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delfiore · 10 months

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—A SUMMER’S TALE.

pairing: vada cavell x reader

synopsis: the summer before college, vada joins mia's family on vacation in france and falls in love with the scenery, and a charismatic lifeguard.

word count: 9.6k

warnings: talk of the shooting

a/n: it's summer so you know my cmbyn flare ups are happening. i’ve been writing this for a few weeks now and i’m super pumped it’s done. pls let me now what you like, what you don’t like about this! i’d really appreciate some feedback!! and i’m sorry if i can’t reply to you if you comment on this as this acc is a secondary blog

The villa had one feature that stood out in particular—a hallway that ran through the base of the house, connecting the kitchen to the open grass area in the back. Even the tiniest gust of wind could collect into a large breeze to combat the sticky heat of the day.

Vada closed her eyes and lifted her arms by her side as she felt the breeze glide through her. She could smell an earthy, hay-like smell of flowers that had been bathing in sunlight wafting in from the garden behind the villa. It didn’t take much to notice; summer in southern France was in full swing.

I could live here, she thought. Four weeks of this? Away from the repetitive scenery of the American suburbs, away from expectations. Only a few minutes since she’s gotten off the car and seen the yellow walls and red bricks of the Mediterranean villa, and she’s been buzzing ever since. She’s never actually left the country before, and the long flight over was jarring, to say the least. But the beauty of what she saw as soon as she landed made up for it.

Mia had instructed her to come along upstairs to put her things away; Vada would be occupying the guest room next to hers. She swore her friendship with Mia Reed started because they both went through a traumatic thing together, but it was moments like these when she was grateful for the perks.

“I could use a nap,” Mia said, rubbing her face.

It was nearly nine in the morning when the girls finished unpacking. Mia’s parents had given them the morning to get settled and get used to the jet lag.

“I’m not too tired,” Vada said, “maybe I’ll go into town for the morning.”

“You sure you don’t need me to come with you?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fun. It’s about time I put my four years of high school French to the test.”

The road into town winded downhill, and she was grateful she used one of the bikes the Reeds had available at their villa, as she would have dreaded the trek back up, had she gone on foot. She mapped out exactly the way into the town square and was determined to check everything out before returning for lunch. Thank god for Google Maps.

She had also bought a paper map of the town in a nearby kiosk and, after nearly two hours of exploring, mapped out a general layout of notable places in town. There was a fountain in the middle of the square in front of a church that Vada would use as a reference for everything; from the Fountain facing the church going left would be the town hall and that little kiosk, going right would be the local post office and the way back to the villa, opposite the church facing ahead lead down a slanted cobblestone alley full of restaurants and gift shops, as well as the way to the beach.

It must have been in the high 80s (30s Celsius) that day, so Vada decided to reward herself with some ice cream in the town square before she headed back. It was so hot that when sitting on a bench in the shades, she still had to try and keep the ice cream from melting all over her lap.

“Lillian’s ice cream is nice, but it melts quickly. You should try Karim’s down the street.”

Vada looked up at the voice in surprise, as it was English that was being spoken to her.

“Oh, totally!” She replied quickly. “How did you know I speak English?”

“I haven’t seen you around here.”

“But I could have also known French, right?”

“Touché, but I also recognize a compatriot when I see one.”

You wore an oversized white button-up that barely skirted past your black shorts, and your flip-flops indicated that you might have had a better idea of what the weather was going to be like as opposed to her in her high-neck basketball shoes. Peaking out from between the hem of your shirt was a necklace in the shape of a hummingbird, dangling and reflected in the sun.

“That obvious, huh?”

“Maybe a little." You grinned and shook your head from side to side. "Only tourists go to Lillian for ice cream.”

“So you’re not one, I assume.”

“I wouldn’t say so, no. My family has been coming here every summer ever since I was eight. These people are probably sick of me by now.” You chuckled.

This is your time, Vada, be smooth. “Lucky for you, you’ll have someone new to entertain.” She grinned and pointed at herself.

. . . Adequate.

The melodic laugh that escaped you gave her a new-found confidence, and she decided that it was to be her new favorite sound.

“Alright, since you seem to know the area so well,” Vada said. “What’s fun to do around here?”

Conversation flowed so easily between the two of you, she had almost forgotten that she only met you 15 minutes ago. Granted, you were also easy on the eye, and Vada would always remember the way the water from the fountain reflected in waves across your skin.

At one point she had started talking about the time her family got stranded in the middle of nowhere on a road trip to Phoenix. Vada felt like she was talking too much, but the way you laughed along with her story made her feel like it wasn’t for naught.

The bell tower of the church rang throughout the square. Vada widened her eyes and checked her phone, it was noon.

"Shit, I have to get back. My host family's gonna wonder where I am." She stood up quickly and collected her bike. The height of the seat and her haste caused her to stumble, and she would have fallen if not for you grabbing her by the arm and holding her up.

"Oh, okay. I’m sure there’s a story about a daytime Cinderella somewhere.”

She looked up and you were smirking. "Vada," she said. Maybe she shouldn’t have told you, Cinderella was fine, you didn’t know each other.

She could barely make out your attempt at her name on your lips before you nodded.

“Y/N.” You held your hand out for her to take. There was that touch that changed the course of her summer, the one touch that set into motion a journey toward a certain feeling that Vada had never felt before.

"Bye, Y/N!" She called behind her before rounding the corner, past the post office, and back to the Reed villa.

Mia had been waiting by the front door and breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted Vada cycling uphill.

"Where the hell have you been? We thought you'd been kidnapped!"

"Wait, could you get kidnapped here?" Vada’s face dropped at the thought, even though she was positively out of breath.

"You could get kidnapped anywhere, V."

"Well, I got lost." She hopped off her bike and set it by the entrance. "My phone died so I couldn't use Maps."

Her friend rolled her eyes and led her inside where a hearty lunch awaited. It was mid-June and apricots were in season for dessert.

It wasn't until late afternoon the next day that Vada regained the energy to go outside again. The jet lag had finally caught on, and she spent the morning asleep until noon. Mia had suggested going to the beach, which was great because she could see how things were, and either get into the water or take another nap.

Mia—being Mia—wore her bathing suit and a thin cardigan as her attire, while Vada decided on wearing an oversized tee and shorts over her bathing suit.

"Don't freak out. I've invited some friends. Just kids from the area," said Mia, once they arrived at the beach.

Vada stayed back, as Mia was greeted by several people similar in age to her, speaking in French at a pace her high school education couldn’t help her understand.

“This is Vada, she’s a friend from home.”

A curly-headed boy stood up from his lounge chair and sauntered over to give Mia a kiss on each cheek, then looked over to Vada and did the same. “Corentin, but please call me Coco,” he said and took both their bags. Vada didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on Mia’s form a bit longer than normal.

“Come, Vada! Mia, where have you been hiding this one? I’m Marlène. This is Sasha.” The brunette pulled her by the hand and gestured to the boy sitting next to her. He was slender with blonde hair part in the middle. “We’re about to go into the water if you want to join.”

“Where’s Noémie?” asked Mia.

“Déjà à l’eau. No doubt to show off to the lifeguard.” Sasha snickered, nodding his head towards the water. He took another drag from his cigarette and rested his arm back against Marlène’s chair.

“Speaking of the lifeguard . . .” Vada followed Marlène’s gaze towards . . . you.

Her mouth hung open as she watched you, in red shorts and a white T-shirt, a whistle hanging from your neck. You pulled your sunglasses up to your head and gave Mia la bise.

Of course, she thought. She had hoped to see you again, but only when there was no one else around, and that you’d catch her by surprise when she was alone once more. She’d only met you, but she wished that she could have you all alone, not like a secret, but like a prized possession.

“And just how many people have died while you’re on watch?” Mia teased.

“Zero, but very soon,” you pointed at her, “one.”

When you turned to Vada, her breath hitched. “Hi,” you greeted with that warm smile again. Even in your work attire, she spotted that necklace next to your whistle.

“Y/N, this is—”

“Vada, the daytime Cinderella. We met yesterday in the square.” You replied. “Did I forget to mention I work here?”

Vada was grinning like an idiot, her cheeks tinted pink at the nickname. “Yup, you did.”

“Y/N!” Over jogged a gorgeous girl, even Vada had to admit. Her black bathing suit hugged her curves perfectly, and though her hair was completely wet, the water droplets clinging to her olive skin made her glow. “T'as prévu aller en boîte ce week-end, ou bien? J'ai chopé l'info qu'y a un nouveau DJ en ville, et il envoie du pâté!”

She was clinging onto your arm, and speaking way too fast for Vada to understand, but she picked up on some keywords: ce week-end, and nouveau DJ.

When she finally noticed Vada there, her excitement subsided, but she walked over anyway to greet her, like an afterthought. “Salut. I’m Noémie.”

“Hi. Vada.”

Just as quickly as you arrived, Noémie had led you away, talking your ear off about something that Vada didn’t have the heart to eavesdrop on. Her eyes followed your form, picking up on the way you kept your arms by your side even when Noémie was practically hanging off of you. In a sporadic moment, Vada thought she saw you looking back over her shoulder at the friend group, and maybe toward her.

“Your phone died, huh?” Mia poked her elbow into her side with a teasing grin.

“Shut up,” Vada murmured. “What’s the deal with them anyway?”

“They were together last summer,” Sasha replied, then turned to the others. “Plan cul, how do you say?”

“A fling, but Noémie seems more attached than Y/N ever did,” said Coco.

“No doubt Y/N has already found a new paramour for the summer,” Marlène commented.

“It’s summertime. Anything’s possible.”

As much as she hated it, you plagued her mind, much more than she cared to admit. She didn’t want to think about what your initial conversation meant to you (if it did at all), or what the lack of words in your second meeting meant. She didn’t want to think about Noémie either, how she seemed so confident to get your attention, and an up-and-down look from her made Vada want to crawl into a hole.

She remembered the handshake. The speed at which she rode away wasn’t entirely to get home in time before Mia’s parents called the police, but to get away from the butterflies that burst in her stomach that moment her hand firmly shook yours. She’d seen how you greeted your friends, but to her, she offered a handshake. Though the gesture itself was completely platonic and can be passed off as a farewell between two strangers, she felt a sense of exclusivity, that American camaraderie you shared with her in a foreign land. Common courtesy as a mode of intimacy. Revisiting it now, Vada recognized it as a sign of attraction and an apprehension to the speed at which it enveloped her.

She would see you around town in your work uniform after your shift, sometimes you’d be talking to people, sometimes you were the buyer yourself. No matter the person though—from the tourists asking for directions to the old owner of the bookstore by the fountain, they always loved you and talked to you like you were their best friend. She’d see you from afar, wanting to talk to you, but then get anxious the moment you spotted her a give her a friendly wave.

Then there were times when you would come by the Reed villa. Philip and Andre always received you like you were an esteemed guest, gifting you fruits from the trees in the backyard. She loved to see how you acted around different people, and to the Reeds who had known you for years, you were awful shy.

“Invite your parents over. We should all have dinner sometime!”

“Oh, my parents aren’t here this summer. My dad’s busy with a conference in Singapore, but they’ll drop by at the end of July.”

Even the times you were invited to stay for supper, it was clear you knew how to hold a conversation over the dinner table. She wondered if you were studying to be a politician because you seemed to charm everyone and had the best manners. Mia would not-so-subtly yield the spot next to you for Vada, and secretly, she was glad to be sitting next to you.

For the first time in her life, she felt a force holding her back, preventing her from reaching out. Maybe it was because she had only known you for a couple of weeks but felt like you’d always been there, like a puzzle finally piecing together.

And every time, right before you left, after you had said goodbye to the Reeds, you’d find her somehow. “Bye,” would be all you said with an adoring smile, but Vada would be thinking about it until the next day.

She and Mia met up with the group again one night, this time at a nearby open-air disco. When she arrived, she could spot Sasha and Marlène already twirling each other around on the dance floor, she was laughing as he spun her around, cigarette between his lips. She felt a pang of envy, imagining that it was your arms around her waist instead as you spun her around without a care in the world, in front of everyone. Let them see. Let them see that you’re mine and I’m yours. If she were being honest, she only agreed to come just so she could see you again. She found you sitting at a table with Coco and Noémie, chatting away.

“Hi.” Her attention was focused on you. She couldn’t be more sober, and she wished she had taken a few puffs before coming.

As if having read her mind, Coco pulled out a couple of joints, lighting one and taking a puff himself before passing it to Noémie.

“You partake?” You shouted over the loud music.

“Oh, she partakes.” Mia nodded enthusiastically. “The first time she did weed she smoked most of my joint. Then proceeded to blabber on nonstop for two hours.”

You let out a laugh. “I like this one!”

She hated, despised even, the overwhelming feeling of wanting to be near you, to impress you, to feel special in your eyes as you were in hers. It was human nature; everyone liked feeling special, but somehow getting validation from you would make her ten times happier. She sat two seats away from you—next to Mia and Noémie—and once in a while, she would try and dart her eyes over to look at you ever so subtly. On a couple of occasions, her heart would jump when she noticed you were already looking back.

A few minutes later, Vada started to feel the effect of the weed, and Mia must have too because she pulled her toward the dance floor. Looking back, she saw you talking to Noémie. You didn’t look too happy and neither did she, having her arms crossed in front of her chest. Then, she walked outside and you followed her impatiently. When you returned, a polite smile was on your face when you noticed her looking for you.

“Are you okay?” She shouted, the weed had made her feel bold.

“Yeah! Everything’s fine.” You shouted back.

It might have been the weed or it was something that’s already been there, but Vada couldn’t take her eyes off of you. She took you by the hand, and there was that same spark of electricity again. You let her guide you, your hands never leaving hers as you moved with her.

It was about a quarter to midnight when everyone decided to split because frankly, everyone was too tired to continue. Vada said goodbye to Sasha and Marlène, the latter of whom gave her a big hug and repeatedly expressed her delight that Vada had decided to join them. Coco, already sober, offered to drive Mia home, but his ride was a scooter.

“Sorry, les gars,” Coco smiled sheepishly and asked Mia if she was ready, to which the girl only nodded.

“I’ll walk you home.” You said quietly, surprisingly timid. “Promise me you won’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight?”

She huffed through her nose and gave you a shove, but she was grinning. It was just the two of you now. Her pride was on the line, and so was her heart.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Your voice cut through the stillness of the night. Before that, the only sounds were that of your shoes brushing against the ground and the soft sighs of the ocean.

“Is everything okay with Noémie?”

You averted your eyes, your hand coming up to play with the hummingbird on your neck.

Maybe she shouldn’t have. “Shit, did I overstep?”

“No, no. It’s fine. It’s just Noë being Noë, she was out of line.” Your walls were up. “We were always close, she was the first friend I made here. And last summer we slept together.”

“Oh.” Her steps faltered.

“I stopped it before it could progress into anything beyond that, though. I’m just not ready.”

Vada nodded slowly. Loud and clear. Maybe that was the signal she needed, the insecure part of her thought it was that, but when she was with you, all she wanted to do was listen to the other part.

“I slept with Mia once, sophomore year.”

You looked over at her, seemingly surprised. “Mia? Huh. Never would have thought.”

“It was just that, though.” She flashed you a smile.

Vada felt that surge of closeness between you, your arm swinging beside her as you walked. The obsession with finding anything to relate to you prompted her to say it, like Hey, I’m like you, I know how you feel. Maybe it wasn’t the best thing to tell you, she might have screwed up.

You mirrored her smile, but something about it told her that your heart wasn’t entirely in it. Tell me what you’re thinking, Y/N. She wanted to get inside your head and know everything you were thinking, to go all the way with that closeness. Even as friends, one has to start from somewhere.

It was radio silence from you for the next few days. Vada came up with all the excuses as to what it could have been, and when she grew tired and angry at herself for thinking so much about you, she tried to distract herself by doing other things. She helped Philip collect figs from the trees in the backyard; she looked up the fortress nearby you told her about the day you met and biked all the way over there, even though it was a half an hour's ride each way; she finally took out the book she packed with her and began reading it whilst sunbathing. It was starting to feel like a summer that she should be enjoying.

Her mom called and was happy to hear that her daughter was going outside and doing fun things. “The people are nice,” Vada would say, “I met some of Mia’s friends.” And in true Mom fashion, her mom would quickly squeeze in a “Don’t do drugs and use protection” to which she ended the call and almost threw her phone across the room.

She would also call Nick every other day. I met someone, she said one day after having finally gathered the courage to vocalize her crush. Girl, I know. Mia had told him. When? Literally the second day. She said you were so obvious.

It was as if the weather knew too. It started raining all day when she decided to go to the beach one day, souring her mood entirely. She would sit by the entrance in the backyard watching the rain, and sure enough, she was thinking about what you were doing on the opposite end of town.

“It’s unlike you to be so hung up on someone,” Mia told her when they were hanging out in Mia’s room.

“I’m not hung up on someone,” her words trailed at the end, mindlessly flipping through the magazine in front of her.

“So am I just crazy for thinking that you want to pounce on Y/N every three seconds?”

“Okay, but what about you and Coco? He follows you around everywhere like a lost puppy.”

“Coco’s just shy,” her friend blushed. “And stop changing the subject.”

“There’s nothing between us, at least not yet.”

“So you do want something to happen.”

“Shut up! Mia!” She hid her face behind her hands and writhed on Mia’s bed in embarrassment. “I’m not talking to you about this anymore.”

“Alright, alright,” Mia held her hands up as her laughter subsided.

“Look, I just want to—” Vada took a moment. “I want to test the waters, okay? Y/N is special, and I don’t want to ruin anything.”

Mia nodded, understanding. “I just don’t want you to be misled. I mean, you’ve seen how it was with Noémie.”

“I know.” Vada smiled softly. “I know what I’m getting into. Zero expectations.”

She wanted to believe what she told Mia too, but then when she saw texts from you the next day, there was no hiding that a connection was what she so tirelessly wanted, and needed.

hey it’s y/n Sent 3:23pm

mia gave me your number, i hope you don’t mind Sent 3:23pm

call me when you see this? Sent 3:24pm

Damn you, Mia, but also, thank you.

She didn’t work up enough courage to call you until later that night. Of course, it could have been something dire, but then you would have called her first, right? I am such a wimp.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” she rubbed her hands against her shorts. “it’s Vada. You wanted me to call you?”

“Yeah. I was gonna just text you, but I don’t know . . .” You hesitated for a moment. “Anyway, you ever been to Antibes?”

“No, why?”

“Well, I’m going there on Friday for my apprenticeship, and I was wondering if you wanted to come with? I’m just giving some manuscripts to my mentor, and then leaving them with him for a few hours to review, so we can make a fun day out of it. It’s a one-hour drive, so I don’t plan on staying overnight.”

“Friday you said?” Vada took a deep breath to still her racing heart. “I don’t think I got anything better to do that day.”

“Great!” You said. “I’ll pick you up at 9am?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Cool, see you then!”

There was something frightening about when things go exactly how you wanted them. It was inch-perfect, the puzzle pieces just slotted in place as if they were always fated to be. You were the first to reach out; she thought it would be easier that way, she’d just have to take your hand and come along. But there was a certain apprehension that Vada had as if she was walking straight into the lion’s den like a deer blinded by hunger. What if she loses her heart? She was aware of the dangers of heartbreak, of course—she was no fool—but the thought of giving her heart to you, then watching you walk away with it like an unwanted gift was too devastating.

Mia was practically bouncing off the walls when Vada told her about the phone call, saying that in all seven years of knowing you, she had never been special enough to receive a call. She didn’t exactly say the latter part, but she all but implied it.

On Friday morning, Vada woke up earlier than usual, made herself some breakfast, and was already waiting at the door with a backpack by 8:45. No later than 9:05, you arrived with a Volkswagen Golf, sunglasses on, and a bright smile.

“Music?” You offered, turning on Bluetooth. “Also, if you need a pee break, please tell me. Bladders can be untimely.”

“Noted,” Vada giggled.

The car ride was mostly silent, aside from the music you let her pick and the fun facts you enlightened her with about some of the landmarks you drive past.

“That one I believe was built in the later 1600s and owned by a minor Provence viscount. It was also in a strategic location for the military until it was abandoned after the French Revolution. Also, the viscount built the castle for his second wife, but she died shortly after giving birth to their child.”

“That’s a little sad,” said Vada.

“She was also 14 when she died and he was in his 50s.”

Vada grimaced. “Maybe death was a sweet relief.”

“Yeah. It was more common back in the day than you think.”

“How do you know all this?” She brought her legs up against her chest.

“I like history. I like to learn about the areas I’m in, and in the time that I’ve been here, I’ve had a lot of opportunities to learn.”

She watched your side profile for a moment. “You mentioned some manuscripts. What is it for?”

“Is this an interview now?” You laughed and glanced over at her, and she looked down with a blush. “It’s for my bachelor’s thesis. Technically I don’t start writing until next year, but I like to practice whenever I can. This one that I’m giving to my mentor is a collection of essays.”

“Can I read them?” You looked over for a moment, then reached behind you to grab a file of paper and handed it to her.

