coming home to the ever-present notes of the piano, lingering in the air long after you had stopped playing. Even during a screaming match, your voice reaching fortissimo and retorts coming out in short staccato bursts, he couldn’t help but think that you spoke in staves.

The fight you’d had with him regarded his attendance at your performances. You would make as much of an effort to go to his games, so why couldn’t he go to your recitals?

“You know I don’t ask you for much, Kourai. I go to so many of your games, even when they’re far away. So why can’t you come to any of my-“

“You know how my schedule is, [Y/N]. I don’t have the time to just sit around-“

“Is that what my shows are to you? Just sitting around?”

He didn’t have the words or the tact to tell you that he did find your performances a little boring, but not for the reasons you thought. Hoshiumi didn’t have the words to tell you that he’d memorized all of your pieces to heart, or that he’d watched you at home enough times to know when your body would lurch forward at what times during your pieces. Or how long it would take for you to start playing when you’d sit down on your bench, or what pieces make you cry in sadness, fear, or frustration. He thought that he’d shown you enough times- how much you captured his attention. And how more than anything, how enraptured he was with the way you’d return to the keys, the same way he’d return to the court. How your skill, your excellence, your repetition had become second nature.

You really were the second half to his soul. He grappled everyday with how to show you- and while he accepted that there would be times where his thoughts and feelings wouldn’t be communicated to you well, he knew he deserved a bit of an earful for it from time to time. You were right- you never asked him for much affection. Just for him to be there.

He had always been there, whether you realized it or not. Around the corner of your living room, in the kitchen, humming a piece of yours, the sounds of your playing breaking through the pitter patter of the water coming down through the shower. He didn’t want to share the music he got to hear with you and you only.

Hirugami had often told him to think a little before he spoke, and he thought that he’d learn how to do that by the time he was 25. But instead, here he was, cold water from the lilies sticking to his heated palms, hoping that he could show you what he really thought of your life’s work. Instead of telling you that you were far more impressive in his eyes when you made mistakes and tried hard to improve, rather than performing something nearly flawless. He didn’t have the words for that today. Plus, it wasn’t like he could just leave now.

His ears twitch when he hears you stumble ever so slightly on the final page. Yet, you continue even more gracefully than before (if that was even possible), and he doubts that anyone else in this stuffy, stuffy concert hall even noticed. If his heart could swell for you even more, then it would.

His hands grip this bouquet of lilies a little tighter as you finish, your back straightening at the end of your piece as if his hands were there to guide you back up. The hall erupts into applause, and Hoshiumi stands.

He weaves through the seats, barely maneuvering through the purses and feet in his path as his eyes focused on only you. You, having finished an imperfect run of Debussy’s Arabesque No.1. To him, you couldn’t have played it more perfect. You curtsy and bow your head with a smile, and he swears that you had reached into his chest and taken his heart right then and there.

Hoshiumi reaches the edge of the stage, stopping in front of you. The smile he had on since you made your mistake grows even wider at your bewildered expression, his limbs extending an armful of white lilies towards you. Your eyes grow misty. As you drop to your knees, he hoists himself up to sit upon the stage, ushering the lilies into your arms as you begin to cry.

“When….how-“

“I’ve been here. Always.”

“Kourai-“

He vaguely registers the sounds of hoots and hollers from the crowd, the cooing of strangers as he gathers you into his chest. Your sobs muffled by his suit. He loves you more than you ever know, and he hopes that you’ll one day be able to read the bars and pages in which his feelings are inscribed. He hopes that you know that you’re the reason his blood moves, that you’re the reason he now thinks of each step in a run up to a spike as a staccato, and that there’s nothing that makes him happier than watching you make a mistake and picking back up right where you started.

The next morning you play Schlummerlied, with Kourai’s arms around you, sitting between his legs on your already narrow piano bench. His head resting on your shoulder, lips ghosting over your neck. He is not forthcoming with his words, he is not fortissimo with his adoration. But the notes you play ring in the air with more brilliance than before, and it is then that you start to realize what you look like in his eyes. And that he has always, always been there.

