#fic: jamais vu | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

judjira · 8 months

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je ne sais quoi (preview)

AN: heyoooo i feel like ive let you guys go through a drought of me not producing good shit so here's a sneak peek of smtin im workin: drum roll pls,,,,,,,A JAMAIS VU SEQUEL YAAAAAY dont expect the full thing to come out any time soon tbh i need it to be PERFECT

pairing: datzu

jamais vu

wc: 1002

She wakes up.

Wake. Which means she’s been sleeping.

It’s a haze. Like a mist that hangs over the precipice of her mind, casting a curtain of fog over what she sees and feels, what she knows.

What does she know?

Peeking out into the inner shelves of her memories, she searches.

And searches.

Only to find a sea of nothing. Blank and void, an overwhelming abyss of unknowing.

She doesn’t know anything. She doesn’t remember anything.

It’s confusing.

If she does not know, does not remember, how can she think like this? How can she expect to see past that curtain of fog? How is her first instinct to swim in that sea of nothing?

How does she know?

She comes to a conclusion.

She knew. At one point, she knew. But somehow, now she does not.

Her eyes are not open yet, not yet in perception of the world that surrounds her. And for a moment, she wonders if she even should try and perceive that which she does not know.

Then, she feels it.

In her closed state, she can still feel the warmth of the body in front of her, as one by one, her body parts inform her of the position they’re in.

Her arms are wrapped around a stomach, legs intertwined with legs, her face pressed into a neck, hot breath tickling this other in front of her.

She opens her eyes.

For a moment, all she sees is warmth.

Long flowing black hair, loose shirt that slides off the shoulder, revealing pale and pure white skin, all of a woman laying next to her in bed.

It is indescribable.

What she feels. How her chest surges with an unthinkable passion. How her fingers begin to tremble with an unadulterated weakness. How her lips quiver with an unspoken fervor.

Who is this woman?

She blinks at her, once. Twice.

It is a mystery that can be solved at a later time.

She takes stock of her surroundings.

A bedroom. Not too large, but not too small. It’s clean. There’s a dresser by the corner of the room, a closet on the other side, and a window with drawn curtains. She can just barely see sunlight peeking through, early blue hues of the morning just beginning to dawn.

She takes stock of her body.

Pajamas on long limbs, shoulder length brown hair, and a well proportioned face. At least, it feels like a well proportioned face. She hasn’t looked in the mirror yet.

There is more to this mystery, yet there is nothing else in this room that may clue her in to what it is she is searching for.

There is no sign of her identity.

The only thing that may answer who she is, she fears, is the woman lying in bed next to her.

Slowly, carefully, she lays a hand on the woman’s shoulder, taking note of her soft, soft skin, and gently rolling her over onto her back.

And when she does, her breath stops.

Those closed eyes, those pale cheeks, those soft lips.

There is nothing that comes close to describing how the world has stopped for her. Her breath is short, her chest is tight, her ears are ringing.

This woman is the answer.

Somehow, she knows. She does not know how she knows. But there is no other possibility.

Then, the woman opens her eyes.

She smiles.

“Hey, you.”

And somewhere in her own mind, it’s as if a threshold breaks, and the world she barely knows seems to solidify itself around this woman she barely even knows.

Tzuyu does not know why it makes sense. It just does.

“M-Me?”

It is an odd feeling, to not recognize the sound of your own voice, softly pitched and almost warbling in uncertainty. She almost balks at the sound of it. What if the woman doesn’t like her voice?

“Is there anyone else I’m in bed with?”

The woman raises an eyebrow. She swallows, the sound of the woman’s voice ringing in her ears, only chained into laughter that tingles at her soul.

None of this should make sense. But it does, somehow. She just doesn’t have the words for any of it.

“W-where…um, who—? What…what happened?”

The woman giggles once more.

“Well, Tzu…when two people love each other very much…”

Tzu.

It shouldn’t mean anything.

But it does.

Because somewhere, sometime, it’s been said before.

“T-Tzu?”

The woman actually stiffens at that, before palming her face as she sighs.

“Gosh, I—oh, I’m sorry…I forgot to follow your protocol…I’m sorry, I’m still trying to get the hang of this…”

The woman actually looks almost distraught, and she holds back every conceivable urge to take this random woman she found in a bed into her arms.

“Um…that’s—that’s okay? I don’t—I don’t really…understand.”

The woman peers up at her, and the smile twinkles itself back up to her face.

“My gosh, you are just the cutest in the mornings, huh?”

She feels the warmth rush up to her cheeks, and she’s barely able to hide her face before the woman giggles.

“Okay, that’s enough procrastinating on my part.”

The woman sits up, revealing her slim body, overshadowed by the large white t-shirt that covers up to her thighs. Her hair is a mess, and she tries to fix it by running her hands through it, but to no avail.

Everything about this woman is strange, odd, unexpected.

But somehow, she likes it.

Then, the woman clears her throat.

“Your name is Chou Tzuyu.”

Chou Tzuyu.

The name rings, and resonates in her mind, as if dropping a rock into a still body of water, the ripples echoing throughout the surface.

Tzu.

“I-I see. And…and you are?”

The woman smiles.

And in that smile, it’s as if Tzuyu can dream a thousand distant dreams of what she knows she’s lost, twinkling stars in the distance that have just vanished.

Except for this one.

“My name’s Kim Dahyun.”

Tzuyu smiles.

“And I’m your girlfriend.”

#twice fic #twice fanfic #dahyun x tzuyu #datzu #jamais vu

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rogersstevie · 1 month

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fic rec

title: jamais vu author: yennefers pairing: mac/dennis words: 6561 summary: “I just think we’re spending too much time together,” Mac blurts out. The silence that follows is so complete, Dennis can hear the blood rushing in his ears. — Mac and Dennis break up. Again. ao3

#jamais vu #fic rec

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wondernus · 7 months

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˗ˋˏ Briefly Orange ˎˊ˗ | PREVIEW

SUMMARY: Fragmentary source of healing and like an oasis away from the city, for his group of friends, Boo Seungkwan’s family farm is a regular vacation destination away from the city. Yet Seungkwan wishes for anything but a future filled with mountains of oranges, his dream of living in the city still ineffaceable in his head. When he receives a request from a friend he fell out of touch with asking if they could stay on his farm for the Summer, Seungkwan finally finds himself in an opportunistic place in which his dream can finally become a reality. Why? Because you’re cursed to have everything you love disappear.

Sweltering heat and an eventful Summer, magic touches lives in ways that we can never imagine. But in this transition between seasons, we find ourselves asking: When loss is as transient as the lives we live, what does it mean to love with every fiber of our being?

PAIRING: bsk x reader

FIC GENRE: angst, romance, slice of life, magical realism

FIC TAGS: food/drinks, time jump, summer fic, exes to lovers, friends to lovers, slow burn, cooking processes (including mentions of knives), character gets physically hurt

PREVIEW WC: 3.1k

FIC WC: 30k

MESSAGE FROM NU: this is merely a preview for the longest fic i've written so far. i've been working on this for months now so i'm so incredibly excited to share the preview with you all this product of so much love and care for seungkwan <3 there are 23 chapters in total, and here are some excerpts from the first few chapters. if you would like to be tagged in the final fic a few days from now, please let me know! - nu ♡

wondernus's masterlist

It starts with the peel. Hold the orange in both hands and press your thumbs against the hollow bottom where there’s an open dip between the peel and the fleshy meat of the orange. Press into the peel with the tips of your fingernails, hard, penetrating the peel and creating a perfect opening to peel the fruit. Then, start peeling the bright and smooth outer shell away until you’re left with that orange and fleshy ball of juice. When you halve the fruit between your fingers, it sizzles and cracks crisply as you rip it apart — sometimes the juice escapes the membrane in a transparent drop of liquid, collecting on your finger, and rolling down your hand toward your arm. Sweet or sour, the rest comes after.

