aight shout out to the void: i know im annoying af w/ all my like. aggressive validation and preppy bullshit but???? i want everyone to be okay and happy and even if its kind of obnoxious im. gonna keep doing it as much and as well as i can
Don’t even look at me when I’m thinking about Lardo speaking Vietnamese, reading Vietnamese, picking up phone calls in Vietnamese, especially in a crowded room, especially in the middle of a big group circle and she knows she can’t ignore her mom’s phone call even if her phone is actually on silent.
Larissa has been told in the past that she speaks “good Vietnamese”, the refined kind, the kind that is a mix of old North and old South, the type that epic Viet dramas and the well-dressed hosts of variety shows that her mom watches on YouTube, that they own on DVD and VHS. (They are a Paris By Night family, but they appreciate some Asia shows). (But, they are a Paahree Bai Nai family). It’s “high-class Viet”, not “bán cá dialect”, fish-monger’s speak, which is totally her dad’s accent. It’s not distinctively nasal, like a lot of people she hears at the store. She can make it sound that way, but she loves her accent, how it’s a mix of her family’s accents. She loves her grandmother’s accent, loves her mom’s and dad’s and her multitudes of cô and dì and bác and and ông bà!!
Lardo gets asked to say things in Vietnamese all the time, gets put on the spot, gets asked to say names in Vietnamese? Like, what’s up with that? Just listen to her talk on the phone, Jesus Lord. She mispronounces her own name, but whatever, it’s spelled the Chinese way–a lot of things are–names and records were switched for security during the war. Her real last name is probably Nguyen. Everyone’s is Nguyen. But, she likes being Duan. It’s her mom’s last name, and it’s hers too. Every time she says it like how her Kindergarten teacher pronounces it, there’s a part of her that thinks she’s erasing her culture, that panics, that wants it to change, wants her to pronounce it right, because ???? Isn’t that just a Little First Gen American Thing??
in the spirit of november 30th and the last day of “no shave november” i give you this zimbits fic. in which jack finally shaves his moustache and to say that bitty is thrilled would be an understatement. it’s all very warm and fuzzy, but not in a movember moustache way.
When Jack get’s home from the game the apartment is dark and quiet, but the light over the oven is on and he can smell butter and bananas, so he knows that Bitty’s still awake. The Falconers played the Lightning and won the game 4-2. Jack scored the opening goal and got an assist on the last one that helped to keep them ahead. He’s feels exhausted, but he perks up when he sees Bitty shuffle out of the bedroom in a Falconer’s hoodie and that pair of red shorts.
“Jack! I didn’t hear you come in,” Bitty exclaims when he notices Jack standing in the doorway, his shoes still on and his bag still slung over his shoulder. “Congrats on the win, sweetheart.”
Jack smiles and drops his bag before he welcomes Bitty with open arms as the other man walks over for a hug. “Thank you, mon lapin,” Jack replies before he presses a kiss into Bitty’s hair. These moments are his favourite. Coming home to a warm apartment that looks and smells like it’s been lived in while he was out. Bitty left a couple of bowls on the counter and his textbooks are strewn over the coffee table. It’s perfect. Jack likes having someone here with him. He likes coming home to someone.
Jack pulls away slightly and tilts Bitty’s head up with a finger under his chin, but when closes his eyes and leans in for the kiss, instead of lips, he feels two fingers hold him back. His eyes snap open as he begins to worry that something is wrong. “Bits?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, honey,” Bitty sighs when he sees Jack’s furrowed brow and he takes his fingers away from Jack’s mouth. “But… you promised…” he trails off as he traces his thumb over Jack’s moustache, making a face of distaste as he does so.
Jack smirks as he remembers the conversation that they had last night before bed, and the night before that, and the day before that over the phone. “I promised I’d shave off the moustache when I got home from the game on the thirtieth,” he recalls, like a mantra.