#at least i determined im not done yet but it's hard and lonely and some days i really do think im in hell

[keefwho]

September 20 - 2023 Wednesday

7:57am

Currently feeling disgusted at myself for my recent behavior. Currently doubting my relationships for imaginary reasons. Currently trying to be aware of my thoughts and feelings. Currently stuck in my own head about some things. Currently trying to remember to positively reinforce myself. Currently doubting myself. Currently overthinking small things. Currently feeling doomed like I have nowhere to go.

10:45pm

As usual I'm extremely frustrated with my lack of progress, but I think I'm putting too much pressure on myself. The truth is that there IS progress, it just might not be in the form that I think. Lately it seems I've been distancing from everyone. Literally the only people I talk to right now are 570 and Daisy, and 570 is only through a chat box. On the surface that doesn't sound healthy and it probably isn't. But it's for a good reason I think. I've been evaluating all my relationships lately, present and past. I've been monitoring how I feel around people and noticing patterns with how I socialize. I've determined that most of my "friends" don't build me up. They don't fulfill me. I have to force myself to be around them until I get too tired of it. The honest truth is I fundamentally don't like them or the time I spend with them. So I've stopped because it's not fair to me or them to be fostering what I'm seeing as a fake friendship. They develop and impression that I like them more than I do, and to me they become a chore. I'm stopping that and focusing on social situations I actually enjoy.

This goes deep though because I don't think it's that I don't like the friends I made because we're incompatible. I think my view of other people is severely limiting who I can get along with because I am extremely judgmental. And again it all comes back to how I view myself. If I can't be friends with me then how can I be friends with anyone else? The truth is I can't. I can pretend but deep down my heart is closed off to them. It's horribly lonely to realize this but also liberating because I know what my problem is and that when I fix it, many opportunities will open to me. Even if I can't see it yet.

In the meantime I'm in a very fragile place and I know it. It's why I'm so fearful of my remaining friends losing interest in me. Because it would honestly shatter my life apart. Thats why I know I have to try as hard as I can to encourage self appreciation and a better lifestyle. The hard truth is that troubled people can't sustain healthy relationships, I think. In my case if I don't do anything about myself then I'll keep finding new people to depend on and wear down until they can't take it anymore. Or like I've done in the past, I'll be the one who pushes them away because of my low self worth dictating that I don't deserve them. It's toxic. I exhibit toxic behavior.

Im in a state of trying anything and everything until something sticks. I still want to find a way to better document and organize my thoughts so I can start producing actual habits. To be effective I think I need to find a behavior to focus on and stick to for at least 1 week and keep doing that. I keep having new ideas about things I can try that will twist my perspective for the better. I think the first step to developing a system for this would be to keep trying to stick to my current schedule which I've been great at this week. Getting all my work done and then some under the belief that expending energy is a good thing has been doing wonders for my stability. I feel okay resting after I've worked myself to the bone. And I feel okay turning my attention to other things I can do since I'm not thinking about how much work I didn't do. The truth is I wanna work so that's what I'm doing. If I keep that up then I can see having the appropriate time and energy to better plot a mental course.

Anyways time to write about my day, for the sake of trying to see myself more as a living breathing person. It's supposed to help me get a little perspective.

This morning I made left over rice a roni for breakfast. I also had a tiny ice cream cone with my coffee and I always love when I can do that. Again I didn't quite feel like streaming and as usual it was a good thing that I did. The animal color study today sucked but I got this horrible edit done without the guy complaining and nearly finished the next YCH.

For cleaning today I polished up this old mirror I won as a kid and hung it next to the front door. It's a little low but there isn't really a better place for it except maybe the door? I also put my clean clothes away and reorganized my underwear basket so it's nice and tidy. Also threw out very worn pairs of undies that I kept just in case I really needed them which sometimes I did. But now I got a bunch new boxer briefs. After cleaning I barely had enough time to start splitting logs as today's workout.

Lunch was half a totino's pizza and some homemade oatmeal. Because of the cooking/eating time and some lolligagging, I was late to my afternoon work by a little bit. I'm beginning to get frustrated with myself, I strongly wish to be more on time. I also watched a video about social media use and creativity which got me thinking a bit.

During afternoon work I hung out in Egg's server for the first time and she showed up pretty quick. We chatted a little while watching an Adventure Time timeline video and a Steven Universe video. I sort of wish I hadn't joined the VC because of the thing mentioned earlier. I don't think I was quite ready to truly honor their company and was moreso using them as a distraction/void filler which is not fair. After work was finished up and took a small break before working on Daisy's avatar again. I got into a flow of sorts and was working on it without music or anything. She called halfway through that and watched me finish it while she worked on her fursuit. When I was done I intentionally sat down to just enjoy my time with her while she talked about her fursuit making. We hopped into VRchat afterwards, world hopping and finding this cute little African vacation world by this old guy. We also have an emotional moment when I took her to my most recent world.

Sometimes my self hatred is valid. For instance I'm not proud of the way I've been acting with Daisy lately. Like everyone else she falls victim to my toxic behaviors. Without thinking about it I end up using her for validation. I think about her way too much, usually because instead of using my energy to grow myself and discover my values, I rely on her to fill this void of mine. A void that is endless. My true affection for her goes deep, I cannot deny that. It's why I'm so concerned about correcting this recent behavior. I don't want to get whatever is going on between us all twisted. I think what we have is beautiful and healthy. I just have the tendency to hyperfocus on something and lose perspective on it.

I know the key to being happy with her is making sure I stay my own person. Making sure I'm giving out of affection and not fear of abandonment. Making sure I keep my voicing myself. Making sure I remember our past.

I mustn't forget that many of the things that plague me come from within me and it's my job to take care of it. And I will. Obviously for myself but also for treasured people like Daisy. I will utilize any motivation I can get.

#journal #diary #thoughts

[ms-indifferwnt]

I’m Cold

“I'm cold"

"And?"

"Can't you give me your jacket or something?"

"Can't you accept my proposal and marry me already?"

In which Prince Donghyuck's parents are forcing him to get married and he decided to propose to the first girl he sees to shut his parents up

Genre: Prince!Lee Donghyuck x Maid!Reader, Angst, Fluff, Arranged Marriage (kinda), Slowburn

Warnings: Curse words, Suggestive (I'll add more if there are)

Notes: Chapter 3 of Im Cold. Sorry this one took longer, hope you guys enjoy

WORD COUNT: 2.2k

Prev / Chapter 3 / Next

Y/n was screaming in frustration o to her pillow, Damn the Prince's good Looks, Damn the Prince's words, Damn the Prince's Kindness, Damn it all!

Y/n sighs after screaming on to her pillow, she flips over back against the soft covers, she couldn't help but think about how the evening end up like this. How could she say yes? After Prince Donghyuck has asked for two Weeks what happened?

"No" Y/n replied and stood up

Donghyuck grabbed her by the wrist, it wasn't forceful nor was it tight, Prince Donghyuck gave her an opportunity to pull away, to take her wrist away from the Prince, But why didn't she? "Please" He pleaded and Y/n's eyes widened "At least think it over, if you are still determined to tell my parents I will gladly assist you but please, at least until we're done eating dinner, think it over"

Y/n was shocked to see the prince pleading, asking her to think about it, was this that important to the prince? She nods, fine after dinner she'll reject him, she was getting fed up with how stubborn he is, it wasn't just messing up with the royal family's values, it was also bothering with her life, her own private life, how she is being seen, how people address her whole life went upside down just because the prince lost his temper

Donghyuck nods and stands bowing towards her, "I'm sorry, I know I have troubled you" He confesses and Y/n grabbed him by the shoulders to make  him stand straight but he wouldn't budge "I know that by making you do this I have placed you in a hard position" she shakes her head and tears start trickling  his eyes, it was all overwhelming, her feelings and the Prince' words being all too heavy on her conscience, the tears weren't necessary nor was it intentional but before she could realize, a sob leaves her lips and Prince Donghyuck's reaction was quick, he stood up straight hands out to hold her as she starts wiping her face

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm crying" she whimpers and keeps wiping her face with her hands, The prince pulls her hands away and uses his handkerchief to wipe her tears, no words were exchanged, not until she calmed down

Neither noticed it but the Prince'd hand always hovered near the girl's as if waiting for the right moment to hold her hand. The Prince looks at her and she was staring at the cloth in her hand, it was simple, laced in golden thread "Do you like sweets?" The Prince suddenly spoke making her look at him and she nods, he smiles softly and takes her hand in his "Let's go get some ice-cream"

       Morning comes and Y/n wakes up to the sound of Prince Donghyuck's voice "Hana, which one is better?"

Y/n opened her eyes to be greeted by Prince Donghyuck looking through her closet "Goodmorning" he greets and moves to kiss her forehead, Y/n still freezes at the action but smiled "I've chosen your outfit for today so we can match" Donghyuck pats his thighs to show off the color and smiles, standing up to hold her hand and help her out of bed, "Wear this" he shows a pretty blue floral lace Bardot dress, pattern adorned with white and pink roses while lace covers the edges the color matching the Prince's blue-ish dress pants "Get her dressed Hana"

And at the Prince's words, Hana leads Y/n to the conjoined bathroom, helping her clean up and get dressed fixing the way it hugs her curves, and Hana smiles, applying a bit of touch-ups on her skin and fixing her hair. She was done and Y/n looked into the mirror, Hana has fixed her hair into a half-up bun style making it look messy yet classy, the hairstyle complementing the dress

They both left the bathroom only to be greeted by the prince facing away from the bathroom door looking at his phone "Done? Can I turn and see?"

Y/n blinks, the Prince purposefully turned away to give her space and privacy, she smiles softly "Yes you can turn around now"

The prince turns around and he smiles at the sight, but then he wrapped one arm around his waist as a support for his elbow where he places his chin on his palm eyeing her "Something's missing" he mumbled

Y/n blinks and tilts her head as Hana turns to look at Y/n "Jewelry?" Hana offers and the Prince nods, with the Maid immediately reacting walking to get the Jewelry box from the vanity, "Milady has a wide assortment of jewelry here, my Prince" she says and turns only to gasp at the sight

The Prince had invaded Y/n's personal bubble, him being so close their chest could be flushed against each other, her hair was out of the way while the Prince had his arms around her neck as he tries and clasps the necklace. In all honesty, if he wanted to help her wear it he could've done it from behind not doing it while almost hugging Y/n

Y/n could feel the Prince's breath fan against her neck at the close proximity, she blushes and moved to hold on to the blazer in front of her until finally, the prince locks the necklace tracing a cold finger against the chain, she tried, she just couldn't help but feel the goosebumps rise against her skin where he had touched "There, you look pretty" he smiles his finger stopping at the pendant only to return tracing against her collar bones and down her arms. Y/n would be lying if she says the prince didn't have an effect on her, cause, oh how her heart raced at the action, silently willing them to stop, he traces lower 'till he holds her hand looking at her wrist "Let us get you a bracelet" he lets go of her only to look through the jewelry box

Hana stood there in shock, cheeks a shade of red at the display of affection, standing off to the side, knowing that she shouldn't react unless Y/n or the Prince might need her

The Prince would take time, looking through the wide assortment of bracelets and looking at the Y/n to look at her wrists and then dress, only to resume his search. Y/n on the other hand had examined the pendant of the necklace, it was a flower, a white flower pendant with delicate details on to its petals, making it look as if it is blooming "It's called a gardenia flower"

She looks into his eyes "what?" she blinks a bit surprises

He points to the pendant "That a gardenia flower, do you like it?" he asks and stands up fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves

She nods shyly "It's a pretty flower" he nods and takes his watch  off, it was a simple watch, it had a golden chain strap along with its case, a black tint on the watch itself  "You have a pretty watch" she murmurs and the Prince smiles

"Good, cause you'll be using this today" he replies and walks up to her  so he can hold her wrist, placing the watch on and locking it in place "Its a bit big on you," he laughs as if finding the whole ordeal cute "Remind me later, lets go on jewelry shopping ok?" Y/n nods silently and he examines Y/n, nodding in approval at the sight he smiles and locks there fingers "Lets go, lets have breakfast together then we can go out to my schedules ok?" he says as he leads her out of her room and into the dining hall

Letting him lead her out, "I'm sorry, My Prince-" she starts but the prince cuts her off

"You should get used to calling me Donghyuck for the next two weeks" he murmurs and turns his head to look at her and smiled "What were you saying?"