The large rolling suitcase leaves behind two long indents in the dry dirt path as it drags along the road. Each pull and tug towards a new temporary familiar coats the once black and glossy wheels in a matte tan color disrupted by speckled imprints of tiny gravel in every new layer of dirt rolled onto the wheels. Once in a while, the wheels break through a pair of footprints that belong to the person pulling the suitcase like the long lines used to omit phrases from a written sentence. Still, the traces along the dirt path are never straight, nor are they as continuous as one would like them to be. As an arborist would study the rings of a tree to determine periods of sickness and health, anybody could see how the lines left by the suitcase indicate periods of pause in transit, a person struggling along the road, and moments of pure and undisrupted conversation.

Under the warm morning sunlight, Boo Seungkwan has a new kind of warmth lingering by his side — someone so familiar yet so new, neither déjà vu nor jamais vu but nostalgia in person. He hasn’t seen you in years, yet he can’t find himself to say he expected the person to step out of the taxi to be someone drastically different. But you’ve changed since he last saw you, albeit it’s a more mature version of you who walks alongside him toward his family farm.

Seungkwan knows everything about you, for instance, as long as he asked you about family, close friends, past relationships, the summary of the last chapter you read: you would always answer, bluntly of course. In the past, he would often find himself wondering about whether or not you never made the effort to ask him any questions about himself because you were simply not interested or if you were afraid of your inevitable. He knows the amount of hair that collects on your drain every time you shampoo your hair. He knows you never order the same drink from a coffee shop twice. He knows the answer to every single question he has ever asked you to the point where he’s afraid that one day he would run out of questions to ask you. So when he received a message from you asking if you could work at his farm for the Summer in exchange for room and board, he knew both your lives are about to undergo a new form of change and momentum. Change or no change, he agreed to your request if and only if you would be willing to fulfill his additional term: you must help him get rid of his oranges.

What presents itself as the Summer getaway is a 3-acre piece of land that hosts a small orange grove behind the cream-colored family farmhouse and guest house-turned-seasonal café that Seungkwan is left in charge of for the Summer while his family vacations in the Maldives. Even sitting in the car with the windows down and turning onto the street in which the property sits wafts of honeyed and tangy citrus can energize those on a long journey away from the city. Beside the dirt road that leads towards the farmhouse are large patches of clover in place of grass and the beautiful array of flowers and bushes that are planted between dirt and clover. What is most magnificent, Seungkwan points out while walking up to the farmhouse where you would be staying for the rest of the Summer, is not the fact that his grandparents built this place from the ground up or the thousands of oranges they produce each year, but the fact that he drew the long end of the stick for you so you have the first floor study to yourself instead of having to share a room with the rest of his friends.

When his introductory gist is returned with silence, Seungkwan finds himself too embarrassed to see whether or not you’ve reacted in response. But if he took the time to look, he would’ve seen you looking around your surroundings in awe, wondering about how much of the landscape could change just by being thirty minutes away from the city.

“Let’s see,” Seungkwan mumbles while opens the front door and leads you to the interior of the house in an attempt to free himself from his embarrassment. “The study is the first door on the left down the left hallway. It’s a sofa bed, and I already set it up for you. Laundry room is one door down. I’m in my grandparents’ bedroom down the right hallway. There’s also a bathroom and a guest room on our side. Everybody else should be upstairs…if you think it’s awkward to have pictures of my family stare at you while you sleep, I won’t be offended if you turn them around.” He scratches his hair, still trying to figure out whether or not he conjured an air of awkwardness between the two of you.

He hovers behind you as you quietly make your way to your room, looking at you crane your head to look around the foreign farmhouse interior from the living room to the wooden beams that support the ceiling. It’s quiet between the two of you, as if you’ve both run out of topics to discuss after the brief moment the two of you trekked from taxi to house. He doesn’t know why he hesitates when you reach for the doorknob as if he were imagining you to be some interior design critic for a magazine. But his breath hitches for a second when you open the door and step into the modest office. Distracting himself from nothing, he looks at anything but you and settles for the tiny streaks of dirt your suitcase wheels brought indoors. And he wipes away the dirt with his foot, making a mental note to mop when he has time.

“Seungkwan?” Your voice calls for his attention not too long after you entered the office.

Seungkwan steps into the open doorframe, careful to not cross the threshold of the room in order to give you some privacy. He notices you’re sitting on the edge of the sofa bed, your suitcase temporarily tucked against the wall and underneath the light switch. There are pictures of his family on the shelves, most of them with him in large puffer jackets holding large oranges in his tiny hands. What is more is that he notices your hand which clutched the blanket in which you are sitting on loosen with his presence and leave a mountainous crease in its absence.

“Thank you,” you tell him.

The response sounds like a squeak which Seungkwan finds both amusing and reassuring. The fact is there is an air of awkwardness present, not from his creation but from the years the two of you spent apart, that causes you to squeak. Gratitude phrased simply, yet your simplicity is more than enough to let him know you’re feeling the same way he feels.

Truthfully, Seungkwan is still trying to fathom and process the fact that you are here with him. It hits him in this moment that maybe the you who sits in comfortable silence while staring out the window isn’t exactly the same you he once knew like the back of his hand. Finally taking time to look at his friend closely, Seungkwan still recognizes you in the same way that we recognize ourselves as ourselves even when all of our cells have exchanged themselves for new cells. He recognizes the way your hands clutch into balls with your thumbs placed between your pointer and middle finger when you fidget. He recognizes the backpack you brought as the same one you used in college. But he fails to recognize and understand why or how you have become the person to reach out to him for any reason. Why is it that he was chosen to be one of your protagonists in your journey in finding the meaning to your life? How is it that a nobody who dreams of a life unattached to the farm could possibly offer something of such value to someone who constantly lives life in fear of loss?

Truth is, there is always something about being next to you that always makes Boo Seungkwan want to cry. Pity doesn’t even begin to describe the feeling that wells and burns in his chest. Is it rage? Sadness? Regret? Empathetic and sympathetic as he is, he is prone to wearing his emotions before he can even realize what he is feeling. Being next to you causes his chest to concave and collapse in on itself, but he knows better than to feel bad for you. Or maybe he thinks it’s so fucked that you’re in a position in which you’re so desensitized to loss that you can’t even recognize in any moment that you lost what you loved. Always by your side, or at least until a few years ago, Seungkwan was there to reintroduce you to the things and concepts you’ve once loved because he cared and notices. Now, a savior isn’t who he’s trying to be nor was that role ever his intention. Maybe a constant without caution is what he strives to be in your life even if his own selfishness causes him to believe that in case you ever allow yourself to fall in love with him he would be able to disappear and thus never take on the responsibilities of a third-generation farm owner.

Yet a curse regarding loss upon a regular human being in love shouldn’t be the wake-up call that shows the world that loss is a daily occurrence. Loss is as banal and unremarkable as its spelling. And Seungkwan knows this. He’s lost torn snack foil wrapper corners from his pockets. He’s lost time during transit. He’s lost those who he once loved dearly. So why is someone else’s loss so much more important to him when he knows that love is involved?

And why is it that he chooses to show everybody unconditional love and care even when he knows transactional relationships would statistically yield more return?

Seungkwan isn’t a bad person. There isn’t a single bad bone in his body. He’s known you long enough to not tiptoe around you because, despite your curse, you’re just a regular person. And you would prefer it if other people treated you as a regular person. But why is it that he feels the way he feels whenever he’s alone with you?

Orange peel sliced away to form a hexagonal-shaped fruit, lean the fruit on its long side against the cutting board to slice thin hexagons. If what you hold in your hand is too dull, then you risk losing more than what there is to the recipe. Dullness slices the fruit just as sharpness does, but you risk bruising the delicate meat and creating soft pockets of mush while the juice escapes and drips onto the cutting board. There are times when it’s better to do things quickly and all at once or you will risk losing the beauty in your creation. Simple orange slices in a refreshing salad, sometimes it’s better to not try too hard. You did your best. And that’s enough for me.