Legato. Connected, seamless, tied together. Always.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq #kōrai hoshiumi #hoshiumi #hoshiumi kourai #hoshiumi x reader #hoshiumi kourai x reader #kamomedai #haikyuu x reader

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tmp-jatp · 3 years

Text

Guys I just wrote my first fic.

I mean, I’ve written fics before, but never finished them. But I was struck by inspiration and I’ve been trying harder to write while the muse is there because you never know when she’ll leave and not come back. I’m so excited to share this with you.

You can read it on AO3 here (2479 words btw) or read it below. I’d love it if you checked it out :)

It was safe to say that Luke’s mind was near constantly full to the brim with music. As a songwriter, it was one of his favorite parts of himself. He had notebooks galore, all chock-full of half-written verses and melodies he hummed once in the shower and chord progressions he’d heard in a dream.

Usually, once he freed them from his mind via his pen, they were gone, saved in ink on the page. He would come back to them, to draw inspiration, to weave pieces together, to fashion them into full-fledged songs eventually.

There was always the one song that stuck around, though. It would never leave him, no matter how hard he tried.

He would hear pieces bouncing around between his ears. Sometimes it was a drum beat. Sometimes he heard snippets of words. Sometimes it was two voices, his and another always unrecognizable one, blending more beautifully than he would’ve thought possible as their two sounds danced together.

The Song had always been there, since before Luke could remember. At first there wasn’t much, just three notes that repeated over and over. One day, five more came to accompany them. As he had grown older, he’d learned what The Song meant.

Luke’s parents loved to sing their Song to one another, or they would sing it by themselves when they were alone to feel the other’s presence with them. It was a beautiful sound, and Luke loved hearing it. He asked his mom to sing their Song to him each night before bed for far more years than he would ever admit to Alex, Reggie, or Bobby.

When Luke tried to sing his parents’ Song, either by himself or with them, he’d found he never could. Even though he’d heard it a million times, his mind couldn’t recreate any part of it.

Luke would get frustrated and pout, but his mom would kneel down and smile at him.

“That’s because it isn’t your Song,” she’d told him. “Your father and I get to share this with each other and with other people, and it’s something that’s just ours. You have your own Song, and it’s just yours. One day you’ll find the person you get to share it with.”

Luke knew from middle school that he wanted to be a musician. He’d always been crafting songs, even while his own Song taunted him in its incompleteness.

When he’d gotten his first guitar for Christmas in seventh grade, another gift had come with it: more of The Song. He didn’t know which gift he valued more.

Luke learned how to play chords and arpeggios. He learned techniques while his hands learned the dexterity they needed. He developed muscle memory and honed an ability for transcribing music from his ears to his fingers.

The more he learned, the more his mind seemed to go wild with ideas at possibilities for songs. He started collecting notebooks. He always had one near or on his person with a pen also within reach. They filled haphazardly at the whims of Luke’s imagination.

Luke would play his ideas on his guitar and let them drift through his bedroom. They’d grow on their own and become more. It never felt like Luke was writing them, they just came to him.

His parents called it a gift.

When he wasn’t playing his songs, Luke was playing his Song. It burned into his mind. When he didn’t know where to go next with a piece, his fingers would always bring him back home.

The four boys started a band together. They met in Bobby’s garage and played their hearts out. Luke collected stray ideas all together to form and fill in coherent songs that they would play.

They sounded good.

The boys all knew about each other’s Songs by then. Reggie’s had a country twang to it that drove Luke crazy. He liked to play his Song’s chord progressions on his bass, but he was learning the banjo too to help him fill out the sound in his head. Alex was always humming his between reps and during set up and tear down, lost in his own world. It was soft and sweet, like a lullaby. When he got anxious, he would tap out rhythms and vocalize melodies to help calm himself down. Bobby’s Song was energetic and exciting, a sharp contrast to his shy self. He liked to play it on his electric before practices started and would always be finishing up just as the boys came into the garage, so they never heard much more than that which would seep out into the backyard.