She clears her throat and avoided eye contact "Why do I have to come with you on your schedule?"

He hums as if thinking of the right words to answer her question "well, It would be great to show my parents that I am 'serious'," He makes air quotes with his free hand "about you, a plus to make them believe that i need time to heal when we do break up. And, it gets lonely when I'm the only one going"

       "Where is this meeting being held exactly, My Prince?" Y/n asked as she turns away from the car window to look at the Prince only to get a raised eyebrow in return "Donghyuck" she corrects and he nods in approval

"At a café, we'll be meeting with someone, he claims that this project he proposes will help a lot of people"

"Then why must you be the one to interview them? wouldn't it be better for the King and Queen to address that matter themselves?"

"Well, Yes. But not everything will go through the King and Queen, first they have to go through me to make sure its worth seeing by them and then the decision is ultimately theirs"

"Ah" she hums softly and nods "I understand" she smiles and Donghyuck couldn't help but smile back

Once they arrive, The Prince leads Y/n by the hand to a man dressed in a fancy suit he stands and bows towards the new arrivals "My name Johnny, thank you for giving me a chance to speak to you your highness"

Donghyuck bows and smiles "Of course,. I'd like you to meet my Fiancé, Y/n this Suh Johnny, a dear friend and at the moment a benefactor" he smiles informs and Johnny bows in her direction with her mirroring the action, "Please sit." They all obeyed

Johnny was very convincing and honestly, the Prince liked his proposal but as Johnny excused himself to go to the bathroom, Donghyuck turned to Y/n "What do you think?"

She blinked in confusion "Sorry?" she tilts her head slightly and Donghyuck had resist the urge to grab her by the chin so that he can adjust it "But why are you asking me, my Prince?"

He frowns "Donghyuck, Y/n, please call me Donghyuck, you earned the title of being my friend in this predicament you and I are in" earning a nod from the girl and he hums "but to answer your question, its because you might know what's best" she watches him as he spoke "I have not once tried living as if I wasn't a prince, I've never went to the market or done house chores, but you have and you do, compared to me you know what can help improve the way my people work and move, so I'm asking you, what did you think of his proposal?"

Y/n lets the Prince's words sink in as she looks down at her lap, she never thought that it'd come to this, The crowned prince asking her opinion but here she was "Yes, It'll be of great help" she started and started explaining the points on why and how it could improve, stating facts and sharing little stories along the way with her explanation as the Prince attentively listened and nodded

After she spoke, the Prince nodded and smiled at her "that is great Y/n" he moves to hold her hand cupping them "Thank you" he beams he opens his mouth to speak only to be stopped by Johnny returning and the Prince drops her hand

"I'm sorry" Johnny says and sat down "May I continue?" and the prince nods "As I was saying adding homes, giving the people their own job that is cleaning up our parks can lessen our rate of jobless citizens and also lessen out the homeless-"

Johnny was cut off to the prince swerving to the side and looking at his Fiancé "What's your favorite cake flavor?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Cake flavor," he repeats and nods towards the different displays and grins "What is it?"

She looks at Johnny who smiles at her "Mocha" she answers and he hums "you really do have a sweet tooth hmm?" he raises a hand to flag down a waiter "and coffee?" he turns to look at her then stops "No, Sorry you hate coffee... One Mocha cake and," he hums going back to when he bought ice cream for her and smiled "two cups of Hot Chocolate please, would you like anything Johnny?"

"Just coffee" He replies

"Black Coffee for him" Donghyuck says and the waiter bows, "Sorry, continue" and with that Johnny continues

Donghyuck is now to make a decision, if he says yes, Johnny will speak to his parents about his proposal and he hums, giving his and Y/n's words to careful consideration, his eyes drifting to Y/n as she took a bite "feed me" he says out of the blue making Y/n and Johnny look at him surprised

"I can't think without sugar and I drank my milk, just one bite" he coaxes and, Y/n offered him a bit which he happily accepted, looking at Johnny he grins "I hope my parents like your idea as much as we did Johnny"

#7dream #donghyuck imagines #donghyuck x reader #chenle #haechan smut #jaemin #jeno #jisung #lucas #nct #nct127 #donghyuck smut #prince au #royal au #royal nct drea #prince lee donghyuck

[pedros-mustache-main]

crayons & caresses

summary: you know it’s wrong, that pining after your student’s father is wildly inappropriate, but gosh if john deacon isn’t the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

word count: 12k+

warnings: pining to the extreme!, slight angst, discussions of parental death, health scare + medical response, alcohol, language, innuendo, suggestive moments (not 18+ but be mindful)

a/n: mechanic/singledad!john is everything i didn’t know i needed in my life. also: WOW this took me a long ass time because i find john the hardest to write, but i love him so. much. so hopefully it’s worth the wait.

(photo: originally from @davidgayhan​ i think?? ugh look at him. i drool. yes i did set this during the brief short-perm-montreal moment. sue me)

september, 1981.

you love all of your students equally. each one is like a fingerprint on your heart: unique in their own way, made up of patterns and histories you will never be able to appreciate in full before they are whisked away to their next year. it is safe to say you adore the collection of twenty-four seven year olds who walk into your classroom each morning. their bright faces, some still chubby with baby fat, fill the lonely parts of your soul, and you leave your flat each morning with a sense of purpose and duty. you are their teacher, their guide through some of the most crucial parts of learning. it is an honor and a privilege to teach them—each and every one. but there is one student who sticks out among the rest. 

his name is beau deacon.

beau is remarkably quiet. he’s small for his age, both in height and in weight. at times, he appears frail, what with the way he sits by himself in the corner during reading hour, flipping through a picture book with glazed over eyes, never really concentrating on what’s before him. he walks slowly during recess, preferring to stay by himself and drag a stick along the blacktop than play a game of kickball with the other boys. he whispers when he speaks and avoids meeting the eyes of those who do try and pry a few words from him.

you try to engage him—really, you do—but nothing seems to stick. not the participation reward system you build just for him, but use for the entire class. not moving his desk closer to yours. not even coercing your best friend ami to bring in her therapy dogs one afternoon early in the year. despite your best efforts, beau remains decidedly uninterested and removed.

it bothers and worries you to the point of questioning your colleague on the matter. martha is sixty, but spry as ever. she’s been your confidant this last year. you’re new to teaching, green as ever, but she has welcomed you with open arms and a plethora of advice. you feel comfortable sidling up next to her in the car-line one friday afternoon. it’s hot outside, summer not yet allowing autumn to take root, so you hold a hand over your eyes to shade yourself from the sun.

“can i ask you something?” you say, keeping your eyes trained on the children who filter out of the school and into their parent’s waiting vehicles. 

“as long as it’s not about sex,” martha mutters. “haven’t had a good romp in so long i don’t even know if it still works the same way.”

you swallow a laugh as a trio of students pass you by. their mother waves over her shoulder, shouting her thanks, before shoving the children in the backseat of a tan mini-van. you watch the van pull away, another car rolling forward to take its place, before asking your question.

“beau deacon,” you start, hoping that, if you simply say his name, martha will fill in the gaps herself.

blessedly, martha twists and nods with a knowing smile. “i know that tyke well. had him last year.”

you release a huff of air in relief. “oh thank goodness. i’m almost beside myself. i don’t know what to do with him.” you frown as you attempt to speak as diplomatically about your student as possible. “he’s awful quiet. he doesn’t play with any of the children and barely looks at me when i speak to him. how’d you manage?”

to your dismay, the older woman just shrugs. “i didn’t really. his mum died all sudden like about halfway through the year, and he clammed up. no matter what i did, what tricks i tried to pull, he stayed completely unmovable.”

“oh.” your shoulders drop in defeat. “i didn’t know.” truthfully, your heart tugs for the child. to lose one’s mother at such a tender age? you can’t imagine the world of hurt he lives in. it’s no wonder he sticks to himself.

“you didn’t speak with his father?”

“no. was i have supposed to?”

“no, not necessarily. mr. deacon was helpful on a few occasions last year. we were sort of a united front, i’d say, when things were particularly bad in the beginning. perhaps give him a call. at least to let him know you’re in his corner.” she smiles and squeezes your bicep. “and you can always come to me, love. i may not have all the answers but i do have some.”

“thank you, martha. i think giving mr. deacon a call might be smart—” you turn at the tell-tale sound of feet dragging against the ground. in the few weeks since classes have started, you’ve grown to know the sound of beau deacon’s footsteps better than your own. he’s always on your mind, the sullen little boy with glasses, so it’s hard not to pounce on him with love when you turn around to see him in the school doorway. “oh! beau! we were just talking about you.” 

beau stops walking, and his grip tightens on the straps of his backpack. he doesn’t look up at you, doesn’t say anything. he simply stands there, as if he’s listening but doesn’t know how to respond, so you soldier forward.

“do you have any big plans for the weekend, beau?” you ask.

he shakes his head.

“none with your father?”

another shake of the head.

“well, perhaps you’ll do something fun and you can tell us about it on monday, yeah?”

to your surprise, he nods, which is more than he does most days. you can’t help the smile that claims your lips and the way your arm waves a little too hard to his retreating form. he walks to a faded old corvette and opens the passenger door with ease. you can hear a muffled voice—his father’s no doubt—and see the man stretch his arm out to take beau’s backpack. 

but then the car door is shut, and the chevy pulls out of the parking lot with too much speed to be safe when a child is in the front.

you glance at martha. she rolls her eyes and mouths men. you can’t help but agree.

a week passes before you finally find the time to phone beau’s father. you find his name—john richard deacon—and a telephone number in beau’s emergency contact form, shoved amongst a stack of other hastily filled-out parent paperwork. there’s no secondary number listed—not even a distant relative or family friend—so if the call doesn’t work, you aren’t sure what your next move will be. even so, after all the children have left and the other teachers are beginning to close their classrooms for the day, you slouch at your desk and punch the numbers into the phone. it rings three times before someone picks up.

“taylor auto-repair. this is rog.”

the voice on the other end is high and scratchy. you’re taken aback, both by the man on the phone and the blaring rock n roll music in the background. you aren’t an expert, but it sounds like zeppelin. not what you’d expected.

“hello?”

you shake yourself free of surprise, and the wheels beneath your chair scrape against the linoleum floor as you sit forward. “oh, sorry. i thought i was calling the deacon residence?”

“deacon? like john deacon?”

“yes, i’m beau’s schoolteacher. i thought—well, this was the number on the contact form.”

there’s a sigh, and the phone brushes against something rough before rog says anything more. “hold on.” when he speaks next, his voice is distant yet poorly muffled. “deaky! there’s some bird on the phone for you! what have i told ya about putting the shop’s number down instead of the house’s? fuckin’ hell, mate.”

you frown, pressing your fingers to your lips as you wait for... deaky... to take the phone from his co-worker. when a new voice does appear on the line, you again find yourself surprised.