Dropping the ATV off near the entrance to the orchard, Seungkwan jingles and twirls the keys in his left hand while directing to his seasonal workers where the crates should be stored for the night shipment to local grocers. Without noticing how hard he twirls the keys around his pointer finger, the small chain of keys flies off his finger and onto the ground a few feet ahead of him. It lands on a soft patch of dirt, light colored dust covering surfaces that gleamed with a metallic sheen just a few seconds ago. Someone picks up the pair of keys before Seungkwan has the change to chance to react and lightly tosses the keys back to its owner.

Yoon Jeonghan, with his jet-black hair he spent months growing out that finally touches his shoulders, takes long strides towards his friend while reaching into his pant pocket for his phone, a long stream of complaints already trailing out of his mouth.

“I looked everywhere for you,” Jeonghan complains to Seungkwan while Seungkwan finds himself rolling his eyes. “Why didn’t you pick up your phone? We’ve been calling and texting you, but you wouldn’t reply.”

“I left it somewhere. Can’t remember where I put it,” Seungkwan sighs while wiping the dust off his keys with the hem of his shirt. “When did you arrive?”

“Like half an hour ago.” Jeonghan adjusts his light blue baseball cap to better shield his eyes from the Sun. He clicks open his lock-screen to double-check the text he received from his driver. “Seokmin’s napping in our room. He’ll come out later.”

“Oh no, was the drive bad? When did you guys leave?”

“Nah, the drive wasn’t bad. He’s just hungover,” he replies nonchalantly while shoving his phone back into his pocket. The dark-haired man quickly looks around the familiar farm and rocks on the heels of his feet. “Busy, huh?” He observes.

“Yeah,” Seungkwan agrees. There is a glimmer of mischievousness in his eyes when he cocks his head toward the ATV he parked not so long ago. “But the new investments help.”

“Bro I can’t imagine how cool your grandparents must look while riding the ATVs.”

“5 miles an hour.” Seungkwan gestures the number five with his hand and drops it after. “Speed demons.”

It’s clear to Seungkwan that Jeonghan, who had spent a remarkable amount of time on this farm over the past few years, isn’t looking around to people-watch or check out the new additions to the farm. He’s been around long enough that Seungkwan’s grandparents consider him as one of their grandsons. No, Seungkwan knows that while Jeonghan is trying to play it off as if he’s simply checking out and reminisce in his surroundings, what he is looking for is not an it, rather, a who.

When Yoon Jeonghan, who is usually not the type of person to be silent or stay still for long periods of time, freezes in his spot like a deer in the headlights, Seungkwan knows better than to follow his friend’s line of vision to see who exactly it was who caught his eye. Instead, Seungkwan looks toward the blue canopy near the entrance and notices that two people are missing from their posts.

Out of nowhere, Seungkwan feels someone from behind him throw their entire weight onto his shoulders. The force of the sudden weight on top of Seungkwan knocks Seungkwan’s sunhat from his head forward and onto the ground and causes him to lose his balance, but he grabs onto the unwavering Jeonghan’s shoulder to steady himself.

“Seungkwan,” Yunling sings in a sing-song voice. Her bleached blonde hair falls and covers half of Seungkwan’s face as she reaches her arm over his shoulder to wave a familiar object in front of him. “You forgot your phone.”

“Get off me. It’s hot,” Seungkwan groans while bending his knees so she can safely hop off his back. She hands him his phone to which he thanks her for. In the meantime, another person picks the sunhat from the floor and tucks a thick booklet underneath their aim pit to brush the dust off the hat before handing it back to its owner. And Seungkwan finds himself, yet again, thanking another person for handing him an item he dropped.

Seungkwan sees you bring the accounting booklet to the front of your chest while Yunling leans her elbow on your shoulder. It looks like you’re about to say something to him, but someone interrupts your question.

“Yn.” Jeonghan manages to push through his state of shock, yet your name rolls off the tip of his tongue as if he spent his entire life dedicated to saying the name.

It feels familiar because it was.

Gladly handing his daughter over to his friend, Choi Seungcheol mumbles a quiet note of gratitude before he sits up straight and rolls his shoulder backwards to stretch his back. He leans forward in his seat and comfortably rests his elbows on his knees before grabbing the untouched fork next to his salmon salad. And Seungkwan watches him dig his fork into the roasted salmon and take a hearty bite to enjoy the marinated citrus flavor of the salmon by itself before raking the metal prongs through the meat to shred it to pieces just as Seungkwan’s grandparents had taught Seungcheol to do so before they went on vacation.

June is when Seungkwan’s friends all arrived at the farm for a Summer away from the city; January is when Seungcheol arrived at the farm, two people’s lives packed up in a couple of suitcases and cardboard boxes for time away from the city to heal and escape. The café, originally a guesthouse, returned to serve its original purpose by housing Seungcheol and his daughter for a little over half a year, and Seungkwan knows very well that he doesn’t have the heart to tell his friend that he should’ve moved out months ago. So he sits in the once sought-after spot in the café with a sleeping baby in his arms, watching the newly single father scarf down his salad like it’s his last meal. Looking at the infant, her dark-colored eyebrows and the pout that resembles her father’s all too well, stress stores itself in the pit of his stomach, finding company with the sympathetic grief he shared with the heartbroken Seungcheol who once couldn’t so much bring himself to pick up the pen to sign his divorce papers.

Falling in love is easy, but falling out of love and learning how to become whole again is a process that can shatter one’s soul and make one doubt whether or not love in any shape and form is an achievable future feat. A lifetime is not long enough to contain and overcome love’s defeat for some. And for those devastated by love, the process of falling in love would never be the same as it once was.

#svthub #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #seungkwan imagines #seventeen fluff #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #seungkwan x reader #seungkwan x yn #seungkwan fluff #seungkwan angst #seventeen angst

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chlodobird-creations · 10 months

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[ID: A watercolor painting of the interior of Pinhole Books. The window is yellow, and casts light on a section of the adjoining bookcase. The books in this area have light brown spines. The rest of the bookcase is in a purple-tinted shadow and the spines of the books are red. There are the silhouettes of a few books displayed in the window atop a cabinet. The whole image is outlined in messy pen. In the center of the window are the words “Pinhole Books”, but the letters are backwards since the words face outwards. End ID]

This is a painting I did for my fic, “jamais vu”! In which Mary gets taken my the Not-Them and Gerry has a fairly rough time :) There’s definitely things I’d do differently next time, but I’m pretty happy with how it turned out! The fic is here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48267607/chapters/121727539

#gerard keay #gerry keay #mary keay #pinhole books #the magnus archives #tma #fanart

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smokestarrules · 10 months

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do you have any g-witch fic recs?

Why, I am so glad you asked. I sure do! Let me go and look at my bookmarks.

Firstly, I want to give a shoutout to It's the little things that get you when you weren't paying attention by The_Valaxy. This one hooked me so wholly just from the first chapter; it's about CEO! Miorine and Barista! Suletta, and it's got wonderful dialogue and a slow, realistic/enjoyable narrative to it. So far there are 5 chapters. I completely recommend.

Next up is Jamais vu by begoniaskies. Based on a different interpreted of what Quiet Zero exactly entailed, this is an AU-but-not; the details are hazy (which is something I'm always interested in), but the further you get into it, the more you start to understand. Miorine's POV is delightful, and so is Suletta. Just in general.

Then we have restoration by strictlypudding, which is just--this entire fic is incredible. It's Chuchu's POV from ep1 all the way up to 21, and past that it detours off into more AU territory to end with a legitimate climax. It's got about the sweetest absolute sulemio I've ever read, and with a healthy dash of Felsi/Chuchu to chew on as well! Really, I love everything about this piece. Miorine and Suletta, though not the POV characters, are portrayed perfectly.

Last but not least, there's melodies and sea glass by arystocrat. Miorine hums to herself when she's alone, did you know? This one is just pure fluff--I never said I had complicated tastes--and it's so good. The first chapter is all about Suletta being Down Bad and the second is about Miorine Down Bad But Worse, Somehow. It's wonderful.

