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wren-ravenheart · 3 years

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I'll Keep Your Memory

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Prompt: Childhood Memorabilia Relationships: Lambert/Jaskier Rating: T Content Warnings: Hints of child abuse, cursing, Summary: Modern Au Julian and Lambert have lived next door to each other as long as they can remember, and have been close friends for nearly as long. Lambert entrusts a box of his most prized possessions to his best friend, and spends more and more time with him and away from his own house. Before either can come to terms with what this means for them, tragedy strikes and both boys are left wondering if they'll ever see their friend again.

Cross-Posted to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31149023

Most of this is under a cut as I went Completely off the Rails with this little prompt, and this is 6k words of chaos. <3

~~~~~~~

In a small town, on a quiet street, in the middle of nowhere Redania, there lived two families who seemed completely innocuous to anyone passing by. Each family lived in a squat little cookie-cutter house with dark brick walls, a comfy front porch, and a well-maintained lawn. Each family consisted of a husband, a wife, and their only son. And there is where the similarities end, for while in one house there is love and laughter, the other holds darker secrets that would never come to light.

Julian had lived next to Lambert’s house for as long as he could remember. Their dads worked together up until recently, and the two boys were never far from each other. He considered Lamb his very best friend in the whole wide world, with his bright hazel eyes, lop-sided grin, and floppy black hair. And now, finally, at the tender age of Ten, Lambert apparently also considered him his very best friend as well.

“Julek, you have to promise me to keep these safe at all costs, okay?” Lambert had a serious look on his face as he handed him a shoebox full of his most important things. Julien took the box with trembling hands as he nodded.

“Of course. But… but why are you giving me these? You never let your trading cards out of your sight..”

Lambert shuffled back and sat on Julian’s bed with a sigh. He kept his eye on the box as the other boy turned to nestle it into a corner of his closet carefully. “Well, you know how my dad doesn’t work with your dad anymore?”

“Mhmm.”

“Yeah, well he’s lookin around the house now for anything he can get his mitts on to sell. Some of those cards took me forever to find and I ain’t about to let him get anywhere near ‘em. So they’ll stay here with you…. Along with a few other bits.”

Julian popped his head up and looked over at Lambert in awe. “You mean…”

“Yeah. It’s in there. Don’t touch it.”

He shook his head so hard he wondered if he was gonna rattle something loose. “I promise. I’ll keep it all safe.”

Lambert cracked a small smile and patted the bed next to him in invitation. Julian hurried over and plopped down, pulling his legs up to cross in front of him. He nudged the other’s shoulder slightly in hopes of more of the story.

“Not much to tell, Jules. I just don’t… I don’t have a good feeling. He’s actin’ different and Momma is quieter lately. I haven’t heard ‘em fight, but then who knows why adults are the way they are.”

Julian nodded and leaned his head over on his best friend’s shoulder. Lambert ruffled his hair and stole a quick hug before shoving him over in the bed. Julian bounced off the mattress with a laugh.

“Enough sad crap! C’mon I wanna kick your ass in Mario kart.”

He was up and out the door before Julian could roll himself off the bed. “No fair! Cheater!” And raced after him with a shout.

They didn’t talk about the box again, and Lamb only asked to see it maybe four times over the next two years. Things got progressively worse at his house as his father failed to keep a steady job and took to drinking. He overheard his own parents whispering from time to time over the state of “that poor boy’s mother” when they thought he couldn’t hear them.

He kept a watchful eye over his best friend anytime the two were playing together, trying to see whatever his parents thought they saw. He only saw Lambert acting sillier and sillier as time crept on, and spending more and more time over with him. The night of his twelfth birthday, Lambert even spent the night. It was a turning point for him.

They woke the next morning in an octopus tangle of limbs, and he felt his little pre-teen heart stutter as he suddenly noticed the way Lambert’s hair brushed his forehead, and the way the lingering chub to his cheeks only enhanced his smile. Clearly, whatever his parents thought they were seeing was wrong. His best friend was fine! More than fine, really...

He took two entire painful weeks to come to terms with the sudden crush he had developed, and another month to think of a reasonable way to admit said crush to his very best friend without terrifying him away forever. He wrote five letters to Lambert in the hopes of figuring out what he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it. All five ended in crumbled heaps at the bottom of his trash can.

Finally, he could take it no longer and decided to just go pay him a visit and confess it all. Patience had never been his strong suit, and what self-respecting 7th Grader kept such important information to themselves anyways?

With a quick glance at Lambert’s special box for courage, Julian marched out his front door on his mission…

Only to be brought up short at the sight of four police cars, two fire trucks, and an ambulance blocking his street and covering the lawn of his best friend’s house in various uniformed people. The bouncing red and blue lights caused him to squint as he tried to make out what was going on. Before he could even take a step forwards to investigate, his father’s hand came down on his shoulder, holding him fast. He glanced up to see his father with a grim look on his face and his mother a step behind, tears already shining in her eyes. Julian swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat as he gazed back towards Lambert’s house. His eyes burned as he tried not to cry. This wasn’t supposed to happen…and how was he ever going to confess now? Was this what his parents had been whispering about for months?

“Dad, what’s… what’s going on? Is Lambert okay?”

“I don’t know, son. I don’t know.” His voice was quiet and not at all reassuring, even as he tugged Julian into a loose hug.

His father was able to coax him back indoors with the promise of ice cream and Star Wars, but the flashing of the lights stayed with him. They would play over and over again whenever he closed his eyes. And they would haunt him again when he finally made it back outside in the late afternoon of the next day and all that greeted him was an empty street and police tape barricading off the house of his favorite person. And he knew he’d never get those lights out of his nightmares when the scene outside didn’t change, and his best friend never came back.

~13 years later~

Kaedwen was terribly muggy and sticky in late summer. The humidity made the air outside feel like it was nearly chewable, and Jaskier had to stop from time to time to wipe the sweat from his forehead as he hunted for the row his new flat was on.

Jaskier, formerly known as Julian, was enrolled in the Musical Theory graduate program at the University of Daevon, freshly turned 25, and was absolutely turned around in what he hoped was his neighborhood. He pulled a suitcase behind him and had a duffel bag hanging from his other shoulder, and looked to all the world at large to be a completely lost tourist. Four people had passed him and given him the stink eye as they went.

He took another glance at the paper his lodging information was on again and sighed heavily. This was not shaping up to be his day, or even his week.

“Lost, little puppy?”

Jaskier turned his head so fast he thought he heard something in his neck pop, bringing himself at eye level with a very tall and broad man with hair that looked like a snowdrift. He couldn’t help it, he gawked and wasn’t even subtle about it.

The man grinned at him, apparently well aware of the effect he had on strangers, and strode forward to take the paper from Jaskier’s hand without even asking. Jaskier spluttered a bit, straightening to bring himself to his full 6 foot height as the man frowned and hummed at the paper. He puffed his chest, brought up his hand, and prepared to begin a proper lecture on the rudeness of this strange man.

“Now see here - “

“You missed your flat. It’s six houses back on the left. The numbers can be a little weird around here, but if you double back you shouldn’t miss it.” The stranger pointed as he spoke, singling out the building in question as he handed back the paper. Jaskier took it with a squeaked out ‘Thank you’, completely deflating in equal parts confusion, gratitude, and little bit of attraction to this very headstrong person.

The stranger simply grinned and nodded to him. “Welcome to Daevon. You’ll love the food.” And with that odd non-sequitur, he strode away, leaving a mildly dazed Jaskier behind.

As he lifted the paper again to double check the address, he noticed the man had also managed to tuck the small menu of a local restaurant as he’d handed it over. The Wolf Den: Kaedweni Cuisine with a Redanian Twist . Huh. What were the odds of that? He missed the food around Novigrad… maybe this was something he should try out. He tucked the menu safely away in his duffel pocket and made his way into his new home.

Lambert carefully shifted the skillet he was using onto the burner and wiped his hands off as his brother strode into the kitchen with a grin on his face that meant he was up to something. He eyed him warily as Geralt dumped his latest grocery haul onto an empty prep table.

“What’re you smiling at?”

“It’s a lovely day.”

“Bullshit. My sweat is sweating. You look up to something…”

Geralt shrugged and began sorting through his haul. “Saw a cute guy today. University chap. Totally lost looking like a sad puppy. Slipped him a menu.”

Lambert let out a loud bark of laughter. “Ohhoh! You’re hopin he comes sniffin around here and you get to ooze your charm at him.”

Another shrug from his brother. “Maybe it’s just nice having more customers..”

“Mhmm. Customers. Right. Maybe I’ll sneak out to him first.” He turned to wiggle his eyebrows at Geralt and make a mildly crude gesture with his left hand. His brother just rolled his eyes and proceeded to ignore him. With a shrug of his own, Lambert went back to work.

He’d been adopted by this family shortly before he turned 13 and they had literally saved his life. He wasn’t sure of where he would be if he hadn’t been taken in by his Foster father. Vesemir had already had Eskel and Geralt, both six and five years older than him respectively, and this restaurant near the University district. He’d been taught to cook, had an excellent head for the numbers side of the business, and had been able to incorporate some of his favorite dishes from his early childhood into the menu. Any other memories of his time in Redania he swiftly shoved down as far as he could. Was it healthy? Maybe not. But the less he thought of it, the less it hurt. And eating away his feelings was honestly his favorite thing.

A phone ringing about fifteen minutes later kicked him right out of his spiralling thoughts as he watched Eskel reach out and snag the receiver.

“Wolf Den, what can I get ya?”

Eskel mumbled, explained, and scratched out a delivery order before pushing it towards Lambert.

He picked it up and looked it over. Jaskier P. Weird name. With a shrug he tacked the order up next to his current and threw a thumbs up at Eskel. Lunch rush time.

Jaskier sat cross legged on his couch, gesturing at his friend Essi with a fork and talking around a mouth full of food. Three take out boxes sat open on his coffee table, all from The Wolf Den.

“I’m tellin’ you, Ess. Not only is this the best food within delivery distance of this place, but they’re staffed entirely by greek gods pretending to be men. One of them is clearly a mountain god, built like an entire apartment building with what must be the softest head of brown hair I have ever seen. One clearly lords over the snowy plains, white hair but he can’t be that much older than me and also looks like he could break me in two and I’d thank him.” Essie snorted and he waved the fork menacingly. “You mock, but I’m serious. And I also met what I think must be the owner, because he’s clearly an older gentleman, but yet again! Built like a tank and aging gracefully. I have yet to meet their other cook, but I will if it’s the last thing that I do! I want to marry this place.”

“That’s illegal in all territories, Jask. We aren’t that progressive yet.” The tremor in her voice as she tried not to laugh gave her away.

“Again with the mocking!”

“Well, I could hardly call myself your best friend if I didn’t put you in your place on occasion. Now am I going to help you unpack or are you going to blow all your time and grad money on more food?”

Jaskier huffed and shoved one more bite into his mouth before getting up and stomping off into his bedroom. Essi followed shortly trying to suppress her giggles. The kitchen was still a disaster of boxes, hence the take out, and the bedroom as well. All he had managed to get properly set out was his living room and working spaces, clearly the most important.