None of them ever tried to replicate each other’s Songs. Songs were personal, they were intimate. Anyway, it wasn’t like they could recreate them, even if they tried.

Luke tried one night to transpose his Song to paper, but it never worked. His pen would hover above the sheet but never write anything at all. He tried to get something, anything, even just a word down, but it wouldn’t come out, determined to stay only inside his head. That was what Songs did.

They named their band Sunset Curve and started playing gigs. Other people liked their music, too.

Bobby became less shy when he was on stage, drawing energy from his Song to create a confidence that he would wear. Alex let out his anxiety on the drumset in a different way than how his Song would relieve his anxiety but which ended up helping just the same. Reggie wrote more country music in his free time. Sunset Curve never played it.

Luke grew older. His voice deepened and matured. One afternoon in the middle of practice, he stopped playing. The other three petered out once they noticed.

“Luke?” Alex asked from behind the set. “You okay?”

There was a voice singing his Song now. His voice was singing his Song.

“Yeah,” Luke smiled and assured. He didn’t explain what happened.

But after practice, he was humming again, a tune which complimented what they’d heard him play before. Reggie, Bobby, and Alex shared a grin while Luke wasn’t looking.

All four of them were in the music program at their high school. There were a lot of talented students in their class.

In junior year, there were a bunch of new freshmen who came up into the class. They showed a lot of promise. Sunset Curve became friends with a group of four of the freshmen. Their groups meshed well as eight, but they also all found a complement within themselves. Alex and Carrie liked to dance together. Reggie and Flynn explored new music genres and played pranks on the other six. Bobby and Nick became study partners. And Luke? Luke had Julie.

She was...well, she was Julie. She wasn’t afraid to be herself and wore it proudly, with her butterfly hair clips and dozen friendship bracelets and doodled shoes.

Reggie suggested that their group of eight should have a name. Flynn was unamused by Bobby’s suggestion of “Octuple Trouble”.

Luke wondered what the four freshmen’s Songs sounded like. He never asked. Songs were intimate, and lots of people were shy about other people hearing them. Songs revealed the deepest parts of your soul.

Luke knew that his soul was pure music and music alone.

Besides his parents and his brothers, no one ever heard Luke’s Song. No one else needed to hear his Song. It was his.

Julie, Carrie, and Flynn showed the boys how to make friendship bracelets. They explained how you made them for each other and then tied it on each other’s wrists so they would never come off as long as the friendship would last. Luke thought he would be embarrassed by wearing friendship bracelets and how it would clash with his style of jean chains and cutoff tees and metal rings, but somehow he wasn’t. They all eight hung out at Carrie’s house and tied bracelets for hours that night, with Star Wars playing in the background on the TV at Reggie and Nick’s requests. By the time they were finished, beads were in mis-matched piles on the ottomans and slivers of tape and string sprinkled the floor. It was one of the best nights of their lives.

Luke wore his bracelets proudly. They were dorky, but they were so them and Luke loved them. He had a purple and blue knotted pattern from Julie, and an orange and green one with beads that read B-I-C-E-P-S---M-C-G-E-E from Flynn.

Carrie made Alex something pink that Luke never saw closely. They’d spent the whole evening with her teaching him some fancy pattern of knots that would make a picture, so theirs matched one another’s.

Luke didn’t see what Bobby, Nick, or Reggie had made or for whom. He’d been too focused on his bracelet for Julie. He tried to channel all of his love for the friendship he’d found with her and with all eight of them into the strings, but his fingers that normally were so dextrous and able on the guitar couldn’t hold the strands with the right tension and it ended up a mess.

She loved it and wore it anyway.

Luke eventually had one bracelet from each person in Octuple Trouble and had given one to each person in turn.