(Also if you want to read my own, Unbound Restraints, it's right here, too. Sorry for the shameless self-promo.)

#no genuinely though this is abt my fav genre of asks to receive #LOVE hyping people's fics they are all so good and deserve to be read #everyone should read all of these #mobile suit gundam the witch from mercury #miorine rembran #suletta mercury #sulemio #smokey answers #anonymous

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auncyen · 8 days

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GO READ THIS FIC. assuming you've beaten the game because it's an act ??? fic and thus spoilers for pretty much everything in the game. This is not my fic but I like it and it referenced 'The Old Astronomer to His Pupil' so I want more people to see it if they haven't. (I also want people to see the poem if they haven't because it really is a neat poem.)

#in stars and time

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leela-small · 2 months

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🍓🥤for the author question thing-y 😅

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction?

Well, it all started back in the olden days of 2013, when I was still in high school. I remember being in the library during one of my breaks, browsing FanFiction.Net for any good Amazing World of Gumball fics, since that was my hyperfixation at the time. I was specifically looking Richard x Nicole fics, since that was my OTP back then, and felt disappointed when I didn't find any good fics about how they first met or how they became a couple

That's when I had a major epiphany: if there weren't any fics about this ship's "origin story", then I should just write one myself!

So I got to work, and in May of that same year, my first fic was up

And the rest, as they say, is history~

🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love

Ohohoh, there's a LOT of both authors and fics I could recommend! But since I don't want to keep this too long, I will select a few of each category that absolutely own my heart:

Authors:

@eroticfriendfictions

@new-berlinwall

@deleahtarte

@lozislaw

@outsiderempire

@golden--doodler

Fanfics:

All Single Riders Will Be Paired by @new-berlinwall

You're Worth Keeping Around by @love-your-enthusiasm

A Step From Invisible by @rozavie (I believe that's the right blog...)

Romantic Love and Other Treatments for Jamais Vu by @eroticfriendfictions

Saturday Waffles by @lozislaw

Perfectly Platonic (Unless...) by @frostedpuffs

I'm Bored, You're Amorous by PachucaSunrise

May Nothing But Happiness Come Through Your Door by @boy-thighs

La Canción de Mi Corazón / The Song of My Heart by @dr-peppers-monster

Lemon Muffins and Apricity by @deleahtarte

Poor Boys by @outsiderempire

An Indecent Proposal by @golden--doodler

#Answered asks

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dramioneasks · 8 months

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Author Profile: CosmicCthulhu

Fics can be found: ao3 | @cosmiccthulhu

Popular Fics:

Title: Jamais Vu Author: CosmicCthulhu Rating: M Genre(s): Romance, Mystery Chapters: 16 Word Count: 129,200 Summary: After a fall (from the world’s smallest step-ladder, mind you) Draco lost his memories, and all he can remember was his life as a teenager in the middle of a war. It was certainly going to be hard to adapt to this new life he knew nothing about – especially considering that he was married to Hermione Granger, of all people.

Title: Blessed Samhain Author: CosmicCthulhu Rating: E Genre(s): Romance, Drama Chapters: 5 Word Count: 41,772 Summary: “Granger,” he wrapped his hand around her wrist before she could completely leave. “Sorry for laughing, it’s just -- Merlin, what a ridiculous idea that is…” “Malfoy!” "Do you have any plans for later in the night?" he looked at her. His silver eyes met her honey ones. Her mind conjured up old memories of their time together and she wondered if he was also thinking about their encounter, years ago. "Why do you care?" "It's Samhain, Granger. We'll be gathering on the castle ruins up north, at midnight." "You should come," Nott added with a pensive face, with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He was looking at her now as if he knew something that she didn’t and it disturbed her a bit. "The gatherings are great to attune your magic, and the more people, the merrier!" ---- Or: The Slytherins invite Hermione to the festival. She might as well have fun there.

Title: The Dragon's Out of the Bag Author: CosmicCthulhu Rating: E Genre(s): Romance Chapters: 1 Word Count: 6,249 Summary: Who'd guess that Draco Malfoy being able to cast a Patronus would be the least interesting thing to happen during class. Excerpt: "A sickle for your thoughts?" She heard him ask, breaking her line of thought as his hand slowly massaged the underside of her breasts while he pressed a kiss to her hair. "Oh - it's nothing." "Come on now. I can see the gears in your head turning. You have a very particular thinking face." She turned on her spot to meet his eyes, nibbling on her lower lip and grimacing a little. "I think we should tell our friends about us."

#author: CosmicCthulhu #fav authors #favourite fics

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judjira · 1 year

Text

breathless

AN: posting a quick little drabble i wrote for @gaylittleinnkeepers, this takes place in the past of jamais vu, after dahyun and tzuyu’s graduation from the police academy, so go read that if you haven’t yet otherwise this might not make sense

pairing: datzu jamais vu wc: 616

"i'm not becoming a cop." the resolute look on tzuyu's face steels something similar in dahyun, even though she doesn't know the reason for it.

"okay."

"okay?" tzuyu's eyebrow twitches, and dahyun knows that's her way of posing an unasked question.

"okay. i'm going with you."

the incredulous look on her face is matched only by the resolve in dahyun's words.

"dahyun, you don't even know what i'm going to do."

that's where dahyun stops her.

"no. but i know who you're going to be."

she smiles at tzuyu, the younger girl in her police uniform, a uniform she's going to discard soon enough, and dahyun's going to be with her as she does it.

"you're going to be chou tzuyu, the world's soon-to-be greatest detective, and my best friend."

my first love.

"i'll follow you to the end, tzu. you know i will."

tzuyu's eyes shine, sparkle, glitter with emotion, her lips curling just the slightest bit. dahyun's mesmerized, starstruck, hypnotized by the way tzuyu just...is.

perhaps this is how she'll have to live with it. live with her. at an arms distance, never able to close the gap and embrace her as she's always wanted to.

but dahyun's selfish desires come to an end there. all she wants is for tzuyu to be happy. and if following her wherever she goes is what does it, dahyun would gladly do so.

but then, tzuyu's eyes shift. there's a clean glare to her gaze as she directs one of her infamous intense stares towards the ground, body stilling as her breath catches.

"tzu? you okay?"

the concern in dahyun's voice is palpable, there's been no visible cause for the shift, but tzuyu's always been one to ruminate so thoughtfully on her own actions. what could possibly be bothering her now?

then she looks up.

and oh.

her eyes.

an intense flame burns within them, softly yet passionately. she gazes into dahyun's eyes, lips parting to speak as dahyun's heart stills imperceptibly.

"what if...what if i don't want you there as my best friend?"

the world stops. down to the very breath that leaves dahyun's lungs, catching so abruptly in her chest that she feels faint.

the words are easily misunderstood. perhaps if spoken to a stranger, they could have been taken as an insult.

but the way tzuyu's eyes gaze so ardently at hers, dahyun knows there could be no other meaning to her words.

and it leaves dahyun breathless.

"y-you mean...?"

tzuyu is so still, dahyun would have thought she was a statue, but a bare whisper trails from her throat, carrying itself to dahyun's ears so profoundly.

"i've...i've kept you waiting too long, dahyun."

the world resumes, and it's too fast.

her heart hammering in her chest, the oxygen leaving and entering her lungs, the rapid blinking of her eyes to prevent the tears forming in the corners from leaking.

"i-i...tzu, you-"

tzuyu takes dahyun into her arms, hands curling around her smaller frame oh-so-gently, and dahyun feels her world slow, back to its normal pace, back to the way it was, back to how it was meant to be.

"i...i love you, dahyun."

she can't help it. a sob chokes out of her throat as she grips tzuyu's uniform desperately. how many nights has she dreamed of this? wished for this? yearned for this?

the answer is not enough. never enough. there are not enough days in a year, a decade, a century, a millennia, to define how great dahyun's heart has swelled to accommodate her passion for the younger woman.

and so she wraps her arms around tzuyu’s waist, lips parting to whisper back to her beloved.