Vada settled back and opened the first pages, and read in silence. She could feel you spare short glances at her from time to time, nervously watching for her reaction, but she was so engrossed in your writing it almost didn’t matter that you were sitting next to her. This might have been what it feels like to peer into someone’s soul, to see the traces of fresh blood as they lay their heart onto paper.

It was a beautiful sunny day, the waters shone a deep turquoise, and the French Riviera looked glorious as ever. And yet, she could only get lost in your words.

“This is beautiful,” Vada breathed, setting the papers down on her lap. “You’re amazing.”

You looked ahead at the road, eyes covered by shades, but your large grin was unmissable.

You parked the car on the side of the street in front of several apartment buildings. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back.” Vada only nodded and watched you cross the street with the manuscripts in your hand. She liked how it felt between you two, and she would gladly accompany you on every trip until you were sick of her.

Mere minutes later, you returned. “I hope you’re ready for the best adventure of your life.”

Only, she knew it would be.

You first led her to the market in the vieille ville, where you bought some fruits and snacks for the way. Vada also got to witness firsthand your bargaining skills, asking for a price and then pretending to walk away until the vendor becomes desperate enough to settle. “I used to be really bad at this, but then I watched my mom do it, and now I kind of just do. These vendors hike up their prices for tourists like crazy.” You walked away proudly with a bag of food.

As the both of you walked through the picturesque alleys and streets, you proceeded to tell her more about the city and its history. She listened carefully, hanging onto every word that left your lips. You told her about how Antibes was first named Antipolis and part of Ancient Greece before it was built by the Romans in the time of Julius Caesar; how in the Middle Ages the city fell under the fiefdom of the Grimaldi family, the main branch of which is now royalty of Monaco.

“Sorry, you gotta stop me before I go on a tangent,” you chuckled, scratching the back of your neck. “I’ve been talking for ages.”

“No, I like it.” She said quickly. “I like listening to you talk. It’s no surprise many artists were so taken with this place.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise.

“Hemingway, Picasso, and Monet all had a fascination with this city.” She had to look that up, but you didn’t need to know that.

“That’s right,” you nodded. “In fact, I’ll show you the spot where Monet painted one of his paintings later.”

After lunch, you both walked along the city walls that looked out to the beach.

“I’m just saying, Ratatouille piqued a lot of interest in the dish, and it wasn’t a coincidence. I mean, I’ve never tried it but I’d love to, just because it looked so good in the movie.” Vada said.

“You’ve never had ratatouille?!” You exclaimed loudly making Vada laugh. “Man, it’s a staple here in southern France! I’ll have to make you some because that is just criminal.”

“Okay, Chef Remy. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Actually, I’ll make a whole batch for you and the Reeds too. They always give me fruits from their backyard,” you said. “How did you meet Mia anyway?”

At the question, Vada’s smile collapsed into a frown. “Um . . .” You watched her, a confused look on your face. “I’ve always known who she was. I mean, it’s Mia, you know? But one day we met officially in the bathroom at school.”

“Oh,” you voiced. You must be confused as to why that was so hard to squeeze out, but the latter part, the part she kept hidden, she had been trying to squeeze out for two years.

“We were in the bathroom while there was a shooting going on.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but you only ended up watching her. Then, a moment later, “I didn’t mean to . . .”

“No, it’s fine.” Vada shook her head. “You didn’t know.”

“I’m so sorry. You don’t have to tell me anything else if you don’t want to.” Your eyes softened and you looked like you had kicked a puppy.

“I know,” she said, taking a breath.

“I see it on the news all the time, but I can’t imagine what it’s like to be there,” you said quietly. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”

Vada hated having to talk about it. If she could have it her way, she would bury it deep down so it never sees the light of day again. Still, she has to talk about it to her friends, her family, her therapist sometimes. She hated talking about it because she’d have to see the way people’s faces contort uncomfortably as they scramble to find consoling words to say. They don’t make her feel any better, and she never liked people seeing that broken side of her reflected back at them.

But when she looked at you right now, there wasn’t a trace of ego in the way that you look back at her. Deep down, she had always wanted to lay it on you, to give you a piece of her, not because she had to, but because she wanted to.

Because she wanted you to see it.

Vada found your hand by your side, soft and comforting. She kept her eyes on them; her hand and your hand, intertwined together. You embraced it and rubbed the back of her hand with your thumb before kissing it. A kiss of friendship, a kiss of love, a kiss of two young people in a city far from home together who had only just met. A kiss that said I see you, I hear you, you’ve got me around your corner.

“You wanna go grab some dinner?” She asked.

Dinner turned into even more talk. Towards late afternoon, you said you wanted to catch the sunset before going to the spot you claimed Monet painted the city. It was a quick drive, but you pumped your fists in the air when you got out of the car and were happy with how the sun rolled over the city just right.

“Come on, you’re gonna miss it!” You jogged towards the edge of the water, beaming like a little kid. It had become natural between the two of you to share skin-ship.

Behind the trees, there it was. Across the blue water, Antibes basked in the last few rays of sunlight in stoic tranquility, just as Monet had seen it. Perhaps she was in one of Monet’s paintings, frozen in time, stuck with you.

She found your hand again, your left this time, and once again your gaze followed, but this time, you trailed your gaze to her eyes. God help me, she thought.

There were so many things Vada wanted to blurt out, and she was close to it. Holding back was never her strong suit, but once she got a good look at the depth of your eyes, she felt that they were better appreciated in silence. Words don’t do anything but snitch on you anyway.

She didn’t need to, because the moment she turned to look at you, she felt you grab her face gently and lay the softest kiss on her lips.

The sun continued to glare, yet Antibes stared on.

Did Monet ever paint lovers?

Liar.

Vada felt like she’d make a mistake for giving in to it. She saw her younger self in the square that day, by the fountain, eating ice cream. She saw you talking to her, and she wanted to scream and tell herself to stop, to save herself the heartache. No one else was to blame, not even you, only her.

Antibes was a week ago, and she hasn’t really spoken to you ever since. She replayed the kiss over and over in her head, trying to pinpoint exactly the moment when you decided that keeping your distance would be the best course of action.

But then she remembered the way you acted alone with her was much different than how you were with the others around. She saw the way your eyes linger on her when you thought she was admiring the sea. She noticed the way you smiled bashfully when she brought up how good your essays were in front of your mentor. She remembered how you never let go of her hand when she grabbed it while you watched the sunset.

Marlène and Sasha had been a big help in getting her out of her slump. Mia was there to cuddle with her the first couple of nights after Vada told her everything, but rendezvous with Coco had kept her busy. But Marlène and Sasha were cool, and probably one of the healthiest couples she’s ever seen at the age of 20. She felt like their adoptive child hanging out with them, especially when Sasha would greet her by endearingly calling her Petit Vada.

“And have you talked to her?” Marlène asked, leaning over the lounge chair. She and Vada had been sunbathing and swimming at the Reed villa that afternoon.

“No.” Vada sighed. “It’s just—I just don’t get it! Why does she have to be so mysterious all the time? Like one moment we would be fine, and the next she’s somewhere else, someone else entirely.”

“That’s Y/N,” Marlène chuckled and took a sip from her margarita. “You know, when I and Sash first got together, he wasn’t as talkative as he is now. In fact, I was the one to ask him out. Sometimes you just have to suck it up and tell them.”

“That’s so easy to say,” Vada muttered, and put her face in her hands.

“That’s the kind of attitude you should save for when you go back to your other life, your American life. Are you going to university this fall? Summer’s halfway over, you know? Are you going to mull over it and let it pass by you?”

“Yes.” Vada’s voice was muffled through her hands.

“Carpe diem, mon chère.” Marlène shrugged. “It’s cheesy but it’s true.”

Andre being the ever BBQ dad that he was, decided to host a get-together with some friends that night, and encouraged Mia to invite hers. Everyone that Vada met at the beach showed up, including Noémie, except for you.

“She said she was busy,” Noémie waved it off. Vada pursed her lips. The fact that you talked to Noémie first stirred uneasy envy in the pit of her stomach.

She didn’t have the stomach to sit outside and spoil everyone’s fun with her sour face (most of all she didn’t want to give Noémie that satisfaction), so she made a plate for herself and ate in the living room.

“Hey, kiddo,” she looked up and saw Philip walk past her toward the kitchen. “Not feeling the party?”

Vada made a face to indicate a yes, but she didn’t want to explain further. “Just not really in the mood, sorry.”

“It’s okay. You can’t stop Andre from barbecuing when he has the urge or he’d literally combust.”

She nodded and smiled. “We don’t want that.”

“We’re serving fruits now. Want me to get you some?” He pointed at her empty plate.

“Yes, please. Thanks.” She hesitated for a beat. “Hey, Philip?”

The man turned around.

“How did you know that you wanted to marry Andre?”

Philip contemplated for a second, then walked over to the couch where she sat, leaning against it. “I didn’t wake up one day and choose to propose to him, Vada. It’s just one of those things when you start to notice that gnawing feeling in your chest. And you’d have to ask yourself, ‘Would I be fine going the rest of my life without them?’”

Vada nodded slowly and smiled as the man went back to the kitchen. She opened her phone and went to your messages. The last text from you was from a week ago. She began typing.

can we talk? Sent 8:47pm

A mere five minutes later, you responded.

of course Sent 8:47pm

meet me at the fountain at 10? Sent 8:48pm

see u there Sent 8:48pm

Vada found you walking back and forth by the Fountain, one hand in deep your pants pocket, the other holding a cigarette between your thumb and index, and puffing it as if it would give you a lifeline. She got off her bike and set it by the railing of the Fountain where you stood.

“You smoke?”

“Not usually,” you attempted to smile, shaking your arms as if to shake off an invisible burden. You were anxious, it was clear.

Vada didn’t know what to say next, so she leaned against the railing of the Fountain, rolling a pebble back and forth underneath her shoe.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you earlier. I was busy.”

She nodded half-heartedly, not looking up. She wished you’d come up with a better excuse than that.

“Are you angry with me?”

“Angry’s a strong word, Y/N.”

Another puff. “Are you discontent with me?”

She should have prepared herself for the nit-picky bullshit from a writer. “I don’t have a valid reason to be upset with you, not really. Unless I’ve been reading this wrong.”

“You haven’t.” You answered quickly and met her eyes. “I promise. It wasn’t very mature of me. In fact, I think I acted like a total idiot. I’m really sorry.”

“Do you regret kissing me?”

“No, not at all. And you have to believe me.” You sighed exasperatedly, and she almost felt bad because you looked so anxious.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” Vada stepped towards you, facing you head-on. “You’re asking me whether I’m upset with you, but I don’t even know what you’re thinking most of the time. And then you disappear as though I did something wrong! How fair is that?”

You nodded and took another drag from your cigarette. Then, you dropped the butt on the floor and stomped on it. “I’m thinking that I really want to kiss you right now.”

Vada scoffed. “I don’t believe you.”

You stood up from your spot against the railing, your face now inches from hers. “It’s true.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yeah, it is.”

She felt the exact moment her body became as light as a feather as your lips pressed against hers. Her hands clenched by her side, and come up to hold onto your shoulders, because she was afraid her legs might give out under her. You angled your face and deepened the kiss, and Vada sighed into your mouth. This is what the poets all wrote about, the inevitability of giving in to what you’ve wanted for so long. She’s caged in you in between her body and the Fountain, kissing you and touching you as though her life depended on it.

You moved to lower your kisses to her neck, but she leaned back and saw a dark look in your eyes.

The sound of a street musician playing the saxophone in the distance somewhere echoed through the square. Wordlessly, Vada took your hand.

She followed you by bike towards your house, which was towards the end of the street closer to the beach. You returned to speaking only one or two words to her, telling her to put her bike by the door next to yours, to take her shoes off before coming in, and whether she wanted some water.

“Nice place.” It was another thing that she never thought to ask you about, nor did you tell her. But it wasn’t a surprise that your family was loaded too, considering the vacation home in an area like this.

“Thanks. It’s my parents’, though.”

“What do they do again?”

“Well, my mom does interior design and my dad is a football agent.”

“Football agent? Who does he represent?”

“Mostly American players in Europe; Christian Pulisic, Luca de la Torre, Gio Reyna. I remember my dad bringing me along to dinner with Sergio Agüero once because he considered a move to LAFC. That was pretty cool.” You stood against the wall in the hallway, next to the staircase, kicking your feet aimlessly. The small talk was to cover up for something else.

You fell into a deep silence. Vada took a step forward under the yellow light of the hallway and took your hand, stroking it gently.

“Can I kiss you?” She asked quietly.

You and she both knew you were way past just kissing. This was new territory, and there would be no going back after this.

You nodded, and she surged forwards to kiss you slowly. This time, it felt different. You kissed her without the chastity and fear of being looked in on but without the hunger of overcoming lust. It was a perfect blend of passion and appreciation, a marriage of everything felt within the past few weeks.

You lead her upstairs, towards your room. Once inside, your lips were still glued to hers as you let her walk backward, though your eagerness made her trip on your feet and fall onto the mattress.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. ‘M sorry.” The two of you burst into a fit of giggles as you tried to make it up to her with a shower of kisses.

As her giggles quickly turned into pleasant sighs, she decided to surrender herself to you, to her deepest desires ever since the day she arrived. You had charmed her from the moment she laid eyes on you. But now to feel your hands on her in all the right places took her to new heights of pleasure that she’s never experienced before. How beautiful it was to be herself, to be here in this moment, and to cherish and be cherished by you. But most of all, to hear you whisper her name and profanities in the most sinful and vulnerable ways, so unlike your polished and composed self in front of other people.

Vada, Vada, Vada . . .

She awoke in the morning, the sun piercing through the horizontal slits of the shut windows. There was sweat sticking to her skin, but she didn’t want to get up and shower, not when you were still soundly asleep, arm loosely wrapped around her torso. It was then that she realized that you both were still very naked, but she reveled in the skin-to-skin contact like it was giving her strength and vitality. The golden hummingbird sat on your chest, rising and falling with each of your breaths.

Vada caught the moment your eyes fluttered open and focused on her. Then a smile.

“What time is it?” You asked.

Vada leaned over to check the clock on the wall. “7:41.”

You grumbled. “My shift starts at 8:30.”

“You better chop-chop then.”

“I don’t wanna go.”

“Then don’t.” Vada placed her chin on your upper chest. “Stay here with me, and we can recreate last night.”

You chuckled and kissed her once. “That sounds really tempting.”

And yet, you moved to get up, but she held you back. “Five more minutes.”

“Only five?” You smirked.

“You don’t think I can do it in five?”

You grinned like a Cheshire cat and settled back.

Vada had to let you go eventually, you let her stay at yours and do as she pleased. She suddenly remembered that she never texted Mia back about staying out overnight, and sure enough, flipped her phone over to a few missed calls and text messages. After texting her back and reassuring her that she was okay, she got up and went to take a shower.

You came back around four and, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, it felt like forever until you walked through the doors again. And the moment you did, she pounced on you like a lion.

“I’m so sweaty,” you laughed but soon became lost in the sensation of her lips against yours.

You made love again that afternoon. Vada could almost picture the routine that she and you so easily fell into, how the puzzle pieces fit together so seamlessly. It almost felt like she had cheated somehow to feel this way, that it truly felt as magical and wonderful as it was laying in your arms, both of you stark naked. You had showered and smelled much like lavender. Your eyes were closed but you weren’t asleep, as she watched your chest rise and fall steadily. Sometimes you would murmur something and she would talk to you quietly, knowing you were tired from a day’s work at the beach.

“I knew I liked you from the first day, at the Fountain,” you said.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?!” Vada looked up and hit your chest playfully.

“I didn’t want to come on too strong and scare you away!”

“Jesus Christ,” she sat up and put her face in her palms. “Y/N, I wanted you so badly. Like, I could not go a day without thinking about you. It was actually becoming unhealthy how much I did.”

“Oh? I’m flattered.” You smirked and rubbed her knee. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because . . . After Antibes, I wasn’t sure if you felt the same way.”

Your face dropped slightly. “I was scared to get close to someone. I think I caught myself then after we kissed. It was scary how much I wanted your company.”

Vada could understand. You’ve only known each other for three weeks. What were you to each other? Maybe it didn’t matter, there was something comforting about just existing as two souls being present with each other. She realized that the fear she’d harbored about losing her heart was all in vain; you never took it for yourself, you’d only pressed your hand against her chest and encouraged it to keep beating—to keep being hers—while you’d hoped that she would do the same to you.

“If you could go back to that day at the Fountain, and do it differently, would you?” Vada asked.

You thought for a second, then shook your head. “No. I always want to remember you this way.”

Vada swallowed thickly and avoided your eyes. “We’re leaving next week.”

A silence hung in the air, unspoken words stuck in her throat. Tell me to stay. Tell me you’ll come back with me. Tell me you’ll never love anyone else. Tell me you’d forget about me so as to soothe the pain.

“Then let’s make it count,” you brushed a hair from her eyes. “We’re not the first, and we won’t be the last to love each other.”

She dreaded the flight back home, having to pretend leaving you wouldn’t be as hard in front of Mia and her parents, and about 300 strangers. She’d miss biking everywhere and the beach and Lillian’s ice cream (she had grown to like it over Karim’s). She’d remember Antibes and Monet’s spot. She’d remember your face and how you seemed to appear in every memory of this trip.

Vada felt you brushing your finger under her eye and realized that it was wet. Then you brought her into your arms and held her tight as she hid from the world in your neck. You cooed and somehow it made Vada feel worse and started crying harder, clinging to your skin desperately.

She’d find space for the grief she was going to feel in her heart somewhere because she knew she’d rather live with the pain than be without you again.

The last week started on a Wednesday. Vada did the usual things she did the last few weeks—go to the beach, bike to town, hang out with the group; she wanted to soak into that last semblance of her summer routine before she had to leave, and everything would be different. She hadn’t given college much thought either. Deciding to move halfway across the country for it was the least stressful part of the whole process, as she was going in undecided. Mia was happy though, because they would only be a few hours apart by train.

Until then, Vada was too afraid to ask you about what would happen after the summer ended. If she asked, it would mean that it was close and it was real. You’d go back to school in Paris and start on your thesis, and everything would go back to the way it was.

Everything would go back to the way it was. As if nothing happened.

She had lived four weeks with you, how was she ever going to go the rest of her life without you?

She met up with you after dinner one night at the beach. The tides had come in much closer and were pulling on her heartstrings mercilessly. In and out, in and out . . . You were as quiet as the night, your eyes gazed towards the distance somewhere, looking pensive.

Still, she was afraid to ask.

“I lied,” you finally spoke. “I wished I had told you sooner how much I liked you.”

Vada remained silent and nodded. “We’ll call.”

“It won’t be the same.”

She knew too that it would never be the same the moment she leaves France. She realized that though she was afraid to ask, time was not on her side, and she didn’t have the luxury to be afraid anymore.

“Will you stay over tonight?” Vada asked, and you looked so happy that she did.

Once you stumbled through the door, you leaned in to kiss her instantly. Between wanting to kiss you back and suppressing moans, she told you to be quiet as you followed her upstairs, hand in hand. You failed, however, actually, both of you did, as your giggles trailed up the stairs and through the hallway. Vada would be lucky if only Mia heard you.

The day she left for the airport, you came over to say goodbye. You greeted the Reeds first, giving Philip and Andre big hugs, then turned to Mia to hug as well and kiss her on the forehead.

Vada waited in the backyard. She felt almost pathetic and needy for wanting you to come out here quicker. It won’t be the same.

“Andre gave me this to keep for my parents.”You held up a bottle of wine by the neck. “1983, nice.”

Your smile died down when you noticed her silence. “You got everything?”

She nodded. Wordlessly, she stepped forwards to wrap her arms around your frame. She thought she’d cry, but it was as if her brain was already actively shutting down trying to block out this memory to save her the future heartbreak.

You pressed her tightly against your chest and swayed her back and forth. Upon releasing her, you set down the bottle of wine next to your feet and took off your necklace.

“I want you to have this.” You opened her palm and neatly placed the jewelry inside. “That way, you won’t forget.”

How could you ever think that I would forget when I’m afraid I’ll never be able to let go of this summer?

“I wish we had more time,” Vada said.

“Bye, Cinderella.” Your eyes were glossy now.

The car door was wide open, waiting to take her away from you. For a split second, she considered dropping everything to stay.

She leaned in to kiss you once, deep and hard, “Bye, Y/N.” Then she walked away, the hummingbird clenched in her fist.

You followed her and watched her get in the car. You watched her close it with force and you watched her refuse to make eye contact with you, but you saw the way her lips trembled. You watched the car take her away from you and grazed the spot on your chest where the hummingbird was missing.

It was mid-July, the hottest day of the year, and yet, the ocean waves—blue as it gets—continued to crash against the shore, on and on and on.