Three squat boxes sat at the end of the bed and the closet doors were propped open. Essi sat herself down on the corner of the bed and cracked open the box closest to her. She pulled out an impressive length of soft rope and raised an eyebrow at Jaskier.

He darted over and snatched the box away from her with a glare. “It says Private on the box, Ess! Open the other one!” He grumbled as he stomped away to shove the box wholesale into the closet to be promptly forgotten about. Essi just grinned at him in a way that made him sure she had done that on purpose.

“You’re a menace.”

With a raucous laugh, she settled back into the other box.

Two hours, and a bottle of wine, later and all that was left was a few items tucked away in the bottom of the last box. There were clothes hanging in his closet, proper bedsheets on his bed, and several photo frames on his walls. Essi pulled a very battered, barely holding together with duct tape, shoebox out and squinted at it.

“What in the name of 90s nostalgia is this monstrosity?”

Jaskier turned to see what she had and his face went through several rapid emotions before settling on the best poker face he could muster. He stepped forward and took the box gingerly from her, trying his best to ensure his voice came out steady.

“An old friend gave it to me for safe-keeping.” The words came out steady and he gave himself a mental high-five as he walked into the closet and set it carefully on a high shelf. As gently as he could, he shifted it back until it hit the wall and was safely tucked out of sight. Despite the ease with which he said it, Essi caught the emotion there. She stood up and crossed over to wrap her arms around his middle. He tried not to get choked up as he patted her arm in quiet thanks.

“It’s Lambert’s, isn’t it?”

“I can’t believe you remember that.”

“Jask, you were drunk off your gourd, sobbing into my lap… how could I forget?” She punctuated her last sentence with a soft headbutt between his shoulder blades. “You haven’t spoken of him since, but you were close.”

“Closest I have ever been to anyone besides you and my parents.” He reached back and scratched at her head until she let go and he was free to wander back over and flop on the bed. She followed and sat down beside him.

“I didn’t mean to drag down the mood.” Essi hummed while flipping his wisps of hair out of his face. “How about we go over to this little food joint you love so much for lunch tomorrow, in person, so you can shamelessly flirt in a more open fashion than by simply filling your bin with endless takeout boxes.“

That got a smile and a wink out of him. “You won’t regret this. The workers are nearly as delicious as the food.”

True to her word, Essi followed along behind Jaskier as they walked into the rather unassuming building that housed the “World Famous”, Jaskier’s words, Wolf Den. It was warm and cozy inside and much to her surprise and happiness was indeed entirely staffed with the most lovely specimens of the male variety.

A tall, handsome man with curling blonde hair and an interesting scar through his eyebrow was perched near the front and greeted them. He was scribbling away in a binder and motioned out towards the tables. “It’s open seating, so find a comfy spot and we will be by shortly for your drink orders.”

They found a corner table and settled in. There were a few other people scattered around, but it really seemed like a mellow afternoon. Essi settled in with her menu while Jaskier propped his chin in his hand and took in the surroundings. The greeter was talking briefly to a very tall and pale-haired woman with tattoos, piercings and a hip apron singling her out as likely their waitress. Sure enough, she sauntered over and smiled down at them. “Hey, welcome to the Wolf Den. What can I get you to start or drink?”

Jaskier grinned and rattled off his order and piped up on Essi’s behalf as well while she made googly eyes at the waitress and forgot how to use the common tongue. With a knowing smile, and a wink to Essi, the waitress sashayed away towards the kitchen.

“We’re coming here every day.”

Jaskier burst out laughing and put a hand to his belly as he chortled. Essi just glared at him, which only made the laughing worse, and by the time the waitress was back with their drinks he had dissolved into a teary-eyed hiccuping mess.

“You okay there, pal?” She asked sincerely and held out a handful of napkins to him. He took them gratefully and nodded.

“Yes.. yes.. I’m fine. Ahem. Just fine, thank you.” He managed to get out while smacking his chest to clear the last of his giggles and hiccups. With a final throat clear, he picked up the menu and tried his best to successfully order their lunch.

“What in the devil’s name was that noise?” Lambert tried to peer around Ciri as she loitered in front of the kitchen door holding an order ticket.

“Guy at table eight has a funny friend apparently. She nearly killed him with some kind of joke. I think it had to do with my ass.” She grinned as she said this, cocking her weight onto one hip and shaking the ticket back in her uncle’s face.

Lambert grabbed the ticket and bared his teeth, trying again to get around her. “If someone is harassing you, that ain’t funny! Let me at ‘em. I’ll show ‘em manners. Fuck their food. “

Ciri grabbed him by the shoulders and stood her ground. “Hey! Stop it! I was having a bit of a laugh myself. They were perfectly fine, I just thought the girl was gonna swallow her own tongue when I took their drink order. No harassment. Besides, she was kinda cute.” She ended with a pat to Lambert’s cheek and a smug smile. “Now make them lunch, or I’ll do it for you and you know how that will end.”

Lambert winced as he went back over to his stove. “With the freakin’ police department shuttin’ us down for health code violations and poisoning the customers, that’s how… Fine. Fine! But you just wait until you aren’t watchin’ me. I’ll show them not to ogle my niece.”

“Of course you will, you big softie.” She winked and swanned back out the door to the front of the house.

With a series of curses and grumbles, he sets to work. He was proud of his food. Maybe he’ll just serve it himself. See how that goes. Have a little word with the fairly odd couple out there. Yeah. He could do that just fine.

One moment, Jaskier is engaged in a spirited debate over the authenticity of a recent submission to the department by one Valdo Marx, the next he is all but forgetting to breathe as the last of the great Wolf Den Men saunters his way out of the kitchen and directly towards their table with their order. He’s tall, but whereas Geralt is Ethereal and Eskel is an entire Mountain, this man is more like the physical embodiment of a warm hug. He has dark black hair slicked back from his head, showing off what must be an early onset widows peak, and looks both muscular and comfy from every angle. His eyes are a warm amber, but a mildly menacing look across his face is pulling at a long scar across the left side of his face giving him just that hint of danger Jaskier is always such a sucker for.

He realizes he hasn’t closed his mouth yet. Something about this man is sucking away his entire ability to breathe correctly.

The man stops in front of their table and carefully sets out their plates. “Here ya go. I assume you’re in from the university, a nice couple like you. I hope my niece saw to you when you got here. She’s 19, the sweetheart, and the pride of this place. Family run. I’m sure you understand.” He gestured back towards the front door, where the waitress from earlier was talking with another pair of customers. There was something in his voice that was both fond, and mildly intimidating. Like he was aware of Essi’s eyes lingering earlier. There was something else in the accent that kicked Jaskier’s heart rate up and made him stare even harder.

He made a mildly choked noise as he finally closed his mouth and attempted speech again. It wasn’t very well done.

The man narrowed his eyes at him and the intensity of that gaze, more hazel now that he stares longer, once again stops all the words he might have been trying to say.

Geralt picked that fun and awkward moment to stroll into the building, look over, and promptly yell “Hey, Jaskier!”

The tense atmosphere screeched to a halt.

“What the hell, Geralt? This is Take Out Boy?”

Jaskier spluttered. “T-Take out boy?? What?”

Geralt just grinned and nodded. “You call at least once a week. We draw straws on who gets to deliver to you. You’re just so cute when you open the door and get flustered. Lamby here is salty he hadn’t met you yet. But he’s too good a cook to stick on delivery duty. I’m glad you came in for once.”

Jaskier tried to keep up with the font of words coming out of Geralt, but his brain had latched on to “Lamby” and refused to let it go. He spluttered some more, hoping a word or two had come out in there that might get one of these fine gentlemen to help explain what was going on.

“Aw come on, now. Don’t call me that in front of our best regular.”

“Why are you out here anyways, Lambert, I thought Ciri was working today.”

Jaskier’s brain fizzled out entirely. “Lamby… Lambert?” He muttered, mostly to himself, but also to the room at large.

“Well, yeah, she is. But she mentioned something about this table makin’ eyes at her and so I came over here to deliver their food and look menacing, I couldn’t help it. You know how I get.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at that and looked more closely at the tables occupants. Jaskier looked like he was having three existential crises at the same time and his female friend was as red as red could be. “Ah. My apologies. Didn’t mean to be making a scene out here. Lamb, let’s talk in the back, okay?” His voice held it’s own hint of steel that didn’t bode well for someone.

But as Lambert nodded and turned to move, Jaskier finally got his brain functionality back enough to whip out his hand and grab hold of the closes part of Lambert he could… his apron. The other man halted suddenly and frowned down at the hand on his clothes.

“Lambert?”

He looked over at Jaskier and noticed how his eyes looked like the ocean, wide and blown out, and his entire face looked like he was a mix of happy and terrified and borderline about to pass out.

“Yeah?”

“From Redania?

He went still, and dropped all emotions from his face.

“Who wants to know?”

“Julian Pankratz.”

Now it was Lambert’s turn to suck in a breath and then promptly forget how to breathe again. He opened his mouth and all that came out was a bit of a choked off noise before he was ripping away from Jaskier’s hold and sprinting back into the kitchen. Jaskier was left with his hand still out and the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes.

Geralt looked back and forth between Jaskier and the still swinging kitchen door a couple of times before landing back on the other man and putting his hands on his hips. “What the hell was that?”

Jaskier tried to clear his throat and speak, but all that came out was a wounded groan. Essi reached over and covered his hands with her own.

“Jaskier is from Redania as well. Mentions on brief occasions his oldest and best friend from his childhood. His first crush. A man he still carries around a beat up old box of mementos for. A man named Lambert.” She spoke softly, not taking her eyes off her friend as she did.

Geralt sat down heavily in an empty chair. “So you… you knew him. Before?”

Jaskier nodded.

“Lambert won’t tell us what happened before he was adopted. The only things we know were that he was from Redania, he loved his mother’s cooking, and that he wanted to incorporate it into our menu. Other than that. He’s silent on anything else. I imagine that’s why he ran…”

Jaskier looked wounded. He had always wanted to know what had happened to his friend that night. But more than that, he just wanted to have his friend back at all. And to see him here, in a random restaurant in Kaedwen… well he was still trying to wrap his mind around it all.

Geralt nodded and stood up again. “I’ll go check on him. Can you… Can you stay? His shift ends in an hour anyways.”

With one more solemn nod from Jaskier, the other man stood and left. Essi ruffled his hair in affection before tucking into her own food. He just stared at his in a mix of shock and awe.

It was barely 40 minutes later, and only about half of his food eaten, that Lambert re-emerged from the kitchen and headed straight for their table. He stopped in front of it and shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. Jaskier watched him and tried to give him a tentative smile.

“Can we talk? Somewhere else?” He blurted.

Jaskier looked surprised but nodded and looked over towards Essi. She just waved her hand in dismissal.

“I can make my own way home. Thanks for lunch. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with that she stood, nodded at Lambert and left the building. Jaskier stood up and pointed towards the door.