Luke’s Song still plagued his mind day-in and day-out. Every day it felt it was more complete. He heard it all the way through now, but even still it wasn’t complete. There was always his guitar playing, but there was another instrument dueting his. Luke knew what the instrument was in his heart but he couldn’t name it when he tried. It was just...there. A sound that he knew better than any other but it was also different than anything he’d ever heard before. He heard his voice singing all the words, and he heard another voice, too, but it belonged to nobody. The other voice was the biggest mystery to him. It made him feel like he was home but like he didn’t know where home was.

A few months into junior year, Julie changed. She became more reserved and stopped playing in music class. Luke knew why. He didn’t know how he could help, though. He tried to just be there, and to make sure she knew he always would be.

Sunset Curve was gaining a reputation and playing more and more gigs.

Carrie started her own group, Dirty Candi. At some point she cut off all of her bracelets. Alex still went to all of their performances to support her.

Julie and Flynn stayed closer than ever before, but the rest of them...drifted.

A part of Luke fractured alongside their group. He was pretty sure a part of each of the rest of them did, too.

Senior year started and the eight of them felt practically like strangers once more. They were still all in music class, but it was different. It had been different for a long time. Nick and Bobby didn’t study together anymore. Alex and Carrie still hung out, but Reggie and Flynn hadn’t pranked anyone since November. Luke missed Julie.

Alex came to practice late one afternoon in September with wonder in his eyes and voice about a skateboarder he’d met.

“Well, he sort of ran into me...literally, and we both fell down. And I scraped up my hands pretty bad on the concrete trying to catch myself-” Alex showed them the bandaged heels of his palms “- and it stung, like, really bad. You know how I have that nervous habit where I hum my Song when I’m anxious? Yeah, okay, so I started to do that while he apologized and grabbed band-aids out of his pocket - I don’t know why he had band-aids, Reggie, probably because he gets scrapes pretty often too. But so I was humming my Song, and he started humming it too.”

Luke wondered what it felt like to hear your other half complete you.

A year after Julie changed back in junior year, she changed again. She came back. She played in class again and Luke was once again in awe of the power packed into this sophomore. He’d forgotten just how amazing she was. He didn’t know what had triggered this return, but he didn’t care. She was back.

Three weeks later, Luke was looking for Mrs. Harrison. He needed her to sign some form for him for his guidance counselor, something about graduation requirements. Luke hadn’t been paying attention.

He had his hand on the handle to the music room and was about to twist it open before he heard a sound from inside.

Three notes, repeated. Five notes. The whole sequence repeated once more.

Any thoughts of forms fell from his mind. Luke opened the door with a fervor he’d never experienced before. He rushed into the room but only made it two steps in before his shoes squeaked to a halt on the wooden floor.

Luke locked eyes with Julie. She sat behind the piano, in a black dress he’d never seen before.

The paper in his hand fluttered to the floor. Wordlessly, Luke crossed the room and picked up Mrs. Harrison’s acoustic guitar. He slipped the strap over his neck and faltered. What if he was wrong?

He took a deep breath and pushed his doubts down.

Luke turned around and saw Julie, who was watching him with a concerned curiosity.

No turning back. No regrets.

Luke’s hands started playing the first song he’d ever played. The song he’d played a billion times. It was etched into his dreams and it framed his every thought. Luke played his Song.

Julie’s eyes widened in recognition and her jaw dropped open.

Luke started singing and that seemed to spring Julie out of her stupor. Her fingers started moving across the keys in chords that accompanied his plucking.

She picked up the verse where he left off and Luke was hearing The Song for the first time. The other instrument that melded with his was the piano underneath Julie’s fingers. The other voice was hers.

Luke could see it in her eyes. She felt it, too.

Home.

It was exhilarating.

They filled the music room with their Song - no longer his, it was theirs - but the entire world was just them two. Nothing else existed but their music together.

Luke walked around the side of the piano while he played so he could be closer to Julie. He saw his god-awful friendship bracelet on her wrist while she played and smiled at the part of her that he carried on his, too.

That wasn’t the only part of her he’d been carrying, he realized.

Their Song.

Wow.

The two of them drew to a close, out of breath with amazement.

We create

A perfect harmony

They locked eyes. They were home.