“hello? this is john deacon.” john’s voice is almost lilting, like a song. it’s soft, comforting—though how you determine this from four simple words is beyond your understanding.

“mr. deacon, hi! my name is [y/n] [y/l/n]. i’m beau’s teacher. i thought we might have an over-due chat, if you have the time?”

“oh, hello.” there’s a pause on the other end, as if he’s considering whether or not he’ll entertain your out-of-the-blue phone call. “has beau done something wrong?”

you laugh despite the worried edge to his tone. “no, absolutely not! beau is a delight. he’s practically a model student. however, i do have a few concerns... do you have a moment?”

“yes, i can have. just give me a second.” the line goes muffled again, the only sound a fading rolling stone’s song before all goes quiet. you hear a door shut and the squeak of a chair before john speaks again. “i suppose this is about beau’s shyness?”

you choose your next words carefully, uncertain if john simply cannot accept his son’s retreat into himself or if he does not see it. you’d rather not jump to conclusions and alienate him on your first phone call, but you must admit your unease at hearing the word shyness. beau is far more than shy. despite the frown puckering your brow, you hold your concerns close to your chest for the moment.

“shyness is a word one could use, yes.”

“he’s been that way since his mum died last year.”

rolling your lower lip between your teeth, you nod. “i heard. i’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

john makes a noise somewhere between a huff and a grunt and does not acknowledge your paltry offer of condolence. “if you’re calling to ask how you can fix ‘im, i don’t have any answers for you.”

“i don’t want to fix him, mr. deacon,” you say. “i simply want to help.”

“i’m sure you’ve spoken with mrs. cooper then.” he sighs, and the sound seems to rattle the receiver pressed against your ear. “look, i appreciate what you both are trying to do for beau. but he’s young, and the pain of losing his mum— i just don’t want him to rush into moving on.”

“oh, mr. deacon, that’s not my intention at all!” you wince at the high-pitch of your voice and clear your throat. good lord, this was not going as you’d planned. “i just want him to feel comfortable in the classroom, that’s all.”

“that’s kind of you, but i think it might be easier if you just let beau work it out for himself.”

you fall silent and glance down at the hem of your blouse. there’s a blue thread dangling from the article of clothing, and you pull on it, watching the thread unravel until it falls free from the shirt itself. 

in all honesty, you’re puzzled by john’s hesitance to so much as entertain your concern. anyone—student, teacher, classroom parent—who comes across beau knows he’s more than shy. it’s written in his face, in the way he holds himself, in the way he shuffles aimlessly to and fro. god, he breaks your heart. you want to wrap him in a blanket and protect him from the cruel world.

but you’re not his mother. you’re merely his teacher, and you must respect john’s wishes despite how wrong you think they are. perhaps, in time, he will come around, see the need for a little concerted effort in helping beau work through his obvious grief-stricken state.

“is there anything more i can do for you, ms. [y/l/n]?”

clearing your throat again, you sit straighter in your chair and fiddle with a pen on your desk. you click the depressor up and down, up and down. “no, there’s not. i’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

“you didn’t,” john says—and his voice has that indescribable soft quality you noted the moment he first spoke. “really, it does mean something to me that you even thought to call.”

“i care for my students a great deal.” you aren’t sure what brings the words to your lips, but the second they fall past your tongue, a flush crawls up the back of your neck. you’re sure you sound like a petulant child, whining at the mere inconvenience of a rejected idea.

“i can tell.” his tone is anything but salty. in fact, the truth dripping from each word leaves you decidedly flustered. you click the pen faster, your leg bouncing beneath the desk.

“yes—well—i’ll leave you to it.” though you add, “if ever there’s something i can do for beau, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“i’ll be sure to.”

after a rushed goodbye, you drop the phone to its base. the hard-plastic clatters, the coiled wire dropping in a pile on the desk. you press your fingers to your eyelids and groan. both deacon boys, it seems, have the power to infuriate and melt you at the precisely the same moment.

this, you think, does not bode well for the rest of the year.

if you’re being honest, you have to admit that you think of john deacon often as the school year falls into a comfortable rhythm. no matter how hard you try to forget the phone call, forget the way his voice lulled you into a strange sense of serenity, he’s like a specter in the back of your mind: always there and definitely uninvited.

still...

when the children work silently at their desks, you sit behind yours and struggle to keep your mind from wandering to either of the deacon boys. when you greet beau as he walks through the door each morning, you resist the urge to drop a question about his father’s well-being. when the faded red corvette pulls to the curb each afternoon, you bite your tongue and fist your hands at your sides to keep from introducing yourself properly through the open window. 

it’s embarrassing, really, how much the phone call with john deacon has affected you. it’s embarrassing how... interested you are in his life. you’re a schoolgirl with a crush—a crush on a man you’ve never even seen! if you were to admit your undue fascination with the deacon household to your best friend ami she would laugh in your face and remind you how desperately you need to get out more. you keep your wonderings and your daydreams to yourself to save her the trouble of telling you what you already know.

come mid-november, when the students are well-adjusted to their daily routine and you’ve learned how to juggle so many personalities at once, you finally pause to take a breath. the breath comes at the end of a school-day. it’s drizzling outside—not raining, but not dry either. the sky is a wash of gray and a deep purple. there’s a storm coming, a bad one too from the looks of it. humming to yourself and contemplating whether or not you should stop by the grocery on your way home, you tug on your jacket and step outside the school into the chilled autumn air. 

you’re about to cross the parking lot to your car when you hear a harsh sniffle come from your left. you pause, keys in hand, and twist to see a huddled form on the curb. it’s clearly a student and a young one at that. knees drawn to their chest, backpack large over their back, fingers interlaced on their knees, they are the picture of a frightened schoolchild. the hood of their blue raincoat obscures any defining features, so you hustle to their side and kneel down, but not before glancing at your watch.

nearly four. someone’s been forgotten.

“hey?” you tilt your head to try and catch a glimpse of the face beneath the shade of the jacket hood. “did mum not come through the car line?”

you barely stifle your gasp when the slick raincoat crinkles as the student turns to meet your gaze. 

it’s beau deacon.

his eyes are puffy, tears still clinging to his blotchy cheeks. beneath the wide frames of his glasses, fear swims across his gaze. he draws in his lower lip and rubs his hand under his nose. his eyes flicker to the ground, his toes tilting inward.

you press a hand to his shoulder. he feels so small beneath your palm, like a fragile piece of clay, molded by tragedy and loss in such a short span of time. “where’s your father, beau?”

he shrugs. “dunno.”

“i guess he’s running late.” you look at your watch. very late. “should we give him a call?”

beau nods, and you stretch to your full height, offering your hand to help him from the curb. beau does not take it as he stands. he pushes his glasses up his nose and follows you inside the school office where he hesitates in the doorway as you borrow the receptionist’s phone to call the auto-shop.

no one answers.

lowering the phone to its base, you look over your shoulder. through the venetian blinds you can see the sky darkening as you hem-and-haw. in the distance there’s a flash of lightening, and fat raindrops dot the tan sidewalk.

you could leave beau with the receptionist. it’s not uncommon for parents to run late or completely forget about their child. normally, betty calls the child’s guardian and gives the waiting student a granola bar and coloring page or picture book to flip through as they wait for the mortified adult to speed to school. there’s nothing obligating you to stay. 

just as there’s nothing obligating you to offer to drive beau home.

you look at betty and calculate the words of your offer. “would it be wrong of me to drive beau home? he lives on my way ‘s all.” boldfaced lie—at least, you think—but what betty doesn’t know can’t hurt her.

betty doesn’t stop clacking on her electronic typewriter. “i don’t think so.” she peers over her glasses at the clock hanging over the door, still typing. “i’ve got a dentist appointment in half an hour, so i don’t have time to wait around today. you’d be doing me a favor, love.”

“alright, it’s settled then.” you slip the thin strap of your purse over your shoulder and turn to beau with a toothy grin. “i’ll drive you home. maybe your father just isn’t feeling well today and overslept?”

beau frowns, and inwardly, you cringe, your smile faltering. beau’s mother died of an illness, so it likely disconcerts him to think of his father in a similar state. in a piss poor attempt at an apology, you grab a piece of chocolate from the bowl near betty’s desk and slip it in beau’s hand as you make your way to the parking lot. the faintest flicker of a grin crosses his face as he methodically unwraps the candy. you take that as a sign of forgiveness.

once beau is snug in the backseat of your station wagon, you pull into traffic with a bubble of giddiness in your stomach. what you’re doing is ridiculous. though you feel horrid beau was left behind, there’s a sick park of you that is glad for it. it’s unlikely you’ll ever meet john deacon unless fate throws you together. he did not attend back to school night, and as a single father, you doubt he has time for any of the other parent-student events on schedule for the rest of the year. in all honesty, you’re taking this opportunity to put a face to the man behind the phone call that’s plagued you with daydreams since it occurred.

if you can just see his face, just learn what he looks like, perhaps the fascination with fade. unless, of course, he turns out to be as attractive as your mind has made him out to be and then you’ll be in even hotter water than you are now.

adjusting yourself in your seat, you glance in the rearview mirror. beau has his head pressed against the foggy glass of the window, his eyes scanning back and forth as he takes in the surrounding scenery. rain droplets create dark shadows over his face, and you wonder if that’s what he feels like on the inside: foggy and rainy and shadowy. you shake the thought free; you read too many melodramatic novels.

“so, beau, what’s your address?” you ask, your tone obnoxiously chipper. he tells you, and you shrug as you tighten your grip on the steering wheel. “gotta give me more than that, hun. do you remember how to get home? do you think you could tell me?”

beau nods and scoots away from the window, leaning nearer the space between the driver and passenger seats. there a gleam in his eye. you catch sight of it as you turn right at his instruction and see him hovering near your shoulder. it seems that with each turn you make his voice inches a decibel louder until you can hear every word with a clarity previously unknown. he’s confident when he’s instructing you, when he knows what he’s supposed to do.

he’s confident when he’s helping.

you tuck the bit of knowledge away for later as you pull into the cracked driveway of a red-brick bungalow. the house is small and unadorned, the homes on opposite sides just as plain and simple. a single spruce tree, like something out of a holiday catalog, is the only foliage in the yard. gauzy curtains are drawn to block the sunlight coming through the two bay windows framing the white front door.

you turn the car off as beau slides across the bench to open the car door. grabbing your handbag, you all but tumble after him, hastening up the sidewalk.

“wait a minute! beau!” you punctuate your call with a breathy laugh and smooth the sides of your hair back as you approach the front door. the bubble of giddiness from moments before has turned to a bubble of nerves, and once again, you realize this moment is entirely ridiculous. still, you adjust your blouse and straighten the crooked edge of your collar.

beau’s left the front door open, his shoes and backpack already tossed on the living room floor. you hesitate at the threshold. you haven’t been properly invited in, but the open door might just be beau’s way of telling you it’s alright to invade his home. at least, that’s the message you decide to take. 

crossing the threshold, you hold tight to the strap of your purse and glance around the cramped front living area. beau’s nowhere to be seen, and the home is silent as the grave. you bite the tip of your tongue when your gaze falls over a photograph of a woman holding a baby. it’s beau and his mother; has to be.

maybe... maybe you’ve overstepped your—

“beau, is that you?” the sound of heavy footfalls on stairs snaps your attention away from the photograph. before you can slip away and forget you ever had the silly notion of meeting your student’s father with the intent of something other than a professional hello, a man rounds the corner.

your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. it’s not the john deacon you’d imagined.

he’s shorter than you pictured, only several inches taller than yourself. his jaw is sharp, peppered with a five o’clock shadow, and a thick mustache almost covers his upper lip. a white wife-beater tucked into green trousers completes the ensemble, and his bare feet pad across the floor as he sticks his hand out in greeting.