#vada cavell x reader #vada cavell imagines #vada cavell imagine #vada cavell x you #vada cavell #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x reader

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shina913 · 1 year

Text

Flowerworks | KNJ

Flowerworks

Pairing: Namjoon x Fem!Reader

Rating: M (SFW)

Genre: Exes; pure angst; fluff

Warnings: a lot of angst; pining; meet-cute; suggestive language; missed opportunities; vague infidelity

Word count: 4,241 words

Summary: “The love you had in your past...unfinished, untested, lost love...seems so easy, so childish to those who chose to settle down. But it’s actually the purest, most concentrated stuff.”

A/N: This story was inspired by an anthology series that I had binged while I had Covid back in January this year. For a while, I've been wanting to do a rendition of that but I wasn't sure which member to 'cast.' But Indigo has such a great inspiration so I've revisited this draft and thought Namjoon would be the perfect angsty main character here. Also, Kelly Price's rendition of As We Lay was a good inspo for this as well, except it's got none of the spicy stuff and you're left with all angst!

A/N2: I've never been to the UK or Europe 🤡 so a lot of this is just talking out of my ass hoping it would make for an interesting backdrop. I apologize for any geographical inaccuracies. This isn't the first time I've mentioned Juan Luna in my fics--I just thought, wouldn't it be cool if Namjoon studied Filipino impressionists🤪. Anyway, hope the story still lands! 💙

“Thank you so much for the presentation, Dr. YLN. It was so refreshing to hear a new take on a subject that’s so rarely…uhm, what’s the word…”

“Discussed? Thought of?” You finish their sentence for them. You smile warmly at a young journalist who was covering your lecture as part of a feature piece they were doing for a magazine. After the program ended, they decided to come up for a side conversation.

“Yes, that’s right,” the journalist says. “Your perspective is so fascinating to me. I mean–when we were in grade school, these lessons were just so repetitive and boring. It’s practically a bird course,” they chuckled.

“Right, because you’re supposed to just fly right through it?” You joked. You, too, had that impression when you were much younger.

“Your research style is so much more interesting. I was elated to find out that you’re the historical consultant on that ‘Ilustrados’ series!”

You tried your best to stay humble but deep down, you were still pinching yourself about getting to work with a major studio and top-tier production team. “I saw it as a great opportunity for us history and literature majors to flex a little, you know?” Then you caught yourself and laughed. “Oh my god, that sounded so nerdy,” you flushed.

“Not at all! Don’t be too modest,” they giggled. “I think it’s great that we get to give stories like this a new angle.”

You smiled and mouthed your thanks.

“I’m curious, do you remember what or who inspired you to pursue history as one of your fields of expertise?”

You grew flustered then blew out a quick breath. “Wow, uhm…nobody’s ever asked me that!”

“I don’t have to include it,” the journalist adds.

Your brows furrowed. “Include what?”

“That story that’s written all over your face,” they say with a knowing look.

“Oh, well…I think I’ve always been on track to study literature in some shape or form. That was my chosen major in college. Pursuing a career in history, however…was a happy accident,” you recall fondly.

They smiled excitedly. “Please tell me more,” they urged.

You stifle a grin. It was one of, if not the most unforgettable time in your life. If you could ever capture lightning in a bottle–that was the moment to do it.

You began, “He was an art history major spending a year in France while I was a language and literature major spending a semester in London. I met him while on holiday at a cafe in Paris–”

“Hang on! I think I’ve heard this story before!” They interject.

You give them a confused look. Up until this moment, you’ve only spoken about him to your former flatmate and a couple of close friends. “Y-you have?” You ask slowly.

They let out a soft chuckle. “I’m sorry, I’m kidding! Is that real?”

You laughed. “Yes, yes it is!”

“You know, most people are like–we met in college, lost touch for a while, then ran into each other on the street years later and had coffee.”

“Well…it does sound like quite the Hallmark movie plot, huh? The place we were at was certainly the perfect backdrop for it,” you smiled at the memory. “But, as unbelievable as it sounds, if it weren’t for him sparking my…” You cleared your throat, “...Enthusiasm in the subject and history in general–I wouldn’t be in this position today.”

It was indeed a serendipitous time in Paris, which began as a casual encounter over drinks, then eventually led to hours of exploring historic art districts with him. The day trips around the city certainly brought your interest in history to a whole different level.

“W-what happened to him?”

You shrug your shoulders. “After my break, I had to return to London. He wanted to come with me but he had some travel commitments with his fellow students. We agreed to meet at my place but–it just…didn’t work out for some reason.”

The journalist listened intently, indulging you in your story.

“I don’t know what happened. I thought we had a great connection. I mean, wasn’t that as perfect an opening to a relationship that you can get? Back then, I would go back and forth trying to think about how different it felt for me than it did for him.”

For a moment, you felt yourself slip again. But as you had done for the past several years, you smiled and shook your head to brush the memory aside to lock it away. Then, at your most vulnerable, you can unpack it again. You wave them off, “Anyway, that was such a long time ago, though!”

“How long?” They ask curiously.

“10 years,” another voice answered.

For that fraction of a second, your heart drops to your stomach, and you’re afraid to look up. This has to be another figment of your imagination. Still, you couldn’t help thinking about the times you wished to hear that voice again.

The journalist steps aside to clear the path. You finally peer up, blinking a few times to assure yourself that this was real.

There he was, standing in front of you–your lightning in a bottle…Namjoon. He had the biggest smile on his face and it was just as warm and bright as you remember it.

Suddenly feeling that they’ve intruded in a special moment, the journalist excuses themself and thanks you for the lovely conversation, promising to send you the initial draft of their feature via email.

As stunned as you were, you managed to string some words together. “I can’t believe it’s really you.”

“Hello, YN,” Namjoon greeted you as he moved closer.

“H-hi.” You were shocked to hear how calm your voice sounded when all you wanted to do was melt into a puddle.

You both stand in front of each other not knowing whether to shake hands or hug. Before you knew it, you were throwing your arms around his neck to embrace him. You feel his warmth envelop you, hearing him sigh faintly into your hair.

“It’s been a long time,” you say after pulling away. “Weren’t we supposed to meet in London?”

//FLASHBACK

When you met in Paris, he was only one of the handful of patrons who spoke English at the cafe. You don’t know how exactly your conversation began, but he started spouting some facts about craft beer as opposed to wine–and tried to convince you that one was better than the other.

After a few spirited arguments, you agreed to settle things…back at his flat, which was a block away from the cafe. Your worked out your differences in opinions in bed, eventually agreeing to disagree after he made you orgasm.

He later confessed that the spontaneous debate was a pickup tactic from him. He thought he was being clever but never expected you to offer up some valid points. But you told him that you thought he was cute so you were all-too-willing to be reeled in anyway.

Though you were on break, he was in the middle of his school term and had to spend time traveling within the city to check out recommended sites to fulfill his course requirements.

He invited you to come with him on a day trip to check out the former studio of an artist who turned out to be instrumental in their home country's rebellion. You were apprehensive but came with an open mind--and you never regretted it.

You spent the evening at his place once more...and a few more times after that. Your favorite thing was waking up next him in the mornings, exchanging innocent kisses in bed that always escalated to the point where one or both of you would end up moaning each other's name.

But when you weren’t in bed, you spent many hours just talking. He was so passionate about his studies as much as you were about yours. The way he spoke about art, its origins, and inspirations was so reverent, it was fascinating to experience a drop of his enthusiasm.

The day you had to return to London was difficult, not just for you but for him, too. He and a few of his fellow students were supposed to travel to Rouen and spend a few days there to check out some impressionist exhibits recommended by their teacher. He planned to take the ferry to visit you right after.

When you arrived at the train station, he noticed that he lost his phone somewhere between the ride from his flat to this point. You dug into your bag and retrieved an old receipt where you wrote your number and address down. He took it and slid it in between his book that he carried with him. Then, on the week that you were supposed to meet, the borders shut down.

//END FLASHBACK

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

“Mm-hm…you better be,” you respond wryly.

He rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly. “I, uh…missed my alarm then, got caught up in the border lockdown. Before I knew it, I was stranded in Normandy for a bit before the school managed to make arrangements to get us back to Paris then back home.”

You’ll never forget it, since you, too, were stuck in a foreign land so far away from family.

“How come you never called?” It was a question that niggled at you for years.

He chewed at his bottom lip helplessly. “In the midst of all the chaos, I misplaced my book–the one where I kept that receipt where you wrote down your information.”

That all sounded too easy and far-fetched. But in the week that you spent with him, it wasn’t that hard to believe. He nearly left his passport behind at the bar that first night before going back to his flat; Once, he got off at the wrong stop after mixing up north and southbound trains.

You sighed. “Well…you’re here now. That’s all that matters, right? How did you know I’d be here?”

He smiled wistfully. “I saw your picture in one of our e-newsletters I get at work,” he answers. “I normally send those straight to my trash but something told me that I needed to take a look at it and…I’m sure glad that I did.”

That made your heart flutter. You made a mental note to thank the university’s Communications team for convincing you to do a headshot to promote the lecture series.

“Do you live around the area? Are you local?”

He shook his head gently. “No. I made the trip out here because I wanted to come see you.”

Your mouth falls open at his confession. “O-oh.”

“I wondered if I could take you out for dinner? There’s a bistro that I passed not too far from here. U-unless…you’ve already eaten–”

You snorted loudly then interjected, “Oh, please–you know I could always eat!” He laughs hysterically.

******

“Have you ever gone back?”

His eyes flick up at your question but the look he gave told you that you didn’t need to clarify it further.

“Mm-hm,” he answered affirmatively before adding, “Not as often as I’d like, though. And you?”

“Yeah,” you reply. “Actually, a year after travel restrictions eased up, I went back right away.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

You nod and look at him enigmatically. “I went straight to Villa Dupont.”

Remembering the area so clearly, his lips twitch at the thought. “Luna’s atelier?”

You nodded again. He sat back on his chair then interlocked his fingers behind his neck before he tilted his head against them. “Wow. That’s…amazing!”

“What can I say? That’s where my career started,” you quipped.

“And here I was, thinking that I was such an idiot for taking this beautiful girl on the most boring, mind-numbing walking tour of Asian impressionist artists.”

You both laughed, but those walks with him were one of the best memories of your time there.

“Anyway, I came back a few more times after that for my doctoral dissertation. And now here I am, giving lectures on it.”

The look on his face showed pride and admiration. All those hours you spent talking, you both shared your dreams and hopes for the future. You both had your head in the clouds…just two kids trying to justify the relevance of your respective liberal arts programs.

“That’s amazing. Consider me envious,” he says in jest. “You’re traveling around the world…and living your dream.”

You wave him off. “It’s not so glamorous. These days, I’m happy if I get to squeeze in some personal time. Usually, I get to a place, spend most of my time working and…” Your eyes drift down to your left hand, picking up your drink, “...then I have to get back to my family.”

He follows your line of vision. It wasn’t the first time he’s clocked in the piece of jewelry you’ve worn for a number of years now. He noticed it when you took the menu from the host after they sat you down at your table.

He hadn’t asked about it then, nor did you ask him about the ring that he wore on his finger when he moved his wine glass to the edge of the table when the server returned to pour him a glass of red wine.

You cleared your throat. “So, what else have you been up to these days? Are you just calling up former lovers?” You teased him.

A low laugh rumbled within his chest. “I’ve only ever had one former lover,” he held up one finger and stared. It was so unnerving, you had to break eye contact first. “Then, I got married. Really quickly…to the first girl that I met a year after I got back from France.”

You couldn’t hide the shock written all over your face. “Wow,” you managed to say. “That’s…” You try to think of a word that didn’t sound too reproachful.

“Crazy? Impulsive? Yes. I was really young and I thought the world was ending. I just didn’t want to lose anybody again.” he trailed off.

You and your husband were together for five years before you even thought about getting married. Maybe you were unconsciously holding out hope that you’d run into Namjoon again.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and smiled sadly at the thought, but that was quickly interrupted by the server bringing your dinner to the table.

******

You go through the rest of dinner talking about your most recent work and him sharing some of his more recent projects. When the server returns to dish out your plates, they ask about dessert. Namjoon declined but immediately looked at you.

“Oh, no thank you,” you declined politely.

Namjoon’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Who are you? I could have sworn that moelleux au chocolat was calling your name,” he teases, remembering your favorite treat that you indulged in while you were together.

“Shut up,” you laughed. “We’re not 21 anymore. You can’t…eat chocolate cake just like that.”

“Not even in bed?” The soft crinkle in his eyes deepened as he smiled cheekily.

You try to put aside those memories of chocolate and him. You cock a serious eyebrow at him, his expression unchanging. “Nope, not even in bed.”

You fall silent for a bit. Then he asks, “How many kids do you have?”

“Two girls. You?”

“I have a son,” he answers.

“Must be blissful to just have one,” you commented, polishing off your wine.

“Oh, trust me,” he says, picking up the bottle to pour you another glass but you hold your hand up, feeling like you’ve had more than enough for the night. “He’s still a handful, though.” he laughs, proceeding to empty out the rest of the bottle’s contents into his glass.

“But he’s my handful, so…” he trailed off, setting the empty wine bottle on the table.

“Are you and your wife still together?” You thought maybe the question was out of line but curiosity was getting the best of you.

His expression turns wistful. “We live under the same roof, let’s put it that way. She’s a great woman, a good mother. And I don’t deserve her.”

You smiled sadly at him, then stared at him silently. You begin to question why you even decided to come with him. Perhaps it was all a big mistake.

And yet, even though it's been so long, your memories of him were so incredibly vivid that you could just reach your hand out and you'd feel them. Feel him.

“What are we doing here, Namjoon? Why did you show up at my lecture? What did you hope to achieve?”

“Honestly?” His eyes flicked downward and he began to fidget with a loose thread on the table cloth.

“When I found out that you’d be in town, I booked a room within five minutes.” He chuckled. “I didn’t even care if the rate was ridiculous…”

Then, his gaze lifted back to your face. “I was hoping that we could pick up where we left off."

Your hand instinctively clutches at your chest. Your heart was beating so fast, you were afraid that it would just burst out of it.

"For 10 years, I imagined what our life would have been like. And if I ever saw you again, would I feel the same way about you? Would you feel the same way about me?”

You purse your lips and lean in closer. “You didn’t need to book a hotel room to find out if we still love each other…” You paused, then gave him a small smile. “Because clearly, we still do.”

His lips curved into a smile and the dimples in his cheeks grew deeper.

“For 10 years…Just the idea of you, knowing that you existed and that you were in my life…I held onto those memories and they got me through some tough times.” Your throat tightens but right before your tears fall, he reaches across the table, holding his hand out, beckoning you to put your hand in it.

After some hesitation, you acquiesce. He gives it a gentle squeeze, then brings it up to his lips to kiss it. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

******

You took a leisurely walk by the avenue and into a small pub a few blocks away. You shared a few more drinks and stories. For hours, you caught up with each other’s lives.

You excitedly talk to him about your new television project while he enthusiastically describes recently studying works by the late Yun Hyong Keun, even developing a friendship with his family.

Art was Namjoon’s pride and joy. His eyes, though the corners were now wrinkled with laugh lines several years later, still lit up the same way when he talked about his passions and the things that he loves.

When one pub closed, you moved into another. And when that closed, you moved your conversation to a park bench, right outside of your hotel by the waterfront.

It was a little after 5:30AM and daylight was breaking through the horizon. Most of the town’s commercial avenue was still asleep, save for the cafes that were gearing up for a new day for early-morning patrons.

When you sat down next to him, he lifted his arm up, inviting you to sidle up closer to him. And you did. You basked in his warmth and rested your head against his chest. You caught a whiff of him…cinnamon and coffee mixed in with faint traces of lavender-scented fabric softener. Even though you felt fatigue set in, you couldn’t close your eyes. You crane your neck up to find him sitting still with eyes closed while the sunrise kisses his face. Now, how could you possibly miss that?

******

You head back into the hotel and go up to your respective rooms only to retrieve your things so you could check out and head to the train station.

“You don’t have to take me, really–”

“I know I don’t have to but I want to,” he insisted.

You laugh at him. “You’ve gone and rented out a room that you didn’t even sleep in. Now you’re saying that you’re going to take the train with me, see me off at my stop, then transfer at a station that’s completely out of the way for you?”

He laughed in return. “It sounds so crazy when you put it that way but…yes, I want to do all that.”

You shook your head at how ridiculous that was. “Joon…”

“Please? Just let me do this,” he all but pleads.

You wanted to protest again but instead, when you open your mouth, a yawn escapes you.

“Look at you…that’s like, the fifth time in a row you’ve yawned,” he snickered.

“Spare me,” you chuckled with a slight eyeroll. “I know we barely slept when we were together. Now I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“Dawn is for lovers…and bakers,” he adds with a grin while his eyes peered up at a bakery that had just turned over its ‘open’ sign on the front door.

Your cheeks flushed with warmth. “You always had a way with words.”

“Things haven’t changed much,” he replied as you made your way out of the hotel to catch a cab together.

******

Hours later, the train approaches your stop, and you begin to gather your things.

“Thank you,” you say to him.

He smiled wordlessly then dipped his head down. You didn’t stop him and instead, met his kiss halfway. Warmth bloomed within your chest when your lips brushed against each other’s. In an instant, you had traveled back in time…back into his embrace. It was like coming home.

The train comes to a halt, making you bump against each other. Pulling away, you stare at each other with half-lidded eyes. Both your pulses raced but ironically, there was a calm that washed over you.

Neither of you said anything for a few beats until a smile broke through his lips. It’s so infectious that you do the same. He leans in again and plants a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead. You find yourself squeezing your eyes shut.

When he lets go of you, he looks into your eyes again. “We should do this again.”

His invitation was so unexpected that it knocked the wind out of you. You give him a small smile and a nod. “Sure, just call me.”

“I definitely will. You know, since I have my phone with me now instead of an old receipt,” he says.

You gather your things and off-board the train hand-in-hand. You put your luggage down then faced each other on the platform.

“So…have a good life!”

Your comment tickles him. “‘Have a good life’?” he echoed. “That sounds like something people say when they won’t see each other again.”

You didn’t really mean anything by it. You thought it sounded better than saying, ‘That was fun,’ or ‘Take care.’

You chuckled at him and shrugged. “You never know what could happen between now and the next time we see each other again. I could die; you could hit your head and fall into a coma; another border lockdown could happen, or…maybe one of us decides that they want something else,” you reply casually.

He took a step to narrow the gap between you. “I’ve always loved your wild imagination,” he says, tucking a few strands of your hair behind your ear.

You grinned at him. “So you’ve told me.”

His expression turned serious. “Well, none of those things will happen. We’ll see each other again.” he promises, keeping his eyes locked with yours.

You nodded softly and gave him a small smile. “Alright.”

His smile grew wider and you tilt your chin up to kiss his lips again before his train home arrives on the other side of the platform. You watched him board and saw that he sat by the window seat, his eyes still on you.

True love in its absolute form has many purposes in life. It’s not just about bringing children into the world; or romance or soulmates or even lifelong companionship. The love you had in your past...unfinished, untested, lost love...seems so easy, so childish to those who chose to settle down. But it’s actually the purest, most concentrated stuff.

For years, you imagined what it would be like to see him again. To learn that things hadn’t changed and that spark between you was just as bright and electric as when you first made eye contact.

And while you were happy to learn that he still felt the same way, just like any spark, there’s a brightness for a few seconds…before the wind blows it out. Like a firework that shoots up into the sky, bursting into different colors, only to fall back down as smoke and ash. Like a bolt of lightning, crackling through the storm clouds, followed by a loud thunderclap and a burst of rain.

Up until the last few hours, you realized that something this good can only last for so long.

You had your beautiful moment with him. And that’s how it will always stay in your heart.

When the train rain pulls away from the station, you feel a twinge in your chest. You blew him a kiss and stood there silently until he was far enough away from you.

He waved at you through the window then turned to look straight ahead.

“Have a good life, YN,” he whispered to himself.

Crossposted on AO3 | Main Fic Masterlist

You’ve reached the end! Thank you so much for reading!

If you loved it, please comment, reblog, or send me feedback! 📩. I love hearing from readers! If you didn’t like it so much, I would still like to hear about it. Help me become a better writer! 💜

Tagging: @internetjunkdrawer @deepseavibez @itdoesntmatterwhy @joonschocochip @yu-justme @e-cm

#bts fanfiction #namjoon x reader #namjoon angst #namjoon fanfiction

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thefuseoftemptation · 1 year

Note

I've never requested before so I'm sorry if this isn't how it goes but I just recently got through the post 'Because it smells like You' and as someone who has sensory to that, it really comforted me. could you maybe put more like that? one where the reader is with eddie for the first time at his and they're overwhelmed by what's there? maybe sensory overload? It gets like that for me often, it seems so much more severe than what others go through and it makes me feel like I'm not understood.

you're understood here and if the request isn't what you thought then lmk. (srry it's so late tho)

—TOO MUCH FOR ONE TIME

EDDIE MUNSON X AUTISTIC GN!READER

WARNING(S): cussing, hurt/comfort? Lmk if there are more. NOT PROOFREAD.

—

You were a little unnerved, knowing it was from you going over to Eddie’s for the first time.