@pink-flame @thedeathdeelers surprise you’re on my taglist

#i wrote a thing #i'm really proud of this one #soulmate au #it's fluffy #yay #juke #jatp fic #jatp #julie and the phantoms #fluff #mine #my writing #octuple trouble

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raspberryfanfics · 4 years

Text

phantom limbs

there’s a ghost in her house.

her lights do not go out and her stairs do not creak. no, it is far more obvious than that. it is far more harmless than that.

there’s a ghost in her house.

she has never been scared of anything but it is logical to be scared of a ghost, haunting her house. the ghost may be harmless but it still terrifies her. people are afraid of the unknown, this ghost is the unknown.

there’s a ghost in her house.

the ghost never bothers her but she is bother by its presence. he only appears occasionally, usually in the most somber moments of her day or her week. it’s like he feels it, it’s like he needs to show it.

there’s a ghost in her house.

he doesn’t float through objects, she knows that for a fact. a ghost who floats through objects makes little noise. the noise is all there is to prove his presence.

there’s a ghost in her house.

and he plays the piano. he plays it in the moments the house feels sad and lonely, where the world is shades of grey rather than colour. the music is technical and heartbreaking, annoying and alluring, lacks everything she cannot give in her own music.

there’s a ghost in her house.

she no longer is terrified of him, she is only intrigued by his story. she leaves a note on the piano. ‘my name is tenten,’ she writes, but he doesn’t write back.

there’s a ghost in her house.

whenever she tries to see him as he plays he stops and the only trace left is the ringing of the notes. she sits on the bench and it’s cold, she traces her hands over the keys and they are worn. tenten plays a ‘c’ and then an ‘e’ and then a ‘g’. it’s all she can do, too happy for this grey house.

there’s a ghost in her house.

his tune is still sad but it’s a little brighter. she interrupts him again and without thinking, guides her hands skillfully across the keyboard and lets them fly. most of it is muscle memory but mistakes are sewn across, she is only skilled, she is not an artist.

there’s a ghost in her house.

he’s playing when she arrives home, the sound a distant ring, a familiar tune, the one she played yesterday, mistakes sewn across as notes are continuously tested out, never really correct. they stop as her presence is known, resumes the somber melody, but she finds a box not yet unpacked and takes the songbook, places it onto the piano. when she retreats into her room, she can hear the waltz being practiced, riddled with fewer mistakes.

there’s a ghost in her house.

she leaves a new score over the piano each day, he learns a new song each day. when he has learned her sonatas and her concertos, when bach, chopin, and debussy have been played through, she buys new books, pricey, but it’s worth the price of hearing him play. she picks her favourites, he picks them all.

there’s a ghost in her house.

she starts to compose in those days as she brings him happier melodies. she scribbles notes across the staff and she completes pages a day. when she wakes up the next day, suggestions in gorgeously written notes are drafted across the page.

there’s a ghost in her house.

he plays her song when it’s finished. she heads to the drawing room as he plays and he does not leave. it sounds prettier than she imagined, it brings tears to her eyes.

there’s a ghost in her house.

she purchases a book of schubert duets and brings them home. it may be her imagination but she is sure he’s waiting for her as she sets the score onto the piano and does not leave. instead, tenten seats herself at the ‘secondo’ end of the piano and starts to practice one part of the duet.

there’s a ghost in her house.

perhaps the ghost believes that she has other purposes for the duet but a month passes until he finally joins her in playing his ‘primo’ part. something syncs in them. and whatever that something is, it’s just as beautiful as what they’ve played.

there’s a ghost in her house.

his fingers ghost over hers as he crosses his hand across the keyboard and brushes hers. she cannot really feel them, not really, but it sends electricity into her body like nothing else. red shoots across her face as she plays arpeggios until she reaches the right side of the piano and they switch sides.

there’s a ghost in her house.

one day he plays a disgusting tune over and over again, so many times it’s engrained in her head. she screams at him but he doesn’t stop. when she writes the notes down onto a score, it seems to spell something.

there’s a ghost in tenten’s house.

his name is neji.