“you must be the teacher!” he pumps your hand up and down, his grip crushing but his smile wide. his voice is friendly and welcoming, though you can’t be sure it was the voice you heard over the phone. so many days have passed since then, perhaps you just forgot, though it’s highly unlikely. 

“i’ve been trying to call deaky ever since i got here, but the damn fool just won’t pick up. i don’t even know where beau’s school is so i couldn’t come and get him myself. the ship we run here isn’t very tight.” he rolls his eyes with a grin. “thanks for bringing him home, darling.”

your head swims as you struggle to keep up with the man’s fast pace. so, he isn’t john deacon? and john deacon isn’t here? you open your mouth to ask the first of several questions but he beats you to it.

“hell, you look positively confused. shut the door, won’t you? the rain’s getting in, and molly was always worried about the the hardwood. i’ll put on the kettle.”

“oh, i don’t—”

he bumps your hip toward the door. “nonsense! deaky will want to thank you for driving beau home.” he’s around the corner before you can refuse, so you shut the front door against the steady rain and slip off your shoes, leaving them beside the two pairs already against the baseboard.

you’re quick to follow him to the kitchen. the walls are a muted yellow, the countertops clear but the sink full of unwashed dishes. the refrigerator in the corner is bare save for the back to school letter you gave to each student to bring home to their parents. that—and a photograph of four men in a basement. it appears to be a homegrown band of sorts, and the man behind the drumkit is shouting at the man who looks like an overgrown string bean. you’re not sure which one is john, so you turn away, feeling rather out of place when the man at the stovetop says:

“beau’s probably in his room. he always holes himself away as soon as he gets back. doesn’t come out until supper. that’s when deaky gets home.” a pair of mugs clatter against each other as he pulls them from a cupboard. “brian says it’s just a phase, that he’ll grow out of it once he processes molly’s death, but i’m not certain.” the man’s eyes flicker to you, and he laughs, loud and short. “oh dear, i’ve done it again! i forgot you’re not in the loop. i’m freddie,” he explains. “part-time nanny, full-time diva.”

you accept the mug of tea as freddie passes it to you, a smile lifting your tight mouth. “[y/n] [y/l/n]. so you’re beau’s... nanny?” 

freddie drops to the round kitchen table shoved in the space between the kitchen counter and the wall. you follow suit and stir a drop of sugar in your tea. “you could call it that. i just watch him in the afternoons, between school and deaky getting home.” he sighs. “since molly... well, things have been hard to juggle.”

“i thought mr. deacon picked beau up from school? unless that was you in the car i saw?”

“heavens no! i don’t drive!” freddie laughs again. “that was deaky you saw. he takes his break at the garage long enough to pick beau up and bring him here. i guess he and rog were overrun today. bet beau was terrified. poor dear...”

you glance over your shoulder, down the dim hallway leading to, you assume, beau’s bedroom. there’s a half-full laundry basket deposited outside another open door, perhaps the bathroom. a few mislaid toys litter the carpet. it’s reassuring, knowing that beau has a few good men in his life, willing and ready to raise him. still, there’s a pervading sense of loneliness throughout the bungalow. you saw it in the photos on the living room wall, but it’s here too: in the dead roses, brittle to the touch, in the table vase; in the index-card note tucked on a notch in the cupboard, the feminine handwriting unreadable from your spot at the table.

freddie’s voice is somber when its breaks through the thick air. “complications of pneumonia,” he says, following your gaze to a wedding photo on the hallway wall. “it came on quick but didn’t last long, thank heaven.”

unbidden, tears prick the corners of your eyes. you’ve never felt more like an intruder—and you know why.

your crush on john deacon is misplaced. you see that now. realizing what you’ve done in coming here—twist a child’s terrified moment of abandonment for your gain—makes you sick to your stomach. what kind of person are you? assuming a recently widowed father would be at all interested in his son’s pesky teacher? the thought brings a flush to your cheeks, and you rise from the table all too fast. the mugs of tea wobble when your knee connects with the underside of the table.

freddie frowns at you. “you okay, love?”

“i—” how to explain yourself without sounding a total fool or heartless woman? “i think i’ve overstayed my welcome” is all that comes to mind, and you aren’t surprised when freddie uses his foot to push your chair back out from under the table.

“sit down. john will be home soon. let him thank you then you can go.”

from where you stand, you look to your right. the front door practically screams for you to politely decline freddie’s insistence and high-tail it to your car, to get out while you still have the chance. but he’s making it too easy to stay for what you’ve come for: a peek at the illusive john deacon. you know you should go, that you should leave well enough alone, but despite your best intentions, you find yourself sitting down again and allowing freddie to bombard you with questions about teaching life.

half an hour later, when your sides hurt from laughing while freddie regales you with the dramatic story of beau’s birth, the door to the garage opens and closes with a loud click. you twist in your seat, arm draped over the back, and bite your lip hard to keep from drawing in a sharp breath.

by god, he’s a stone-cold looker. better than you could have imagined.

john deacon stands in front of the garage door, his head of tight curls wet from the rain. he’s tall but not towering, his shoulders made broad by the leather jacket across his back. he hasn’t noticed you or freddie as he’s too preoccupied with wiping the grease on his fingers across a piece of soiled cloth. he turns, not towards you, but towards the hallway when beau tumbles out of his room with a shout of joy. beau races down the hall, his arms extended, and jumps into his father’s waiting embrace. john mumbles something in his son’s ear, ruffling his hair, before dropping him back to the ground. the sullen little boy jumps around his father’s feet, chattering in great detail about his day at school, though he forgoes mentioning his father’s absence in the car-line. 

you exhale, a wash of new tears covering your eyes as you stare at beau. he can be happy. you’d thought it impossible.

you must have exhaled louder than you thought because john looks over at the sound. his brow tightens in a frown of confusion, his eyes flicking back and forth between yourself and freddie, but freddie is quick to explain. he stands from the table and takes your hand, pulling you to your feet.

“deaky, this is [y/n] [y/l/n], beau’s teacher. remember you spoke to her on the phone?”

your cheeks heat at the thought of him mentioning the phone call beyond the walls of the auto-shop. warmth spreads over your face even further when he gives you a tight-lipped smile and extends his hand. you slip your fingers over his palm, and he shakes your hand.

for a moment, your hands linger as john glances at beau, who is tucked behind his leg. he cringes, groaning. “please tell me you didn’t go out of your way to bring beau home today?”

you drop your hand from his and clasp your fingers before your waist. scrunching your nose, you tilt your head to the side. “well...”

“bloody hell,” john murmurs. he screws his eyes shut and runs a palm down his face. “i’m sorry,” he says. “you shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“it was no trouble, really. in fact, you live on my way home.” the comment isn’t a falsehood. you’d realized as beau pointed his way home that your flat lie only a minutes down the road. just as it had then, the realization sends a nervous clench to your stomach now. the thought of the deacons so close...

“you must think me a horrible father.” as he says this, john reaches around to smooth his hand across beau’s back. the gesture, done mindlessly, almost makes you laugh. how could anyone find him a horrible father?

“absolutely not, mr. deacon.”

the corner of his mouth twitches upward in something close to a smile. “john, please.”

you roll your lips together and blink rapidly to keep your eyes from going wide. john. “lots of people miss the car-line. it happens more often than you think.”

“well, let me give you something for your trouble.” he slides past you, the scent of cologne and car oil in his wake. his movements are stiff, hampered by beau who insists on clinging to his father’s leg, his ankles crossed over john’s foot. 

“i don’t want anything, john.” you almost trip over his name. it tastes good, strong and steady. god, you’ve got it bad. “it wasn’t a hassle.”

john ignores you as he slides open a kitchen drawer. unsatisfied with its contents, he reaches for another before meeting your eyes with a wry smile. “all we’ve got is take-out menus anyway.” he shuffles nearer, beau still heavy on his leg. “thank you, ms. [y/l/n], for bringing him home. i got sidetracked at the shop and—” he sighs. “anyway, just... thanks.”

“again, you’re welcome—and call me [y/n].”

there’s a moment where you’re simply staring at one another, the room around you lulled to a comfortable silence. john is handsome, of this there is no doubt. perhaps he’s not striking in a classical way but you’re sure someone would have killed to chisel a bust of his face during the sixteenth century. it’s regal and sure in all the right places, but soft where it counts: around the eyes. when he chuckles at something freddie says, his eyes fold around the edges, and your heart all but gives out.

“what do you say, [y/n]?”

“sorry?” hopeful no one caught you ogling, you bring your attention front and center, turning to freddie. his proposal dawns on you a second too late to be anything but obvious. “stay for dinner? no, i can’t do that.”

“why not?” freddie reaches out to pinch your forearm. “it’s our way of saying thanks, and neither of us will try to poison you with our cooking. we’ll just have brian bring something ‘round.”

you shake your head and scoot around freddie to lift the handbag hanging from a kitchen chair. “i’d like to, but i’ve stayed too long already. perhaps another time.”

prying beau from his leg, john trails behind freddie as you make your way to the front door. freddie wishes you well, reminding you to drop by any time, and john simply lifts his hand in a motionless wave. on the front stoop, hair tangled around your face by a sharp wind, you lean your torso across the threshold.

“mr. deacon—i mean, john,” you say quickly, willing your voice to sound stronger than you feel. “if you’d like, i can drive beau home in the afternoons. i live not five minutes from here, and it wouldn’t be any trouble.”

john hesitates. beau stands in the kitchen, his head poked around the corner. john looks over at his son then back at you. “that’s a kind offer, but i like coming to the school.”

your eyes flick to beau, to his round, soft face and intelligent eyes. yes, if you were his mother you’d enjoy coming to pick him up too.

with a nod, you retreat into the wind. “well, the offer still stands.”

as you slide into your car and pull out of the driveway, waving to beau who now stands in the doorway, you hope against hope that john will accept the offer one day—just so long as it means you get to see him again.

he calls during the middle of show-and-tell. you nearly forgo the call as abby sinclair insists on lifting her pet toad for all to see and you’re worried she’ll drop it, but you’re waiting for a message from the front desk—missing package again—so you pick up on the last ring.

“hello?”

“hi, ms. [y/l/n]. it’s john deacon. is this a bad time?”

“oh, mr. deacon!” you wince at the delight coloring your voice and tear your eyes away from abby, who has handed her toad off to max. “i was expecting a call from the front office.”

he snorts out a rushed laugh. “sorry to disappoint.”

you brush a lock of hair behind your ear. “no, not at all.” out of the corner of your eye you catch max squeezing abby’s toad between his palms, and you push the phone away from your ear. “oy! max, knock it off! abby, please put the toad back, dear?”

john is chuckling on the other end of the line when you return to the call. “sorry,” you say. “show-and-tell.”

“i know. beau was excited this morning.”

with a smile, you glance at the boy in question. “he did very well. everyone was impressed with what he brought.”

“brian made that for him as a birthday gift, so he can’t take any of the credit.”