“My flat is a block over. We can talk there. I… there’s something I want to give you. And it’s private. I don’t have a roommate.”

Normally that would be grounds for a solidly flirtatious remark, but Lambert was still struggling with his own brain at the moment and simply nodded and followed after his old friend as they left and made the short walk.

Once the door to the flat was shut behind him, Lambert seemed to deflate a bit, the tension loosening some. “I wasn’t expecting to ever see you again.”

“Neither was I…” Jaskier agreed and walked towards his bedroom. Lambert followed and took a cautious seat on the edge of the bed. Looking around he saw photos of Jaskier with friends, with his parents, and with different instruments. Little snapshots of his life growing into what Lambert had to admit was a gorgeous and talented man.

The handsome man in question was rifling around in his closet, trying to pull something off a high self all while shaking his hair out of his eyes and mumbling to himself. He was about to ask if he needed help when the other made a little noise of triumph and bounded out and onto the bed with a very old box in hand. A box that was more duct tape than cardboard at this point.

“I never did more than patch it up when it threatened to fall apart. I never took out any of the contents, I didn't look or peek, and everything should still be in there just as you left it.” His voice had an excitedly breathless quality to it as he held out the box to him.

Lambert took it with shaking hands, little fragments of memory niggling at his mind as he lifted the lid with shaking hands. Inside, the bulk of his most cherished trading cards, his own copy of mario kart, and a letter and ring from his mother, cared for so diligently by another and protected like he had been unable to. He couldn’t form words. The emotions welled back up that he’d managed to push down so very hard since that awful night. The night she was killed. The night his whole world ended and then rearranged itself.

But here he was. Sitting on the edge of a bed that belonged to the first person he truly trusted besides his mother. He looked up to meet Jaskier’s eyes and was surprised to find his own vision blurring with unshed tears.

Jaskier made a hurt sort of tsking noise and launched himself forward, wrapping his arms around Lambert and hugging him. He let himself cry then, for the first time in over a decade, and fall apart feeling bafflingly safe in the arms of someone he hadn’t seen in even longer than that.

Jaskier shifted them to let Lambert lay down on the bed after his sniffled had died down, and went to go get them water and snacks. He returned to see Lamb propped up against his headboard, the box in his lap and the lid firmly on it. He went and sat beside him, holding out a glass of water to him.

“I can’t believe you kept this.”

“Well my very best friend in the whole world entrusted it to me. I wasn’t about to break that promise. Especially not after…” Jaskier’s smile faded as he trailed off. Lambert took the water before he dropped it and sipped while he thought about what to say. What could he say? If he was honest, Jaskier had been the first inkling he had that he wasn’t going to be living in a little brick house with a picket fence and a wife. Those first early childhood crushes lingered in the memory. At this point he was better off sipping his water and waiting for the other to find his footing for him.

“I wrote you letters. For a time. I didn’t put them in that box, and I didn’t keep them for long, but I… I did it anyways. All the way until college.”

“I worked very hard not to think of my life before… I never did anything like that, Julek. I’m not worth you having kept this for me. I worked so hard to forget my time before.”

Jaskier took a risk and reached out, taking Lambert by the hand and squeezing it. “You were my best friend. In my more morose hours, I may cry at length about the tragedy that was never knowing what happened to you. I had been going to go over that night and tell you I had a crush on you, but you were gone. But you’re here and whole, and I have a chance to get to know my best friend all over again.”

Lambert squeezed back then snapped his head up. “What? You had a what?”

“Oh, ah… Welllll. Of course that’s what you would latch on to. Turns out little Julian was not very into girls. My very first crush was on my very male best friend.” He winked as he said this, trying to bury his nerves behind bravado. He hoped it was working.

Lambert stared at him and then started giggling, giggling!, like a child. “No fuckin’ way.”

Jaskier puffed himself up and glared in a very ineffective manner. “Yes, fuckin’ way.”

“I had a crush on you , nimrod. I just… didn’t want to say anything. You knew my… well my situation.”

Jaskier hummed and scooted up closer. “I did. Though it seems like your situation has changed mightily. I’d… well, I would like to get to know you again. We’ve both changed. Be nice to become friends again in this new life.” He smiled as he talked, and Lambert just shifted his hands to lace their fingers together and smile back.” Hell, keep holding my hand and looking at me that way and I’ll lose control over my mouth entirely and go so far as to ask you on an actual date.”

Lambert’s smile went lopsided as he tried to avoid breaking out into laughter again. He shifted closer. “Yeah, well your mouth is welcome to run off and do that. I’m off on Thursdays. Which is, oh! Would you look at that… is tomorrow.”

Jaskier laughed and leaned in before stopping himself. “Still sassy. Can I hug you again?”

Lambert took his free hand and set it on Jaskier’s neck to pull him in. “You can have more than a hug, Buttercup.”

Jaskier barely had time to huff a laugh at that before Lambert’s lips were on his and his whole world was finally righting itself. They sat there, clinging to each other, working hard to be as close to the other as possible. When Jaskier finally pulled away to suck in a deep breath, Lambert carded his fingers through his hair.

“So, how about that date, then?”

The laughter sparked by this quickly dissolved into a series of very light moans as Lambert kissed him again and rolled them both over.

They had 13 years to make up for, but more important than the past for them, was the promise the future held.

~End~

#jaskier #lambert #witcher rarepair fanfiction #my writing #jaskier/lambert #Lambskier #Bombard #childhood friends to lovers

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queenbirbs · 4 years

Text

the way home | epilogue | Edward x MC

Pairing: Edward Mortemer x MC

Warnings: some language

Word count: 1,340

Read from the beginning

Read on AO3

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“If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends, make it last forever, friendship nev-- ow! fuck you, scrubby pad! -- eeeeennddss.”

“Babe?”

From her squatted position on the shower floor, Gabby groans and leans back to poke her head around the corner.

“Yeah?” she calls out.

“Your phone’s going off.”

“Who is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, what does it say?”

There’s a brief pause, and then: “It’s all notifications from something called are slash time travel.”

“Ooh! Can you bring it to me?”

“My hands are covered in spackle.”

“Mine are covered in bleach, though,” she whines.

There’s a sigh, then the sound of footsteps coming down the creaky hallway. A moment later, Iman pushes open the door and winces.

“Holy shit, how much Comet did you use?”

Jumping to her feet, Gabby cheerfully abandons the chemical-induced haze of the guest bathroom shower and takes her phone from her girlfriend.

“Thanks, honey.”

“The window’s… why isn’t the window open? I’m opening the window.”

She nods her head, letting Iman fuss in the background while she swipes open the app. Her breath catches at the top post’s title: I think I found the new celebrity time traveler.

The body of the post is copied from an article published by National Geographic that details a new historical discovery.

“Our running theory was that this was a Dread Pirate Roberts situation,” Professor Belinda Doyle explained. Doyle, a professor of history at Boston College, focuses her work primarily on piracy and smuggling in the 17th to 18th centuries.

“We believed that the strange gaps in the timeline meant that Captain McTavish was either killed in battle or hanged, and that another female pirate using that same name would take her place. We know now that wasn’t the case, thanks to the artifacts and documents that have been uncovered. Instead, McTavish was disappearing over the years to have a family. It would’ve been hard, certainly, for a female pirate during that time to take on raising a child. With the legend she made of herself, it makes sense that she would’ve kept her family as much of a secret as possible.”

Several items were found on Tiburon, a tiny island in the northern Caribbean, including a painting, a glass ornament, and a small chest of other artifacts. Most of the objects are in near-mint condition. The blown-glass trinket is still wrapped in a cloth with a slip of parchment tucked inside. The documents inside the chest include ship logs, inventories, letters, and birthday cards. The most stunning relic is the family portrait, painted by famed artist Marianne de la Vega sometime in the 1760s. The painting features McTavish, her husband Captain Edward Mortemer, and their two children.

Past the text dump are side-by-side photos of Elena’s old headshot and a copy of the painting.

“Oh, my god!” Gabby sprints out of the bathroom and down the hallway to show Iman. “Honey, look! Look, it’s her! I found her, it’s her!”

“Babe, stop, you’re going to get bleach all over the new… holy shit! It’s her!”

------

“You’re fidgeting again.”

“I don’t make it a habit of sitting in one place and not moving.”

“You do when you’re reading.”

“Ah, but I don’t have a book to keep me occupied though, do I?”

“I’ll tell you a story, Papa!”

Elena puts a hand on their son’s shoulder as he starts to get up. “No, Christopher, you need to sit still, remember?”

He juts out his bottom lip in a pout. “I want to tell Papa a story.”

“You can tell me a story when we’re done,” Edward reassures. “I promise.”

“Mama!” Andie coos from Edward’s lap, trying to stretch her short arms out and grab hold of her mother. “Mama!”

He tries soothing their daughter with a toy, but her soft babbling soon turns to hiccupy cries. He shifts to catch Marianne’s eye from around the easel.

“I apologize, but can we…?”

“‘Tis fine,” she murmurs, most of her concentration still on the canvas before her.

Elena gathers Andie into her arms and bounces her on her lap, knowing she despises sitting still as much as her father does.

“This would be much easier if it were one of your photographs,” he murmurs with a smirk. She thinks of the secret Polaroid she has stashed away, the one that she uses to take photos of their crew and their little family.

“The camera won’t be invented for another sixty years, sorry. Besides, you’re the one who insisted on getting a portrait done.”

“It’ll be nice to have.”

“You only wanted one because Robert and Julien had one made.”

“Please try to keep steady,” Marianne warns again.

They settle back into their chairs, having not realized they drifted closer during their teasing. Other than Andie demanding to swap laps a few more times, the rest of the afternoon is smooth sailing. Elena feels like she can make that comparison, given that they’ve sailed half the world over now.

“Alright, you may stand.”

She releases the children, much to their relief, and they race through the door and out into the courtyard. Edward helps her up from her chair and they cross the room to see the painting. The background is still blank, save for a halo of deep blue around the family, but the rest is in full color.

“It’s wonderful,” Elena murmurs, drawing her hand through the air to motion to each fine detail. “The ruffles in Andie’s dress, the pattern of my coat -- oh, and especially your eyes. A spectacular job, Miss de la Vega.”

“Aye, a fantastic job,” Edward agrees, then draws up short. “You know what I’ve just realized, though, lass?”

“What?”

“We’ll have to have another one made once this one comes along,” he says, reaching out to palm the obvious swell of their child.

Pursing her lips, Elena tilts her head and studies the painting.

“I don’t know. She is already in this one, technically.”

Edward snorts out a laugh, knocking his shoulder into hers and prompting a chuckle from her. “Same time next year, then, Miss de la Vega?”

“Of course. I’ll have this sent to you once it’s finished.” Marianne glances up from organizing her paints to smile up at them. “I think it’ll look rather grand above your hearth.”