"...i love you too, tzu."

#drabble #jamais vu #datzu #twice fanfic #twice fic #dahyun x tzuyu

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glenflower · 9 months

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Macdennis Fic Rec List by wordcount

1K - 10K

Mac and Dennis Fool Around - morphosyntactic [1k]

“If you’re struggling to find a good guy to get down with, I could let you blow me.”

Mac tenses. Is he seriously hearing this? Has he had too many beers, passed out and slipped into some alternate universe, half nightmare, half… something else? “What?”

“I’d be willing to let you,” Dennis says. Mac twists on the couch to look away from the TV and at Dennis. Dennis’ face is neutral, but as Mac stares, he raises an eyebrow. “Out of the goodness of my heart, or whatever.”

afterflow - yennefers [2k]

He finds him licking his wounds under the bleachers.

Mac’s flicking a lighter under a scrawny little scrap of a cigarette and he’s doing it way too fast. He’s slicked his hair back like a John Wayne wannabe and he has blood crusted on his bottom lip - everyone saw the punch up, Dennis included. Bradley Morgan punching Ronnie the Rat in the jaw for tipping off the school office; it’s yesterday’s news and it happened this morning.

“You need some help with that?”

“Fuck off,” Mac mutters. Dennis take the lighter anyway.

pink and blue - yennefers [4k]

“It was by the dumpster,” Mac says. He sounds scandalised. “It’s been shitting it down with rain all day, bro. C’mon. I’ll take it back tomorrow.”

The cat stares at Dennis, wrapped up tight in the duster. It blinks at him, looking thoroughly unimpressed, and then it sneezes. It’s the tiniest, most pathetic hiss of a sound he’s ever heard.

“Jesus Christ,” Dennis mutters. He moves out of the way, letting Mac step inside, and then he slams the front door with significantly more force than necessary.

stormy weather - yennefers [4k]

“You piss her off?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Mac snaps, because he didn’t, him and his mom are doing fine, thank you. “She - she’s been really busy today, probably, so she just -“

“She didn’t answer the door,” Dennis says.

It’s not a question. Mac scuffs the toe of one battered sneaker on the ground.

“She’s busy, man.”

One second passes. Two, three. Then:

“Get in the car.”

Nuts - glennjaminhow [4k]

The doctors discharge Mac around 8:30, after a hellish 18 hours of hospitalization. He’s prescribed two EpiPens for the nut allergies, along with extra strength Benadryl and an inhaler for the leftover side effects of anaphylaxis. Dennis elects himself in charge of the EpiPens, which Mac is okay with in his exhausted state. There’s no way he can trust Mac to hold onto something so vital, so crucial to his safety. Mac never worries about himself; he’s always more concerned with Dennis. That’s not gonna fly here. No, Dennis will oversee the EpiPens, just like how Mac oversees Dennis’ eating schedule.

sell me on that thing you do - kafkian [5K]

Post-Gang Chokes. Dennis gets what he wants.

you say it’s gone, though it never is - yennefers [4k]

It's New Year's Eve. Dennis, not for the first time, has made some regrettable choices.

decalogue - sinnabear

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned." Mac vs. the Ten Commandments.

objects in motions - sinnabar [5k]

Sometimes Dee thinks the reason she and Mac have never gotten along is that they’re just too much the same; both of them caught up in Dennis’s orbit, thriving on whatever attention he deems fit to bestow on them.

jamais vu - yennefers [6k]

“I just think we’re spending too much time together,” Mac blurts out.

The silence that follows is so complete, Dennis can hear the blood rushing in his ears.

—

Mac and Dennis break up. Again.

Mac and Dennis Plan a Wedding - mxingno [5k]

“Jesus Christ, Charlie, this isn’t about banging -- it’s about two men, who have been living together for years anyway, taking advantage of government handouts while winning an argument. Don’t cheapen this, okay?”

Moonlight - andchaos [6k]

Instead of fighting, when Dennis came home stressed while they lived in the suburbs, he and Mac would go for a relaxing swim to calm down.

where there is hatered (let me sow love) [6k]

Dennis figures out he needs to spice up his and Mac's routine movie night blow jobs.

our love’s the only thing that could matter - oppshidaisy [6k]

From a distance, Mac smelled like an alpha.

(Or: Dennis has never gotten the appeal of alphas. He tries something else.)

domesticity and other cults - lagaudiere [6k]

Or, Mac and Dennis move to the suburbs.

hey man i love you (but no fucking way) - andchaos [7k]

Dennis will always come back home to Mac, even when neither of them think so. For better or worse, the same wretched parts of them are magnetized together, and no amount of fighting or running away will change it.

What happens after Dennis leaves.

the day you move (i’m probably gonna explode) - sinnabar [7k]

He could maybe get addicted to this, if he let himself. Or: five times Mac and Dennis toed the line between friends and lovers, and one time they crossed it for good.

not gay - anastea [7k]

fellas is it "gay" to marry your best bro. asking for a friend

The Gang Stalks Mac - LamentableComedy [8k]

The gang think Mac is dating someone in secret so they follow him to try to figure out who.

Shortest Day, Longest Night - Crisp_Winter_Fox [9k]

Mac and Dennis sleep together the night before Dennis leaves to spend Christmas in North Dakota.

Mac expects Dennis to keep in touch while he's away. He doesn't, leaving Mac to worry about what it all meant.

A Fountain of Gardens/A Well of Living Waters and Streams - BleedingAlive [9k]

Many years ago, when they were seventeen and eighteen, Dennis told a lie. He’s told a lot of lies, actually, but this one stuck.

(Or, The Song of Solomon, except, Macdennis, in which Dennis has been in L--- with Mac for a lifetime)

further than either of us wanted - oopshidaisy [9k]

“This is just one man wanting to bang another man, and that other man charitably capitulating for the good of the friendship. Nothing more.”

(Or: Dennis comes up with a way to fix Mac's feelings for him. Mac reluctantly agrees.)

10K - 30K

Love You So Bad - usuallysunny [11k]

It's the summer of '93 and Mac's only sure of three things: Charlie will be his best friend forever, Project Badass is going to take over the world and no-one makes him feel quite like Dennis Reynolds does.

Complex - sidnihoudini [12k]

Dennis scratches at his chest. Water bugs. “No offense, man, but then how do you know about them?”

“Oh, Mac told me.” Charlie threads the hose back into his tiny tool belt. “He’s got some sources about these kinds of things.”

Which is great for Charlie, but doesn’t really work for Dennis.

“I’m not talking to Mac right now,” he says diplomatically.

communication breakdown - bleakmidwinter [12k]

During quarantine, Mac catches Dennis branching out in his pornography intake─watching gay porn and shamelessly jerking off to it. They come to a mutually beneficial arrangement that'll help them both get through lockdown without falling victim to overbearing sexual frustration. No strings attached, right?

never gonna fall for (modern love) - rcg [13k]

Dennis chose North Dakota which means changing diapers, meal prepping, working on the weekends, and not having sex with his best friend. While Mac and Dennis rekindle old feelings and fights over the phone every night, Dennis thinks about all that could've been for the first time.

each the other’s world entire - quixoti [13k]

Mac and Dennis survive each other. Mac and Dennis will always survive each other.

respite - andchaos [14k]

Mac comes up to visit Dennis at college junior year, alone for once. Their boys' day turns into a night out — one that Dennis would probably classify as a date, if they were anyone else.

But maybe, privately, he still thinks of it as their first.

Underneath - andchaos

5 times Dennis bottoms + 1 time Mac is desperate for it.

For the server. You fuel the holy-water-needed section of my brain.

i think i’m feeling it now - lohoron [15k]

“Are you satisfied with this?”

Mac blinks, eyes flickering between their thighs nearly touching and Dennis’s face. “Satisfied with what, dude?”

Dennis grins like he's doing something malicious and Mac gasps when he feels Dennis’s hand on his knee. Okay. Behave yourself.

“This. Us.”