“he didn’t! he explained who made the planets, but he did want to be clear about who painted the stars.” you hesitate, the sound of laughter over your shoulder reminding you not to get too entangled by the sound of john’s voice. “is there something i can do for you, mr. deacon?”

“right, yes. well, it’s a bit awkward... do you remember a few weeks ago when you drove beau home?”

you nod, the memory lifting from your heart with ease. how could you forget? you only replay the evening like a film every night before you fall asleep. “of course”

“do you remember offering to drive him home again?”

“yes.”

“i’m in a jam at the shop and can’t leave this afternoon. would you mind? taking him home, that is.”

you answer without hesitation. “i can do that. it’s not a problem.”

“you’re a life-saver. it’s just with freddie not driving... i guess what i mean to say is thanks. it helps me out a lot.”

“i’m happy to do it, john.”

“i promise i’ll make it worth your while this time. proper take-out and all.”

“you really don’t have to do that,” you say, hoping he does anyway.

“no, freddie will insist. i’ll let you get back to class for now. thanks, [y/n].”

“don’t mention it. good luck with your jam at the shop. i hope it’s cleared up soon.”

“me too. all the sooner to get back to beau—and you.”

he hangs up before you can respond, and you’re left with your jaw scraping the floor and your heart in your throat.

all the sooner to get back to you.

the words circle your head like a drug for the remainder of the day. you can barely focus as you teach, stumbling over your words and through math equations and spelling tests. 

surely he didn’t mean it like that. he probably just tacked you on at the end of the sentence in his haste to get back to work. he probably wasn’t thinking when he spoke.

but, by god, you were listening. 

you’ve never been so head-over-heels for a man in your life. each day when you wake up with john at the forefront of your mind, you wish for a morning where you can stay in bed and dream of him all day—his voice, his smile, his gentle way with beau. it all makes you crazy. ami calls your fascination puppy love and claims it will fade with time, but you wonder if it’s gone deeper. you’re interested in more than john deacon’s looks. you’re interested in what makes him tick and whether or not he’s in a band with the three other men who constantly appear in every conversation you share and whether or not he misses his wife and what his hair looks like when he wakes up in the morning. you what to know him and be known by him.

all the sooner to get back to you.

perhaps it’s wishful thinking—a dreamy idea on the part of a lovesick woman—but part of you wonders if he feels the same way about you.

driving beau home becomes part of an unspoken routine. after sharing dinner at the deacon household that second evening, john admits when walking you to your car how overwhelmed he can feel between his job at the auto-shop and his responsibilities with beau. with a tentative hand on his forearm, you promise you’ll help lighten the load. he thanks you by squeezing your fingers with his, and then he’s gone.

it begins by driving beau home every monday, wednesday, and friday. you enjoy your time with him. as soon as he settles in the back seat of your station wagon, he comes alive. the protective shell he wears in the classroom is replaced by the bright and earnest eyes of a seven year old boy, curious about the world and all it has to hold. he asks you questions and tells you stories, and you laugh as you watch the light dance in his eyes. he’s a sweet child, and you truly treasure the afternoons you spend with him.

one friday, you drop him off and find the cozy bungalow empty. beau has stopped retreating to his room once returning from school—at least, this is what freddie tells you—so you’re not completely surprised when beau invites you in for an afternoon snack. you are surprised by the empty house, however. freddie is nowhere to be seen and neither is john. what concerns you even further is when beau opens the refrigerator and slams it shut with a huff.

“nothin’,” he mutters, slumping to the table with a groan.

“what?”

“there’s nothing in the fridge.”

“what do you mean by that?” you cross the floor and open the fridge, hoping beau’s comment is nothing more than a hungry child displeased with the array of choice and nothing to his liking, but you find his statement to be true. the fridge is woefully stocked—naught but a half-filled carton of orange juice, three apples, and a sandwich wrapped in tinfoil. you glance over your shoulder. “is it always like this?”

“no.” beau circles about on his chair. “but it’s happened a few times since dad and uncle rog got more busy at the shop.”

“well, that won’t do. grab your shoes, beau, we’re going to the market.”

once returned from your grocery run, you teach beau how to make spaghetti. he stands beside you on a stool, pushed up on his toes as he watches you prepare the boiling water and pasta. as you wait for the pasta to soften, you set about crafting a homemade pasta sauce. it’s your mother’s recipe, and it’s easy to make. easy enough that you allow beau to carefully slice the tomatoes under your supervision and dice the onions and sprinkle the spices.

the kitchen smells like your childhood: fragrant yet simple, sweet and comforting. somewhere in the waiting for the sauce to simmer, beau turns on a radio and draws you to the center of the kitchen. he holds your hand tight and kicks his feet to the music. you laugh and mirror his movements. he grabs your other hand and steps on his stool, forcing you to bend in an awkward twirl around his finger. you struggle but complete the movement, though he attaches himself to your shoulders like a barnacle. you whirl around on your socked feet in attempt to toss him off, but he holds tight, his fingernails digging into the skin of your collarbone. he squeals in your ear, a mixture of laughter and gasping breath and shrieks.

“mama, mama, stop!” 

he says it without thinking, his head lolling against your shoulder as you stop short at the sound of his breathless voice. he giggles against your back then releases himself and slides to the floor. you stare at him, feel his words in the back of your throat like an uncomfortable burn, and then you hear the garage door shut.

you swallow hard and force your eyes from the yellow-and-white linoleum floor. beau hops from his stool, sauce-covered spoon in hand, and rushes to his father’s side.

“daddy, look, we made dinner! miss [y/l/n] and me!” he tugs on john’s shirtsleeve, but john’s just staring at you, his face unreadable. beau turns to one of the other three men crowding the hall behind john. “uncle roggie, taste it!” he forces the spoon in the face of a mulleted blond.

eager to break the thick tension, you motion to the spaghetti. “i—there wasn’t anyone home so...” your sentence trails off, and you bite the inside of your cheek.

so many eyes on you. you feel exposed against them all, caught in a domestic moment with a child that’s not your own in a home that’s not your own.

john looks over his shoulder, eyes flashing in anger. “fred?”

freddie winces. “about that, deak.” he rubs the back of his neck and glances at beau. “i can explain later.”

“you’d better,” john mutters.

“i should go,” you say at once, hastily grabbing your things from the table. your keys jingle in your hand with the force of your anxiety, and you stub your toe against the floor in your hurry to put your shoes back on.

john’s hand on your arm stops you. you look up, stooped as you try to slip the back of your sandal over your heel. he looks down at you, face still remarkably unreadable. “no, please stay,” he says. “you made supper.”

you shake your head and rise to your full height. “i’ve intruded enough already.”

you’re embarrassed, too. the gaggle of men heard beau’s slip up; they heard him mistake you for his mother—and certainly they saw the immediate flush of happiness rise over your cheeks at the sound.

mama. you’d always hoped, always wished, someone would call you that one day. you just didn’t think you’d hear it from a student with a deceased mother and a father you pined after first.

“[y/n], stay.” john’s voice is soft, breathy, and his eyes flit back and forth between yours with a startling amount of intensity. 

how can you say no?

once the dinner has been divided, you sit beside john on the couch in the living room. the kitchen table is too small to host the gathering, so the living room was deemed appropriate just this once, to beau’s great delight. he sits on the floor at the coffee table, a tall glass of milk beside his plate of pasta, his eyes bouncing over everyone in the room with unrestrained joy.

“beau, why don’t you introduce everyone for miss [y/l/n]? she doesn’t know all your uncles.” john nods to his son in encouragement, and beau is only happy to take the job.

standing, beau crosses first to the impressively tall and curly-haired man sat beside him on the floor. “this is uncle brian. he likes space and teaches all the big kids at uni.” 

he moves to freddie, who sits on a plush armchair. “this is uncle freddie, but you already know him.”

the last man leans against the foyer table, his ankles crossed and sunglasses still perched on his nose. beau pats his arm. “this is uncle roger and he works with daddy.” in a stage whisper, he adds, “he thinks he’s a lot cooler than he really is.”

roger guffaws and lightly pushes beau’s head to the side. “oy, you twerp, take that back!”

glancing about the room, you nod in greeting. “it’s nice to meet you all. i’ve heard quite a bit.”

brian smiles at you from the floor. his legs are bent awkwardly beneath the coffee table, and you’ve noticed the way he helps beau cut his side salad and keep sauce from dripping to the area rug. “all good things i hope?”

“oh yes, of course.”

“[y/n], dear, you really must tell brian what that student of yours did last week,” freddie pipes up. “it had me laughing well into the night. i’m sure some of his twenty-year olds are much the same.”

“i shouldn’t, fred.” you look at beau, who is watching you in interest. 

freddie nods in understanding and tugs on his earlobe. “little ears, yes. maybe another time.” he pushes brian’s shoulder with his foot. “really is a riot of a story.”

as supper progresses, conversation twists and turns down different avenues. you explain how you came to teach in the area and find you used to work with one of brian’s newer colleagues. freddie tells the group about his recent run-in with an angry bird watcher in the park. his gestures are so grandiose he whacks roger in the chest, who has come to sit on the arm of fred’s chair. there’s more laughter than there is silence, and you settle back in the couch. at one point, john drapes his arm over the back of the couch—not around your shoulders, but close enough to send your heart into overdrive. it’s all you can focus on—the proximity of his muscular arm behind your head—as brian explains to beau the difference between the big and little dippers. even as roger describes the ramshackle band they four participate in on the weekends, you barely register the words because you swear to the high heavens you feel john’s pointer finger purposefully brush against your shoulder.

beau begins to yawn sometime near the eight o’clock hour, and you jump from the couch when you realize you’ve stayed so late.

“good lord, i’ve got to go!” you shuffle about the room, gathering your belongings, as john rises behind you. “i didn’t know it was so late!”

his hands are in his pockets, and he studies you as you put your shoes on. “got a big date tomorrow?”

you frown. “no,” you say on a laugh. “i’ve actually got breakfast with my mum.”

he looks away for a moment, but you can’t help but note the edge of a smile.

he grabs his jacket from the coat-stand when you’re ready. “i’ll walk you out.”

at the door you wave to the others. “good night, all! it was nice to meet you.”

roger tips an imaginary hat. “i’m sure we’ll meet again, [y/n], if deaky has anything to say about it.”

freddie kicks the back of roger’s leg, and the injured man doubles over in a yelp of pain. “you fucker!” freddie mutters. “you know that—”

john ushers you out the door before you can see or hear any more.

the night air is chilly, and you warm your arms around yourself. you reach for your keys in the depths of your purse and slide them into the lock on the driver’s side of your car. it’s dark out. you can barely make out john’s features beneath the light of the moon, but when he shuffles to the side, an automatic flood light turns on above the garage. you blink against the sudden light and smile, chuckling beneath your breath as your vision adjusts. you’re not eager to leave quite yet, and he doesn’t seem eager to send you away, so you both stand, looking at one another in the darkness of the drive.

“your friends are nice,” you say.

he hums in agreement. “m’yes, they are. we just started as a screw-around band a few years back, but when molly got sick...” he pauses, clasps his hand on the back of his neck, and shrugs. “they’ve been my lifeline, y’know?”