With a last farewell, Elena takes Edward’s hand and wanders out into the courtyard with him. The afternoon sun bakes along the stonework, but in the shadowed recesses, the summer day is tolerable. Palm fronds tickle their shoulders as they stroll through the breezeway.

“How are we going to tell her our ship doesn’t have a fireplace?”

“I think she already knows,” Elena assures. “The swords at our sides aren’t exactly subtle.”

A grin flashes across his face.

“Well, we do have a reputation to uphold.”

The high-pitched sound of laughter leads them to the center courtyard, where Ginny and Lottie are chasing Christopher around a bubbling fountain. Andie cheers on from her seat at the fountain’s edge, the fine ruffles of her dress already soaked, tired from her earlier race. Rushing forward, Edward snatches Christopher up and throws him over his shoulder.

“Have you prepared the rigging, sailor?”

“Nay!” he squeals with laughter, wriggling as his father tickles him.

“‘Nay’?” Edward swings him with ease to his other shoulder. “Captain McTavish, I believe we’ve a lazy pirate on our hands. What are we to do with him?”

Elena hums, feigning a look of consideration as she boosts Andie down from the fountain ledge. Ginny scoops her up onto her hip, to which Elena shoots her a look of gratitude.

“I don’t know. Maybe a night in the brig?”

“Mama, no!” Christopher protests in between giggles.

“No!” Andie interrupts. “Go home!”

“An excellent idea.” Slowing his stride, Edward sidles up next to Elena. She takes the opportunity to ruffle their son’s hair as he chatters away. “What does the captain say, though?”

“Set course for Tiburon,” Elena agrees. “It’s time to go home.”

------

Author’s notes and what-have-yous:

The painter’s surname is a reference to Evelyn de la Vega, a patient in OPH. Also, thus ends this series! I’ve got a google doc with a few ficlets / fragments of scenes that fit within this series that I may get around to posting at some point. Other than that, here’s the end.

#distant shores #distant shores fic #edward x mc #edward mortemer #f: the way home #Kaila writes things #ahh epilogue time

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superthiccthighssavelives · 4 years

Text

Angsty Prompts

Alright @primaba11erina, here is part 1/2 of your prompts.

It’s long af, so I had to split it into 2 pieces, it’s really sad honestly, and my heart hurts from writing it, but hopefully this is what you wanted from them. ❤

Please listen to:

*Ocean Eyes - Billie Ellish*

*Everything to Help You Sleep - Julien Baker*

*The Beach - The Neighbourhood*

(and whatever heartwrenching music you have to get into the mood)

The 2 prompts from the angsty list are in bold

48- “You’re hurting me”

49- “Please just let me go”

@alyss--in--wonderland, @linseykalynn, @jolovesfandoms and whoever else wants to read it.

I’m 3 months into my first semester at college, and I’m completely miserable. I missed my family, I missed my friends, and I especially missed my boyfriend. I knew it was going to be hard, without everyone, but not this hard. I walked around with a black cloud over my head, I couldn’t sleep, I lived off black coffee and my best friend was a tube of concealer.

My boyfriend, Taron, and I had been together since middle school, ya know the innocent puppy love, developing into a more serious relationship. We were always together, we never fought, well rarely, it was so easy with him. He was my best friend. We barely talk. Between classes, studying, sleep?, and everything else, it’s usually twice a week. A quick goodnight here and there, and maybe facetime on the weekend. This sucks. I haven’t even seen him since I left.

He stayed back in London, going to a drama school. His talent was too good to pass this opportunity up. We agreed before I left to make sure nothing would change, we both cried like babies, and couldn’t let one another go. After a few hours, I had to tear myself away or I’d end up staying.

Now, 3 months later, I feel like we’re strangers. It may be naive to think that we could keep this relationship from destructing, especially being so young, but, we really do have an amazing thing going. Or did. I tried to concentrate on school, but as time passed, and more time passes, my thoughts get farther and farther away from that, and are planted in worry and ...that uncomfortable, writhing, anxiety ridden feeling in my stomach.

It’s Friday, and I’m about to finish my last class. I wish I could go home for the weekend, maybe take a day or two off after, to see my mom, my sister, and Taron. I don’t even think we’ve talked in a week, the anxiety was building back up again. We basically were playing phone tag, he’d call when he was free, but I was in class, I’d call him but he’d be in rehearsal. I hate this. I hate this so goddamn much.

I drag myself back to the dorms, skipping the coffee, I just want to sleep. I feel like a snail, I’m practically crawling back. Halfway down the hall, I see someone standing by my door. My eyesight is terrible, I can’t see anything more than 6 feet in front of me. I try to focus my gaze, figuring it was another dude my roommate was banging. As I get closer, my heart speeds up, I see him, my boyfriend, and I very nearly knock him over as I plow into him with a hug.

“Oh my god, what are you doing here?”

He smiled, god, I love his smile, I missed it.

“Surprise!”

I felt tears welling up in my eyes, I couldn’t believe it. He was really here.

All I could do was stare at him, study his face, the color of his eyes, his pink lips, the way the front of his hair has a little curl to it. I barreled myself into him again, squeezing as hard as I could. I don’t care if we just stay like this for however long he’s here, I don’t want to let him go.

He pulled back, placing his hands on either side of my face.

“Are you alright sweetheart?”

I sniffled, realizing I had actual tears dripping down my face.

“I just, I really missed you.” “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I was going crazy not being able to talk to you, I’ve been miserable.” “My mam got sick of me, I was kind of being a dick, so she bought me a bus ticket to come for the weekend.”

I grabbed his hand, pulling him into my room. My legs were starting to get weak, the walk to the dorms is a bit aways from campus, and I hadn’t slept proper in weeks. A yawn slipped out, maybe I should have grabbed that coffee after all.

“Bored of me already?” A cheeky smile spread across his face

“Sorry, I’ve had a rough couple of weeks, I’m just a little tired.”

I moved closer, sitting on his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck, pressing my forehead to his.

“I’m so so so so so happy you’re here, I can’t even tell you how much.” I could feel my eyes watering again, I really was draining myself so much that I’d become an emotional mess.

He wiped my stray tears away with his thumb, and gave me a gentle kiss. I wanted to stay like this forever. He felt like home, comfort, my heaven. My lips returned to his, just wanting to feel him, his body, his energy, his whole being, just close.

This feeling was so overwhelming, I stopped and just pulled him closer again, my head on his shoulder. His arms were wrapped as tight as they could be around me, rubbing my back.

He soothed me, whispering in my ear, kissing my cheek, my temple.

Eventually I let the craziness pass, and asked what he wanted to do while he was here.

He shrugged “Really, just wanted to see you.”

I couldn’t help but smile. He brought out what I hadn’t felt in months, happiness.

We ordered a pizza and watched movies on my laptop, while I struggled to stay awake. His body was warm, and familiar, and my eyes were drooping, and I ...was...so...tired.

I snuggled up as close as I could get to him, his arm wrapped around me, his hand twirling around in my hair. I felt more and more relaxed as each second passed, I couldn’t fight it any longer.

I jumped up abruptly, not knowing what day or time it was, thinking I was late for class. It took me a second as I looked at the clock that read 11:13, to figure out if it was AM or PM.

My brain started to wake up, glancing beside me to see Taron looking at me concerned. “Are you alright love?”

“Yeah, is it morning or night?”

“Morning, you’ve been out for 12 hours, are you sure you’re alright?”

I plopped back down, pulling him to me for a kiss, even though I’m sure my breath was terrible, I just wanted to make sure he was still there and I wasn’t dreaming.

“Of course, I’ve not been sleeping well, and I think my body just decided to take over. I’m sorry I slept so long, is there anything you wanna see, or do today?”

“Whatever you'd like.”

I thought for a moment, unsure of where to take him. There is that bookstore/cafe I go to a lot when I need to get away from my roommate and her endless stream of men. It was late autumn, so a walk through the park to see all the beautiful colored trees and landscapes would be nice too.

After a shower, and doing the minimum on my hair and makeup, I hurried back to my room. I didn’t want to waste any time doing anything but being with him.

We had an amazing weekend, I took him to all my favorite places, we tried a new restaurant I’d been afraid of eating at, and crashed back at my room. We definitely made up for lost time, I forgot how incredible he felt and what he could do to me and my body. It was almost enough to make me quit school and go back home with him.

Sunday afternoon was upon us, and I dreaded sending him off. I just hope this feeling would linger after he’s left, enough to keep me going for another month until winter break.

He gave me the sweetest kiss and whispered that he loved me, and then he was gone, like he was never there at all.

I had the urge to chase after the bus, and beg him to stay with me, just for a little while, but my brain was too rational and instead, I sat on a nearby bench and text him all the things I couldn’t say before he left. Have a safe trip, text me when you get there, thank your mom for me, I already miss you, I can’t wait until winter break…

The next month plodded along, it felt like a damn eternity. I worked extra hard on my assignments, I needed the distraction. I packed as much as would fit in my suitcase and took a taxi to the bus station. It took a few hours to get home, which of course, felt like days, I just wanted to relax for a few weeks. My stomach was in knots with every mile closer.

The last time I spoke to Taron was 2 weeks ago, I hadn’t gotten a moment to call him, and he must have been on the same schedule, because I’ve heard nothing from him, not even a text.

We had one phone call the week he returned back to London, but he was distracted, at rehearsal, every time I tried to say something, he’d yell back to someone in the background, laugh, apologize, say a few words, and repeat. I’d gotten frustrated and told him to just go back to whatever he was doing, I wanted to hang up on him, but I knew I’d regret it after 5 minutes.

He seemed so distant, and after the weekend we had, I thought that would bring us closer after all that time apart. But...guess not.

I did text him a couple of days ago to remind him I’d be in on Saturday afternoon, and couldn’t wait to see him. But, no reply. I was a little upset, but really, I just wanted to get home and wrap myself around him. I’m sure there was a good explanation.

I finally arrived, running the moment I caught a glimpse of my mom. Again, my emotions were flooding out of me and couldn’t help but cry and squeeze the living daylights out of her.

The house looked different, but the same, that weird being away thing that affects your thinking. I text Taron, telling him I’d made it back, and was looking forward to seeing him, again. Mom made the best meal I’ve eaten in months, I caught up with my sister, going over the latest high school drama.

I kept checking my phone, every other second, waiting, but still nothing. I was starting to worry, and run through a thousand ridiculous scenarios, which caused my awful feeling to build.

I snuck away for a moment, and tried to call him, but it went straight to voicemail. It was becoming too late to go anywhere to see if he was home or ...who knows where.

I felt awful, my stomach wouldn’t stop twisting, making me nauseated. I didn’t know what was happening, or why he hasn’t even contacted me in weeks. As tired as I was, I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep, emotions, for a lack of a better word, suck.

I threw on a jacket and flittered out to sit on the front porch with a cup of coffee. I tried to pick out the constellations I could spot, text some of my friends to plan a meet up, and tried Taron again. Same straight to voicemail. I was halfway between detrimental anger and wanting to cry my eyes out. It was just about midnight, and I had no idea what to do. Everyone in the house was asleep, I felt completely alone.