It wasn’t that you weren’t looking forward to it, but he was bringing you somewhere that you hadn’t been before, somewhere that he took comfort in. It was his.

It was a huge step that left you with your hands rubbing against the other, and even more so knowing that you weren’t sure if he’d ever bring you back— your thoughts telling you that he’d regret ever showing you that piece of himself.

It’s Eddie. It took a while for him to let you in, so it’s understandable if maybe he rethinks it all.

He wouldn’t be showing or taking you into his home if he wasn’t sure or ready though. So, with an uneven sigh, you gulped, and put down the never ending ‘what ifs’ and head over to where he was at, waiting for you.

—

Eddie had been talking the whole time, telling you how much he’d looked forward to now— even though just hours before that wasn’t the case. Letting you see his ‘casa,’ as he put it. The term itself was a little loose from the pronunciation but you weren’t about to tell him something that could take away from what he was feeling then and there.

Plus, you were sure he knew it wasn’t spoken properly.

“It’s not much but y’know, it’s home- oh! There’s something I’ve got to show when we get there, It’s what I was telling you ‘bout the other week and now you finally get to see! And you don’t really have to take your shoes off, I don’t, b-but that’s up to you-”

You could sort of tell too that he was a little keyed up himself with how quick the words were coming out, more than usual, and with the stutter, it hadn't gone by.

By the time you knew it, he was pulling you up to the door.

“Let your eyes behold,” unlocking and pushing the door open as he gestured for you to go through the threshold first. His lower lip pulled between his teeth as he looked at you expectantly, before he spoke.

Eddie had been prepping for this ever since he asked. Probably way before then too. Somehow even getting his Uncle to suddenly be ‘out’ for the time being— not that he wouldn’t like for you guys to meet— but that was for some other day.

He didn’t need to overwhelm you with too much, it was step by step.

You weren’t in there for more than a few minutes before you were shutting yourself off and backing up, toppling into Eddie as you pushed back and onto the porch.

Between the lighting, him talking, the humming of the ac vent, and the scent of smoke, you couldn’t take it.

Your head shaking and hands rubbing the other repeatedly, stimming. “No, no no no no….” was uttered under your breath.

“It’s okay, you’re okay! I know it’s a step for us, seeing we’re both new to this, but I’m here and–”

“No!” You rushed out.

Eddie was taken back by the suddenness, watching as you stimmed more with every second that went by. You rubbed your nose over and over, shutting eyes briefly as you tried to block it out.

“I-It's too much…” it wasn’t meant the way they were put, but that’s all you could get out.

Eddie wasn’t quite sure what you were referring to, but it hadn’t fully set it yet.

And then he got it.

Maybe.

Between your movements and the repetitive words that flew out your mouth, he sort of put two and two together.

He knew you were handling the nerves however it came to you, he could tell. But he also knew what it was like to go through an overload. He might've not known exactly what it was that sent you into the state, but he knew it when he saw it. He'd known you a while to get it.

He'd been through them, had some experiences of his own— more so from when he was little than now— but still.

His hand went to your lower back though not to where he was fully pressing to you, it hovered over as he led you to the couch on the porch.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. We’ll just stay here, we don’t have to go in….” Eddie seated himself next to you, though there was a few feet of room still between you guys.

You had pulled your sleeve down over your hand, bringing it up to your nose to take in the sense of familiarity.

It all had just been overwhelming, too much for you to take in so you had to find something that brought you comfort— and if it was your own so be it. It often was something you held on yourself.

It was your first time over at his and it hadn’t gone how one would’ve expected, not able to be in his home for more than a few minutes before you left.

It wasn’t him, but rather from what was there. And maybe too it was the feeling it all brought. You had never been with someone before, you were trying, really. And so was he.

It was just new for you guys, everything.

Eddie got you to try breathing, a simple step. One at a time until they were steady— even. And when you were feeling ready, you squeezed his hand, the words unable to leave your mouth yet so you went to the next thing you knew he’d understand.

Eddie shook his head. Almost as if he was telling you it wasn't necessary but nonetheless, got.

“You shouldn’t be sorry, there’s nothing for you to be sorry for. It’s not your fault.”

He spoke lowly, slowly leaning in— just to be sure and still think of the line that was there— and tilted his head to the side so he could look at you. Trying to get you to look back at him for contact, a nonverbal request, before taking your hand when he sees you nod. Thumbing over the top of your hand as you guys stayed there.

—

You were seated out there for a while, Eddie did most of the talking while you listened. Every so often cutting in to say something or ask a question to what he was referring to.

"You feel like talking 'bout it? Or no, not yet?"

Sighing you stare ahead of you to the setting sun, and shrug. "Guess, it was just a lot for me, I overloaded. Plus, there was the whole thing with me coming over and I was feeling you know— and it just..."

"I get that, didn't mean to overwhelm you." Eddie said nudging your shoulder.

"It wasn't you....there was the lighting a-and then humming, and the scent-"

"Wait, scent?" Eddie asked quickly as he turned to you.

"Huh, well...sort of." You shrugged it off.

Eddie threw his head back, wiping his hands over his face.

“M’sorry ‘bout the that, I knew it would still linger but I thought it wouldn't be too much to handle. My Uncle must’ve knew that.....”

As usual, Wayne always knew. You just looked at him, not quite understanding where he was going.

His hand went behind his neck, just below where his curls met and rubbed the base.

“I uh, had smoked a few before meeting up with you, trying to settle myself y'know? Guess this time he couldn’t take it knowing you were coming so…” He trailed off, his lips curling up at the thought of his Uncle putting thought into your arrival.

He could just see Wayne letting curses out under his breath as he opened the screen door for ventilation.

Eddie knew that Wayne knew how much this meant to him so he did what he could. But doesn't mean he did it without uttering a few things to himself about his nephew.

He was sure his Uncle would be having a word with him later about it.

"I get it, you shouldn't be sorry. Some things are just more severe for others, it becomes—”

“Too much.” Eddie says finishing your sentence, and you nodded, bringing your other hand to hover his, not sure if he wanted you laying yours over it.

But he lets you, leaning into him and lying your head on his shoulder.

The first time over at his might’ve not gone how either of you expected but in the end, you had the other and all was well.

—

A/N: the ending was not thought through, as you could tell.

feedback and reblogs appreciated.

#requests #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson hcs #eddie munson headcanon #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson one shot

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tostoa · 11 months

Note

👁️💢🍰💐🌌🎭🍼👖❤️ FOR ANY OF THEM WAJHGFDFG

AHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH AXIS <33 This one’s long so it’s going under the cut but I had sm fun with these I really hope you like them :)) (and the other one I did a few days ago!)

👁️ EYE - what colour are their eyes? do people notice their eyes? is there anything special about them (shows emotion easily, literally magical...)? [Mirou]

Mirou’s eyes are a very vibrant green, I imagine they’re fairly noticeable to people 👍 I imagine she always has her eyes like half closed but that’s because she has eyesight problems

(I love just making stuff up on the top of my head that I’ve just never mentioned before and makes no sense)

💢 ANGER - what are some habits they have that will take some getting used to? [Dalrill]

Sorry guys I am a stupid cardassian tail truther (I have never drawn Dalrill with a tail but be aware that I believe in it) though I imagine Dalrills tail is a little weird and has like a lizard/lion tail mix don’t know how to describe it to you lmao.

But I imagine whenever she’s particularly upset or pissed off her tail just whips things around her, it’s just sort of a reaction she has like a facial expression lmao.

🍰 CAKE SLICE - favourite cake flavour? are they specific about types of cakes? [guy]

I think Guy probably eats plain vanilla cake with no frosting, but the cake would have like powdered sugar on it and that’s it.

People have seen him eating cake and gone oh why are you eating plain bread? And he’s like wdym? this is my birthday cake?

💐 BOUQUET - create a bouqet for them! what do those flowers mean? are any of the flowers their particular favourite? [bel]

Okay so I don’t know too much about all of the meanings, but I’m going off of nice looking flowers that I think bel would enjoy or just fits him. So 👍👍

Here’s my list: Daisies, Blue hydrangeas, Dahlias and then white wisteria.

Think all of that would look cute together :))

🌌 MILKY WAY - what was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them? [frelvar]

I don’t think there was any particular inspiration in my head, besides like how Ferengis and Vulcans are like some of my favourite Star Trek species. Frelvar was similar to maybe Dr reyga in my head, but like that was mostly just for the fact that he was half ferengi and his main focus wasn’t profit.

The first thing I decided about frelvar, was how his parents would be more than him. I imagined how they’d view him joining starfleet first before anything else.

🎭 MASKS - do they act differently around certain people? what's different between the way they act around friends, family, strangers, etc.? [Minye]

I think in public and In her bar she tries to give off this air of like exciting person with confusing advice you can come gossip to, but with closer friends and immediate family I imagine she’s a lot more soft spoken and calmer.

like you’d imagine hanging out with her by yourselves would be more like I don’t know going out to clubs (which probably happens on occasion, it’s not like she’d turn it down) but she honestly just enjoys like sitting in the same room as someone.

🍼 BABY BOTTLE - what are their thoughts on children? [Jagre]

Jagre loves kids man, he’s a great babysitter. We’ve already talked about how he’s going to have like a one week kid, and I think that after that point whenever has to take care of someone else’s kid he sort of remembers his own and like feels a little sad.

👖 JEANS - what is their go-to outfit? [Libitina]

Well the main outfit would probably be her uniform lol. But actually for like her casual wear I like imagine either like colourful dresses/skirts or like overly patterned jumpsuits.

Mostly because I think she would look really amazing in both of those.

❤️ RED HEART - their love language(s)? [Frelvar]

It’s definitely touch but like not hugging them or like cuddling. It’s like poking them in the face a bunch or like tapping their fingers against somebody else’s. Just repetitive touches for people he likes <33

#hybrid cast #star trek oc #star trek #ask games ♡#guy anthropo #jagre signe #libitina vavik #mirou zh’ishraasriss #bel colwot #frelvar #Emivo Dalrill #minye oporia

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stopeatingwhales · 3 years

Text

the 1995 brits (pt. 2) x damon albarn & liam gallagher

ok this has nothing to do with the brits bc now its about glastonbury 1995 i just didn't know whether i should rename it lmaoo okay enjoy x

Pairing: 1995 damon albarn & liam gallagher x reader

Warnings: none at all

Word count: 2.495

part one

༉‧₊˚✧

The Glastonbury festival was always one of the best gatherings for music every year. All the best acts in the music would all be invited to perform, and it was amazing. It formed a unity, a connection between the fans and the artists, the creators and the consumers, morphing an atmosphere which only gentrified the solidarity and wholeness the nation felt when they all held adoration to the same album, same songs, singing the choruses from their hearts, with their whole being. It was a spiritual connection with the audience; you weren’t singing to them, you were singing with them. Nothing got as good as Glastonbury - a concert size any larger you would begin to feel detached with the audience - and boy was it a good feeling to be invited this year. Our band had blown up massively, and to be able to perform on the main stage, celebrating the summer and the true joys that music is able to provide and attain, is more than just doing your part. It’s a humbling experience; the lyrics that may have seemingly been written down as a daft thought on the back of a napkin whilst you were sitting having a coffee, relaxing in the tedious cycle that is life, being chanted back to you, shows the true connection those can have with simple melodies and lyrics. Once it’s released in any format, the music, the lyrics, the melodies, they aren’t yours; just as a book, once released, is not the authors’ anymore. It possesses the ownership of the public, that who purchases it, wears it out, listens to the songs back to back to memorise every single lyric and adlib. The songs become the nation's songs, they become the mere link to a dozen memories of each and every person, which they would take to their grave, remembering the good times, and potentially the bad. The true power of music is that it forms a connection - not just with the artist, but with yourself. You can relate to whatever has been said, you can understand yourself just that bit more which allows you to grow as a person, and mature and better into the person that you were set out to be.

I was standing backstage, currently watching the performance lead by Blur, trying to hide from any form of authority who would know that I wasn’t supposed to be back here yet. My band was on in a few hours, so I wasn’t permitted backstage, the only people allowed being the group that was on next. As I admired the performance being put on by Damon and the rest of the band, mumbling lyrics every now and again of songs that I had known from their albums, I felt an arm snake its way around my waist, the grip of the person’s palm squeezing my hip slightly. “Now how come I haven’t seen your pretty face in a while?” said Liam, who was grinning at me widely.

Since the Brit awards, I forced myself to stop partying as much as I used to, due to the addiction that had been stemming from my consistent use of drugs and alcohol. It began to take its toll on me entirely, and I hated the lifestyle that I had started to inhabit. Sex, booze, drugs... they all seem so wonderful, and seem to be fundamental elements that could provide an enjoyable time, don't they? But with repetitive use of such recreational activities, it would not only initiate the worst hangovers, but would also form a pit of longing in the body, endured with your attempt to fill it up with all the illegal pharmaceuticals to make you feel whole again, but of course, the happiness only lasts for a short while before you’re passed out on a couch, waking up at 5 in the afternoon with a raging headache and the only access to pain medication being a five minute walk to the nearest corner shop because you had finished it all. And to your surprise, the pit only got more deep and paining. It was ironic; the drugs designed for jubilation, euphoria, fulfillment, started to make me feel worse than I had already done previously. “I’ve just been caught up with working on the new album, so I’ve been too focused on that to be going out like I used to,” I replied, a grin masked over my lips. It was far from a lie; my band were currently working on our third album, and it had been quite an interesting experience as we were reinventing our sound, though wasn’t the main reason I had avoided all clubs in sight. “You miss me?”

“Course I do, you’re the only girl I know that’ll go as hard as the rest of the lads,” a frown painted over his face as he looked down on me. “It’s hot, y’know.”

I scoffed, my smile still evident on my face. “Oh Liam, you’re going to make me blush!” I joked, placing my arm around his waist. We both carried on watching the performance being led by Damon, who currently had the crowd screaming over the top of their heads at Girls and Boys. Oasis were on after - even these concerts were chipping in on the mess of their feud. “You nervous?”

“Me? Nervous? Never.” Liam replied, snarling at my question.

“Really?” I asked, diverting my stare to look up at Liam, my eyebrows raised in a sarcastic manner. Even though it wasn’t evident from his facial expression, everybody would be nervous. Especially if you were performing on the main stage in a few minutes.

“Okay, maybe a little bit.” He mumbled, staring at Damon with a look of disgust on his face.

“Knew it,” I grinned, allowing my hand to run up and down his back as a form of comfort to soothe his nerves. The tight grip he kept consistent on my waist proved that he felt tense. “You’ll be amazing, you always are.”

“You hitting on me?” he quickly fired back, cocking his head to the side as he admired me, his gaze flicking to my lips every now and again.

“Of course I am.” I sarcastically replied, rolling my eyes at Liam’s child-like characteristics. By now Blur had finished their set, leaving the crowd screaming and waving things in the air as a form of goodbye. Me and Liam stayed put in our place as the four boys waltzed off the stage, me congratulating them as they walked off one by one. Damon was the last to walk off, and as he began strolling off the stage proudly, our eyes connected, causing me to dart my stare away from his robust glare that had reflected off of his orbs. Knowing of his distaste in Liam, I brushed it off immediately, remembering the pettiness of their argument the last time we had all been together at the Brits. I heard Liam utter some profanity under his breath after Damon walked past us, but I chose not to question him on it, full-well knowing it was either wanker or cunt.

When the rest of the band turned up and Oasis were on cue to go on, Liam quickly detached himself from our embrace, pressing his lips to my cheek, grinning at me widely. “Don’t miss me too much!” he shouted as he walked onto the stage, causing the crowd to erupt into a fit from the mere sight of the band getting themselves ready - Liam just standing there cooly, picking up the tambourine left on the floor for him. I marvelled at the band as they began their set, instantly grinning as soon as Liam began singing the lyrics to Rock n Roll star. Let’s hope he’s not walking off stage this time.

I continued to concentrate on their performance, oftentimes laughing as the crowd progressively got more and more rowdy, screaming the lyrics as Liam sang them, as if Noel’s backing vocals weren’t enough to keep the song going to its full potential. “I wonder when you’re going to realise that you like me.” I heard a voice mutter from behind, causing me to abruptly turn my head, even though I knew exactly who it was. My eyes were greeted with the sight of Damon, a small smirk illustrated on his lips as he glued his eyes on mine - just like he had done before when he walked past me and Liam.

“I’m sorry?” I scoffed, raising my eyebrows at his clearly egotistical assumption, though I couldn’t help but resist a smile to contract on my cheeks as I gazed at him. Much like me and Liam, we also hadn’t spoken since the Brit awards, and it would’ve been a lie if I hadn’t wanted to talk to him again. Despite the fact that there was a certain tension between us that, from each meeting, seemed to intensify, and was something we were both clearly aware of, I ignored it entirely - even if my bandmates had teased me religiously every time they saw me have an encounter with him. Go out with him already! You two are constantly flirting!

Moving away from where I was standing, I made my way over to him to be able to talk over the loud music seeping out of the speakers, instead of shouting at one another. We then exited the backstage area together, welcoming us to the view of a plain grassland where a couple trailers had been parked, both of our bands included. Eventually, we walked to one of the random trailers, assuming it was his one, and stood against the shiny metal impediment as we shared a cigarette.

“Don’t act like it’s not true,” he replied casually, him reciprocating my grin as we began to walk further into the backstage space. “I saw the way you were eyeing me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I replied, attempting to act oblivious towards his statement. I could feel him gawking, focused on me as I admired the blooming sunlight that casted out towards us, the light so bright that it caused my eyes to tear up slightly. The music was still very much audible, and the screams of the many thousands jammed together in the mosh pit were still extremely loud.

“Oh, but you do.” he mumbled, causing me to shift my view to look at him. He had now fixated his stare onto the sun, the cigarette softly placed between his lips as he inhaled quickly before taking it out and allowing the built-up smoke from his lungs to escape into the atmosphere. Dropping the tobacco roll onto the ground, he placed his foot over it in order to burn it out, then turning his head to fixate his gaze onto mine. A brief moment of silence passed as we admired one another, the atmosphere carrying an element of apprehension as to what was about to occur between us. Through my peripheral I saw moving his body slightly to come closer to mine as he lifted his back off the metal surface and stood in front of me, my gaze not daring to leave him. Our eyes maintained strong eye contact as I felt my cheeks began to heat up furiously, followed by my attempt on telling myself that it was simply due to the sun’s radiance that my face held such warmth, almost as if to doubt the feelings, the tensions that had constantly piled up every time we had seen one another.

Our noses touched as our faces then became inches apart, my eyes focused on Damon, who kept darting his eyes to my lips every few seconds. Tilting his head slightly, he leaned his body forward, softly pressing his lips onto mine. We stood there for a few seconds, to allow the moment to truly sink in. His hands were gently placed on my waist as I placed them on his arms, like a form of support to allow myself to stay upright. After a while, I snaked my hands around his neck in order to deepen the kiss, the warmth of his lips colliding against mine sending shocks all around my body - the moment didn’t feel real at all. It was as if this entire time of me knowing of him, interacting with him, being in his presence, I had attempted to avoid myself catching feelings, not getting myself engraved in a situation with another musician, but due to my mind forcing such a hindrance, it became an inevitability - I caught feelings for Damon Albarn.

As we pulled away to catch our breaths, Damon leaned back, sneaking his arms around my waist as he looked down on me. “You liked that.”

“Shut up.”

“Can’t wait for Liam to find out about this.” he grinned, playing with strands of my hair as I glared at him. I knew he was aware of the glare I was giving him, because he seemingly began to grin even wider.

“He won’t, because you’re not going to tell him.” I replied bluntly, placing my hands on his chest as I began to draw little circles over his shirt. It felt so surreal, yet so normal - there was a certain amenity shared between us proving that what was felt in the past was indeed real, and indeed reciprocated.

“Always knew you’d give in one day.” he mumbled, a devilish grin painted on his lips.

“Really?” I scoffed. “Even when the tabloids were convinced me and Gallagher were an item?” I asked, staring straight into his eyes. I noticed him frown slightly after the question left my mouth, my lips attempting to form into a smile as I broke off his smug persona.

“Well it looks like you’ve left Liam to be with me.” he grinned, our eyes connecting once again. I took his hand away from my hair to interlace it with mine, holding it close to my chest for Damon to be able to feel my heartbeat. Even though anybody could have opened their trailer door and witnessed us in such an affectionate state, none of that seemingly mattered to either one of us. Everything that had occurred between me and Damon felt so perfect, to the point that I would want somebody to come and witness the true beauty of this moment. There was a strong feeling in my chest that I wanted him to feel, to understand, that what was occurring between us truly meant something, and wasn’t just a silly little play to mess with my feelings.

“Liam’s not that bad you know.”

“I’m just joking, love, don’t worry.” he mumbled, bringing our interlaced hands to his face to allow him to kiss the back of my hand. “You wanna go get something to eat before you head on?”

“Sure, I’d love to.” I said, forcing us to detach our bodies from our embrace and walk over to one of the food stalls, hand in hand.