#nejiten #halloween #fanfiction #raspberryfanfics #neji hyuga #tenten #ghost neji

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wtf-yoongi · 4 years

Text

“Let me play you what I have.”

pairing | yoongi x reader

summary | yoongi asks for your help with a song

genre/warnings | you’re both musicians (even though you don’t work in the music industry) so musician fluff i guess?

words | 1,648

note | i’m not even kidding at this point i think i’m in love with yoongi and i’ve never been more serious in the entirety of my life

“Mine was never this glamorous,” you joke as you stare into the high ceilings of the ground floor of the building. “This place is gigantic.”

“Well, it is fancy and over the top,” Yoongi agrees and shrugs as if he’s 100% indifferent to it all. “But this is just to impress visitors.”

You look around, trying to take in as much as you can while you follow Yoongi to the elevator area. Everything seems to be made of either glass or marble – well, the best glass and marble money can buy. The attention to detail is remarkable and you can’t help but agree with Yoongi: this is a little bit over the top.

“I thought you had seen this the last time you were here.” He looks at you now, taking turns between staring at your face and your hands. You can’t do it here where the walls are made of glass even if he’s wearing a cap and a mask, but you know his fingers are twitching.

“Not really,” you correct him and shake your head lightly. “First time I was here was before the tour. You gave me a ride and we took the elevator straight from the garage.”

“Oh…” Yoongi nods. He remembers now. “I should have showed you the place that day, sorry. We were in a rush.”

There’s a soft sound, signaling one of the elevators has finally arrived. Yoongi impatiently taps his right foot on the ground like he just wants the doors to open faster. You know he’s a little apprehensive from the moment he calls you to come around earlier, but you didn’t think you’d find him like this.

You just want to calm him down somehow.

As soon as you’re safe inside the elevator with the doors closed, you extend your hand to him and his fingers stop fidgeting immediately to take yours. “You didn’t have to come greet me downstairs,” you comment casually, but there’s gratitude in your eyes.

“I know, I wanted to,” he says, taking his mask off and putting it in his pocket with his free hand. “And I needed to get out of the studio a little bit.”

“Something wrong?”

“Just a song that won’t come together, the usual,” he mocks and smiles to the ground. “This one is going to be stubborn, I just know it. I’ve been playing with this idea for days now and I don’t think I have a full verse yet.”

Yoongi’s voice is tired and passionate at the same time. Even if he’s complaining about it, you know he likes this sort of struggle to accomplish something he’s happy and satisfied with – the reward may be as grand as the effort. He’s always hoping for that. Artists are always hoping for that, you know it all too well.

“I was actually hoping you’d help me, if you don’t mind.”

He brings it up quietly and casually, but when you turn your face to him he’s not looking directly at you, deciding to keep his stare into the ground. He isn’t exactly comfortable with that idea and doesn’t know if it’ll work, but he’s happy to try.

You’ve talked about doing something together, working on lyrics or melodies or whatever came to mind, but never put much thought into it. Like that old group of friends who keep on saying you should meet sometime, but never actually do. You’re not mad if it never happens, somethings aren’t supposed to happen anyway.

Yoongi finally raises his head after he doesn’t hear it from you for a while, eyes expecting a positive reply so he doesn’t have to pretend that never happened somehow. Inside his mind, he’s already thinking about ways he can make it less awkward.

“That’s why you asked me to come?” You ask in a curious tone.

“Well, yeah,” Yoongi laughs lightly and presses his left hand to the back of his neck, scratching it a bit in a nervous habit. “It’s ok if you don’t want to, though. It’d be good to just hang around and do nothing as well, I’m just waiting for some papers I have to sign and we can go somewhere if you want. It’s probably good to give the song some time as well, since…”

“We can try something, yeah,” you interrupt before he runs out of air. “I’m a little rusty, though, I don’t really know if I’ll be able to help with anything.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Yoongi shakes his head and his hand follows. “I want you to listen and give me your opinion, that’s already enough for me. And I highly doubt it.”