“i can’t imagine what that was like, losing her. i’m glad you had them around.” you suck in a deep breath. “about earlier... i didn’t know beau was going to say that, and i’m sorry it happened. i realize that my... involvement might appear to be me wheedling my way into your family, but that’s not it, really! i mean, i like you and beau—as friends—but i’m not trying to...” you sigh, shaking your head. “i’m sorry it happened ‘s all. i don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

before you know what’s happening, john’s reaching out to cup your cheek. his smile is soft in the glow of the moon and the floodlight, and your heart stops in your chest. 

his thumb brushes over your cheekbone. “i haven’t seen beau that happy in a long time. you’ve brought a lot of joy back into the house, [y/n].”

you’re sure you’re sweating despite the chill of night. you shake your head, but his hand holds fast against your face. “no,” you whisper. your voice sounds heady, even to your own ears. “beau’s just a good kid.”

“yes, and you’re a good teacher.” 

is his face inching closer? you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe.

“a good teacher and a good person.”

if it weren’t for your firm hold on the car door handle, you think you might slip to the ground in a puddle of goo. 

his lips are on yours, then, and you fall into his arms as he holds you against himself. you have dreamt of this moment far too many times to count, but you never thought it would happen. really, you thought you would finish the year without ever knowing the taste of john’s deacons lips. 

but there he is, and there you are, and he tastes like the wine he drank during supper. he is more eager than you thought he would be, and soon he has your back pressed against the door of your car. you huff into his mouth and feel your eyes roll back into your head when he drags his lips across your jaw, inching closer to that spot behind your ear. your arms practically quiver around his shoulders, and you open your eyes long enough to catch a glimpse of a particularly bright star winking down at you.

he catches your lips again, and you feel hot and delicious all over.

“john,” you mumble against his mouth. “john.” 

loathe as you are to stop the moment, you do, pushing his shoulders until he pulls himself away. his hand still cradles your hip, and he looks flushed in the moonlight. you’re sure you look equally as rumpled.

you grin. “well.”

he matches your smile, though it’s fleeting. “call you, yeah?”

unlocking your car door, you nod. “please do, mr. deacon.”

he shakes his head on a chuckle and shuts the door, waving gently as you pull out of the drive. when you’re several homes away, out of eyesight, you drift to the side of the road and blast the air conditioner. then you pound your fists against the steering wheel and let out a muffled squeal of delight.

he doesn’t call you. 

when you sit down to think about it, it’s not that great of a surprise. you’ve been around him only a handful of times, and though you’ve both been comfortable in those moments, you don’t blame him for resisting whatever it is he feels for you. there’s beau to think about. you’re his teacher; surely there’s some line you shouldn’t be crossing? there’s molly too, and her memory and the years they spent together and the child they had together. 

if anything, you figure he’s using you to test the waters of romance again. those stolen touches and deep stares and that kiss in the drive—it’s all just experimentation. the conclusion drawn from those experiments? he’s not ready.

you sigh, take another sip of wine. maybe you should stop driving beau. you like john; you like him a lot. and after that kiss, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. you thought about him before, but never this much. he threatens to consume your every waking moment, and it scares you because he’s not interested. desperately pining after a disinterested man means one thing: ruin. if you stop driving beau home, put some distance between yourself and the deacons, the puppy love and infatuation will fade over time.

it has to or you’ll go crazy.

it’s early evening, and your stomach grumbles. your flat is quiet as you putter around the kitchen in search of a suitable supper. there’s not much in the cupboards and even less in the fridge. you desperately need to go to the grocery store. take-out it is. withdrawing a handful of menus, you spread them out on the counter and flip through them mindlessly.

your thoughts are elsewhere. always on john.

you wonder what compelled him to kiss you. he’s an enigma, john deacon. you’ve seen him in moments of great levity—when he’s around beau or his friends or recounting a story from his youth. he has an infectious laugh, delightful crinkles around his eyes, and a quick wit. but he can be hard, too, like an immovable stone. he’s quick to toss a glare at anyone in his way in those moments of weakness, and his biting wit can turn sour at the drop of a hat. you chalk it up to weariness, those moments. weariness, loneliness, frustration. it doesn’t phase you, though perhaps it should.

with a groan, you drop your forehead to the cool counter and shut your eyes. the kiss lingers on your lips; it has the entire week since. you want him badly—in more ways than one.

the telephone rings, and you startle, clutching a paper menu to your chest. “fuck,” you whisper. you need to get a hobby other than daydreaming. pressing the phone to your ear, you barely get out a word of greeting before someone’s shouting at you on the other end.

“[y/n]? it’s fred! we’ve got a fuckin’ problem over here.”

you frown. “freddie? what’s going on? why are you are john’s? it’s a saturday.”

“no time for that! how fast can you get here?”

“well, i don’t know. i’ve got to—”

“beau’s sick! he’s on the bathroom floor, moaning and groaning and—shit!—[y/n], i don’t know what to do!”

“i’m sure it’s just a tummy ache, fred,” you say. “i see it all the time in my class. give him some pepto and he’ll be fighting fit in the morning.”

“no, [y/n]!” something in fred’s tone—a raw, animal fear—has you standing straight, your heart stuttering in your chest. “he said he feels like he’s gonna die just like molly did!”

“okay, okay.” you begin to move toward your bedroom, but are yanked back by the phone chord attached to the wall. you stumble backwards with a grunt. “okay, i’m coming, fred. just hold tight.”

“fucking hurry!”

you slam the phone down, rush to your bedroom to change from your nightclothes, and jump in the car without a pair of shoes. as quickly as you can you race to the deacon household. the sun dips low, casting an orange glow over the suburban streets lined with family cars. you grip the steering wheel tight, your heart thumping a prayer of protection for beau. 

the driveway of the bungalow is empty, the garage door thrown open. the old convertible john toys with in the evenings is parked inside, but his everyday vehicle is gone. cutting the engine of your car, you run through the garage and into the house. fred stands in the hallway, pressed against the bathroom door. he looks ridiculous, clad in a bright yellow bathroom and bunny slippers, but he pounds his fist against the door, pleading for beau to unlock it and let him in. he turns at the sound of your bag dropping on the carpet.

“oh, thank god,” he breathes. he grabs your arm and wrenches you to his side. “beau, miss [y/l/n] is here. why do you talk with her, huh?”

before you say anything to beau, you frown at freddie. “where’s john?” your whisper sound harsh in the dim lighting of the hallway.

“at the shop. overtime. i can’t reach him.”

you jerk your head to the phone sitting on a side-table in the living room. “go try again and i’ll stick with beau here.” when he’s gone, you slide to a sitting position on the floor and press your ear to the thin wood of the door. “beau? beau, honey, it’s me.”

beau only groans in response.

“beau, can you please open the door? i want to help you. that’s it; just help.”

there’s a pause then you hear: “no. go away.”

“it’s okay if you’re embarrassed, beau. we all get sick sometimes. fred and i just want to help you feel better.”

there’s the sound of water sloshing and then a hard sniff. “i want my mommy.”

“oh, baby, i know.” you clear your throat to work past the lump rising to the surface. “come on, just let me in. i promise it’ll be okay.”

“but... what if i die like her too?”

“that’s not gonna happen, beau. i promise.” he doesn’t respond, so you plead once more. “please let me in.”

he shuffles to the door, unclicks the lock, and cracks it open. through the opening, you can see his pale face gleaming with sweat. gently, you push the door open further.

beau’s curled on the floor, his head bent toward his knees. his arms tighten around his stomach, and a spasm ripples through his body. he’s dripping with sweat, his star wars pajamas soaked through. hot air clogs the room, and you switch on the overhead fan. pressing your fingers to his forehead, you cringe and draw back. he’s burning up.

“beau, baby, what hurts?” you finger some of the sweat-matted hair away from his forehead. 

“my tummy.”

“what’s your tummy feel like?”

beau shakes his head into the floor. “bad.”

“do you feel like you’re gonna be sick?”

“already did. on my floor.” he opens his eyes long enough to stare at you through thick lashes. “i’m sorry.”

“don’t apologize about that. we’ll get it cleaned up later. i’m just gonna go get you some water, okay?”

he groans, shifting against another spasm of pain. “okay.”

stepping back into the hall, you grab freddie’s arm before he can slip into the bathroom. you tug him to the safety of the kitchen. his eyes dance between yours, expectant.

“well?”

“did you get ahold of john?”

“no, the fucker.”

“we’ll have to go pick him up then.”

fred’s brow twitches. “what? why? what’s wrong with him?”

you throw a glance down the hall when beau whines. “i think it might be his appendix. my dad’s burst last summer and he looked a lot like beau does now.”

“fuckin’ hell.” freddie runs a hand across his mouth. “just what deaky needs.”

you nod in agreement. “i know. we’ve got to take beau to a hospital, though, before it gets any worse.”

“yeah, yeah, i know. go get the car started and i’ll meet you in a minute.”

several minutes later, you’re en route to the auto-shop, freddie cradling beau in the backseat of your station wagon. the drive is tense, your bare foot hard on the gas pedal. beau wrestles and whines against freddie’s hold, continuously asking for his parents and where you’re taking him.

no one wants to say the word hospital, so his cries go unanswered.

freddie directs you to the auto-shop, his phrases terse, and you pull into the drive with a sharp squeal of tires on gravel. with the car still running, you hurry across the parking lot, loose pebbles catching on your feet. music blasts from a stereo within the garage. it’s loud and obnoxious and keeps you from locating john fast enough.

“can i help ya, miss?” a lithe man steps out of a side office, his hairline receding and face near gaunt. 

“yes—i’m looking for john deacon.”

the man continuously wipes his hands on a dirty rag. none of the oil and grease on his fingers budges. “he’s down there.”

dirt and grime covers the bottoms of your feet as you race down the shop. cars of all varieties line the wall to your left, some stationary on the ground, others lifted towards the vaulted ceiling. there’s a handful of men at work, but you don’t recognize any of them as john. you’re prepared to start shouting his name when a familiar voice stops you.

“[y/n]?” it’s roger. “can’t get enough of our deaky, can you?” he’s chuckling as he steps out from behind a truck. “what are you doing here?”

“it’s beau,” you say, and his face falls.

“over here.” roger wastes no time in finding john beneath a volkswagon beetle. only john’s legs are visible, his knees bent and leather boots firm on the floor. he curses when roger hooks the toes of his shoes around a curve in the sliding plate on the floor and drags john out from under the car.

“what the fuck, rog? i—” john stills when his eyes land on you. his muscle tee is loose over his chest, and a line of grease mars his forehead. he swallows. “[y/n]... i...” he sits up. “i’ve been meaning to—”

though you’re curious about the end of his sentence, you cut him off. “beau’s sick. we’ve got to take him to hospital.”

the blood drains from john’s face in an instant. the wrench in his hand clatters to the cement ground, and he’s grabbing your elbow, pulling you toward the exit, before you can say anything more.

“crystal, i’m gone!” he shouts, practically shoving you in the direction of the car.

there’s either no reply or you don’t hear it because john shouts for freddie to move the fuck over and give him beau. you slide behind the wheel and pause, twisting to catch a look at the scene in the back. 

beau looks like a newborn swaddled in his father’s arms. his face is wet with tears and sweat, and he sobs in his father’s grasp. john feels beau’s forehead and frowns, muttering an oath under his breath. then his eyes flick to yours.

“what are you waiting for? go!”

you don’t need to be told twice.

it’s another fifteen minutes before you reach the hospital. your head throbs under the stress of it all: beau’s pitiful moans for help, john urging you to go faster, freddie barking directions as he slaps the headrest behind you. before you’ve pulled to a complete stop, john is out, beau in his arms. you shoo freddie after him. 

“go! i’ll park the car.”

by the time you’ve found a parking space and picked your way across the parking lot, beau’s been admitted for emergency surgery. his appendix, as you suspected. it’s a routine procedure, and he’ll be fine within the next hour. relief floods your system at the news, and you find john and freddie sitting beneath a large fish tank in the waiting room. you take the open spot beside john and cross your ankles.