#damon albarn x reader #Liam gallagher x reader #Liam gallagher #damon albarn #blur #blur band #oasis band #my writing #band imagines #fluff #nineties #90s #music

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ot3 · 3 years

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hey kinda heavy ace attorney question ig but I agree with you on many things about aa and feel like you have a good understanding of Phoenix and Trucy so I really wanna ask. How do you think the creation of the bloody ace was handled? I’ve seen the idea that Trucy took matters into her own hands and made it as a failsafe without his knowledge, and that he then covered for her, but if that were the case I wonder how he knew about it and planned around it at his trial. I’ve also seen the idea that he made it himself, but gave it to her for delivery to Apollo; which maybe seems the most apparent but I really dislike it because…. It means he uses her to deliver forged evidence. In much the same way he was given the diary page, really. it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I’ve also seen some people suggest that he made it but only gave it to her for use at her discretion, which does give some agency back to her but I also question whether Phoenix would be right in placing that on her shoulders and making it her responsibility. Sorry this expanded into a ridiculously long ask but I really am curious about your take on it?

eoooh yes yes yes i love talking about phoenix and trucy lets goooooo. i actually have a scene from my (still pretty rough and probably never to be finished) wip longfic covering this scene, which ill sick below the cut, but i'll just give my generic thoughts here first.

i think phoenix asked her to do it. trucy having enough detailed knowledge of the crime scene and the events leading up to it and the actual mechanical operation of trials that would be required in order to come up with this plan just doesn't make any sense to me. phoenix is really the only one who could have theoretically concocted this particular move. but since he was presumably held in the detention center until trial, trucy is from there really the only person who could have actually done the thing.

phoenix and trucy are pretty notoriously codependent; i'm headachey and melting from the heat today so rather than doing what i normally do and trawling the wiki to find the quotes that back me up on broadstrokes statements like these so i'm just gonna pull a 'dude just trust me' moment here. the fact that she helps take care of her daddy is a point of pride for her. i don't think it strips trucy of any agency for this to be phoenix's decision because it's not like trucy spends her whole life (or even the entire game) blindly following other peoples orders. her (and phoenix's ) priority at the beginning of aa4 is each other and their own wellbeing, and the decisions they have to make in turnabout trump are indicative of that.

yes, it echoes her bringing the forged evidence to phoenix 7 years ago, but it's more of an inversion/reversal (one might even say a turnabout) than a repetition of past mistakes. in the past she was an unwilling pawn in someone else's plan where her life was collateral, now she's an active and conscious participant in the plan of someone she cares about that she's doing to protect the life she and phoenix have built for themselves. She's not being forced to do it, but i don't think there's any world where she would have said no either. she and phoenix are the most important thing in the world to each other. in their own words, if one of them falls, they both fall.

was it right of phoenix to ask this of her? was it okay for him to do this to apollo, too? obviously it's not a good thing. but it was his only option at that moment. phoenix found himself in a very difficult situation. as an attorney he promised himself to the truth, and that was the principle he lived by, but as a father what he lives by is the promise he made to trucy to never disappear on her. at that moment phoenix did what he had to do to make sure the trial ended the way he needed it to. truth had to take a backseat. his priorities have shifted.

i've also spoken before at length about how i don't think phoenix was plotting against kristoph in the longterm, at least not to the degree which popular fanon seems to agree upon. so really everything he did in turnabout trump was phoenix being backed into a corner using every tool at his disposal to try and snatch victory out of the jaws of defeat. was it right of him to get trucy involved? it's no worse than bringing 8 year old pearl along to crime scenes because he needed her channeling skills. phoenix cares about people deeply but he isn't capable of shielding them from all the harm the world has to offer, and he knows he isn't. half of his capability comes from his shrewdness and willingness and ability to take help when he can get it because he knows, even if its a strain in a short term, he's fighting battles that need to be won at any cost. if that makes any sense

anyway heres the little scene i wrote below the cut.

---------- APRIL 17TH, 2026 DETENTION CENTER VISITOR’S ROOM ----------

Trucy shows up on the dot as visiting hours begin. It’s funny, she thinks. The last time she did this she had a different daddy altogether. Only it really isn’t particularly funny at all, is the thing about it, and she’s going to have quite a few stern words for the man when he gets home.

She picks up the phone on one side of the pane of bulletproof glass and he grabs the other.

“Daddy,” she huffs. “You promised me you’d stay out of trouble.”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry, Truce.” He puts on an easy smile as he says it, and he uses the same affected tone of voice she had used to start the conversation off. Affected. Cautious, in the sense that it’s levity is entirely manufactured. A performance.

It had been like that between them for real at the beginning, both of them still unsure of each other, pantomiming something resembling a sitcom and playing the real feeling filled in as it went. Thankfully, it did, but the theatrics still lend themselves better to specific conversation.

“Well, if you’re sorry, I suppose I can forgive you! But this isn’t going to look good on your employee review, y’know. I’ll have to bring it up with HR.”

“I’m sure Charley can find it in his heart to forgive me, too.”

“He’s a gentle soul.” She nods.

“You should come watch the trial on Monday, I think it’d be good for you to see.”

“Oh? And why’s that?” Trucy doesn’t like the courthouse. Daddy knows that. She never comes when he goes to use the library there. She also hates, hates the idea of watching her daddy sit in the defendant’s chair not knowing if he’s ever going to come home again. He knows that too.

“Well, there are always interesting things to learn during a court trial. Plus, having you there would help me out a lot!” I need you to do something for me. She reads through the tone into his words’ real meaning. Her stomach clenches. A favor he can’t just outright ask for, not over the phone in the detention center, where every word would be recorded.

“Oh, daddy, no! I’m a magician, not a lawyer, although I understand the confusion.” She drapes a hand over her eyes in faux anguish. “I simply couldn’t, it isn’t my stage.”

“I disagree. I think it’s a perfect stage. Lawyers need cheering up too, you know! Back when I was a lawyer, I used to get really stressed out during cases like these. I bet one of your tricks would do the job.”

“Well what sort of trick do you want me to do?”

“Do you remember the first trick you ever did for me? It was the day we met, at the courthouse. You pulled a piece of paper out of your hat and gave it to me.”

“Yes,” she chirps, forcing a vibrant bubble into her voice. It feels like a pile of rocks in her gut and her pulse starts to quicken. “Of course I remember!”

“I bet if you did that trick again, it’d cheer up the whole courtroom! I bet I’d win my case in a heartbeat.”

----------

Her legs feel like jelly by the time the bus drops her off at the stop near the office. Daddy had kept on like that, loaded phrasing and a lopsided smile as he laced vapid banter with instructions. With warnings. She walks into the storage closet and grabs a deck of cards - one of his, the same style they use at the club, not hers for her tricks. Abruptly, she has a moment of panic as she realizes she’s not even sure what color she’s supposed to use, but then, just as fast, she forces her head clear and just grabs one of each.

They’re unopened. This makes it a cinch to find the card she’s looking for. Her stomach flips.

The worst part isn’t even what she’s doing. The worst part is that she’s doing it at all. Daddy knows well what this situation is making her feel and he’s asking her to do it anyway.

The only explanation left: he’s completely out of options.

She pulls her gloves off and grabs a needle from her sewing supplies. She pricks her finger, and lets a drop fall onto each ace.

----------

#ace attorney #i literally love them os much theyre perfect #daddy and daughter of all time

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dont-you-dare-imagine · 3 years

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Can I get an imagine where the reader meets lila, and even tho she knows she's a liar and manipulative she knows there might be a reason behind it and she tries to befriend lila to break down her walls and be the friend lila always needed since everyone hates her, reader gets backlash for being friends with lila. Especially from marinette but lila hold reader close since reader is the only one who believes in her and gives her a chance even after everything she has done?

A Second Chance

summary: just the request!

words: 2.2k (my longest yet!)

warnings: she/her pronouns used and female reader implied, talks of bullying, mentions of lunch and eating, marinette is kind of out of character but eh, being sad, but happy ending kind of. you’ll see what i mean. if there’s anything i missed please let me know!

^^also if you catch any spelling errors or anything like that!

a/n: i really am so sorry that it took me so long to get to this. i currently have two more requests that i’m going to try and get out by the end of the week. i did get rid of a few requests, so if what you sent in isn’t one of the next 2 works i put out, i’m super sorry. i just wanted to have a clean inbox and had to get rid of the things that i just couldn’t motivate myself to write. i really hope you guys understand. i’ve just had writers block and be super busy. anyways: i hope you guys enjoy! it’s the longest work that i’ve posted so far!

also yes i am posting this at 1:30am :)

Y/N had just moved to Paris a couple of weeks ago, and had just started settling into her new school. She didn’t really have any good friends yet, but she was starting to get more comfortable with the people in her home room class. She especially liked a girl named Marinette, and wanted to be better friends with her. She seemed super nice and they shared similar interests. Y/N was getting good grades, retaining the information, and became more confident. She was just overall happy with how things were going for her right now.

They say it isn’t truly high school without a challenge, but Y/N didn’t think that she’d have many issues at this school. Everyone around her seemed really kind, the work was fairly easy, and at first things didn’t seem super eventful. Well, aside from having super-heroes, and akumas, and a super villain, etc. But everyone told her that she’d get used to it eventually.

One day during lunch break, everyone was crowded around the front entrance of the school. Y/N wondered what everyone was doing, so she went over to the crowd to check things out. She slowly but surely maneuvered her way to the front of the crowd, and was a little surprised to see what seemed to be a normal girl. Not a celebrity or anything special, just a regular student. She hadn’t seen this girl before, so maybe not even that. Maybe she was just visiting. Then, the girl started talking to the people in the front of the crowd.

“Yes! Prince Ali asked me to come live with him in the palace. Of course, I didn’t accept. I just couldn’t leave all of my fellow students here without me!” Y/N immediately thought that this girl was delusional. She listened for a minute longer, but the girl’s story was getting super boring and repetitive. After a couple of seconds Y/N just couldn’t take it any longer, and went to lunch normally. As soon as she reached the cafeteria, she spotted Marinette at the table she usually sat at. She approached Marinette and asked if she could sit with her.

“Of course! I was actually waiting for you to show up. I know this is where you usually sit, not in like a creepy stalker way, but yeah! I figured it was a good place to wait. What took you so long?” she asked as she tilted her head, a look of confusion on her face. Y/N replied, “Oh, some girl claiming that Prince Ali wants her to live in the palace with him was rotting people’s brains with her obviously fake story near the front entrance. Seriously, how do people buy that crap? It’s like they just brainlessly listened to whatever she was saying. It’s-“

“Wait, wait, wait. did the girl have straight, brown hair, with bangs? Probably wearing orange with polka dots? Green eyes?” Marinette cut Y/N off. “Yeah, sounds accurate. Why?” Y/N questioned. Marinette rolled her eyes and appeared to be frustrated and annoyed. “Lila’s back from her ‘stress relieving vacation’ with the royal family!” Marinette said the last part in a high pitched voice, batting her eyelashes, and holding her hands together by her face, obviously mocking the girl. “Lila?” Y/N asked. “Yeah, she’s a student here. She’s in our home room actually. I swear, she can’t speak one sentence without lying. It’s a serious issue. It’s just so frustrating to see people eat up everything she says like they’ll never eat again.”

After lunch, Marinette and Y/N went back to Ms. Bustier’s classroom. They found their seats, and waited for the class to start. Suddenly, Y/N remembered that Marinette said Lila was in this class too. She didn’t see her, so maybe Marinette had gotten it wrong. She sure hoped so. From what Marinette had been saying about her, Lila didn’t seem like a nice person at all. She just seemed annoying and rude, not someone Y/N wanted to be around. Just as Y/N began to relax, thinking that Lila surely wasn’t in her class, the last group of people walked in. And guess who was in the middle of the small crowd, probably sharing more of their far fetched tales? Lila.

As soon as everyone was in their seats, Lila started talking louder so people could hear what she was saying. Everyone quieted down, as if they were eager to listen.

“Yes! Sometimes I wonder why I said no to the offer, since everything is so wonderful there! The architecture, the food, the people, the plants and animals... but then I remember how amazing you all are, and I remember why I’m needed back here in Paris!”

“Please...” Y/N said quietly to herself. “Are people really buying this crap?” She thought. She looked across the classroom to see Marinette getting visibly angry.

Y/N gestured for her to calm down, but it was too late. Mari had had it. “Lila, would you just do us all a favor and shut up?!!” Marinette raised her voice on the last part, which startled everyone a little. Even Ms. Bustier. “Alright, alright class. Settle down. We’re going to begin class now. Marinette, please don’t raise your voice again.” The teacher warned. “Yes ma’am.” Marinette responded, and then slumped in her seat. Y/N looked up at Lila, and noticed that she looked upset. Like, genuinely sad. Not “oh everyone look at me I need all the attention cause I’m sad.” She looked like she was really hurt. Y/N wondered if maybe lying isn’t all there was to Lila. Maybe she just needed someone to listen. Maybe Y/N was just too nice. But her mind was already made up. After school today, she was going to talk to Lila and see if she could get anywhere.

The bell had just rung, and everyone was gathering their things. Y/N started walking out of her last period, when she spotted Lila sitting by herself on a bench.

Y/N took a deep breath, and then slowly approached Lila. As soon as Y/N got there, Lila looked like she was ready to gather her things and get up and leave. “Wait!” Y/N called. Lila looked back and then started to put her things back down. “What do you want? I’ve kind of had a long day and I’m about ready to be done with it.” She said angrily. “I’m Y/N. I’m new here, and I’m in Ms. Bustier’s class with you. I was there when Marinette shouted at you today, and I just thought you looked upset and might need someone to talk to. I know you probably have your own friends and stuff that could listen but I just wanted to let you know that I could listen if you want me to.” She took a breath after finishing her fast-spoken, rambly sentence.

“To be completely honest, I don’t have many friends.” Lila said looking more sad and upset than angry. “You seemed pretty popular during lunch. And at the beginning of class earlier today.” Y/N said, now sitting down on the same bench as Lila. “That’s popularity for you. Those people just listen to what I have to say because everyone else does. They aren’t my friends.” Lila said, almost hurt by her own words. “Those things you were saying today, were they really true? Not to be rude, but they were a little out there.” Lila took a deep breath and then started speaking again. “They were half true. I did visit the Prince’s country, and everything really was beautiful, but the truth is I never even came in contact with the royal family.” Lila sighed, and looked at the ground. “You’re probably gonna go and tell everyone now, right? Tell them I’m just a liar? I bet you’re just like Marinette aren’t you? Little miss perfect going to snitch on someone just for wanting some attention. Well people listen to me more than they listen to you, so you better watch what you say!” She was now standing, right in front of Y/N, all up in her face. Lila started to tear up a little. Y/N noticed this, and was quick to stand up herself and put a hand on Lila’s shoulder. “I wasn’t gonna tell anyone. No need to get defensive. You seem really upset. I feel like this is about more than just what Marinette said today.”

Lila took Y/N’s hand off of her and sat back down. Y/N quickly sat on the bench too. “I’m sorry, I’m just... I don’t get a lot of attention or approval anywhere but school. It’s almost like I’m forced to come up with all of these fairytales of what I wish my life was, just so people listen for at least a few seconds. I just wanna feel liked. And I don’t get that anywhere but here. Sorry, sorry. I know you don’t wanna hear my full life story.” Lila gave a sad little laugh and took a breath, before starting up again. “I really do need to find some friends, don’t I?” She was once again looking at the ground, but after she finished speaking she started to look up at Y/N.

“Then let’s be friends. On one condition...” Y/N said. “You need to cut back on the lying. Especially the ones that hurt people. Marinette was telling me a little about you at lunch today, and most of what I heard wasn’t good. The things you say matter. They have power and people pay attention when you speak. You can use that power for good instead of bad.” Lila giggled a little. “You know you sounded really cheesy, right?” Y/N started laughing herself. “Just a little cheesy. Now come on, it’s getting late. They probably won’t let us stay in the building for much longer.” Lila checked her phone and saw that Y/N was right. School ended at 3pm, and it was going on 3:30. They picked up their belongings, and walked out the school. They waved goodbye, and both went home knowing that this was the start of a good friendship.

Weeks passed. Lila hadn’t spread a hurtful rumor since her initial conversation with Y/N, and things were going great with lying in general. Sure it still happened here and there, but not nearly as much as it used to. Y/N wasn’t getting along very good with Marinette nowadays, but she decided that it was for the better. Marinette had her friends, and didn’t need Y/N the way that Lila did. One day, Y/N overheard Marinette talking about Lila to a small group that consisted of Nino, Alya, and Mylene. Y/N walked over, just to see what was going on. “Hey guys! What are you talking about?” She asked, as if she hadn’t already been listening for a minute. “Oh, nothing, just your new little friend over there.” Marinette said as she rolled her eyes, and gestured towards where Lila was laughing with a small group of people. “I honestly don’t understand why you guys don’t like her. Once you get to know her, she really isn’t that bad.” Y/N defended her new friend. “Please Y/N, we all know you’re only friends with her because no one else is. Face it, she’s a bad person. All she ever does is lie, manipulate, and hurt people. You should just end it now before she hurts you too. Honestly, she-“

“You know what Marinette? Maybe Lila just genuinely didn’t know better. Have you been paying attention the passed couple of weeks? They’ve actually been trying to be kind and making friends. Maybe she hasn’t been the best in that past, but you need to grow up and move on! Seriously, what are we, 10? Look around! Just over there people are laughing and having a normal conversation with her. She isn’t lying, she isn’t being rude, she’s just laughing and having fun! Maybe if you gave her a chance, took the time to get to know her, and stopped being so closed minded, you’d see that she’s really a cool and fun and interesting person. Even when she isn’t lying! Just get over yourself already, okay?” Marinette was shocked, and a couple people nearby who had stopped to listen were shocked too. One of those people being Lila. Y/N just kind of slowly walked away, hoping that not too many people noticed.

Later in the day between class periods, Y/N was walking when all of a sudden they felt someone hug her from behind. She looked back and realized that it was Lila, and she was smiling. Y/N turned around and Lila let go, only to hug them again from the front. “What’s got you so happy?” Y/N questioned. “I heard what you said earlier. It’s really all because of you. I’ve never had a friend like you before. I’ve never had a true and real friend. Thank you so much for giving me a chance.” Lila said. There wasn’t a trace of any lie in that sentence. Lila was so grateful for Y/N, and Y/N was equally as grateful for Lila. They both needed each other so that they could discover what a true friend really is.

andddd that’s a wrap! if you made it to the end i hope you enjoyed!! requests and still open, and my writers block is completely cured, so if you send something in it should be up soon. have a lovely day!!

#lila miraculous #miraculous ladybug

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omoi-no-hoka · 4 years

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Hello! I'm sorry if this has been asked before, but how do you become proficient at handling conversations in Japanese/handling grammar very well? I read your post on the JLPT, and it addressed issues I have been tip toe-ing around--indeed, passive actions such as listening or reading are easier than the active ones. How did you go about that? Did you write a bunch of sentences daily? Did you have a conversation partner? What would you rec. to someone who lives outside Japan? Thank you!

This is an excellent question, and one that I get asked a lot irl by Japanese people in particular. Let’s talk about gaining fluency and the ways we can go about it!

How to Gain Fluency in Japanese (and Other Languages)

Speaking Fluency versus Accuracy

Language proficiency is divided into two separate categories:

Fluency: Although there are no widely agreed-upon definitions or measures of language fluency, someone is typically said to be fluent if their use of the language appears fluid, or natural, coherent, and easy as opposed to slow, halting use. In other words, fluency is often described as the ability to produce language on demand and be understood.

Accuracy: Correctness of language use, especially grammatical correctness and word choice.

By the above definitions, a “fluent” speaker may make grammatical mistakes, but they can speak without having to stop and think too much about conjugations, word choice, etc.

An “accurate” speaker can speak with nearly zero grammatical/word choice mistakes. However, the speed of their utterances isn’t generally taken into account, so it could take an “accurate” person twice as long to articulate the same idea as a “fluent” person.

Ideally, you need to strike a good balance between these two qualities when speaking. I have a boss, God bless him, who is 100% fluency and 0% accuracy and…man is it hard to understand what he’s saying sometimes, but he can generally get his point across just barely. I have another coworker who is 100% accuracy and takes about 3 minutes to form a sentence because he wants it to be perfect.

How to Increase Speaking/Writing Accuracy

First, let’s talk about the easiest thing to improve, which is accuracy. It’s also (in my opinion) the least fun thing to improve, because it means grammar books and vocabulary memorization.

You can only use a language accurately if you know what is correct and what is incorrect, and you can only learn that by studying grammar and vocabulary (or if you’re a native speaker and picked it up innately, you lucky bastard).

So here’s some things you can do to increase your accuracy:

For example, if you’re having a hard time using the passive, you need to review that part of your textbook and find some exercises to drill it into your head.

Say the correct thing aloud. Lots. Sometimes I just walk around my apartment and narrate everything I see/do like a crazy person, but that’s good practice.

Write example sentences using the grammar you’re struggling with and say them aloud too.