It clears up nothing but somehow Mac knows exactly what he's asking. He gulps. Shrugs. His eyebrows are arched down, brown eyes wide and full of stupid hope. “Sometimes,” he settles on, because he figures the truth is too much of a mouthful.

Dennis Does CBT on Mac - trill_gutterbug [17k]

Dennis leaned toward Mac, lowering his voice. "I see what you're saying. You want to put the responsibility of your sexual self determination in my hands. You want to relinquish the burden of free will to me."

Mac squinted. "Yes? Er, I think so."

Dennis (graciously, selflessly, heroically) helps Mac overcome an addiction.

always summer - yennefers [17k]

The things Mac and Dennis do when they're alone, from 1994 to 2019.

Smooth Criminal - andchaos [17k]

Dennis really, really wants to pick up the hot guy who keeps coming into the bar every weekend. Somehow the words keep getting fumbled on the way out of his mouth. He's trying, he swears.

Mac and Dennis Move Forward - kaivevo - [17k]

“It’s like this,” Mac explained. “Dennis has been kinda sad lately, you know? It’s… he has this thing, he calls it his God Hole, and he’s trying to use this kid to fill it up. But he’s way more dumber than I thought because he already tried that, and it didn’t work. And it’s so annoying because he still doesn’t realize that the person who’s gonna fill his hole is right in front of him.” He gestured to himself, just in case his point wasn’t clear. Charlie’s face lit up in realization.

“Ohhh, okay, that’s what this is about,” he said. “You want to fill Dennis’s hole.”

Mac coughed. “No, that’s— that’s not what I meant, don’t say it like that.”

30k+

mutual assured destruction - headbangingSappho [30k]

He wants to wrap himself around Mac like a python buries its prey in its inescapable, deadly embrace. With his chest against Mac’s back and his face against his nape, he wants to press closer and closer until he can sink his claws into his very bones and seep his poison into his veins and Mac can never, ever walk away from him without tearing himself apart in the process. He wants to stay like this until they both die.

Mac lets out a pleased, half-asleep hum and lovingly puts his own hands on Dennis’ fists that are grasping the front of his old T-shirt so vehemently they’re almost shaking.

if i ruin this (i can live with it) - wekeepeachotherhuman [31k]

“Dennis,” Dr. Eddy says, still writing, still smiling. “I want you to take some work home with you from this session.” She finally looks up at him and nods encouragingly. Dennis can’t help the way his eyes roll all the way back into his head.

“Great,” he mutters.

“I want you to track your impulses,” she says. “I want you to track your impulses and I want you to put the intention behind that impulse in one of two categories.”

She stands, goes to her desk. She opens a drawer and pulls out a second notebook. She opens it to the first page and begins to write in it. Then, she comes to Dennis, stops right in front of him and presents the journal to him, still opened.

She’s drawn a table. A question looms at the top of the page: What is my intention with this action? And there are only two columns. One labeled growth and the other: stagnation.

—

Dennis decides that there should be a third column: destruction.

your soul is changing - kafkian [41k]

Dennis comes back.

circle the drain - bleakmidwinter [42k]

Dennis experiences the same day over and over. A peculier, yet totally unoriginal day. When it becomes apparent he isn't having Final Destination style visions, he must figure out how to break the curse.

these things get louder - kafkian [58k]

Mac hatches a secret plan to repair his and Dennis’s friendship. Dennis is pretty sure he knows what the root of the problem is, though, and he isn’t going to let up until Mac admits to it.

Set after Season 11.

Mac and Dennis Get a New Apartment - pavonine [59k]

After Dee's landlord threatens to kick them out for squatting, Mac and Dennis get a place of their own and it's all downhill from there. Dennis tries to keep himself together. Life's got other plans.

Set a few months after the end of Season 10.

the way we look to us all - endquestionmark [63k]

Dennis Reynolds is forty-four years old, and it doesn’t get any better from here.

an impossible view - kafkian [65k]

‘You’re what?’ Dennis asks blankly.

‘I’m moving out,’ Mac explains. The same three words he said a second ago, and they don’t make any more sense in that order than they did the first time. ‘I was just – I was thinking about what you said, about wanting – uh. Wanting me to move out. And it kind of made sense, so. I guess I’m doing it.’

‘How did it make sense?’ Dennis asks.

---

After the events of Season 13, Mac moves out. Dennis handles it really well, obviously.

like real people do - notreallywriting [66k]

“I just want to be normal, Mac. Is that too much to ask for?”

“I don't know, Den. Maybe it is.”

or: mac and dennis get worse before they get better

Bloom - andchaos [68k]

Dennis owns a flower shop. Mac's trying to grow a garden.

guardians of a rare thing - yennefers [101k]

Sometimes Mac will kiss him to calm him down. It’s a no strings attached kind of thing, until it isn’t.

#macdennis #iasip #it's always sunny in philadelphia

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likielandco · 1 year

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Bonjour à tous, bonjour mes reines, Bonjour mes chevaliers, bonjour Kaamelott fandom!

Ça fait un long moment n’est-ce pas?

Je vais être honnête: je me suis forcé à ne pas poster sur Tumblr, car je souhaitais vraiment pouvoir revenir vers vous tous avec une date définitive pour l’update de l’OS 11.

Alors sans faire de ronds de jambes, je vous annonce que je poste la première partie du OS 11, le mardi 31 janvier, à 20h 🥳

Ça fait plus d’un an que je n’ai pas updater ma fic sur AO3, mais je n’ai jamais, jamais, jamais cessé de l’écrire. Des mois et des mois de frustration et de prise de tête car ma vie professionnelle a pris un tournant intense, et toutes les nouvelles responsabilités qu’on m’a attribué n’ont pas ramené que du pognon, elles ont aussi ramené beaucoup de stress. Pour le coup, écrire le OS 11 m’a beaucoup aidé émotionnellement, même quand je ne pouvais sortir que 2 pages par semaines, même quand j’en effaçait 10 par pure perfectionnisme.

Le revers de la médaille c’est la culpabilité de ne pas avoir pu partagé la suite avec vous, mes lectrices et lecteurs tellement merveilleux et tellement impliqués dans LPDG.

L’attente a été longue et j’en suis la première désolée, mais pour le coup, je reviens non seulement organisée, mais aussi avec du Lourd (notez le grand L 😂)

Le OS 11 fait bien plus que 100 pages, je vais pas vous donner le décompte tout de suite, sinon vous allez halluciné 😅

À tout ceux qui attendent l’update depuis tout ce temps, à tout ceux qui commentent, qui m’envoient des messages d’encouragements sur Tumblr, qui n’ont pas l’intention d’abandonner cette histoire malgré le manque d’update, qui veulent toujours continuer à suivre les aventures de Guenièvre et Arthur, de la Svala et son Dux Bellorum… je veux vous dire que je vous adore, que je brûle de reconnaissance, que ces centaines de pages vous sont dédiés, que je n’ai jamais relâché mes efforts pour vous donner une suite, que vous méritez la grosse bombe que ce OS 11 va être, et que vous allez manger de plus de cent pages avec uniquement Guenièvre et Arthur. Yup. On se rattrape comme on peut. ❤️

Vu la longueur de la bête, je vais devoir découper le OS en trois parties. Ça me fend le cœur mais c’est comme ça. J’ai grave hésité à tout balancer d’un coup, mais ça ferait trop, beaucoup trop à digérer. Il y aura énormément de dialogues, plus que dans la totalité des OS précédents, et la façon dont j’ai construit ce chapitre, chaque élément, chaque attaque, question ou révélation entre Arthur et Guenièvre, va trouver son écho au fur et mesure de la lecture. Aucun de ces deux personnages ne perdra le nord dans leur affrontement, ce fameux affrontement qui aborde finalement leur mariage passé. Vous allez probablement avoir l’impression d’assister à un match de tennis, puis à une avalanche 😅

Beaucoup des questions qu’on m’a posé en commentaire sur AO3, trouveront leurs réponses, il y aura beaucoup de révélations sur Horsa, sur Lancelot… bref, ça va être la pétarade quoi.