“your feet are disgusting,” fred says. he points to the bottoms of your feet, dark with dust, dirt, and grime. 

you shrug. “forgot shoes.”

the quiet of the waiting room is both a comfort and annoyance. a clock on the wall ticks loudly, and the fish tank bubbles at an uneven rate. every breath you take feels too loud, and the antiseptic smells cling to the inside of your nose.

still, the quiet gives you a moment of rest. you catch your breath. you let the knowledge of skilled and capable doctors working on beau ease your heart-rate. it will all be okay; he’s going to be okay.

you glance at john. his fist is pressed against his mouth, his eyes shut. his leg bounces, and you dare to reach over and lay your hand against his knee. he stills, his eyes flashing to you.

“he’s going to be okay, john.”

on the other side of john, freddie jumps to his feet. “i’m going bananas just sitting here.” he rubs the side of his head. “might burst. i’m gonna give brian a call.” he stalks away, his bunny slippers slapping against the linoleum floor.

you shake your head, biting back the urge to smile.

but then john’s fingers curl around yours, and you can’t help but give into the grin.

you look up, meet his eyes.

“i didn’t call you,” he says.

“no, you didn’t.”

he shifts in seat and looks to the floor. “you should be wearing shoes.”

at the turn of conversation, you frown then follow his gaze. “yes, i suppose.”

“take mine.” he releases your hand to bend down and undo his laces.

“no, john, don’t be silly. i’m fine.”

“please, [y/n], take the shoes.” he slides the boots toward you, and you begrudgingly slip your feet into the warmth of his shoes. 

you look silly, the pair of you—your ill-fit mtv t-shirt, loose jeans, and oversized leather boots; his muscle tee with the aptly faded word muscle scrawled across the chest, his faded jeans, and socked feet. one of his toes pokes through the end of his sock, and his exposed arms look cold in the frigid air of the waiting room. you laugh.

“we look like a pair of bikers or something.”

the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “not much of a biker. that’s crystal’s territory.” he doesn’t look at you when he continues speaking. “i’m sorry i didn’t call.”

on a sigh, you drag the boots across the carpet. though it pains you to do so, you let him off the hook. “it’s not a big deal, john. it was just a kiss. no promises.”

“i know.” his head tilts to the side. “but i wanted to call you. nearly did twice, but i chickened out.” he turns, then, and meets your eye. “i like you, [y/n].”

you smile, but know it doesn’t reach your eyes. still, you reach for his hand again. “i like you too, john. i’ve enjoyed getting to know you and your family.”

he shakes his head, and when he speaks, his voice is firm. “no, i like you. that’s why i kissed you and that’s why i didn’t call. because you make me so bloody nervous.”

your shoulders drop, as does your jaw.

“ever since you dropped beau off that first time, i’ve been thinking about you and about you and him together and then he called you mum and i saw the way you acted with him and—��� he pauses for a breath. “molly was different with beau. i mean, she loved him, but she was always so fragile and worried and—and that’s not the point! the point is that you make beau happy and you make me happy. and i want to be happy again.”

“john...”

his grip on your hand tightens as he leans closer. “make me happy, yeah? i’m stubborn as a mule and shy, too, but i want you—badly.”

the fire in your heart spreads at his words. it spreads throughout your body until you feel like you could burst and shine a light into even the darkest corners of the earth. a laugh bubbles forth from between your lips. you lift a hand to stifle it.

“you want to know something?” you ask.

“what?”

“i’ve been pining after you, john deacon, ever since i heard your voice over the phone. i was content to just wallow in my daydreams, but this seems better.” you lift your fingers to brush his chin. “a lot better.”

“i can’t promise i’ll make a good boyfriend. i’m pretty rusty.”

“me too. we can be rusty together.”

he grins, leans forward further, his nose brushing yours. “can’t promise there won’t be hiccups. i’ve got baggage.”

“i can carry it.”

he kisses you, his hand on the back of your head, keeping you firm against his mouth. you grin, your teeth knocking his as you laugh. his curls are soft against your fingertips, and you hold on for dear life when he chuckles into your smile.

“mr. deacon?”

john kisses you once, twice more, before pulling away to look at the doctor. “yeah?” he doesn’t sound the least bit embarrassed to be caught in such a position in the middle of a hospital waiting room, but you hide your face against his neck. your cheeks hurt your smile is so wide.

“beau’s ready to see you now.”

john stands and extends at hand. “comin’, dove?”

your footfalls are hard against the ground, the boots heavy around your ankles, as you walk with him hand-in-hand to beau’s hospital room. you lean against his side, breathe the comfort of him in, and smile.

yes, this is much better than your daydreams—baggage, boots, beau, and all.

#john deacon #john deacon x reader #john deacon fic #queen #queen fic #j writes

[hello-yue-here]

About your atla ship songs, I have a couple of questions (sorry if my phrasing comes out wrong, english isn't my first language and I worry it might across as accidentally defensive): how did you end up with the choices for zukka, jetko and yuekka (note: I haven't seen the great comet, so feel free to obsess over it, I'm intrigued now and the hype is appreciated!)? Sidenote: I think the mailee choice is HILARIOUS and the tokka one just make me sad, I didn't expect to be attacked like this😭

kdjfha;s i love you im gonna obsess SO HARD over great comet now. you may regret this

this is gonna be so long so the rest is under the cut whoops

yuekka: no one else from great comet

where do i even begin. WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN

okay so background information on this show: it's based off of a 76 oages excerpt from war and peace and its centered around a woman named natasha (and this guy pierre but he's irrelevant to this song so we wont worry about him) and natasha's bethrothed is off fighting in the war right now. she hasn't seen him in a while but she is in love with him.

every single lyrics of this song SCREAMS yuekka to me. the innocence and purity of their love. the love at first sight. and even the melancholy ending just- i go apeshit for this song. i love this song so much. and denee benton's voice??? kljsdhflwksugf please listen to this song if you haven't already. listen to the whole show. your life will be changed forever.

onto the lyrics (i stg this is ab to be the whole song whoops)

"the moon"

THOSE ARE THE FIRST WORDS ON THE SONG. natasha and andre (her bethrothed) met underneath the moonlight. Sokka and Yue first spoke to eachother at night and always met each other for their most intimate moments under the moonlight. also yue is LITERALLY the moon so like: right of the bat with those two words it's yuekka.

"and i saw your eyes / and i saw your smile / and the world opened wide"

sokka fell in love with yue the moment he saw her in the canal. she literally enchanted this motherfucker. everything about her made his heart go crazy. and 'the world opened wide' to me is from yue's perspective. Yue had never left the north pole and sokka had seen a good chuck of the world at the point. He took her on appa, he told her about his adventures. he saw the world yue wished to see and you know damn well that Sokka would have done anything to give it to her.

"oh the moon /oh the snow in the moonlight / and your childlike eyes and your distant smile / ill never be this happy again / you and i and no one else"

natasha sings fondly about the moon and the snow, seeing as it was where she fell in love with andre. yue and sokka LITERALLY fell in love in the same place: in the snowy nothern water tribe under the light of the moon. childlike eyes: THEYRE CHILDREN!!! distant smile: this is where it gets a little sad. theyre both children with way too many duties during a world that has known nothing but war for the past century. they want to be happy but yeah, theyre smiles are distant and far away because happiness seems out of reach for them most of the time. i'll never be this happy again: the moments yue and sokka shared together were probably the happiest either of them ever were. they were able to ignore the war and the world in the moments they shared together. and with no one else. no one else would be able to give each other this sense of peace and happiness and love.

"joy and life inside our souls / and no body knows just you and me / it's our secret"

Yue and Sokka had to sneak out in secret at night to go and see each other. Yue and Sokka couldn't be together for real because Yue was already engaged, but they were literally in love so she decided to see him anyways in secret. kasdjfhklasjd im losing my mind over them at this point.

"this winer sky / how can anyone sleep / there was never such a night before / i feel like putting my arms around my knees / and squeezing tight as possible / and flying away"

these are my FAVORITE lines in the entire song. yue and sokka had never felt this strongly about anyone before and that's why they are so drawn to each other. they had never experienced love before and they wanted to hold onto it for as long as they could even though they knew they couldnt. Sokka takes yue up on appa and she is wistful and wishes she could live like he does every day: ie flying away. oh my god these two deserved so much better. so much fucking better.

now for the saddes part. the saddest fucking part.

"maybe he'll come today / maybe he came already / and he's sitting in the drawing room / and i simply forgot"

natasha misses andre so intensely at this point. when i first listened to this show and heard this song i was like "wait a min... is andre like... dead?" and im sure i wasnt the only person who assumed that this was why natasha felt so sad by the end of such a beautiful song. (spoiler alert andre is fine)

but this line really exemplifies how sad natasha is, and hints at the fact that andre may never come back. it implies that their relationship is doomed (at least in my opinion) and that's all yuekka. Sokka misses yue intensely when shes gone. Yue accepted her fate almost immediately but sokka was in denial. he thought there had to be another way. but in the end it wasn't meant to be. and sokka will go on, loving yue, wishing for her back, even though it's not possible.

fuck im gonna cry.

zukka: all i've ever known- hadestown

"i was alone so long / i didn't even know that i was lonely / out in the cold so long / i didnt even know that i was cold"

sokka is from the swt so theres where the cold comes in. also in the gaang (initially) it was just him katara and aang. and katara and aang were much closer to each other than sokka was with aang and the two of them were benders so sokka was kind of an outsider with the two of them. He also represses a lot of his emotions and feels the need to do everything himself so i do see a lot of loneliness in sokka. and the fact that so many people in his life have left him (his mom, yue, his dad, suki briefly, etc...) he is known to keep people at an arms length. i see a lot of loneliness in sokka.

zuko's loneliness is a lot more obvious: he has literally been cast out and abandoned by everyone except iroh. and even then he still feels the need to be alone (remember zuko alone? thought so) these boys look after themselves and push others away and revel in their loneliness in order to keep themselves from getting hurt. at least in my opinion on canon and also some fanon because id be a liar if i said fanon didnt influence how i view ALL my ships (not just zukka)

"all ive ever known is how to hold my own / but now I wanna hold you too"

COME ONE MANNNN, they just wanna hold each other. theyre both very big protectors as well and kljhflkasdhg they wanna protect eachother like kljdhfl im gonna lose it rn.

"You take me in your arms / And suddenly there's sunlight all around me / Everything bright and warm / And shining like it never did before / And for a moment I forget / Just how dark and cold it gets"

SUNLIGHT SYMBOLISM. zuko is literally powered by the sun. i don't think i even NEED to elaborate on this one anymore lol. They find comfort in each other away from all of their trauma. when they're together nothing else matters and i personally love that for them. they both deserve love.