I raided the bathroom cabinet to find something to knock me out, I definitely was going to need help falling asleep. I found some allergy meds that were supposed to make you sleepy, I crossed my fingers downing 2 pills. It kinda worked, I passed out for a couple of hours, but woke up with a racing heart around 3am. My phone blinded me, lighting up with a text.

Taron - ‘See you soon xx’

I stared at the screen, waiting for more, something else, an apology, an explanation, that he missed me, anything but some generic ass, nondescript text.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

I threw my phone, thankfully it landed on my area rug and not the wood floor. I was so pissed. After 3 weeks, that’s all he has to say?

My mouth was dry and I had a terrible taste on my tongue, I darted downstairs for a drink, trying my hardest not to grab caffeine. I poured a glass of milk, and grabbed some cookies, I guess I was hungry too.

Halfway up the stairs, I almost dropped my glass when my phone started chirping, loudly. Taron.

I should ignore it, like he’s been ignoring me. I watched it for a moment, and sighed answering.

“Yes?”

“Baaaaaaabyyyyyyyy, where are you?” He was clearly drunk.

“Taron, I’m home, remember?”

“Come see me, I’m…” The sound was muffled and I heard shuffling, then laughter.

“Oops, I dropped you.”

I rolled my eyes, my anger turning red hot. He was out, getting wasted, and hasn’t even attempted to contact me.

“Taron, It’s 3am, I’m going to bed.”

More laughter and voices in the background.

“Taron?” “Hello?’

“Sorry, where are you love?”

His speech was slurred, and quick.

“Home, in bed.”

“Bed, ooh, what are you wearing?”

“Goodnight Taron.”

I waited for him to say something, but I just heard some people in the background laughing more and mumbling things I couldn’t make out.

“Ok, bye then.” I hung up, frustrated and upset.

A minute later, my phone was lit up with another call. I ignored it.

And another.

He left a voicemail, I couldn’t make out half of what he was saying.

He tried to call again. I shut off my phone and took some deep breaths to calm down.

I woke up to the smell of bacon and pancakes. My nose carried me downstairs, only to find Taron in the kitchen with my mom, shoving a cinnamon roll into his mouth.

“Mornin sunshine!”

I glared at him, pouring myself some orange juice. He came up behind me, crossing his arms around my waist, whispering in my ear, “Missed you.” then kissing my cheek.

Mom excused herself sensing something off.

“What are you doing here?”

His eyes bulged. “What do you mean? I wanted to see you.”

“You wanted to see me so bad that you didn’t text or call me for 3 weeks? And then wouldn’t reply to anything either? Then you call at me fucking 3am drunk?”

He sighed, rubbing his forehead.

“Shit, I’m sorry, we had a good first show, so we celebrated.”

“Oh, good to know, maybe if I knew, I could have been there to see, but, it’s cool.”

He reached for my hand, but I withdrew, pulling my robe tighter.

“I’m sorry, I am, it’s been just really crazy lately, you know?”

“I guess.”

“Babe, come on, don’t be mad at me, please?”

He made an exaggerated sad pout, causing me to yet again roll my eyes.

“Stop, I wanna be mad at you.”

Honestly, looking at him, and those ridiculous puppy dog eyes he was giving me, was breaking me down.

He kissed my cheek “Come on.” *kiss* “Let’s eat.” *kiss* “I’ve missed you.” *kiss* “You look so cute with your hair a mess.” *kiss* “I’m so happy you’re home”

“Alriiiiight, stop.” He was so damn charming, he could get away with murder. I couldn’t help the grin spreading across my face.

He kissed my lips, and grabbed my hand to lead me to the table.

We spent the next couple weeks glued to one another, the only time we were apart was a few hours on the weekends when he had a show to do, he slept over almost every night.

I found some time to hang out with some of my girlfriends, do some shopping, catch up on our lives. I still had 3 more weeks at home, and I couldn’t have been happier, and avoiding every thought that entered my mind about going back.

Taron’s break was much shorter than mine, so time with him after that was few and far between. He did invite me to one rehearsal, that was fun. The rest of the time I just lounged as much as I could, read a few books, and mapped out my new classes.

It was my last weekend home, thinking about going back to school was making my stomach turn. I didn’t want to leave.

Taron took me out for a semi-fancy dinner the night before I had to head back. We, of course, again, promised each other things would be ok, and to never let more than a week go by without speaking. We had every good intention to.

We ended up at a pub for a few drinks with all our friends, I wasn’t going to see anyone again for 6 months. I didn’t want to be hungover on the long bus ride back, so I kept it to a minimum. Can’t say the same for Taron though. I had to basically carry him to the taxi and then to his doorstep. I was a little disappointed that this was our last night together, and I couldn’t even talk to him properly. I got him to his bed, covered him up and sat down beside him. His eyes were closed, but not yet passed out. I pushed his hair back from his forehead, running my fingers along his cheekbones, lips, jawline. I wanted to memorize every piece of him.

His eyes sprung open, a silly grin on his face, and pulled me down to him. “I love you.” He gave me a rough kiss on my cheek and was out for the rest of the night. I gave him a gentle kiss on his lips, took one last look and made my way out.

Another sleepless night was ahead of me, I felt different, I didn’t know exactly what ‘it’ was, but I knew it felt like a change.

The drive to the bus station was quiet, save for the dripping rain down the windows. I hugged mom goodbye, and she promised to come visit me soon.

Back at the dorm, it felt empty, and cold. I unpacked, and just laid in my bed staring at the ceiling. I hadn’t even looked at my phone since before I left. Of course, there were messages from him.

Taron - “Are you still here?” 12:42pm

“Please tell me I didn’t miss you leaving?” 12:55pm

“I’m so sorry, I swear, I didn’t mean for the night to go like that.” 1:14pm

“Text me, call me when you get there, please.” 1:47pm

“I miss you, it feels so empty when you’re gone.” 3:02pm

“Are you home yet?” 4:55pm

“Please call me.” 5:33pm

The last text was just my name and a sad emoji. 6:01pm

There were a few missed calls from him, and only one voicemail, no words, just a few seconds of a sigh, and a *click*

I was tired, I still had one more day before school started again, and I was going to use it for sleep. 8:35pm

I woke up too early the next morning, and needed the coffee I had been avoiding at home. I threw on whatever was visible on my floor, threw on a beanie and headed out the door.

My phone was dead, I must have forgotten to charge it. Oh well.

The coffee was so hot, and exactly what I needed. I took the long way back, opting for a few detours through the city. It was lightly raining, and chilly, but somehow it felt like the best thing ever at that moment.

I gazed at the dead, bare trees, the grey, gloomy sky, and the droplets of water gently plopping to the ground, it was beautiful. Even though everything was dead, decaying, it would be reborn, and more glorious than before. No, this wasn’t some metaphor for my life, or maybe it was. I don’t know.

When I returned back to the dorms, my roommate was back, unpacking. We exchanged some light words, and she headed out, leaving me to my own devices again. I binged watched some Netflix shows, and avoided charging my phone. It was still in my handbag, and I didn’t feel like getting up. I passed out early, awaking the next morning right on time to start my new semester.

Eventually, my phone was revived, strangely it took me a few days to even bother. A few messages cascaded in, from mom, my sister, one of my friends, and only one from Taron.

Taron - “I’m sorry.” Monday 1:37am

I called mom, assuring her everything was fine, caught up with my sister, replied to my friend, and left the last message unanswered.

I didn’t know what to say right now, and I needed more time to think before I decided to say anything.

A few weeks passed, surprisingly that black cloud lightened, and the sun came out. I was doing extremely well in all my classes, and I had met a few new people from my dorm hall, and my psychology class. I started to go out more, enjoy life, find myself. I took an art class even though I have no artistic talent, I hoped maybe it was hidden.

I felt a heaviness over me at times, I hadn’t replied to Taron at all. I had to eventually, either resolve it, or just ...no, I didn’t want to think about it. I was in a sort of bubble, and I didn’t want to burst it, not yet.

I dialed his number, listening to the multiple rings before his voicemail hit.

“Hey...we need to talk, umm, yeah, call me when you get this.” I hung up before I changed my mind.

Around 9pm I heard a knock at my door. His hair, and clothes were soaked. His face was covered in worry and somberness.

I stood there, in awe for a moment.

“Get in here.”

I grabbed a towel, handing it to him.

“What are you doing here?” This felt familiar.

He just looked at me, mouth open, taking a moment, while attempting to dry himself off.

“What’s going on?” “What’s happening?” “I’m worried.”

I sighed, I honestly had no idea what to even say.

“Take off your clothes.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking amused.

“They’re soaked, You’re not sitting on my bed all wet.”

I dug through my drawer, finding a t-shirt and oversized pajama pants for him to put on.

“Why haven’t you answered any of my calls, or messages?” “Is everything alright?”

I remained quiet, still not sure of what was going on myself.

“I don’t know.” was all I could come up with.

“You don’t know what?”

“Anything.”

It was quiet for a minute.

“Things aren’t the same, don’t you feel it?”

He stared, searching my eyes, trying to understand.

“I don’t know, maybe a bit.” “But life never stays the same, things always change.”

“Yeah, they do, and …” I pinched my lips, trying to figure out how to put the next sentence together. “And I think we’ve changed, too much.”

It grew quiet again.

“I’m sorry.” was the only thing that slipped from his lips. His head down, arms rested on his knees, and his hands running through his hair.

“Don’t be, I mean, it happens, as much as we don’t want it to, it happens. It’s no one’s fault”

“How can you be so, calm?”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think. Until right now, I didn’t know what was happening, it tore me apart, it’s been ripping me to shreds for months, ever since I first came here. I missed you so much, I spent so many nights lying awake, crying, wanting to just say forget it and go back home. I was so incredibly happy when you came to visit that day, I thought if I just waited it out, things could be good again, but things never work out like we plan.”

“I’m sorry, I swear, I didn’t mean for that night to end up like it happened, I promise, I will do anything, let’s just work this out, we can figure out how to make this work.”

I shook my head, I couldn’t. Not anymore. It was killing me, everytime he leaves, or when the phone doesn’t ring for 2 weeks, I let a little piece of him break away.

“Taron, I can’t, I just, can’t.” I was feeling that nauseous feeling creeping back in, and my heart bursting into millions of pieces.

“Please, I know we can.” He grabbed my hands, pulling me towards him. “Look at me, please.”

I was afraid to, I knew I was either going to buckle and give in, or immediately start crying.

He tilted my head up to him, his finger under my chin. He went on and on, trying to convince me we could make it work, that we can schedule times to talk, and we’ll visit every other weekend.

I couldn’t take it anymore, my eyes betrayed me, spilling salty tears down my cheeks.

“Taron, stop, you’re hurting me, please just let me go.”