There’s a bunch of cool apps that connect you with native speakers that can help correct you too! I used to use HelloTalk, I think.

If you’re a creative soul, when I was studying for the JLPT, I took 1 grammar point and 5 vocabulary words from my JLPT study books and used them to write a 2-page short story about the adventures of ネギ, a stray black cat that smelled like green onions because she napped in an onion field. Then I had a Japanese friend check it over for me and mark mistakes. I hand-wrote them to improve my abysmal handwriting at the same time. It was really fun! I sometimes think about doing it again just for funsies.

When someone corrects you, don’t feel like your entire life is over and you’re a failure and you’ll never get it right haha. I’ve seen people fall into that hopeless mindset, and that’s just nonsense. It’s a good opportunity for learning and nothing more! Say the correct thing you’ve just been taught out loud, then write it down if you can. And, if possible, find a chance to use it in conversation asap.

How to Increase Speaking/Writing Fluency

Now this is the hard one. Especially for those learners who do not have native speakers nearby.

I’m going to be dead honest with you. I started formally studying Japanese at uni, and I had a Japanese roommate/best friend since year one. I had a 4.0 GPA in my Japanese classes (and only my Japanese classes lol) because I was and still am a MEGA NERD about it.

...But it wasn’t until I studied abroad in Japan my 4th year of uni that I gained fluency.

There are a lot of things that can hold us back from fluency. An interesting thing I’ve noted is that Foreign Language is perhaps the only subject in which a student’s personality can directly affect their progress. To gain fluency, you have to go forth and speak, but if you are naturally a shy person, that is going to hinder you. If you are the kind of person who takes mistakes/failures poorly, you will be less likely to take risks and try to say harder sentences. In contrast, you can get full marks in math regardless of the above personality traits.

I’m not saying that you have to be an outgoing explosion of a human being in order to gain fluency. But what I am saying is that you have to be willing to seek out conversations, and you have to be willing to take chances. Get out of your comfort zone. Use that new word you picked up the other day. Try to explain something that is difficult for you.

My problem was that, while I lived with a native speaker who would have happily taught me anything I asked, her English proficiency was much higher than my Japanese proficiency. And when I struggled to say something in Japanese, I’d fall back onto English. And when she told me something I didn’t understand in Japanese, she’d repeat it in English instead of Japanese, because that was easier for us both. The same thing happened when I was in Japanese class as well. I always had the assurance that I could fall back on English.

But when I elected to study abroad in Japan for 3 months, I knew that this was my big chance. So on the host family form in the “other requests” area, I wrote that I specifically wanted a host family that could not speak English. I was setting fire to my crutches, and I was scared but excited to see them burn.

By the end of my three months in Japan, I had gone from “Chotto matte kudasai” and needing a minute to form my reply, to “Okay, yeah I see that movie too and I liked the action scenes, but I didn’t care for the story little.” (I’ve underlined mistakes that I would have made in Japanese, to show you that I sacrificed some accuracy to obtain higher fluency.)

So, in short, the easiest and quickest way to increase your spoken fluency is to throw away all the crutches you can and use the language as much as possible. Every single day. Even if you’re just having an imaginary conversation with yourself! And like I said, there are a bunch of cool apps that connect you with Japanese people who want to learn English and you can do language exchanges with them. I had a lot of fun with those in the past.

As for increasing writing fluency...well. That’s a tough question with Japanese, because I can type Japanese at like 100 wpm, but my Japanese handwriting fluency is at a 10/100. I can read and type at the level of a native Japanese high school student, but I can only write the kanji that 7 year old can write. That’s no exaggeration.

The big reason for that dichotomy is that my work is paper-free. 100% of my work is done on screen, so about the only time I have to write out something is when I’m filling out a form, which includes my name (katakana), address, and maybe occupation.

If you want to increase your Japanese handwriting speed, just keep on writing. Write those little short stories about ネギ like I did, or find some writing prompts (I just started a side-blog with writing prompts yesterday btw) or keep a little diary. Make opportunities to write.

How to Have Nice Handwriting in Japanese

Okay, full disclaimer: I am the absolute LAST person qualified to talk about this, because I have awful handwriting in Japanese.

Unless you have prior experience with a different language that uses kanji, or you lack the keen eye of an artist, you will likely struggle to develop neat handwriting.

Personally, I really like using this app called Japanese Kanji Sensei. It’s on Android (not sure about iOS), and if you pay just a few bucks you can make your own kanji sets and stuff. Anyways, it will show you how to write the characters prettily. It gives you a good frame of reference for what nice, pencil/pen-written characters (versus calligraphy characters). It has hiragana and katakana on it too!

I get a stylus and write out the characters on this app for the muscle memory, so my hands remember the sensation of writing a certain character. (The muscle memory is different if you only use your fingertip.) This muscle memory and repetition is how Japanese people learn how to internalize kanji as well. I really enjoy and recommend this app. I’m sure that there are others out there like it too.

Summary

TL;DR: Review your textbooks, take risks, use every resource available or make your own, and just have fun with it! 💗

#Anonymous #ask me anything #Asks are open #study japanese #learn japanese #japanese language #nihongo #japanese fluency #second language acquisition #jlpt #studyblr #langblr #japanese langblr #japanese resources #kanji #study kanji #learn kanji

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echo-bleu · 3 years

Text

all this time I had feathers

This is a fill for my @shadowhunterbingo square Christmas Fic. It's part of my map out a world series (with autistic Alec), but it should stand on its own. I only remembered I had a Christmas square on my Bingo yesterday, so this is written in two days and unbetaed!

Our boys run into some competing access needs over Christmas. I've given hints that Magnus has ADHD in this series and it's still not really explicit here, but I will write a fic more focused on that at some point.

The title is from a truly beautiful theater play that's unfortunately only available in French, Plume by Alistair Houdayer. The play uses a bird as a metaphor for autism and the full sentence is "All this time I had feathers and you lied to me?" (translation is my own). It's about discovering that you're autistic after years of being shut down and ignored.

Read on AO3.

Alec sighs internally as he opens the door to the loft and hears music. It’s been like this for days and he can’t take it anymore. Magnus has been hanging lights everywhere and blasting Christmas songs at every chance, and Alec’s headache hasn’t left him for days. Thankfully Christmas is tomorrow, so maybe it will stop afterwards.

Although that might be too optimistic. Alec has never really done anything for Christmas before, beside a quiet exchange of presents with his siblings, but he knows the decorations in shops don’t go anywhere until the new year. That’s one week away. He’s not sure he can do this without blowing up again.

He takes a deep breath. The last time he was here, this morning before his shift, Catarina and Madzie had dropped by to bake cookies with Magnus and Alec barely managed to contain himself until they left, exploding as soon as he and Magnus were alone. He said things he didn’t mean, and things he definitely didn’t mean to say in anger. He doesn’t even know where all that rage comes from – it’s just a deep, twisted feeling inside, his skin crawling until he can’t take anymore of the twinkling lights and the cheesy songs.

He stormed out and he and Magnus haven’t talked since, not even by text.

“Alexander,” Magnus says coolly when Alec finds him in the apothecary, bent over a potion of some sort. The smell coming from it is horrendously strong, though not bad per say. It smells like mint and maybe cinnamon – not that Alec is very good at identifying scents, but they’re ones that he usually likes.

“I’m sorry,” Alec forces out, even if the irritation is rising in his chest again. “I didn’t mean what I said. I don’t know what came over me.”

Magnus looks at him for a moment. “I have to admit I didn’t expect to spend most of Christmas Eve wondering why we’re even fighting,” he says slowly. “But you were obviously angry, and it can’t have been because of the flour all over the kitchen, since I cleaned that up straight away. Can we sit and talk about it calmly?”

Alec nods, breathing through his nose to avoid the now overwhelming smell of mint. “Are you nearly done with this?”

“Oh, yes, I’ll just bottle it up and then I can join you. Make yourself comfortable wherever you want.”

Alec breathes in relief that Magnus isn’t so angry that he’ll ignore their comfort for the sake of arguing. But it makes what he’s about to ask all the harder.

“Would you please turn the music off?” he asks as neutrally as possible. He knows it comes out monotonous and emotionless, and he sees Magnus tense at it.

But contrary to the expected retort, Magnus looks up and assesses him for a moment before he sighs.

“Oh, Alexander,” he murmurs, and the music stops. “Go. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Alec nods and turns on his heels. The sudden quiet in the loft feels like heaven, although he can’t look anywhere without being assaulted by bright and colorful Christmas lights. In the living room, he freezes for at least a whole minute, trying to decide between the comfort of the couch and the table where there are slightly few visible light garlands if he sits facing the windows. The choice feels too hard to make right now and—

Alec makes himself move and goes for the bedroom instead. Magnus said wherever he wants. They usually avoid having fights in the bedroom to keep it a sanctuary of sorts, but maybe this is a needed exception.

He flops down on the bed, looking in dismay at the fairy light garlands hung all around the room. He doesn’t hate fairy lights, he’s the first to admit that they’re pretty – when used with some semblance of moderation. Not when they cover every square inch of the walls. He sighs and closes his eyes, slipping under the covers despite the fact that he’s fully dressed. The weighted blanket immediately grounds him.

He hasn’t slept properly in a while. Maybe that’s what’s making him grumpy. There’s been a surge of demon activity in the city, on top of all the Clave ceremonies he has to attend this time of the year. That means he’s been on call or in Alicante almost every night, and sleeping during the day with this damn music on is near impossible.

When Magnus finally joins him, he’s nearly asleep. He presses his fists into his eyes, trying to force the tiredness out of his head. Magnus doesn’t say anything as he removes his jacket and slips into bed beside him. He still smells faintly of mint and cinnamon.

“Darling,” he says softly after a moment. He reaches out, but he doesn’t touch Alec, settling his hand an inch away from Alec’s arm.

Alec tries to make himself cross the gap between them, but it feels too big right now, his skin still crawling. He makes an aborted motion of apology.

Magnus picks up one of the long golden necklaces he’s wearing and offers it to Alec, without removing it. It has a pendant at the end, tiny intertwined circles that can spin around each other. Alec latches onto it without even thinking about it, finding comfort in both the stimming and the connection to Magnus.

“Can you speak?” Magnus asks. He soft, gentle. Not angry. Alec doesn’t understand – he deserves all of Magnus’ anger and more.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. He’s not sure he can hold a long conversation, but here under the covers, the lights hidden by the blankets, he feels better, like a fog is lifting from his mind.

Magnus taps the mattress with a finger by Alec’s head. “Have you been overloaded this whole time?”

“I’m not—” Alec starts immediately, but he stops mid-sentence.

Oh.

That’s what it is. The irrational anger, the constant irritation, his inability to focus. His speech has been as unreliable as his sleeping pattern, but he’s long learned to make do with groans and looks. The constant buzzing in his brain, the exhaustion that only he seems to feel…

“I don’t know,” he amends. “Maybe?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Alec bites his lip, focusing on the necklace he’s fidgeting with rather than on Magnus. “I didn’t realize,” he says.

“Was it just the music?” Magnus asks, unclasping his bike chain bracelet to match his fidgeting. Alec shifts his stare from his own hands to Magnus’, the repetitive movement soothing.

He tries to think about the question, to push it through his mushy brain and figure out an answer. He really is tired, in that way that doesn’t make him want to sleep so much as hide in a quiet corner. He knows that he’s taking too long to answer, but Magnus waits patiently.

“The music...the lights, too. Everything’s too bright. And...too many people.” They’ve had someone over nearly every day, wether it’s Cat and Madzie or Dot or Raphael or Clary and Simon, and occasionally Magnus’ other Downworlder friends Alec has never met before. After whole shifts at the Institute, coordinating patrols and trying to stay on top of things, or fighting demons in back alleys, all he wants is some quiet and peace.

“Alexander,” Magnus buries his face in the mattress. “I’ve been overloading you this whole time and I didn’t even notice.” He turns back toward Alec, his voice no longer muted. “I’m truly sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Alec says. “You didn’t know.”

“I did not, but you still deserve an apology. How did we let get so far?”

“I—” Alec hesitates. “You seemed happy.”

Magnus shakes his head. “My happiness cannot come at the price of yours. I want you to tell me when it gets too much. When I get too much.”

Alec catches Magnus’ wrist in his hand, intent overwhelming his touch-avoidance. “No. It’s not you. You’re never too much for me, Magnus.”

They’ve only spoken a few times about Magnus’ history with that phrase, about his own difference, his own deviations from the norm, but Alec knows it’s something deeply ingrained. Magnus has been told he’s too much too often in his life, and Alec will not let him belittle himself that way. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t realized it myself,” he says. “It’s like...background noise. After a while, you can tune it out and you don’t even hear it anymore, but it’s still draining.”

“But why would you tune it out, instead of just telling me to stop it?” Magnus asks, not moving his hand from Alec’s grasp. Alec releases him and intertwines their hands instead.

“I didn’t...think of it,” he tries. It’s not true, not entirely. He didn’t ask, because Magnus liked it. He didn’t ask because he didn’t want to be a killjoy, as his siblings have too often accused him of being. He didn’t want to take this little bit of happiness away from Magnus because he’s an oversensitive simp.

He doesn’t voice that thought, because he knows what Magnus would think of it. And he supposes that’s progress, in a way.

Magnus understands anyway. “You’ve been so used to your perceptions being ignored that you don’t know how to set boundaries,” he says slowly. “Am I wrong?”

Alec shrugs with the one shoulder that’s not against the bed.

“You like the lights, and the music,” he says. “And the baking, all the Christmas stuff.”

“I do. But we could have found a middle ground. You can’t sacrifice your comfort for mine.”

Alec bites back that it’s what he’s always done. It’s not true. It used to be, maybe, with his family, but with Magnus, he’s never had to do that. Magnus is always so attentive, anticipating his needs before he can even ask.

So the least Alec could do is let him have this.

“Why do you like Christmas so much?” he asks softly, rather than dig further into it.

“It’s not really Christmas,” Magnus confesses. “I’m not religious, and I don’t care much about the meaning of it all. But it gives me an excuse.”

He pauses, and Alec simply waits, nodding encouragingly.

“I often get...sad, in the winter,” Magnus continues. “I don’t know if it’s what the mundanes call seasonal depression, or if it’s because I’ve lived so long and lost so many people during the winter months, but this time of the year is always hard for me. So I do everything to try and cheer myself up. I usually throw parties almost every night, just to surround myself with living, breathing people – and vampires, who thrive on the longest nights of the year.”

“You haven’t thrown many parties this year,” Alec remarks.

“No, I know you don’t like them and I didn’t want you to feel excluded—”

Alec tenses. “You shouldn’t stop for my sake! Did I prevent you from doing something that helps you?”

Magnus shakes his head. “Only in the same way that I forced you to bear things that were too much for you. We neglected to talk about it when we should have.”

Alec sighs and curls up on himself a little more.

“Besides,” Magnus adds, “This year, I have you. My very own living, breathing Nephilim to keep me warm. I’m better than I’ve been every other year. I just...I got scared that it would happen again, and I didn’t want you to see me like that. So I went a little overboard with the Christmas cheer.”

“A little?” Alec gives a small laugh.

“Okay, a lot. You told me you’ve never properly celebrated Christmas before, so I wanted to give you the full experience, and keep myself busy in the process. I never stopped to think about how it could affect you. I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Alec murmurs.

“Whatever for?”

“The...communication failure? I’m trying, but it’s not...easy.”

Magnus smiles softly, running his thumb over the back of Alec’s hand. “And that’s okay. As long as we’re trying. We just need to check in a little more often.”

“Okay,” Alec nods weakly. “We can try that.”

“No more music,” Magnus says. “I’ll dim all the lights.”

“Music is fine if it’s low,” Alec corrects. “And maybe not when I’m trying to sleep.”

Magnus closes his eyes in dismay. “I’m—”

“Stop apologizing,” Alec interrupts him. “Been there, done that. Let’s move on. I promise I’ll try to tell you if it gets too much again.”

“Okay. What do you want to do now?”

Alec thinks about it. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. He still feels slow and his head aches, though the worst is passing.

“Can I hold you?” Magnus asks.

Alec opens his mouth to say yes, but he’s not ready yet. He gives Magnus an apologizing look and a tiny shake of his head.

“I think I need to clear my head,” he says slowly. “Just...think. It’s not against you at all, I just need to be in my own mind for a bit.” He needs to center himself. He feels scattered, like he’s been open and exposed to the elements and he needs to just be himself again.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Magnus starts to rise.

“No!” Alec stops him. “I’ll go. Walking will help. I’ll be back soon, promise.”

He jumps to his feet, eager to go now that he’s made the decision. He forces himself to check that Magnus doesn’t seem too worried or angry, but Magnus simply nods, looking a little surprised but not overly concerned.

“I’ll be here,” he says simply.

When Alec walks back into the loft two hours later, he does it with a measure of apprehension. He feels better, but he’s not sure what to expect.

There is music coming from inside, but it’s different. It’s not a cheesy Christmas song, and not even one of the classical pieces Magnus tried that Alec enjoyed marginally better. It’s something modern but also slow, quiet even though it permeates the entire loft. It’s soothing.

The lights are out. That’s the first thing Alec notices, because everything has been so bright for so long. He thinks for a moment that maybe Magnus went out, went to celebrate with friends who actually enjoy the holiday. He feels a pang on guilt at that – okay, a whole bucket of guilt. He’s been a grinch, and he knows it. But he couldn’t think with all those lights and noises.

The only light on is a fairy light garland that’s magically running in a single thread over all the walls in the loft, casting a soft light without actually being bright. The rooms themselves are plunged in darkness, and Alec toes off his shoes and lets his coat and scarf fall to the floor and he pads over to the living room by feel, relishing the lack of pain assaulting his eyes.

The music is louder in the living room, but not so much that it’s painful. Alec blinks twice as he takes in the sight in front of him.

In the middle of the dark room is Magnus. He’s wearing nothing but a dark leotard, and his skin is lit by swirling strands of while magic, curling around his arms. He’s dancing.

Alec doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath.

Magnus’ face is briefly illuminated by his magic, his eyes closed and a small smile on his face. He hasn’t heard Alec come in. He seems to have banished all the furniture in the room, and he’s spinning on one foot, en pointe in ballet shoes. Small bursts of magic come out of his hands as the song picks up, swirling through the room like a wispy light whip.

Magnus starts moving faster, the ribbons of light following him. Alec knows very little about dance, but even he can tell that Magnus’ style is unique, not solely ballet but also not quite modern dance. Alec almost gasps as he does what he can only describe as a back flip and lands smoothly on his feet, spinning once more.

It’s an incredibly beautiful sight. Alec stands at the door, transfixed, until the song ends and Magnus ends the dance by lowering himself down to the floor, crossing his legs under him. The light around his body dims progressively – no, that’s not it. It seems to sink under his skin, until his whole body looks like it’s glowing. Magnus gracefully runs his hand down his arm, guiding the light inside him until it reaches the tip of his fingers and explodes in a shower of sparkles.

When everything quiets, Alec lets out the breath he’s been holding. It feels like he should applaud, but he’s loath to break the silence. Besides, he doesn’t know if Magnus would take it well, right now.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Magnus whispers, his eyes still closed.

So he did notice Alec come in.

“Magnus, it was incredible,” Alec murmurs, letting the quiet carry his voice.

Magnus opens his eyes and looks at him. They stay still for a moment, the dark room between them, eyes easy to meet in the shadows. “I like the lights and the sounds, but they’re just filling a void,” Magnus says in a soft voice. “I was trying too hard.”

“It’s okay if you need them,” Alec says. “We can find a way to meet in the middle.”

“But I don’t. I wanted to feel warm and safe, but I didn’t realize that I’ve never felt as warm and safe as when I’m with you.”

Alec smiles, the words seeping into him with their own warmth, after the cold of the streets.

“Dancing makes me feel alive,” Magnus continues. “And I’d forgotten that, too.”

“You were beautiful.”

Magnus stands up smoothly and extends a hand. “Do you want to join?”

“I don’t dance,” Alec says.

“Just let go and only look at me. My magic will help you.”

Alec tries to match Magnus’ light steps as he walks toward him. He feels a jolt when they link hands, almost like the first time, over that summoning pentagram. Magnus pulls on his arm and Alec lets go of his control, relinquishing himself to the light touches of magic he can feel over his skin.

The music starts again. Light ribbons swirl over them both as they spin together. Magnus jumps to his pointes and spins around in Alec’s arms, and their height suddenly match. The only light is the magic twirling around their limbs, immaterial and teasing. Magnus grips Alec’s forearm and lifts himself effortlessly off the ground, spinning around Alec’s body until he’s in his arms again, his back arched.

The light dims to almost nothing, sinking into their chest. Their mouths meet.

“Thank you, Alexander,” Magnus murmurs.

Alec kisses him again.

I'm working on an illustration of the dance scene but I wanted to post the fic tonight while it's still Christmas!

Maybe it shows that I've been watching Tiny Pretty Things. The show is kinda terrible but I love watching people dance.