Je vous conseille fortement de relire la fic depuis le début, ou tout du moins depuis le OS 5, la destruction de Kaamelott, pour pouvoir savourer à quel point le OS 11 est un écho et une fatalité évidente pour tout ce qui s’est passé avant dans l’histoire. Tout les dialogues entre Arthur et Guenièvre du OS 5 au OS 10, sont particulièrement importants.

J’ai la chance inouïe d’avoir des lectrices et lecteurs qui flairent mes plots comme Sherlock Holmes flairent les mystères. J’espère que vous allez kiffé ce qui vient, les dénouements et les renouements des plots, tout ça c’est pour vous!

Finalement, même si cette année 2023 ne s’annonce pas plus chill que les autres niveau boulot, j’ai décidé de faire de LPDG une priorité. Ça veut dire poster tout les mois. On va voir si j’y arrive, mais je suis déterminée. Je veux m’avancer dans cet objectif avec bienveillance et sans stress ou culpabilité, j’ai déjà trop de ça dans ma vie. À travers LPDG, je veux viber avec vous, rire avec vous, pleurer avec vous, hurler avec vous et à mon petit niveau, rendre hommage à l’univers de Kaamelott qui m’a tant donné et ce depuis que je suis petite.

La seconde partie du OS sera posté fin février, la troisième fin mars. Ça part en crescendo, soyez prévenue! Énormément de angst, mais aussi énormément d’amour, comme il se doit. ☺️

Ok je crois que c’est tout! Encore merci, merci beaucoup, merci mille fois, merci tellement à toutes les personnes qui ont glissé dans mes DM sur Tumblr, juste pour m’encourager, ou juste pour me demander comment ça va… merci à toute les personnes qui commente sur AO3. Ça n’a pas de prix, ça signifie tant pour moi. Merci pour tout les kudos et les Hits, merci pour votre temps, merci pour votre soutien, merci pour votre lecture.

À très vite,

Avec tout mon amour,

Lily.

#LesPétalesDeGuenièvre🌸

#kv1 #lpdg #les pétales de guenièvre #kaamelott fanfiction #kaamelott fanart #kaamelott #KV1 fanfic #arthur guenievre #arthur et guenièvre #arthur x guenièvre #arthur pendragon #Guenièvre #Guenièvre de Carmélide #my art: please don’t use without asking

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wistfulcynic · 3 months

Text

savez-vous pourquoi on a les tournesols

i learnt about @ecclesiasticallatinfest um, yesterday, but i thought it was a great idea and wanted to participate so i knocked up a quick translation of my shortest fic. i'm an experienced translator but i always do french to english so going the other way was a challenge. Fortunately i knew exactly what the author meant by everything though she is a bitch for the flowery prose. i may have taken a few liberties with the french language, including disposing entirely with the passé simple because i cannot be arsed, so i hope gentle readers you will be kind.

original fic is here

translation is here

Stede Bonnet ressemble parfaitement à un des hommes dans son tableau préféré. Un jour, il rencontre l'homme qui ressemble à l'autre. Ça donne l'impression d'être destiné.

(Il l'est.)

savez-vous pourquoi on a les tournesols

Stede Bonnet adore les musées.

C’était toujours comme ça, depuis sa première visite, lors d’un voyage scolaire. Un voyage qui était, à tous les autres égards, bien peu mémorable. Les tourments habituels des jumeaux Badminton et de leur cohorte, la solitude habituelle de Stede, lui seul avec ses livres et ses pensées.

Mais il se souvient du tableau.

Il se souvient de ces deux hommes sur le pont de leur navire, si vivement rendus par touches d’huile qu’il avait l’impression de sentir lui-même le vent qui fouettait dans leurs cheveux et gonflait les voiles de leur vaisseau. Il se souvient de la fierté de leur posture, l’absence total de peur. Il se souvient de leur unité, le fil de leur lien impossible de nier, palpable même depuis une peinture et à travers trois cents années. Il se souvient du désir ardent qui animait sa jeune poitrine. C’était ça ce qu’il voulait. Cette unité. Ce lien. Ce quelqu’un qui le regarderait du manière dont les pirates du tableau se regardaient.

Personne n’avait jamais regardé Stede Bonnet comme ça.

Même aujourd'hui personne ne le regarde comme ça. Ni ses parents, ni son ex-femme. Même pas ses enfants. Il traverse la vie comme il traverse les rues de Londres, seul parmi les foules bouillonnâtes des gens—familles, amis, amants. Mais pas pour lui. Jamais pour lui.

Mais il adore toujours les musées.

Il est aujourd’hui le conservateur de l’aile du XVIII siècle de la National Gallery de Londres, un boulot de rêves pour lequel il a travaillé toute sa vie. Il devrait se sentir triomphant, et il l’est, vraiment. Mais… doucement triomphant, et pour la plupart à soi-même. Le fait qu’il n’ait personne avec qui le partager ne fait rien, pas vraiment. Aller chaque jour au musée, savoir que c’est sa place, une place qu’il a méritée, c’est ça qui lui rend heureux. Plus heureux qu’il n’a jamais été. Ça suffit.

Lorsqu’il acquiert le tableau, le tableau, celui qu’il a vu pour la première fois à Auckland il y a tant d’années, son bonheur est complet. Chaque jour il va dans sa gallérie et se tient debout en face de ce tableau et le regarde. Il se tient debout et il regarde et il ressent à nouveau ce désir presque douloureux dans sa poitrine.

Peu à peu il se rend compte de quelque chose, une quelque chose très particulière dont il ne sait pas trop quoi faire. Un des hommes du tableau, celui du droit, l’homme blond à la barbe courte et pointue et à l’allure fringante, sa chemise blanche flottante et sa ceinture en soie turquoise autour de la taille, cet homme… il ressemble à Stede.

Exactement comme Stede. À tel point que c’en est bizarre. Il ne l’a jamais remarqué autrefois, évidemment, comment aurait-il pu? Mais maintenant qu’il est plus âgé—du même âge, semble-t-il, que l’homme du tableau—le ressemblance est indéniable.

Il se laisse pousser la barbe, par curiosité académique, il se dit. Juste pour voir si la ressemblance est renforcée ou entravée. Il se laisse pousser également ses très courts cheveux, afin de mieux ressembler les boucles du tableau. Il introduit de la couleur dans sa garde-robe, les bleus vifs et les verts joyeux, même un petit jaune impertinent, de temps en temps. Il découvre qu’il adore la couleur, et la mode, et qu’elles l’adorent en revanche. S’habiller le matin devient un plaisir et non plus un corvée.

Ne plus il se heurte les gens dans la rue parce qu’ils ne le remarquent pas. Plutôt, les inconnus hochent la tête à son passage et lui rendent ses sourires amicales. Ils arrivent même de faire la bavardage dans les queues. Ils gloussent s’il tente une petite blague. Il commence à faire des blagues exprès. Les gens rient. Ils rient d’amusement et pas de moquerie. Pour Stede, ça change tout.

Ce Stede avec plus de confiance, plus de couleur, débordant d’une exubérance naturelle enfin libérée et tellement ravi de se ressembler si parfaitement à l’homme du tableau, commence à tourner plus fréquemment envers l’autre. Cet homme que, même enfant, il a trouvé presque trop magnifique pour apercevoir. Cet homme grand, beau, tout vêtu en cuir, sa barbe et ses cheveux longs fouettés par le vent et glorieux, qui contemple le doppelgänger peint de Stede avec le regard le plus doux qu’il n’ait jamais vu.

Ce regard. La douleur dans sa poitrine devient insupportable lorsqu’il y pense, mais il y pense tout de même, et fréquemment.

Malgré sa confiance en lui récemment trouvé, il n’existe toujours personne qui a jamais regardé Stede Bonnet comme ça.

“Sacré tableau, n’est-ce pas, mon pote?”