I could barely get the words out, I was out of breath, I felt ill, I couldn’t stop bawling.

I turned away, trying to calm myself. He came around to face me, placing his hands on my face, gazing deep into my eyes. “I’m so sorry, I never meant to hurt you, I’m sorry.” Tears were forming in his eyes, making them glisten. He gave me one last lingering kiss on my forehead, grabbed his things and walked out the door.

#angsty prompt #writing #fiction #fanfiction #taron egerton fic #taron egerton imagine #taron egerton #taron egerton x reader #taron x you #creative writing #part 1 #primaba11erina #prompts

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dustedmagazine · 5 years

Text

Dust Volume 5, Number 3

Photo by Rene Block, Courtesy of the John Cage Trust

In like a lion, that’s how we’ll do March at Dusted, which is to say in a gigantic leap, with blood and innards trailing from a toothy predator’s mouth. Well, that’s the hope, but actually, we’ll probably just listen to some music and write some reviews. Case in point: this edition’s Dust candidates, which include sci-fi techno, a blissed out dub version of “Love Will Tear Us Apart,” a Portuguese guitar duel, some churning stomach fluids and a percussive interpretation of koan-like John Cage. This time, the team was limited—just Bill Meyer, Jennifer Kelly, Jonathan Shaw and Peter Taber—but mostly enthusiastic. We hope you’ll find something to like, too.

CMD — Obscure Worlds (Several Reasons)

Obscure Worlds by CMD

On the face of it, CMD’s Obscure Worlds is a sci fi-themed techno album, which doesn’t do much to separate it from the broader genre. Scratch the surface, and you find an album of detailed techno vignettes that refuse to stand still. In less than three minutes, “Uneven Landing” layers crushed static onto knocking digital debris, with a rapid-fire kick added to the mix two minutes in. On “Obscure Manifestation” a foundation of pulsing static sets the stage for otherworldly peals of feedback. “Death of a Galaxy” reaches toward the undulating bass engineering of an Yves de Mey track. “Through the Wormhole” hints at industrial fuzz a la AnD while maintaining a bit more restraint, with a switch-up in the kick pattern four minutes in that isn’t exactly characteristic for techno. Given the density of musical ideas, many of the tracks could have been extended, but they last long enough to satisfy. If the album’s concept was intended to prompt a creative, concise set of techno variations, it did the trick. Obscure Worlds feels like getting a glimpse into a techno sound-design obsessive’s sketchbook, in the best possible way.

Peter Taber

Julien Desprez / Luís Lopes—Boa Tarde (Shhpuma)

youtube

The title translates from Portuguese as Good Afternoon, and from the sound of this record it was. Both Julien Desprez and Luís Lopes are known for bringing the electricity to jazz ensembles, but when you put a couple of guitarists together it’s possible that they will connect around the instrument, not any particular genre. So it is here, but just what instrument are we talking about? The electric guitar? The amplifier? The pedals? Or all of the above? Let’s go with the latter, because this music is more about the interplay of timbres, textures, contours and sound waves than melodies, harmonies or beats. Imagine the jousting of train sounds issuing from converging valleys, the shudder of twin flexing suspension bridges or maybe just the shared sweet spots of a couple guys who probably wore out more than one CD player spinning Thurston Moore and Nels Cline’s Pillow Wand. Or don’t imagine at all, just listen to this artifact of one good afternoon in Lisbon.

Bill Meyer

Carol Genetti / Gwyneth Zeleny Anderson — Chyme (Suppedeneum)

Carol Genetti’s vocals operate beyond the boundaries of language. On Chyme, which is named after that gurgling stuff that sloshes around in your stomach after you eat, she electronically manipulates and juxtaposes sounds that humans have been making since before they thought up the first words. You might get disoriented trying to make sense of her pre-lingual exhalations and utterances, so visual artist Gwyneth Zeleny Anderson has prepared a listening score for each of the CD’s four tracks. Each score is a vibrantly colored, circuitously shaped paper cutout, the handling of which will put you (back?) in touch with the experience of pre-GPS, map-based navigation. Anderson’s combination of vibrant colors and text cues prod you out of passive listening and into a vocal / visual interaction with the sounds, which are by turns eerily beautiful and absolutely hackle raising. You will not encounter another record like Chyme.

Bill Meyer

Golden Daze—Simpatico (Autumn Tone)

Simpatico by Golden Daze

Hold up, you don’t need musical difficulty all of the time. No, there are hours and days and (occasionally) weeks when you don’t want propulsion or tension or contradictory impulses in your tunes. Life itself is full of that shit. You want something easy. You want something like Golden Daze’s Simpatico, an edgeless, frictionless, limpid pool of baroque pop, with soft whispery vocals and sumptuous clouds of guitar flurries and bright bars of electronic keyboards, unending prettiness, unconflicted lemon-y wistfulness. “Blue Bell,” the single, is like the Clientele with the bones picked out, an enveloping haze of pastel colored sound. There’s a bit of drumming in a song called “Drift,” but it only seems to heightened the disembodied floating-ness of the song’s breathy sway. “Simpatico,” at the end, emerges out of haze and fog, with warm, brushes of guitar and soft, dreaming verses, then slips out of sight. Golden Daze indeed.

Jennifer Kelly

Golia, Kaiser, Moses, Smith, Walter — Astral Plane Crash (Balance Point Acoustics)

BPA 18 Astral Plane Crash by Golia / Kaiser / Moses / Smith / Walter

p>Henry Kaiser, Damon Smith and Weasel Walter are Plane Crash, a guitar-bass-drums trio tough enough that it doesn’t have to act tough. The musicians’ common bonds are an appreciation for the atomized activity of vintage English free improvisation and a shared determination to communicate intensity through intent and focus, not bluster. Things get cosmic when you bring in West coast woodwind veteran Vinny Golia and drummer Ra Kalam Bob Moses, who played with Rahsaan Roland Kirk at an age when most kids are first trying to cadge their parents’ car keys. Moses and Golia had never played together, but they roomed in the 1960s, and their presence complicates Astral Plane Crash’s prevailing MO of quick micro-interaction in interesting ways. The flutes and saxophones run thick and slow under APC’s dust devil swirl. And Moses and Walter sound like their having a blast making like converging storm clouds, each pelting hail stones from a different direction so there’s no way you won’t get a chill down your neck. At two tracks and a hair under 80 minutes, this is all-in stuff, but when the changes come as quick and compelling as they do here that’s a feature, not a bug.

Bill Meyer

Matt Hannafin / John Cage—Four Realizations For Solo Percussion (Notice Recordings)

Four Realizations for Solo Percussion by John Cage & Matt Hannafin

In a life of ideas that spans 79 years, a guy might change his mind. John Cage famously expressed disregard for jazz, the most notable American manifestation of musical improvisation in the 20th century. But his problem was more with corrosive expressions of the self and human prejudice than it was with improvisation per se, thus his preference for chance operations. You can’t impose your personal bullshit when you submit to the random. Near the end of his life he dropped his opposition enough to write compositions that invited improvisation, which was distinct from chance operations. If that sounds like a convoluted process, consider the name of this tape’s first piece. “c Ȼomposed Improvisation for One-Sided Drums with or without Jangles” reads like a koan, which makes some sense given Cage’s engagement with Buddhist teachings. That’s just one of the four pieces that Oregonian percussionist Matt Hannafin recorded for this tape (or download, which is probably a more Buddhist format than a tape). In his hands, Cage’s music becomes a vehicle for feeling both the presence of a healthy blow and the unoccupied presence of the variably proportioned spaces where Hannafin isn’t hitting anything.

Bill Meyer

Gerrit Hatcher — Parables for the Tenor (Astral Spirits)

Parables For The Tenor by Gerrit Hatcher

One listener’s marvelously wigged-out sound is another’s torture. An audience member’s transformative listening experience might be in response to a sound producer’s moment of hollow display. You might hate a person’s most sincere expression or be deeply moved by something they do with their fingers and lungs while they try to remember where they left their bottle opener. Chicago-based tenor saxophonist Gerrit Hatcher had these existential quandaries in mind as he recorded the six solo tracks on this tape, and who’s to say if that’s why this music has such bite? Maybe it’s better to note that he makes sounds that feel linked to the work of certain Sun Ra associates and Archie Shepp into statements that don’t sound irrelevant at the tail end of the second decade of the 21st century. Hang with him while he blows and you might be changed, either because he’s ripping transformative shapes in the air or because that’s already where you’re taking yourself. Either way, what do you have to lose?

Bill Meyer

Hübsch Martel Zoubek — Otherwise (Insub)

Otherwise by Hübsch, Martel, Zoubek

There’s a world of improvised music that never crosses that precious Yankee border, and this is group is part of that world. Take one German tuba player, one Canadian viola da gamba player and another German on piano, throw in some pitch pipes and a synthesizer and what do you have? You have the raw material for a session of highly refined interaction. On the spectrum from process-oriented to outcome-oriented improvisation, these musicians tend more to the latter pole. The piano has been prepared to render gamelan-in-a-box sonorities, the tuba’s tones consistently gravitate towards ground-liquifying depths and the strings buzz in splintered contrast. The music unfolds patiently, never lapsing into clutter or confusion, and yet it never telegraphs the next move.

Bill Meyer

Jäh Division—Dub Will Tear Us Apart…Again (Ernest Jenning)

Dub Will Tear Us Apart...Again by Jäh Division

A jokey side hustle with an aughts all-star psychedelic pedigree, Jäh Division grooved hard, if obscurely, joining a love of dub, a reverence for Joy Division and a clutch of old keyboard gear. The line-up well exceeded solid with Brad Truax on booming, reverb drenched dub bass, Barry London manning a garage sales’ worth of vintage electronics (Roland RS-09, Realistic Concertmate MG-1, a Moog) and Kid Millions busting up organic and synthetic drums. This disc collects songs from a 2004 12-inch, plus bonus material including covers of Desmond Dekker’s “Fu Manchu” and Jackie Mittoo’s “Champion of the Arena.” These two are trippily wonderful, but the heart of this goofy fever dream is a nodding, pulsing, synth wreathed version of “Love Will Tear Us Apart.” It’s a jam that could go on for days or last only a second (technically it goes ong a bit over four minutes), as it distills post-punk and reggae and experimental art rock into an unending now.

Jennifer Kelly

Miscarriage — Imminent Horror (Sentient Ruin Laboratories)

Imminent Horror by Miscarriage

Much alike Stormy Daniels’ description of the Chief Executive’s fungoid phallic member, the world didn’t really need this tape from international doom metal crew Miscarriage (who hail from Sweden and the United States) — but now that Imminent Horror is here, it’s sort of hard to ignore. And once you’ve heard it, you’ll have a hard time removing it from your memory, much as you might like to. Lots of metal bands like to talk about how “disgusting” and “putrid” their music is. Miscarriage do more than talk. The noises they make sound and feel like a huge bubble of noxious gas painfully working its way through a diseased intestinal track. It’s slow. It’s gross. It doesn’t create any sort of pleasure. It’s only minimally more coherent than listening to the aforementioned Chief Executive attempt to speak in complete sentences. In all those ways, Miscarriage have made music for our times. Good luck to us all.