Magnus here is technically dancing the part of a woman, which is why I've use the GNC Magnus and Nonbinary Magnus (as he's nonbinary in this series). Pointe shows are also traditionally worn only by women. In my mind, Magnus trained for both roles at different times in his life and he's fine with dancing either part.

#shadowhunters #malec #malec fic #alec lightwood #magnus bane #mine #echo's fanfiction #map out a world #shbingo #hmdiscord #malec discord server #autistic alec lightwood

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qvid-pro-qvo · 4 years

Note

Ok there’s many prompts that could be used with this but I really want to see a fluff fic with Sonny where he talks about the time he was almost shot with the reader, maybe with prompt 16. “It’s alright, I couldn’t sleep anyway” (I hope I got that right) but honesty you can add any other prompts that you see fit 😄

oh, my god. you asked for a fluff fic. i am... SO sorry, but this is not a fluff fic. i thought i had the whole prompt down, but i... well. i’m dumb. this is SO MUCH ANGST, and i’m dumb, and please send in another prompt for fluff fic, and i will write fluff, i promise.

anyway.

sonny carisi x gender neutral reader.

word count: 1700

rating: mature, for the aftermath (tw: canon-typical violence, gun mention, blood mention, ptsd, panic attacks).

Bouts of insomnia were nothing new. It was the nature of your work after all – writing took time, and took energy, and sometimes took burning the midnight oil. It was how your works took shape after all, going from notes on your phone to full stories, “pure poetry” as your dad liked to say.

You didn’t know why people liked your work. But you loved doing it, loved creating, and creating meant time and effort and sleepless nights. No matter how elaborate your bedtime routine was, sometimes your eyes shot open in the middle of the night, and sometimes you tossed and turned, and sometimes that’s just how it was.

Like that fateful night. Close to 2:00 AM, and your eyes were not even close to closing. Your hands were fidgety, your toes tapped on your floors. You felt the energy but didn’t have anywhere to put it. No ideas, that night, just wakefulness no matter how many cups of sleepy time tea you made yourself. And you didn’t know why, because there wasn’t a source. No deadline, no stress, just roaming the rooms of your studio apartment wondering why the hell you couldn’t just sit down and stop.

You didn’t know why.

And then there was a knock.

Soft at first, a couple of timid taps. At first you thought you imagined it, but they came again, a little firmer. A third time, hard against the wood, and repetitive, over and over and over –

You lifted yourself from your couch, tea abandoned on the coffee table. Your steps to the door were quick, and you peeked through the peephole to see Sonny Carisi on the other side.

It wasn’t entirely unexpected to see an NYPD detective on the other side of your door, which was unfortunate to say. Your family wasn’t exactly a fun one to read about in the headlines, after your mom left your dad and ended up on the arm of some of New York City’s worst. You found yourself learning how to field questions at a young age, and that skill only grew as you gained your own fame and your mom built up the worst kind of notoriety. All building to one final case, the Special Victims Unit the latest in a long line of detectives looking for answers about what your mom did, or was doing.

And the truth was, most of the time, you didn’t know. So their questions went unanswered more often than not. But that didn’t mean that they didn’t come back, and Sonny Carisi came back more often than the others. At first you thought he was just being nosy, and then you realized that he was just being sweet. Questions through the doorway turned into questions over the dining room table. The dining room table turned into dinner. Dinners turned into drinks into dessert, and before you knew it, the two of you were…

Well.

The showing up at 2:00 AM on your doorstep was kind of self-explanatory, you supposed.

Anyway.

It was Sonny Carisi. That’s who was knocking, louder and louder and louder until you pulled the door open. It was Sonny Carisi who offered you a weak smile, who you let inside without another word.

Who blinked blearily at you until you pulled him close, who buried his head into the junction of your neck and shoulder.

Who cried against you, silent, painful tears.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, when the two of you moved to the couch, when you offered him a cup of what was brewing and he held it tight, leeching as much warmth from it as he could.

“It’s alright. I couldn’t sleep anyway,” you told him. And you offered him a weak smile right back, reaching for his hands and pulling the mug away before he could drop it.

You didn’t want to push. He looked haunted, each time you dared to study his face, looked traumatized, and you couldn’t help but sigh when you thought about what brought him here. But each moment that passed seemed to edge him closer to another breakdown, and so your hands reached for his. Your hands wrapped around his, and with a tug pulled him against you. He was longer than you, seemed to fill the space with his limbs, and you let him cling to you, his head on your chest, his hair soon flowing through your fingers.

“Sonny,” you whispered. Pressed a kiss against his forehead. You almost wanted him to insist that he was alright, and mourned the loss of his voice.

“Talk to me,” you urged, when another hour passed, when his catatonic state began to unravel. When there were familiar hums in response to your touch, and movements of his head pushing you to dig deeper with your nails against his scalp. “I’m here.”

“I don’t want to –” he started, and aborted just as quickly as he began. Thought some more, long and hard, before sighing. “I just don’t want to worry you.”

Oh, Sonny.

“You showed up at my apartment without warning. You cried on me, Sonny. You haven’t spoken more than a couple of words at a time… I think it’s okay if I worry a little,” you told him, and he sighed. “I know you don’t want to worry me, but you are, and I need to know what I can do.”

“There’s – it’s nothing, sweetheart,” he tried, but you clicked your tongue. “I just need you right now.”

“And I’m here,” you reminded him. “I’m here, just… let me… listen, at least.”

He didn’t turn to face you. It was like he couldn’t, any movement to do so stopped before it could begin, with a sigh, you reached for his hands again, wrapped your arms around him from behind and kissed his temple. And then he was standing, quick, wrenching himself from your grasp, and the instinct to feel hurt battled with understanding. He was hurting, that was all, he was just hurting.

And then he started speaking, and all you could do was listen. Because his words grew frantic, his hands opening and closing until they were clenched into fists so tight they were white knuckled. You kept looking at his hands, worried that blood would start dripping through his fingers –

“I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t stop him. It was a cop, it was a fucking cop, and he… he had done so much good. He’d saved so many people in his career, a sergeant, okay, and then he goes and – he goes at he takes her. And me and Lieu, we just keep moving through the place, looking for them, and I wasn’t fast enough! God, I just – I wasn’t fast enough. I looked through the house, and I found her but it didn’t matter. He had his gun on me.”

– and when it didn’t you found yourself staring at his face, at the way his eyes didn’t leave the carpet, at the way the only time he unleashed his grip on nothing was to push his hands through his hair. No wonder it had felt so soft in your fingers, the gel that held it back for cases worked through, gone with the friction –

“And all I could do was stand there. Because he was gonna shoot me. He was gonna kill me, his gun was right against my fucking head. I turned around, and god, I thought – I thought I was gonna die. I thought I was gonna die. He made me – he made me drop my gun, and I tried – I tried to say something, anything, but it didn’t matter.”

– and falling in his face, and he started, back and forth, and back and forth. And you could only sit and watch, because your hands were on your face, covering your mouth, your eyes wide with horror as Sonny’s life flashed before your eyes. He was panting so hard that you thought he was going to hyperventilate, but then all of a sudden, he stopped. Turned to look at you. Not to see you, because he couldn’t see anything. He saw through you, and you forced yourself to stand, then, stand to reach for him, grab him, catch him as he fell against you.

“I had – I had his blood on me,” he gasped out, weak. You were crying, too, and your tears dripped onto his jacket. “Lieu shot him, and his… his blood was on my face. I spent… so long just trying to get it off…”

“Sonny,” you managed, the word strangled, and the two of you started to sink onto the floor. “Sonny, I’ve got you, I’ve got you, baby, I’m here.”

“He was a cop. That could’ve been me. I could… I could be like him.”

“Oh, baby,” you whimpered. “Oh, no.”

“It could be me.”

The panic faded, because eventually it had to. A panic attack, you realized, later, a panic attack from the trauma, a panic attack from the feeling of a gun against his head. And when the panic faded, you were there, holding him against you, the two of you on the floor of your living room, with nothing but each other to cling to.

“That’s not you” is what you told him on that floor. “That’s not you” is what you promised him, small kisses against his forehead.

“Sonny Carisi, that is not you,” you swore, when the energy was gone, when the pain lingered behind. “You’re strong, and brave, and a good man. Whatever that was, whatever that man was… that won’t happen.”

And when he asked you, begged you to tell him how you knew, your answer was clear. Simple and clear.

“Because I won’t let it. I’m here, Sonny. I’m here now, and I will be here, whenever you need me.”

“Whenever?”

“Whenever. Wherever. For whatever.”

The morning came. Eventually. The sun rose, peeked through your curtains with a vengeance. Too bright, for what came before the dawn. But the dawn came anyway, as it always did. Another day began, started, and would end. And together, holding each other, the two of you would face whatever came next.

Whatever. Wherever. Whenever.

#prompt fill #sonny carisi x reader #gender neutral reader #sonny carisi #law and order: svu #my fic #tw gun mention #tw blood mention #tw ptsd #tw panic attack #canon-typical gun violence #hurt/comfort

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taeilm · 4 years

Text

off-peak

summary: doyoung is a hitman who likes to watch movies at your local movie theater

unedited word vomit / 4357w

it’s the seventh time you’ve seen the boy at this movie theater. this theater that only has 4 auditoriums, a handful of showings a day, a few added showtimes on weekends. this theater that plays old movies and foreign films that people don’t care for — perhaps the occasional critic or cinephile, but otherwise empty seats. this theater that you’ve painstakingly sought out and settled on, that you’ve claimed for yourself.

you don’t remember when exactly he had started to come. the whole point of discovering this obscure rundown theater is so that others don’t intrude on your private viewing experience. not that this boy is intruding by strict definitions — he doesn’t bother you, has never uttered a sound, and always leaves before the closing credits end (which you sit through religiously) — but his mere physical existence, once you begin to take notice, sticks out like a sore thumb because suddenly, he’s everywhere: at every showing you attend, in every auditorium you choose, sitting in the back rows that used to be your territory.

you realize you sound petty if you admit that moving down a few rows to adjust an unnecessary routine annoys you, but the truth is, it does. not so much in that you think the screen becomes imperceptibly bigger or that you have to crane your neck back a little more, but that you hate the feeling of someone behind you, possibly watching your every move. the back of the seats aren’t high enough to hide anything above the shoulder blades, so now you feel uncomfortable scratching your neck, tossing popcorn in your mouth, shifting positions, or really doing anything besides sitting stiffly for hours. the private viewing experience is over. your favored space has been invaded. a confrontation is imminent.

“hi,” you say the eighth time you spot him in the theater auditorium, ads and trailers still flashing psychedelic colors across the screen. you’re early, but he’s always earlier. indeed you did try to beat him to the back row a while ago, but learned from the old theater clerk that this boy apparently spends all day at this place, almost everyday. it seems the theater’s style of showing non-repetitive selections suits him more than it ever suited you. which vexes you all the more.

who the hell has this much time on their hands?

you plop down two seats away from him, watch a few trailers, then decide to go in for a handshake.

“i’m _____,” you say.

he simply gets up, climbs over the row before him in an impossibly graceful manner, and re-situates himself in another red-cushioned seat. no sign of reaction, verbal or physical.

suit yourself, you shrug.

the movie plays and you have the blessing of forgetting his presence for two and a half hours. your usual seat feels like home, almost like you’d never left. you wonder why you hadn’t done this earlier and allowed yourself to suffer for so long.

the boy obviously missed the luxury he’s enjoyed for the past few weeks. this time, he does not walk toward the door when the closing credits start to roll.

you find him sliding into the seat next to you, though his eyes are still trained on the screen. in the dim lighting, you can almost make out the contour of his profile. dark hair, high nose-bridge, sharp jawline, a prominent adam’s apple. the details elude you, but even the limited view hints at a handsome face.

“could you sit somewhere else next time.” he’s straight to the point. “i remember you. you always sit towards the middle. i’d appreciate if you stayed there.”

if his earlier discourtesy had been any indicator, you shouldn’t be surprised now by his arrogant entitlement. still, it takes you by surprise. this city hasn’t forced you to cross paths with the likes of him in a while.

“i was here first,” you say, working your tone to match his, “months before you started coming, actually. you’re sitting in my seat. i was just nice enough to let you for a few weeks. and now i’m fed up, so no more of this.”

at that, he turns to look at you — only a side glance, but you’ll take it as encouragement that you’d gotten a rise out of him. you think you detect the same incredulous glint in his eyes that had been in yours, as if it’s been a long time since someone had dared to talk to him like this. after a beat, he scoffs. the noise is so light that you can almost pretend you’d imagined it.

“i better not see you in this row again. this will be the last time.” his annoyance is so thinly veiled that it sends your own blood simmering. a strange urge to gall him overtakes you. wouldn’t it be funny to see him blow his lid. he’s not as calm and refined as you’d first thought.

“why don’t we sit together like this, both in the back? i’ll even save a seat for you, right next to me.”

“you always arrive after me. besides, i like to sit alone.”

“well, you’re welcome to move somewhere else.”

“i like to sit alone in the back.”

“can’t have everything.”

he looks at you head-on this time, and you’re struck by the elegant slant of his eyes —at once soft and glacial — the stately arch of his brows, the porcelain shine of his skin. his hair and brows are raven-black, accentuating his eyes all the more, framing his face perfectly. oh, damn it, he is handsome.

he sizes you up, as if assessing a target, a prey. you can’t believe you’re thinking this, and this is in no way an exaggeration, but he looks like he’s debating whether or not to kill you.

with great difficulty, he explains, “this is the only place where i can relax.” his eyes meet yours and hold your gaze, far steadier than his voice. it’s a genuine enough plea, but what about yourself?

“mine, too,” you retort, though your voice has softened considerably. “and i haven’t been able to since you came. i always feel like there’s someone staring down my neck. it’s very uncomfortable and i can’t enjoy a movie in that state. can’t we, i don’t know, work something out?”

he looks at you like he’s never made a compromise in his life.

“we can switch off, every other time,” you offer, but he shake his head.

“i need an undisturbed experience every time i come. it’s the only place i can relax,” he repeats, a tinge of desperation coloring his voice. “i need this theater. it’s like... therapy, or something.”

you wonder what he does for a job that causes him so much stress, even though he seems to have all the time in the world for movies, and no qualms about staying here through multiple showtimes a day. does he even have a job?

belatedly, you realize you had spoken the last question aloud, as the boy frowns.

“excuse me?”

he doesn’t sound offended, though.

“sorry. i mean, the old man at the front says you basically camp out at this theater. are you a freelancer?”

he finally lowers his gaze, and sinks back into his red-cushioned seat.

“you could say that.”

“lucky. i wish i were. that way i’d have more time to watch movies.”

he makes an odd expression, half-amused, half-something you can’t place a finger on.

“you’d hate my job.”

as if deciding this conversation has dragged on for way too long, he leaves you. yet in the days and weeks that follow, he seems to have taken your jest for real, and begins to the share the back row with you whenever the two of you chanced to meet — he on one end, towards the wall, you on the other, near the door. unfortunately for him, the order of your arrivals also ensured that he would always sit through the closing credits he so hated watching.

“why do you watch this?” he asks you one time, just loud enough to surface above the ending soundtrack. “it’s so boring.”

“if you want to leave, just step over me. or parkour over the seats like you did last time.”

“that’s a hassle.”

“you’re really annoying.”

“could say the same to you.”

maybe it isn’t so hard to want to kill someone after all.

you relent. “i’ve always liked watching them. seeing which actors played who, the hundreds of people behind production. kinda cool that it takes me out of something i was so immersed in just a second ago. not completely, of course, but just enough to remind me that none of this is real.”

he mulls over this for a while. “hmm. never thought of it that way.”

“i don’t think anyone sits through closing credits just to read them.”

“yeah. you’re kind of weird.”

the closing credits crawl to an end. the score fades, the screen grays out, the auditorium lights turn on. the boy stands up, and, after a moment of hesitation, walks towards you, his hands stuffed awkwardly in the pockets of his fleece jacket. you mirror his movements and face him, bemused.

“i’m doyoung.” the introduction hits you out of nowhere.

“oh,” you say stupidly, “cool, uh, nice to meet you. i’m _____.”

“i know. you’ve said it before.”

he looks like he’s having an inner dilemma over whether or not to try a handshake. in the end, it seems he has decided against it. he steps past you, so smoothly that you barely had time to register to his proximity before he’s out the door, out of sight, disappearing like he always does right after a movie.

his scent lingers on you for the briefest moment. it’s musky, with a hint of jasmine.

a month later, on some nondescript friday night, he’s late to a showing for the first time since you’ve met him. quite late by his standards. you’re already several minutes into the movie when he glides in from your peripheral vision. you’re so used to expecting his absence when he’s not in the theater before you, that this unpunctuality strikes you as odd. you wonder if something had happened. not that it’s any of your business.

he sets something down at his feet — another oddity; you don’t remember him ever carrying anything to the theater. you try to ignore his panting, the obvious attempts at catching his breath. he must’ve been running late. well, it happens. no one is that impeccably punctual.

as if to top it all off, the final strange act comes in the form of doyoung waiting for you by the auditorium door after the movie has ended.

you’re debating whether to stop or walk past him when he says, “what are you doing for the rest of the evening?”

the question gives you an unprecedented mental whiplash.

“what?”

“i said,” he sighs impatiently, as if regretting his decision already, “are you free tonight?”

“i...yes? i was just gonna get pizza.”

“by yourself?”

it’s an innocuous question, but it stings nonetheless, and you’re surprised by how much it stings. hadn’t you gotten used to the loneliness, after all this time? so what if he sees you as a loser who watches movies alone and eats her meals alone?

“yeah, by myself.” as if defending your pathetic solitude, you add, “it’d be annoying to call someone up right now. it’s too late.”

doyoung’s expression is one of — what? empathy? fascination? ...relief? you’re not sure.

“do you want to get pizza together? i don’t have any plans.”

you give him an odd look, but find no legitimate reason to reject the offer. “i thought you hated me.”

he looks genuinely surprised.

“why would i?”

“we fought in the theater. and we never talk otherwise.”

“i would hardly call that... a fight.” his surprise seems to increase exponentially, emulating yours. “i thought maybe we could be friends.”

you think that, for someone of his visual caliber, he lacks the social sensibility to match it. severely. but he’s so resolutely solemn in all his statements you’re starting wonder if the norm is wrong instead, that maybe you tend to overcomplicate things.

he seems discouraged by your silence. “or just one-night pizza acquaintances.”

you can’t decide if he’s confident or awkward, or both. “alright, let’s get pizza.”

only when the two of you push past the theater’s front doors do you notice what he’s carrying in his hand.

a violin case.

“you’re a violinist?”

his long, slender fingers loosely grasp the handle, all the more pale in the moonlight. they seem as violinist-like as any other part of him. he does have a sort of graceful, aristocratic air about him.

the night wind is warm on your face when you start towards the pizza joint. doyoung is quiet next to you.

“not really.”

“just a hobby then?”

he looks down at the case. “not one i particularly enjoy.”

you get the feeling that he wants to stop talking about violins, so you let it slide. you discover that he only answers to whatever questions you toss out, and even then, not fully. he seems reluctant to divulge any personal information, yet eager to talk about various nothings. by the end of the walk, you decide that he’s a terrible conversationalist, but not uncomfortable to be around.

the pizza tastes delicious.

“so i take it you don’t have any friends here.” the cheese melts in your mouth, and you watch him pick pepperoni off his slice, eating them one by one.

“i haven’t been here long, and i don’t know when i’ll leave. i didn’t think it’d make sense to try and make friends.”

his predilection for giving vague, evasive answers is getting more frustrating by the second. you’ve never met someone this keen on keeping up a front.

“when was the last time you made friends?” you try for extremes, anything to get something out of him.

doyoung ponders this seriously.

“can’t remember.”

“are you serious?”

“it’s just too ris—” he stops abruptly, catching himself, and just as quickly, modifies his words, “—i don’t have a need for them.”

“then why are you here eating pizza with me?”

he purses his lips, then decides to point the spearhead at you, taking charge of the conversation for the first time. “well what about you? no one watches movies alone. where are your friends?”

“i just can’t find people who like movies as much as i do. of course i have friends.”

doyoung looks up at that, and stares straight into your eyes, holding your gaze for what seems an eternity. you try not to look away, but you’re bothered by the shrewd intensity of his eyes. he looks unconvinced.

“it’s okay to be alone, you know.”

“i’m not."

he goes back to his pizza. “anyway. i’m eating with you because i miss human company.”

“too many movies, huh?” you wipe your fingers clean. “it’s good to live in the real world sometimes.”

“depends on which real world you’re living in.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

he doesn’t answer.

“you know, if you want to be friends, i’d suggest not being so secretive for a start.”

he checks the violin case at his feet again, as if afraid someone will steal it. you try to imagine him playing the instrument, his jaw pressed against the chin rest, his fingers dancing across the strings. it’s not a hard image to conjure, but it’s just as easy to imagine him doing anything else, in another line of work. the kind that requires extreme sharp precision.

for some reason, you’re not eager to probe his secrets, to peel back his veneer of mystery and see whatever it is he’s trying to hide. everyone has their reasons. you’re grateful he’s not prying into yours.

when the two of you part, you can’t help but look back at doyoung’s figure in the distance, standing under a streetlamp waiting for his bus, the violin case dangling at his side. the picture strikes you as exceedingly lonely.