Stede se détourne de sa contemplation matinale du pirate vêtu en cuir, surpris et ravi d’entendre la cadence d’un accent familier. C’est rare qu’il rencontre un autre Kiwi à Londres, même si la ville accueille des gens venus des quatre coins du monde.

“Vous savez, c’est drôle,” reprend la voix. Elle est profonde et résonnante et elle caresse la peau de Stede comme du cachemire. “Je me souviens une fois, lorsque mon enfance en Nouvelle-Zélande, j’ai vu ce tableau. J’y suis resté en regardant pendant une bonne vingtaine de minutes. Les autres gamins se sont partis sans moi et le prof a dû revenir m’emmener pratiquement à l’écart. Je me rappelle plus le nom du prof mais je n’ai jamais oublié ce tableau.” Il se tourne vers Stede qui peut maintenant voir tout son visage. “Peut-être que ça vous paraisse fou, mais diriez-vous—pensez-vous que cet homme, celui de la gauche… vous pensez qu’il me ressemble?”

Stede rest sans voix, bouche bée. Parce que oui, il dirait, oui. L’homme du tableau te ressemble vachement et s’il existe personne qui peut le déclarer avec autorité c’est Stede. C’est lui, après tout, qui avait regardé ce tableau chaque jour et tous les jours pendant tout de l’an dernier. L’homme à son côté a la même taille, les mêmes cheveux longs et barbe magnifique. Et lorsqu’il se retourne et leurs yeux croisent, Stede a le souffle coupé. Les yeux aussi se ressemblent, ce marron doux et chaleureux. Ils traversent le visage de Stede et ils s’écarquillent, signe de reconnaissance d’abord, puis d’émerveillement.

“C’est toi,” il chuchote. “Cet homme, l’autre. C’est—c’est toi.”

Stede sait qu’il doit dire quelque chose, n’importe quoi, et donc il lance les premiers mots qui lui viennent de l’esprit.

“Es-tu réel?”

C’est une question de merde et il se sent ridicule pour la poser, mais les beaux yeux de l’homme se plissent sur les bords et il rit. Il rit d’amusement et non de moquerie. Le Stede d’aujourd’hui connait la différence.

“Aussi réel que toi, mon pote. Je m’appelle Ed.” Il lui tend la main.

“Stede,” répond Stede, en la prenant. Un frisson électrique parcourt sa peau, du point de contact jusqu’à l’extrémité de toute terminaison nerveuse qu’il possède. Il retient à peine son souffle. “Je suis le, um, conservateur. Du musée. Fin, pas du musée entier, seulement l’aile du dix-huitième siècle, mais c’est pas important en fait, ce que c’est important c’est que moi aussi.”

“Toi aussi?” répète Ed.

Stede hoche la tête avec enthousiasme. “Moi aussi, j’ai vu ce tableau lorsque mon enfance en Nouvelle-Zélande. J’arrivais pas à me détourner, moi non plus. Et je—”

“Ne l’a jamais oublié?”

“Ne l’ai jamais oublié! Je l’ai acquis à la première occasion. Ce n’était qu’après que je me suis rendu compte que, er—que l’homme dedans avait—”

“Ton visage?”

“Ouais.” Stede hausse légèrement les épaules. “Mon visage.”

“C’est un bon visage,” dit Ed. La frisson électrique s’intensifie. Il découvre qu’il tient toujours la main d’Ed.

“Sais-tu ce que j’aime le plus?” il demande.

“À propos de ton visage?”

“Non!” Stede proteste, avant de se rendre compte qu’Ed le taquine. Il sent ses joues rosir mais il continue. “Non, pas à propos de mon visage. Dans le tableau.”

“Qu’est-ce que tu aimes le plus dans le tableau?”

“C’est la manière dont ils se regardent,” dit Stede. “Ils sont si connectés et les expressions sur leurs visages, c’est—”

“L’amour,” finit Ed. Sa voix est bourrue. “Ils se sont amoureux.”

“C’est ça.” Les mots se coincent dans sa gorge. “En tant que garçon je ne pouvais pas le voir. C’est à dire, je l’ai vu mais je ne savais pas ce que c’était. Tout ce que je savais c’était que je voulais quelqu’un à me regarder comme ça. Mais personne ne l’a jamais fait.”

“Jamais?”

“Non. Pas—” Stede s’arrête, happé par les yeux d’Ed. Ce regard lui coupe le souffle.

Ed maintient son regard tout en relâchant la main de Stede, tout en entourant la mâchoire de Stede de sa main, ses doigts s'enfonçant dans ses cheveux, s'enroulant autour de l'arrière de sa tête et l'attirant plus près de lui.

"Pas jusqu'à ce moment,” murmure-t-il, puis ses lèvres se posent sur celles de Stede.

Le baiser est d'abord doux, hésitant. Stede n'a jamais vraiment aimé embrasser ; il est peu expérimenté dans ce domaine et même moins enthousiaste, malgré ses dix ans de mariage. Mais ce baiser, ce baiser, l'illumine de l'intérieur ; ce picotement électrique travers sa peau et s’infiltre dans ses os. Il se retrouve penché sur le corps d'Ed, agrippant sa taille, poussant un petit gémissement impuissant qui attire un gémissement plus profond de la part d'Ed. Le baiser devient chaud, humide, tout à fait inapproprié pour un mardi matin pluvieux sur son lieu de travail, mais Stede s’en fout pas la gueule.

Après, ils restent en se regardant, yeux écarquillés et haletants, et puis en unisson parfait ils se tournent comme tirés par un fil, vers le tableau.

Les deux hommes leur sourient, leur sourient, il n’existe pas la moindre doute. Le sosie d’Ed leur fait un clin d’oeil, tandis que celui de Stede hoche sa tête avec un sourire fier et content. “J’étais sûr que tu l’aurais trouver,” Stede entend dire sa propre voix, dans sa tête évidemment mais les mots sont aussi clairs que comme s’il les avait dit lui-même.

Il se retourne vers Ed. “T’as entendu—”

“Ouais,” réplique Ed. “J’ai entendu.”

Ils regardent à nouveau le tableau, qui est précisément comme il a toujours été.

“Viens déjeuner avec moi,” dit Ed, abruptement.

“Il est dix heures et demie du matin!”

“Un brunch, alors. Je sais un bon lieu, pas loin d’ici.”

“Ah, oui?” Stede est tellement heureux qu’il a l’impression que son sang a été remplacé par du champagne. “C’est où ça?”

“Mon restaurant.” Ed lui sourit. “Je viens de l’ouvrir. Blackbeard’s Bar and Grill, il s’appelle.”

“Ooh, nom fabuleux. Et donc tu… vises rester à Londres?”

“Aussi longtemps que Londres veut bien de moi,” dit Ed, et Stede sait qu’il ne parle pas seulement de Londres. “Et bien. Brunch? J’ai de la marmelade.”

Stede reste bouche bée. “Comment—comment sais-tu que j’aime la marmelade?”

“J’ai eu de la chance,” dit Ed. Ses yeux pétillent, de chaleur et affection et interêt et reconnaissance, et oui c’est enfin réel, ça se passe vraiment. Quelqu’un regarde Stede Bonnet Comme Ça.

Ici au milieu de son musée bien-aimé, devant son tableau le plus précieux, le plus bel homme qu’il ait jamais vu, soit peint ou en personne, lui regarde de la manière dont il a si longtemps rêvé mais n’aurait jamais pensé savoir.

Et dans sa poitrine il se sent à nouveau cette douleur mais ce n’est plus la douleur exquise. C’est la douleur d’une joie trop forte d’être exprimée. C’est le bonheur complet.

C’est l’amour.

“Le brunch serait super,” dit Stede. “C’est parfait.” Ça donne l’impression du début de quelque chose de spectaculaire.

Et c’est ça qu’il est.

#our flag means death #ofmd #Ecclesiastical Latin Fest #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #ofmd fanfic #fanfic in translation #français #savez-vous pourquoi on a les tournesols #do you know why we have the sunflowers #profdanglaisstuff

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