Jonathan Shaw

Shady Bug—Lemon Lime (Exploding in Sound)

Lemon Lime by Shady Bug

Shady Bug, out of St. Louis, makes a mathy pop so stretchy and bendable that you expect a bo-oi-oi-ing when its wandering melodies snap back into place. Under the guidance of classically trained Hannah Rainey, the band sets up intricate, jerry-rigged machinations that work by their own logic. Yet though complicated, these tunes have a vulnerable sweetness to them, mainly due to Raines’ hiccupy sincere delivery, which tips and lists as the wind blows. “Make It Up,” the single floods the sonic plane with power-washing blasts of amplified guitar, then cuts to a jittery next-to-nothing of angling, cross-cutting guitar lines. It’ll remind you of Pavement and, more recently, Speedy Ortiz, except in a fetching, kid-sibling-ish way that tugs at your sleeve and your heart.

Jennifer Kelly

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fmdxjerome · 7 years

Note

👫

Taken from film;; ft. Julien Shin

strap yourself in. it’s a full length feature film.

The first time Jerome heard of Julien was during the promotions of heavens door and boy did he hate it. It was way too romantic for his time period, way too sappy and teeth breakingly sweet that his nose scrunched up in response to it. To be fair he did experience his biggest heart break yet just two years ago so he wasn’t in the greatest mood to put on the love tunes. Now he plays heavens door sometimes, or any song pf Julien, singing along with the lyrics as he curls his arms around his waist or shoulders. He says its just to pester him but he might as well have grown fond of the songs. ( tell 2013 jerome that he’s gonna end up listening to songs of, and, falling in love with dream boyfriend over there and he’d snort. remind 2017 jerome he used to hate juliens music and watch him get all flustered about it because “no i’m 100% julien stan don’t argue w me buy good for you on itunes” but more so because it shows how much his mood changed ever since he met julien and that’s a confrontation he likes to keep in the back of his mind. ) Also on the topic of pestering he’ll just be in front of his laptop sometimes and start his sentence with “Didn’t you have a youtube channel?” before letting a smirk curl on his lips as he types away. ( but that can backfire so badly. oh julien i urge you not to find jeromes old youtube channel to get him back he was honey blonde at some point it’s not ok )

If there is one thing that has this immense sense of priority in Jerome’s life, it’s Julien, even in situations he really shouldn’t. It started in the little things like picking up the phone at inappropriate (*cough*) times or forgetting the clock when they’d hang out. But later on when he felt that first tinge of love he started picking up on old habits maximized ten fold. Someone who can vouch for that is none other than Jerome’s longest friend, Frederic, when he got to experience bits of old Jerome as they skyped together. They were talking about life but the songwriter kept letting his eyes swerve to the phone placed neatly on his desk every time a ping! was heard. It was Julien, texting him about something that was important enough to occupy half his attention. Whilst it annoyed the older at first to see the younger one grab at his phone so hastily with every infuriating bell noise, it stopped being a negative when he noticed the subtle changes in Jerome’s expression after every passing text. The simple yet genuine smiles, the way his eyebrow arched, the delighted look and not to mention the little sighs that betray way too much. Where did Yuddy go? “Wait. I can’t explain using text, I’m calling you okay?” Julien had written and Jerome absentmindedly responded with a “sure” as he listened to his best friend talking. It wasn’t until he heard the sound of some smooth r&b song escaping the tiny speakers of his phone that his eyes widened a little, comically so that left Freddy laughing a little bit as he told him to pick up. ( to quote: “Answer it. You’ve been texting this whole conversation. To leave them waiting now would be a bit cruel huh? I don’t mind.”) They talked for maybe ten minutes, ( starting with a “Hey. uh. I can’t talk that long, I’m actually skyping with my friend from France right now”..“Jerome! You told me it was okay to call you. I can call you back later.”..“No no it’s fine! It is okay. No need to do that. He said he doesn’t mind, nést-ce pas, Freddy?”..“Huh? Oh, oui oui. Parler, parler.”..”You see, he says it’s fine! Parler means talk. Or speak. So..? What’s up?” ) and the whole time Jerome was smiling as Freddy just shoveled his lunch in his mouth whilst glancing over to him in curiousity. It’s reminiscent how he was in a relationship, the way he acted or acts, and Freddy seemed to notice. ( having spend time with jerome being head over heels he notices signs.) Jerome rarely seems to notice himself though because it’s not something he pays attention to in the moment, only later when he realizes it he freaks out. (“Aren’t you smiley when talking to that person. Who was it?” The elder one started when Jerome placed the phone away for the time being. “Hm? Oh. A friend. A close friend” He didn’t think naming a name would be helpful seeing as Freddy wouldn’t know the singer anyway. But he did feel inclined to specify he’s a ‘close friend’. “Mhm.. an uninvited one?” A joke, rooted in suspicion that left Jerome choking on his own spit. Did he hear that correctly? “W-what?” He asked, stunned. “What?” The other repeated with nothing else to add but a knowing look before taking a sip of his drink.)

They went to a jjimjilbang together once. It was during the colder days of the year, stress consuming the both of them and with this small opening between two of their schedules, they went for it. The time there was nice; falling asleep together in the resting area, sharing and slurping down various food items, exchanging conversation. Jerome even spilled out a simple “God, you look cute.” when Julien placed a sheeptowel on his head and sat there with hands folded in his lap. ( which he denied saying through their whole time there even if the words left him clear as day. in his defense, the singer DID look a+ adorable ) There was something that still haunts him though and that was when they were in the sauna together. An old man who was a bit too chatty had already waddled out of room, leaving the two of them to soak up the heat alone and to have something transpire between them. Julien had placed his head upon his shoulder which in part had made Jerome complain in a breathy tone that it was way too hot for that. ( to quote “You know, in any other situation I would love to have you sweating this close to me but not here. It’s like 400 degrees, Julien.” ) but Julien didn’t budge, even curled against his shoulder further making a sigh escape the Frenchmans frame, accepting there’s no fighting it. Sweat slid down his nose, down his neck, pooling in the dip between his neck and his collarbones as he sighed, his head leaning against the wall. He felt his shirt stick to abdomen and even though the heat was almost unbearable, the corners of his mouth tugged upwards. “Ah, feel lucky you’re special.” He had started, voice barely above a whisper when he did. “If you were anyone else I’d push you off of me already.” The feeling of a shift on his shoulder and the sound of an exhale that sounded amused prompted him to let his lips be painted by a smirk as he turned his head towards the other, damp bangs like blinds obscuring his vision as he peered down at him. Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to look at the American then, looking so captivating with cheeks all dusted in a soft vibrant pink, dark locks sticking to his forehead partly covering the thick bushy eyebrows that resided just above the stars of his visage; his pretty brown eyes, the same ones that were looking back at him now. He felt the smirk that had been nestled so nicely on his lips slowly fall as the breath he took in got caught in his throat, and perhaps it was due to the high degrees scrambling his normally logical brain but after letting his gaze flicker over his face for moments, he did something that looked like leaning in, gradually inching down and down nearing lips like he had a destination, like he finally was going to do the thing he thought about a bit too much. And their noses brush together, just lightly until boop! Jerome changed his angle to nudge his forehead against Juliens when he heard the door of the sauna open and more importantly he snapped out of it. Was the intention to kiss him then? With a seemingly playful smile decorating his lips and his attention being taken by the few middle aged women shuffling inside, that question was left without an answer. “Let’s get Sikhye.” He said after greeting the ladies respectfully, the words leaving him more as a statement rather than a suggestion, dragging Julien out of the heat moments later. When sipping on the cold beverage, Jerome acted like nothing had happened, that it was intended he bumped their foreheads together and that it would have happened even if the women didn’t enter the sauna then. Yet something changed, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of the singer. Only when their eyes would meet did his drink suddenly feel much more interesting. ( what. is. this. )

Remember the phone call that had been left unanswered? It was the thing that prompted him to write 불청객 which is the first raw single he has ever put out to the world but it isn’t the first he had written. Ever since the time Julien sparked up something inside of him with that simple observation showing care and attentiveness, Jerome has written a handful of songs that would never see the light of day. They differ in emotions. Some are sad. Others are lovely. Different situations resulting in different things. One he started writing after the filming of we got married, when the lines felt a little blurred. The starts of it now lays forgotten in the pages of his personal notebook, having stopped writing when he noticed his mind was slipping into dangerous territories. He doesn’t know when he’ll ever finish it, all he knows is that it would just take a little push. He has a title though, scribbled neatly in cursive at the top of the thin paper in black ink; Jasmine. ( for symbolic reasons )

Little Miso headcanons because.. Miso? Whenever he has to take care of her he just ends up spoiling her rotten because she’s this little ball and just like to Julien, he has a hard time say no to her. He falls asleep on couches with her and Edith curled against him after facetiming Julien and showing him his little baby is fine and that’s she has eaten well. During one of those facetime sessions Miso suddenly tapped Jerome’s nose with her paw and he had a very hard time to keep his composure to not show the weakness he felt with the other watching him through the phone. ( his cheeks did dust a light rose as his expression softened, cute things like that turning the intimidating looking male into nothing but a puddle of heart clenching warmth. ) Also, to add to the spoiling. play dates. they happen and Jerome stands in the kitchen for these cats. (”They have canned food, Jerome.”..“I don’t care I bought extra fish leave me.” [x] [x])

( BONUS! birthday headcanons ft filmmaker, chef, and boyfriend jerome. ) *because i missed november 1st and this softness needs to escape my mind somehow.

Aesthetics is something he likes when it comes to his instagram and a post for Juliens birthday isn’t anything different. Instead of the regular “Happy birthday” he uploaded a video of a mere 30 seconds or so with the caption ‘rosy days’ to the social media platform. The video consisted of a stationary shot of the pink skies that fall upon the early hours of Seoul, sunrise tinting the heavens that way. ( of course rosy days hint to Jerome’s nickname for Julien which is ‘rosy ears’ and how he has compared the reddening of his ears to the pink tinted sky that would cloak the city during daybreak.) Above silent static and soft purring you could hear Jerome singing, humming, voice a tad rough from probably just waking up and distant due to his proximity of the phone. Edith is seen in the frame, curled in satin sheets with just parts of her ears splitting the skies in an interesting way and leaving the small film even more delicate in nature. Fans are used to his pretty posts, but this one seems just that tad more beautiful. And oh? What song is he singing, you ask? ♡ A favourite.