“hey!” you yell before you can stop yourself, and his head snaps up in your direction. “let’s go out for a drink next time, yeah? after a movie?”

his face slowly splits into a grin, an impossibly boyish, charming grin. he gives you a nod, and lifts his arm into a wave.

after that, he disappears for two months.

when he shows up again, it’s the beginning of july — torrid heat rolling in, mid-summer cicadas congregating in every tree on every block. people collectively shed another layer of clothing, and you pull out a forgotten sundress from the bottom of your drawers. a few more locals have discovered the theater, and you can hardly believe you’re still missing doyoung by the end of the second month when, out of the blue, without warning, he slides into the seat next to you for an early afternoon re-screening of leon: the professional, like he’s never been gone at all.

he’s wearing a long-sleeve shirt despite the weather, and you have half a heart to tease him, if not for him arriving right as the film had begun to play.

“what’s up with you?” two hours later, you turn to him as soon as the screen blacks out, and let the fantasy linger in your mind without reading the closing credits this time. “you’ve been gone for so long.”

doyoung’s knee grazes yours as he relaxes, stretching out his legs as he lets his head fall back against his seat. his arm drapes lazily over the armrest between you two, centimeters away from grazing your thigh. he closes his eyes, and it’s impossible to keep yourself from studying the contours of his face, the curves and angles you’ve missed for too many days. someone exits the auditorium, and a sliver of daylight briefly illuminates his face before giving away to the flickering screen light. you note the gentle rise and fall of his chest under his white shirt, the fringes that have grown longer since the last time you saw him.

“you look nice today,” he murmurs, and turns his head to look at you, resting his cheek on the crest of his seat. his gaze roams over your face, neck, loose braids, the bare lengths of your criss-crossed arms, the floral pattern on your yellow sundress, your knee that’s bumping against his, and pauses there. he doesn’t retreat his leg. “i wanted to tell you that the moment i walked in.”

for all his polite greetings, you feel like he’s just undressed you with a once-over.

“where have you been?”

“around.”

“how have you been?”

doyoung doesn’t answer, and by now you’re used to it, even if you wished he’d tell you.

he extends his arm a bit beyond the armrest, just far enough to grasp your hand. your heart skips a beat, your breath lodges in your throat. the sudden physical contact is unexpected, though not uninvited. his hand is more callused than you’d imagined, and you find yourself wondering yet again what he does for a living. he seems wholly distracted by your hand, carefully studying the way it fits into his.

“remember what you said about closing credits, how they always remind you that the movie isn’t real?”

you make a noise of affirmation.

“sometimes i feel like i’m in one, and i can’t wake up no matter how hard i try.”

you’re not sure how to respond to that. he has a propensity for saying strange things from time to time, and you can’t tell if he wants you to pry further or leave him be. before you can ask, his eyes rise up to meet yours, and he changes the topic.

“i’m sorry about the drinks last time — if you even remember, that is — let me treat you to a couple of beers. it’s the perfect thing for this weather.”

an hour later, you find yourself lying on the grassy riverbank next to him, grateful for the cold bottle in your hand and the shade cast by a nearby willow tree. doyoung closes his eyes again, and you think he looks awfully tired against such a languid summer backdrop.

“what do you think of leon, from the movie?” he asks without opening his eyes. the condensation from his beer drips down his pale fingers. the cicada chirps become soothing white noise.

“i liked him.”

“even though he kills people?”

“i'm sure every one has their reasons. it’s just a movie, anyway.”

doyoung doesn’t say anything for a long time. he doesn’t needs to, really; the two of you are more comfortable in silence than in conversation, as you’ve belatedly come to notice — in fact, this odd friendship has been defined by long stretches of silence, the reliance on films to fill in your lulls.

“i’m thinking of quitting my job,” he announces, and you let the statement hang there, dissipating in the summer heat. the beer is ice-cold in your hands, but you want to stay sober for this casual interrogation.

“what would you want to do instead?”

“i don’t know. i’ve never thought about it. i didn’t think i’d ever be able to leave my job.” he turns to you, propping his head up with a free hand, and you start counting the leaves above your head to ignore the way his eyes bore holes into you. “but something about you makes me want to live differently. you make me feel like... there’s a way out of it all.”

“well isn’t there?”

“i’d have to leave the city, probably. go somewhere far away.”

the filtered sunlight feels nice on your skin, imprinting dappled patterns onto your dress. the river looks exceedingly inviting, rippling in the breeze, the light refractions blinding you in erratic glimmers. your mind barely registers to his words. he always speaks like he’s reading from a screenplay, telling you just enough to keep you from leaving the show. like he knows the eventual consequences of all his words but he’s forced to play on, because only he knows the ending, the inescapable finale.

and doyoung — doyoung doesn’t tell you about the handguns in his violin case, the sniper rifle in his guitar case, the still-healing bullet wound in his shoulder, the long-sleeve hiding his bandaged torso. he doesn’t tell you about all the high- and low-profile heads he’s aimed at through a gunsight, the inordinate amounts of cash he’s earned for each compulsory job. he doesn’t tell you the real reason behind his irreparable social skills, how he’s gotten so used to dehumanizing his targets that he’s forgotten how to treat them in the civilized world, can’t bring himself to face them. he doesn’t tell you about all the nights of being jarred awake by his own nightmares, the sanctuary of film after film to drain his empty fatigue away. he can’t find the right words to explain why he’s perpetually and irremediably tired, and why it’s not the kind of tiredness that sleep can palliate. he doesn’t elaborate on the claustrophobia of being trapped in a groundhog day that’s partly of his own making. he doesn’t tell you that starting over may very well mean a tangible, physical sort of death, one he’s all too familiar with, though he’s never been on the receiving end. he doesn’t tell you that he’s a coward, has been one for years, that the blood on his hands can drown him whole.

no, he doesn’t tell you any of that. how could he? for you, there has always been a clear line between the fictional and the real. for him, he can hardly distinguish one from the other, or where he stands in relation to it all. you wouldn’t understand. there’s no point endangering your reality with his sanguinary predicament.

and no, of course he can’t tell you that he likes you, likes you more than he’ll ever admit.

which is why he pulls you into the river instead and tries the memorize the way you twist in his grasp, the way you squeeze your eyes shut and squeal when streams of water hit your skin. the way your pretty dress clings to your pretty frame, the sound of wind-chimes in your laughter. the difference between your delicate wrists in his hands and the hard plastic gun-grip he’s so used to. he wishes he could hold you forever, just like this, gently, under the late-july sun.

“doyoung.”

the voice wakes him from his trance, and he can’t bring himself to back away when you move towards him, snaking your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest. the gunshot wound pulsates dully beneath your touch, a reminder of his somber reality.

“you’re going to leave, aren’t you? please don’t.” your plea dissipates against his shirt, perforating deep beneath his skin.

against his better judgment, he wraps his arms around your shoulders and pulls you tighter into him, ignoring the protest of his wounds.

“if i do, will you come with me?”

he regrets the question instantly, and prays that you’ll reject the offer. yet his heart is beating a rhythm of its own, hoping against hope that you’ll say yes.

“it won’t be a normal life, i’m assuming.”

it’s astounding how you always manage to say the sharpest things, he thinks — more astute than you could ever guess.

“no, it won’t. and i can’t promise it will be for a very long time, maybe forever.”

“that’s okay.” your answer is so simple, so trusting, that doyoung wonders if he should tell you everything after all, so you know exactly what you’ll entangle yourself in.

but when you tilt your head up and lock eyes with him, he realizes that you know, you do, even if you may not fully understand. it isn’t naivety he sees in your eyes, but unwavering faith — something he’s long forgotten, like a remnant from an old dream. maybe you are his ticket out.

maybe there is a way to wake up.

#doyoung scenarios #doyoung fic #doyoung imagines #doyoung fluff #doyoung fanfic #doyoung au

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grapefruitsketches · 4 years

Text

I’ve Been Waiting On You

Rated G, 2,560 Words. Songxiao, Modern AU - Coffee Shop/Cafe, Fluff, First Meetings/Meet-Cute, POV Song Lan (Wen Qing, A-Qing, and - briefly - Wen Ning are here too!)

My third (and likely final!) fill for the Songxiao Reverse Itty Bitty Bang 2020

Inspired by @transgirlsqx’s art on twitter at transgirlsqx/status/1305923577707806720?s=21 (link in reblog to make sure this shows up in the tags; please do yourself the favour of taking a look - the expressions are priceless!)

Event hosted by @touchmycoat

Also for fytheuntamed’s Untamed Fall Fest Day 7: Reunion

Also Available on AO3 (See link in reblog)

He was back again.

He was back, and he had a high schooler with him this time.

How did having a high schooler with him not make him any less…

“-chen! Song Lan! Hello?” Wen Qing’s voice drew him back to the present.

“Mmn?” He said, looking around to his manager, her arms were crossed as she flipped one wrist out to point to the table he was supposed to be serving. Wen Qing ran a tight operation, but her smirk betrayed her: she was not angry. Song Lan would not get off so easy. Instead, she was amused.

He would hear about this again later.

The tips of ears burned, even as he couldn’t help stealing one more glance the man’s way.

He was leaning in close to the laptop, squinting at something. The teen frowned peering similarly at the screen. Then the man said something and the girl’s eyes and mouth widened. She nodded eagerly and began typing rapidly. The man chuckled and leaned back in his seat, smiling approvingly. Song Lan watched him breathe deep and look up from the table. Song Lan gulped and couldn’t help but grin at the kind, smiling eyes behind the thick-paned glasses.

Too late, Song Lan’s mind caught up with reality.

If he could see the man’s eyes then the man could see…

Song Lan’s chest tightened and his breath caught in his throat. He turned his face quickly away and hurried towards the table patiently awaiting the coffees and tea on his tray. He felt his cheeks redden, but he kept his focus on the customers and tried to ignore Wen Qing’s unconcealed chuckling from behind the counter as he said, far too rapid and breathless for the short walk he’d taken, “Sorry-for-the-wait-here-is-the-latte-the-green-tea-and-the-wulang.” He nodded and retreated quickly back to the counter.

He wondered if there was a professional way to sink to the floor and hide until an entirely new batch of customers had rotated into the shop. Not seeing one, he settled for grabbing a bag of coffee beans and slowly running them through the grinder, one of the few tasks he could do when there were no orders to work on that would require turning his back to the café.

“So… should I give you his table, or would that be tantamount to manslaughter?”

“Are you offering to serve him instead?” Song Lan replied skeptically. They both knew that Song Lan was the only server in the small café right then, Wen Ning busy with a stream of people grabbing last minute sandwiches to go before whatever mid-afternoon meeting they were going to, Wen Qing usually keeping herself free to answer a phone call, keep the store well-stocked, address a customer complaint, or to have a discussion anyone who thought that just because Wen Ning was too polite to call out a customer when they deserved it, no one would.

She shrugged, “Maybe. It would really be a pain to have to hire someone else. And what kind of press would that bring us? We just reopened, we can’t afford to have anyone think I’m working my staff to death. Not yet at least.”

But Song Lan still lingered, eyes darting towards the table then back to Wen Qing.

“Come on,” she said, “You had a-Ning serve him last time and Zizhen seemed perfectly capable the time before that. I’m sure he can’t be that scary, no matter what he said to you the one time you served him.”

“You know it’s not—" she raised her eyebrows at his protests, daring him to explain what it was, “Fine,” he said, finally. He took a deep breath, pulled his shoulders back in a vague attempt to seem put together, readied his pen and notepad, and turned towards the table.

Where only the teenager sat, typing fiercely at her keyboard.

He breathed out. This, he could deal with.

He made his way to the table.

“Welcome to Sleepless Café. May I take your order?”

The keys didn’t stop clicking as the teen grumbled, “Took you long enough. I’ll take a mocha, and I guess a white tea for my tutor because he’s boring like that.”

“Your tutor.” Song Lan repeated, replaying the earlier interaction he’d observed which had somehow become even more endearing.

“Yes? My tutor. Sort of also my brother if you really want to know. Is there something wrong with—“ apparently Song Lan’s dumbfounded repetition had finally been what made her look up from her computer screen, “Oh.” And to Song Lan’s absolute horror, a mischievous, gleeful grin that would give even Zizhen a run for his money lit up her face. She leaned a cheek in her hand, “It’s you,” she said, tilting her head to the side, “So, was there something you wanted to say to my brother, or do you just stare at every person who walks in here like that? Because if you do,” she said, matter-of-factly, “That is both creepy and bad for business.”

“I—“ Maybe Wen Qing was right and the girl’s tutor wouldn’t have been scary, but the student herself absolutely was. “I’m sorry I just—“

“He’ll forgive you, you know. Probably doesn’t even think anything of it, to be honest. Maybe didn’t even notice. Wants you to talk to him actually.” Her speech became more blunt as she returned to peering at her screen, which, now that Song Lan looked at it, was zoomed in to something like 150% percent.

What she said sunk in slowly, though, “What, really?” Song Lan felt a little pinprick of hope light up in his chest.

“Mmmhmm. I’d be willing to bet it’s the reason he keeps coming here.” She looked up at him, “It’s very far from where we live.” She smirked as she revealed this.

“What—“ Song Lan was trying to figure out how to ask just how far without seeming like he was trying to figure out where they lived or something, already apparently one strike in on the “creepy” scale, but his voice involuntarily cut off as he approached again.

“Sorry a-Qing, there was a bit of a wait…” he sat back down and his eyes swiveled around slowly, landing on Song Lan. He frowned and looked slowly upwards, pupils moving back and forth a couple of times before, “Ah! Sorry. It sometimes takes me a moment to…” he shook his head quickly, “Hi,” he said, and… was that a faint bit of pink Song Lan saw on his cheeks?

Song Lan found himself completely speechless. Luckily (or unluckily) the girl, a-Qing, apparently, was there and ready to fill the silence. “I already ordered. Mocha for me. White tea for you. Is there anything else you’d like to order, gege?” She ended in a childish, playful singsong, a significant switch from the dry tone she had taken with Song Lan.

“A-Qing… so much caffeine and sugar so late in the day…” the man shook his head, but smiled affectionately, chastising, but not stepping in to overrule her order, “I’m sorry, was she pestering you at all?”

Yes. “No,” Song Lan said quickly.

The man smiled, “That’s good to hear,” he sighed.

“Sorry for lingering so long,” Song Lan said, suddenly feeling very awkward and aware of just how long he’d been standing there, long after the simple order had been neatly noted on the notepad, “I’ll leave you two to—“

“Wait.” The man said, and Song Lan froze. The man took a deep breath, and Song Lan couldn’t help but let his eyes be drawn to his lips, before the man spoke, “I’ll… I’ll kick myself later if I don’t ask but… We’ve spoken before, right?”

Song Lan blinked, “Uh…”

They had. They absolutely had. And Song Lan absolutely knew this. It had been a couple months ago, and Song Lan had assumed the other man had completely forgotten it.

“Sorry… I know you probably get a lot of customers here, don’t worry about it…”

“No… no I do remember!” Song Lan answered, “I just… I assumed you wouldn’t remember.”

Something about that must have struck the other man as hilarious, and he hid his mouth behind a closed fist as he giggled. A-Qing made a show of tossing her head back, groaning, and placing a set of headphones firmly over her ears. But she was smiling.

“Sorry,” the man said, wiping the beginnings of tears out of his eyes, “So. I hope school is still going well?”

It was an abrupt transition, but a welcome one.

Their one and only previous conversation had been short — Song Lan had said that he thought the other man’s earrings had looked cool, purportedly as part of his usual customer service approach, but the light stutter that interrupted his usual cool tone betrayed him. The other man hadn’t seemed to notice or mind, but had thanked him and asked how Song Lan liked working at the café.

For some reason, though he usually tried to get in and out of exchanges with customers as quickly as possible, Song Lan had found himself telling the man that he did like it. He explained that he expected it would only be for now, as he put himself through law school, that he was lucky he had old friends who managed this place, who were willing to work flexibly around his school schedule. The other man had thought that that was amazing, seeming embarrassed to admit that his mothers had almost insisted they pay for his own schooling, to let him focus exclusively on his studies. Song Lan had found out that he studied computer sciences, with a focus on accessible technology.

And then a customer had dropped a cup, and by the time Song Lan was done dealing with that, the man had been gone, only the empty teacup, a generous tip, and a “Thanks J” scrawled on the receipt to confirm that Song Lan hadn’t imagined him.

Song Lan was still reeling from the man’s admission that he remembered the conversation at all. Song Lan had thought was only a strange personal fixation of his own. But he was finding it hard to handle the knowledge that the other man not only remembered, but remembered in this kind of detail. Remembered that he was in school, and as they continued to talk now, remembered things Song Lan had forgotten he’d even said.

“It seems like a pretty nice team here. It’s nice to finally see the manager’s brother here… you mentioned him last time, but he’s never been here when I’ve visited,” the man smiled, “But you mentioned before he usually only works afternoon shifts? I guess that was my fault then…”

At some point in the conversation, Song Lan felt the notepad and pen he was holding slowly leave his hands. He blinked and turned his head, to see Wen Qing give him a small wink and look at the page now in her hand, getting to work on the teas these two customers had ordered a long while ago now.

“So is…a-Qing also studying computer science?”

“Yes!” the other man seemed similarly surprised that Song Lan had remembered this detail, “She ended up getting a co-op job at the same place I’ve been interning at. She’s got the same kind of accessibility needs as me,” he waved vaguely at his own eyes, “So she’s been a great second set of hands on this project.”

The sound of a scraping chair. A bump of metal against the back of his legs. Wen Qing clearly was giving him permission to, no, insisting he sit down.

He sat, shuffling the chair forward, and soon she was back, a mocha, a white tea, and a green tea — Song Lan’s standard order — in hand. She set them down, patted Song Lan on the shoulder and walked away.

“Oh am I keeping you from…?” the man’s eyes widened as he watched Wen Qing walk away.

Song Lan chuckled, “No. That was her telling me I’m on a break for now.”

The other man puffed out an appreciative breath of laughter, “Like I said, this seems like a nice team to work with.”

Song Lan nodded, and gently lifted the cup of tea to his lips.

They sat in silence for a while, the whole situation bizarre. Song Lan was rarely so social, and never so impromptu about it. But it still felt right. Peaceful. Like this is something they hadn’t planned to do, but had always expected, somehow. Song Lan kept his eyes mostly to his tea, but each time he chanced a glance up, he caught the other man’s smiling eye and had to look back at his tea as he felt his face flush.

The sound of a laptop snapping shut was what finally shook him out of the gentle trance.

“Time to go, Xingchen-ge.” She looked to Song Lan (whose only thought at that moment was now His name is Xingchen. His name is Xingchen on loop), “We’ll see you again. And…” she picked up the phone lying face down on the table, the one with the frost-covered case lying closer to her brother, not the green one featuring what was obviously some pop culture reference Song Lan didn’t understand pasted all over the back. She tapped at the screen quickly, unlocking it before turning it to Song Lan, “Name and number, please.”

“A-Qing—!” the man exclaimed, and Song Lan was charmed, and a bit relieved, by the faint pink tinting the other man’s ears. But he still wasn’t sure whether he should take the phone being forcefully shoved into his hand.

He turned to the man — to Xingchen — and asked, “Do you… want me to?”

Xingchen’s eager, if still subdued, still gentle, nods were all he needed to see. He entered his contact information quickly, only having to backspace a few times to account for the typos he kept making.

“Thank you, Song Lan,” Xingchen said, smiling a smile that Song Lan couldn’t peel his eyes away from as he took the phone back.

“Ah, you can call me Zichen, that’s what my family calls me,” Song Lan said before he really thought about it, before he could consider whether it might be too forward to ask Xingchen to call him by a name even the Wens didn’t yet use for him. But Xingchen didn’t know that, and only smiled more widely.

“Then thank you, Zichen,” Xingchen said. And any doubt Song Lan had had washed away — that name just sounded so right coming from this man, “I hope we’ll meet again soon?”

“Yes. Definitely.” Song Lan nodded eagerly.

The two left together, a-Qing saying something inaudible that was making Xingchen giggle. Song Lan watched as he tapped her affectionately on the nose, the perfect image of an older brother.

He sighed, but soon felt a wet rag dumped into his hands and was forced to tear his eyes away from the now empty store front, “You’re on cleaning duty,” Wen Qing said, smirking, “You absolutely owe me.”

Song Lan nodded, taking the rag and proceeding to wipe down the tables, still half in a daze.

He went over to deal with the counters, where Wen Ning, enjoying a brief pause from the busy hours, asked, “So, do you think you’ll see him again?”

“I certainly hope so,” was Song Lan’s simple reply.

#sxreverseibb #untamed fall fest #songxiao #song lan #xiao xingchen #a qing #wen qing #cql #the untamed #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #my writing

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