You don’t have time to question him what the last part is about. As if on queue, you arrive on the 21st floor and it’s really not as fancy as the lobby, just like you remember, but you can see someone was still thoughtful enough to add fresh flowers to the vase in the corner. The people in charge of running the building are not sleeping on the job.

Yoongi is silently dragging you around the corridors and you can see the directions on the wall, but not for long enough to make any sense of them. A dozen more steps and you both stop in front of a door, Yoongi quickly tapping the keyboard on the right. There’s a beep before it opens.

He reaches inside to turn on the lights, but ultimately lets you in first. The room looks just like the last time, simple and straightforward in furniture and color, but not in music equipment. You can see he upgraded the digital piano to one that looked more like a real one, but still plugged to the wall. Maybe it makes him feel better knowing it’s a little similar to the real deal?

“New piano?”

“Yeah,” he assents, closing the door behind him. “These keys feel a little better, you know?”

Yes, you know. You can always tell when the keys just feel better under your fingertips. Playing becomes easier, practicing technique feels less like a pain. You nod.

“Let me play you what I have.”

You sit on the couch in one corner while Yoongi sits on his own chair, moving his magic mouse to light up the screen in front of him. You can see there are many layers on top of one another, but definitely not as many as you would expect coming from him.

You’ve seen him working from home well past midnight, shirt half dressed with headphones on, keeping quiet so he doesn’t notice you behind him. Making music is intricate, but Yoongi likes it even worse, adding one thing on top of the other, filter after filter, until it feels like it’s too much and he can finally recognize what is standing out in a bad way. Then he mutes and saves the ones he likes for another time.

He makes some quick adjustments before pressing the spacebar, turning slightly so he can see your reaction. The beat you hear is nothing out of the ordinary – it’s a 4/4 time signature major key song, exactly how most happy pop ones go.

However, in true Yoongi style, there’s something else to it. The bass line tricks your head into some sort of rhythm and, despite having the poppiest of beats, you can hear an acoustic guitar streaming in the very background, almost unnoticeable. More bars pass and you can now hear a piano playing some sort of arpeggio – simple, but effective. It grows into what you feel is a chorus and then Yoongi is hitting the spacebar again.

“That’s all I have,” he confesses and shrugs, looking at you from under his eyelashes and trying to figure out your puzzled expression.

“It’s good, I like it,” you start and he’s soon looking at you incredulously, waiting for the real response. “Yeah, it needs work, but you made it sound like you had nothing.”

You’re both chuckling softly now and Yoongi lets his body fall into the chair completely, covering his face with his hands.

“Tell me what I have to do!” He begs with a muffled voice. “I hate this song already.”

All of a sudden, you feel like you should have done this earlier. His busy schedule kind of gets in the way all the time, but not really all the time. You wish any of you had enough courage to bring this up earlier, to stop being that group of friends that say things with no real weight to them.

Musicians are sometimes overprotective of their work or scared to stick their noses into somebody else’s, but Yoongi falls into his normal self too fast – too comfortable, no sign of nervousness anymore. He’s not scared to show you his unfinished and imperfect work. It feels like you’ve been doing this for ages.

“I told you I’m a bit rusty, I…”

“Oh, don’t say that,” he interrupts with a smile, letting his hands show his face again. “You’re a classically trained pianist, 15-plus years of music classes under your belt, three years of being a trainee with top marks in songwriting. You can’t say you’re rusty when I hear you playing my piano at home. You’re not. At all,” he emphasizes as you continue to laugh at his reaction.

“Yeah, but I have almost zero experience in music production. And I also gave up being an idol so…” You try to argue, but he’s not having any of it.

“I bet you my new piano you have at least 13 ideas for this, I just feel like you do.”

There’s a smirk on his face now you can’t resist.

“Where are the lyrics you wrote for this?” You ask and Yoongi soon hands you a notepad with many lines scribbled on the first page. “Can you hand me that pen?”