He ends up late in the evening at Juliens apartment, prefacing his visit by telling him to keep his evening open and not have dinner. He has a bottle of chardonnay with him (“straight from the grapevines de france.” he tells him, accent in full force as he named his homeland. “bought only for special occasions.”) and a bag slung over his shoulder. There is also a smile on his lips, gentle and small as he wishes the other happy birthday for the second time this day. (midnight was the first.) He stumbles to the kitchen moments after entering and without asking starts unloading ingredients into his fridge from where they previously resided in his bag before rummaging through the cabinets to find a skillet. (”you have wine glasses, right? grab them.”) He’s comfortable in Juliens home as a chef, having cooked for him multiple times already whether here or back in his own home. He starts cooking when he’s done readying up. (”sit with miso and be pretty. it’s your birthday, people need to treat you. i need to treat you.”) Haute cuisine. It’s something with salmon and lemons and the many herbs that engulf Juliens apartment after the first fifteen minutes of Jerome busying himself in the kitchen. (”delicious huh? i learned it from my grandfather when i was, what, sixteen?” he whisks up a sauce with such care as he speaks. “i can’t believe i still remember. especially since he made it so rarely. only made on specific dates. important dates. seeing it was my grandmothers favourite.” with words speaking volumes. he just smiles.) They eat after he spends a bit too much time plating the dish and he disappears back into the kitchen when plates turn empty. (”dessert’s even better. i hope you still have room.”) For dessert it’s poached pears in a sweetened sauce with some kind of baked good he spent the early hours of October 31st making, something warm to lead into the winter months he knows Julien dreads so much. (”i have one more thing after this.” he says, glancing at his bag propped up against a wall. “but that’ll come later.”) Later exists when they’re slouched on the couch together, hours having ticked by after the eating and the talking and the enjoying of ones company. Jerome takes a hold of Juliens wrist and fumbles to clasp a bracelet to it after returning from digging into his bag. The bracelet, minimalist in design contrasts with something he would wear himself but the colour is something he likes; a deep brown reminding of a forest that suits nicely against the undertones of Juliens skin. (”i know you don’t wear that much jewelry but.. i saw this and i wanted to buy it for you.”) He doesn’t clarify when he bought it, how long or how short he’s been holding on to it, he just smiles, concentrating on straightening the accessory on his wrist which might be an excuse to hold his hand a bit longer. (”you don’t have to wear it always, i won’t be upset. promise.” the first smirk of the night appears on his face, lightly decorating his lips. “just know it looks handsome on you.”)With his arm draped behind the other as the hour turns late, he starts to serenade the birthday boy in his own native language, voice quiet, just above a murmur but not without the celebrating tinge that comes with it. (”bonne fête à toi. bonne fête à toi. bonne fête-” his nose nudged the dark locks of the male leaned against his chest, gentle in his actions and in his tone of voice. “-mon julien.” a sigh escaped his frame whilst his fingers slid down his arm, cheek pressing against his hair as his eyes closed shut, whispering the last few syllables just for him. “bonne fête à toi.”) Something incoherent leaves his lips then, just after he finished the birthday melody specially sung for the male that had his heart. It was supposed to be a sentence, mumbled softly from the depths of his mind but his brain wasn’t sending the same signals to his mouth as it was sending to his vocal cords. And maybe it was his lack of sleep that was to blame, or maybe the a part of his consciousness was protecting him, whatever it was, the only things that he produces from his throat are some muddled noises that sounded barely like a sentence, his arms tightened around the other in a comfortable embrace as the words floated encrypted through the air;“I love you.”

♡

#Pris du film. { Headcanons }#Development. { Jerome; Julien }#ooc. { i felt shitty. i couldn't sleep. this happened. and now it's very early. hello. }#{ i don't know what this is. jerome's love volume III }#{ also late edit but i believe bonne fête à toi is the french canadian version? but it's the one i know so jerome sings it }

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sovinly · 7 years

Note

JMB and cooking?

(Thank you so much for your patience, I know it has been forever. Thank you also for an awesome prompt!

“It will be fun,” Grantaire had said. “It’s beer-and-cheesenight, it’ll be totally cool.”

And sure, everyone has been lovely, both the handfulMusichetta already knew and the handful she didn’t. And sure, the food has beenutterly delicious, generous and rich servings of raclette complemented by the eclecticsampling of beers everyone’s contributed to.

And sure, Joly has adorable springy curls and a charminggrin and dimples and makes rapid-fire puns. And sure, Bossuet is tall and baldand endearing and is wearing a t-shirt with a cartoon whale and also makesridiculous puns. And sure, they’re criminally adorable together and keep kickingone another’s feet and she’s already sure they’re all going to be the greatestfriends, and that’s fantastic, but.

“Oh no,” she whispers, when the door finally closes behindthem, “they’re hot.”

Grantaire laughs, the bastard.

“… All I’m saying is that if your superstrength isn’tconsistent, there should be a good reason for it, because, like, at least giveyour narratively-convenient variations a cool alien name or something,” Bossuetsays, not looking up from the onion he’s julienning while also somehow absentlyleaning against the counter. That seems patently unfair, as Musichetta can’tabsently julienne onions.

Musichetta nods, even though he can’t see, and shimmies tothe side so Joly can reach around her for the spices. “I mean, yes, that’strue. But also, if your moments of narrative requiring disappearing skills areall for damelsing your ladies, you maybe have a bigger problem.”

“At least be up front about it,” Joly agrees, stealing oneof Musichetta’s carrot chunks as he ducks back. He’s wearing skinny jeans today,new and a flattering deep maroon, and they do wonderful things to his calves.It’s very distracting. “Damselium. The Curse of the Heteropatriarchy. Themysterious Shitty EXcuse Implying Stereotypical Things gene.”

She snorts at that as Bossuet’s witty retort seems to be cutshort, delayed in favor of whirling around to give Joly a high-five for theimpromptu wordplay, and as much as Musichetta is looking forward to theirevening of shitty superhero films and dinner, she’s having the time of her liferight now.

It doesn’t seem like it’s as much when they all live in thesame house, really, because there’s always something on hand and someone to goget take out if necessary. That’s one of the benefits of roommates andboyfriends. That’s also the benefits of lots of friends, because someone alwayshas a minute to run by at least with some noodles and tea.

Still, though, Musichetta hopes it still counts, as littleas this is. That’s why she runs to the store three times when Bossuet andGrantaire realize that they’ve forgotten some vital ingredient or that Bossuet’sjealously horded sausage from Bahorel has succumbed to abrupt freezer burn. It’swhy she shifts foot to foot cooking down lemon curd for the better part of anhour because anyone who says desserts aren’t a vital meal component is wrong.

And it’s nothing fancy, and it doesn’t feel like enough tomake up for the everything else, for the way that she can’t do more to ease Joly’spain or help his joints settle or make his doctors listen as thoughtfully asJoly would to his patients. But thenJoly stumbles from the bedroom, leaning heavily on his cane and banded aboutwith braces, bent with pain and restless with boredom. Then he sees the fullystocked fridge with portioned tupperware, each labled with a pun or a doodle, andhis eyes well up with easy-coming tears as he blinks, and his voice breaks alittle as he helplessly says: “You guys.”

And then, it feels like it just might be enough.

Musichetta feels silly and hopeless, standing in thekitchen, her fingers coated with ginger and lemongrass as she attempts to blother tears against her shoulder. She hasn’t cried all day, and even now it’s notthe ache of missing that’s brought her to tears, just the half-made soup thatshe’d really love to finish once her vision isn’t so blurry again.

It’s not even that her grandfather is gone, because she’s happy he’s not in pain, it’s just. It’s just.It’s the story her grandfather told them all, every time he ever cooked, thefamiliar cadence of the words, of the not-quite-trite story of how he didn’tknow how to cook when he’d married her grandmother, how it took her falling illfor him to realize how much she did, how much he took for granted. It’s the wayhe would always cup Musichetta’s face in his rough old-man hands and say “Lovesomeone who is humble enough to be wrong, and more than that, love someone whowill learn to make you soup when you’re sick.”

And she does, she does, she has two people who are humbleand kind and never take her for granted and she makes them soup when they’resick and they do the same for her, and she never got to say. And now all she has is half-made breakfast soup and a pot ofpepper she can’t blame for her red eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Bossuet says, careworn and gentle around theedges from his own losses, enfolding her in his arms. His cheek rests againsther head, and he only holds her tighter when her messy hands clutch helplesslyat his threadbare hoodie.

“How about I keep working on this, and you hug Lesgle and tellme how not to do it wrong?” Joly offers very gently and kisses the back of herhead.

Musichetta’s heart aches.

“Okay,” she says, and lets them help.

“I hear no one felt like cooking,” Bossuet calls, stompinghis boots free of the last traces of snow by the entryway. There’s the faintrustle of plastic bags, too, and the scent of warm spices begins to permeatethe air. “So I brought falafel and chicken wraps because I love you.”

“We love you too,” Musichetta sings, drizzling dishsoap inthe last of the bowls and setting it to soak. She dries her hands on the toweltucked into her belt and tilts her head towards the door. “You should come giveus food and also kisses.”

“We’re just wrapping up in here,” Joly adds, flourishing hisspatula and sending light gleaming across his splint rings, as Bossuet pokeshis head in. “I’d feel falafel if we ruined our appetites with dessert first,but thankfully you’re right on time.”

“It’s chickpea-k baking time in here,” Musichetta agrees,giggling at Joly’s puns even as she goes to tiptoe to kiss Bossuet. His cheeksare flushed red from the cold and there are little melting ice crystals dottinghis hat – her hat, technically – but his smile is warm as they break apart. “Ican’t believe you chickened out of it.”

“Don’t grill me on my life choices,” Bossuet complains,kissing her forehead before setting down his bags. “Besides, Bahorel and I wereon the lamb, there was a law school alumn event.”

Joly and Musichetta make a simultaneous noise of amusementat that. Still not abandoning the spatula, Joly coaxes Bossuet down for a kiss,kissing the tip of his nose after.

“Well, you’re safe from the law for now,” Joly informs him,going back to moving cookies from the baking tray to the arrangement of platesholding the rest of their endeavors. “But not safe yet, because you are doomedto an evening of cuddles.”

“It’s true,” Musichetta agrees. “After dinner, I’mma makechocolate and Courfeyrac has finally given us her churro recipe, and also thereare so many cookies.”

“Oh man, and it’s snowing outside, big lovely flakes.”Bossuet kisses Joly’s ear before turning to get plates and silverware, just asMusichetta’s stomach starts to grumble. “Grantaire may even be seduced home forchurros and cookies and cakes, but I feel like he’d be even more enticed if wethrew in romcoms.”

“Musical romcoms,”Joly pipes up, eager.

Musichetta hangs up the handtowel again and props her handson her hips. “I can’t even believe you’re trying to use R as an excuse, musicalromcoms are always the right answerin this house, especially if they come with baked goods and falafel-”

“- and fries-” Bossuet adds.

“- and fries,” Musichetta amends. “Also cuddles. Because it’smotherfucking winter.”

“I love you guys so much,” Joly sighs. “C’mon, c’mon, I amsore and starving and am too adorable to go uncuddled for this long. I will getblankets if you carry everything out to the living room.”

“That we can do,” Musichetta agrees, and feels like singing for all the warmth in her heart.

#sovin writes things #fic #jmb #joly/bossuet/musichetta #modern au #i am so behind but i have finished these prompts!#i feel like jmb is a good way to end prompts #yay writing things!#musichetta is wonderful everyone else can go home #joly is perpetually aware of the fourth wall #bossuet just runs into walls #dammit grantaire #embroideredcupcake

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