"I knew you before we met / And I don't even know you yet / All I know is your someone I have always known"

these two are extremely similar in canon. many parallels. older brothers overshadowed by their prodigy little sisters. longing to make their fathers proud (granted one dad is good and one is fuckin evil), both are pretty bad with emotions. both are seen protecting others before themselves (sokka protecting suki during the serpant's pass, sokka protecting toph on like multiple occassions, zuko protecting katara in the final agni kai), the list goes on. they know who the other is because they see themselves in the other person. they already know each other because they are each other (in a way, not entirely, but the similarities are strong in my opinion)

"I'm gonna hold you forever / The wind will never change on us / Long as we stay with each other / Then it will always be like this"

i just think this line is so cute and sweet (ignoring all the symbolism and foreshadowing that comes with the last line in the musical itself. im gonna pretend this is nothing but happy) and i think these boys deserve happiness so yeah. this song is zukka to me lol.

jetko: thrill of first love- falsettoes

if you've never listened to this song go an do it now. you will know INSTANTLY that it is jetko because of the dynamics alone. marvin and whizzer are pure jetko and i take no crticisms.

marvin and whizzer are both extremely stubborn, and they don't always get along, and they fight a lot, and they get mad at each other a lot, and they are both passionate as hell, and they will bring this passion into everything. they love each other that is without a doubt, but they arent perfect and they are once again stubborn and determined as fuck.

sound familiar? it's literally jetko.

the lyrics aren't what remind me of jetko, but the dynamic itself. the lyrics are too on the nose for a gay couple in 1970's america so that rlly cant apply to jetko all that much. but the way these two characters bounce off of each other and get annoyed with each other and argue with eachother reminds me of jetko. because let's be honest: these two are the most stubborn characters in the whole show. they will fight for what they believe and it will take literally everything to change their minds.

i love jetko but i think they would have petty arguments all the time and get aggravated by one another so easily. and this is even seen in canon: they work so fucking well together but they did not even HESITATE to fight one another after neither of them would give in and let the fight about whether jet was right or wrong about zuko being a firebender. like i cannot say it enough they are stubborn as fuck.

but underneath all that stubborn pettiness and bickering: marvin and whizzer still love each other. and jet and zuko would still love each other. because even though they are stubborn when it comes to arguments, they are even more stubborn and determined when it comes to each other. these two passionate motherfuckers are in love.

(now when i chose this song i decided to ignore the fact that this song literally spells out the fact that marvin and whizzer's relatinoship is doomed because they literally say passion dies. thats the difference between jetko and whizzer and marvin because i dont think passion dies. i chose this song strictly for the bickering lmao)

and i know you didnt ask about tokka but,,,,

i rlly wanna talk about the tokka one

so im going to

tokka: on my own- les mis

look. i KNOW this song is about unrequited love and i love tokka as a couple but,,, the unrequited love in this song just SCREAMS unrequited tokka to me so thats what i went with.

eponine is a girl who has neglectful parents who lives life by her own rules: toph. eponine is shown to be tough and confident and spunky to others but behind all of that she has emotions, she feels love, she hides her vulnerability so much: toph. she is in love with a guy she cant be with because he loves someone else: TOPH

eponine is toph to a t and toph is eponine to a t. this is not up for debate lmao

"without him i feel his arms around me"

toph is always seen grabbing onto someone (and its almost ALWAYS sokka) when she's somewhere where she can't use her feet to see. FEEL and ARMS cmon. look at it.

"and i know / i know that he is blind"

COME ON. IMAGINE TOPH SINGING THIS LINE. this line is already powerful enough in les mis but having toph, a blind character, sing it just makes the symbolism even deeper. toph sees the potential relationship they could have together. toph sees that sokka is oblivious to this. toph is not blind to the truth or the potention, but sokka is blind to her feelings. im about to lose my mind over this line.

"I love him / But every day I'm learning / All my life / I've only been pretending / Without me / His world will go on turning / A world that's full of happiness / That I have never known"

i need to sit down for a moment. toph grew up in a household where her parents did not understand her. she has learned to hide her true emotions and vulnerabilities from everyone. and its the fact that toph knows that she and sokka will never be together and the fact that she still loves him in spite of that is what makes this even more heartbreaking.

"but only on my own"

TOPH AND EPONINE SWEETIES I LOVE YOU

thank you for indulging my theatre kid nonsense. you are very sweet and kind and lovely and awesome and i hope you have a lovely day bestie :) <3

ask me why i think these songs go with these ships

#asks #liv is a theatre nerd #liv is an atla nerd #yuekka #zukka #jetko #tokka #ask me about my ship songs

[arimendoza]

to the anon who asked this: It’s loving cedric diggory hours in my brain so I’d love to read you venting your headcanons about him?? What do you think about his childhood and family and friends and what happened to them after (because Cursed Child isn’t canon)

tumblr deleted ur ask RIGHT as i posted it and im so sorry i hope u still see this bc i love it so much thank u for giving me an excuse to write about my favorite character :(((

i have a lot of feelings about cedric diggory

------------

it’s always been one of my biggest headcanons that cedric is a slytherin secondary

we see him as being kind. he is kind. and good. and brave. but he’s also ambitious, driven, resourceful. cedric diggory is a strong leader. but his determination is a double-edged sword, and his ambition can become ruthless:

"i thought you were gonna let it get me." / "for a second there i thought the same."

so kind, yet with this underlying, almost desperate self preservation and ambition that he might not even realize isn't his 

“he could have been anything.” but what does that mean? what did he want? or was he too busy thinking of what everyone else wanted?

because this is cedric diggory as we see him: composed, polite, the ideal and ultimate gentleman. intelligent, compassionate, reliable. powerful, intuitive, handsome. perfect.

but imagine, just imagine the intense pressure, the expectations, the constant delivery he feels he owes to people who perceive him as all those things, and then some.

this is largely because of how i see him growing up

amos diggory was nothing if not proud. so he did everything to transfer all that pride onto his only son:

private tutoring, gruelling flying lessons (all theory of course, though as soon as his father deemed him old enough, tested his natural instinct on a broom), and limited free time made for a clever boy, if not a lonely one

he didn’t see anyone outside of his immediate family much. they preferred to keep to themselves.

but he definitely saw all the other kids outside his bedroom window, laughing and playing and so free. sometimes he thinks about asking his dad if he could join them

but he can see the disappointed shake of the head, hear the “you were made for better things, my boy. greater things than playing pretend.”

and his mother, for all her kindness, he could never bring himself to ask. she never expressed direct expectations the way his father did. but cedric was clever. she didn’t have to say it out loud for him to know.

so he works. and perseveres. quietly and alone, until he goes to hogwarts

growing up, he wonders if perhaps playing pretend was all he was ever good at

he pretends his father is proud of him being sorted into hufflepuff

the letter he received was not scathing, but just had enough subtle disappointment in it that it crushed him.

he didn’t tell his father he was a hatstall. that he chose hufflepuff, in the end. in a way

“you’d do well in any house, you know. be anyone.” the hat had said

i just want to be myself. 

“oh my dear boy. you don’t even know who that is yet”

he pretends he wants to be a Seeker.

also a fairly popular headcanon, but i do think cedric was aware he was not made to be one because of how he’s built, but did it because “Seekers get all the glory, son. and it’s always worth the glory, isn’t it?”

he becomes Seeker. he’s praised for his fast swerves. he tells no one how much pain it gives him to execute them. he practices day and night anyway

he becomes captain. it should make him happy, and he is. it makes his dad proud too, but his shoulders sag just a little lower as another weight is placed on them

he pretends he doesn’t care for art (“it’s silly, son. there are better things, more practical things.”)

but cedric loves poetry, the abstract. it’s why his favorite and best subject is charms

he meets a ravenclaw boy who likes to write poetry as well. they bumped into each other in the library in what was both their ‘favorite spot’

he plays quidditch too, thinks he has a shot at captain

cedric diggory and roger davies became fast friends

two sides of the same coin, really. handsome, intelligent, athletic. but a bit lonely, reserved. their silence is taken for cockiness, sometimes

the main difference? roger doesn’t much care for other people’s opinions. it’s where he and cedric clash, where most of their arguments stem from. but they do help each other grow because of it

he pretends he doesn’t need friends, but makes them anyway

his father always stressed the importance of good connections, for networking and all that. and even from a young age it was clear that cedric was charming. a natural silver-tongue. he could probably make people fall at his feet, should he have wanted.

but as much as cedric cared about his own reputation, he never much cared for status, and always saw the good in others. or tried to, at least

so he and roger became close. roger introduced him to cho chang. she was pretty, also reserved, also liked quidditch. seeker

he also grew close to hecate oakham and bhavana patel from his house. hecate was often alone, in her own head. she gave cedric fresh perspective and listened, always. he did his best to do the same.

bhavana liked spending time in the greenhouse. it’s also one of cedric’s go-to places to think, clear his head.

his father thought he could perhaps do better. cedric thinks he’s struck gold.

cedric loved his friends so much, and he thought then that this is the closest he’s ever felt to understanding, and being understood

although he could never fully drop the facade in front of them, he let them see him at his worst: his disappointment, his anger (when cedric is angry, he doesn’t show it, preferring to repress and then possibly write it out later. but when he’s angry, he’s angry, piercing. ruthless and relentless, words coming out in passionate outbursts, as if the air was crackling around him from wild magic. people would have called it uncharacteristic of him, but did they ever really know him well enough to think so?)

still, he would say these were the best friends he’s ever had. the best time he’s ever had. he was happy

and then he meets harry, properly, and he’s both elated and so, so afraid. he pretends it doesn’t matter.

(he pretends he wasn’t absolutely hit with guilt after winning that one match. first, because he felt like he didn’t deserve it. second, because people think he didn’t deserve it. that on any other day, his hard work would never amount to anything next to natural talent. third, because even after all of this, a part of him was still glad he ended up catching the snitch)

(he pretends he didn’t ask to see harry when he was at the hospital wing after that disastrous match with the dementors either)

he pretends he’s fearless. that he wants to join the tournament

he’s already a prefect. quidditch captain, on the way to head boy. why not eternal glory? it’s worth it, isn’t it? everyone thinks he could do it. everyone thinks he could win. everyone thinks he should

“you don’t have to, ced.” roger says. 

“no, i do.”

he hopes the goblet doesn’t spew out his name. it does. he smiles, goes up. takes his place.

“good luck.” roger yells at him, concern in his eyes

he pretends he doesn’t know what their exchange really means

“dragons. that’s the first task.” i’m worried about you

“why are you telling me this?” worry about yourself, too

harry moves to leave. cedric pulls him back. harry stares at his hand. is this when you ask? 

“the badges. i’ve asked them not to wear them.” are you okay? i care about you.

“don’t worry about it.” i guess not. but thank you. 

he and cho pretend they want to go to the ball together

his father, of course, is elated. pretty, smart, athletic, from a good family.

she stares wistfully at hermione granger throughout the entire champions’ dance

cedric catches harry’s eye. it was like a million snitches were whizzing around in his stomach. not like how it was with roger, at first. this was so much stronger.

he pretends he tells harry about the egg only because it’s good sportsmanship. but harry is done pretending.

when cedric goes to congratulate him for tying for first place, harry kisses him

roger smiles knowingly when he he sees cedric at the library, absolutely beaming

but there was still that part of cedric, that voice in his head that tells him he’ll ruin it, that he doesn’t deserve it. it asks him, worst of all, will you still be happy, even with your father’s disappointment? 

so when does cedric diggory not pretend?

when he writes, and shares his writing with his friends

when he laughs so hard he snorts

when he’s flying. not for quidditch, but for fun

when he kisses harry back

when he says ‘together.’

when he tells harry to stay back

(he pretends he was ready to die)

so this is cedric diggory as we deserve to have known him: flawed and good. imperfect and kind. conflicted and brave

he could have been anything, but we didn’t see him live long enough for even him to figure out what it was he really wanted to be, who he wanted to be. 

the only comfort we have is, in his final weeks, those final moments, he could tell himself he was finally, finally proud of the person he was becoming 

he hopes history will think the same

BONUS:

roger, cho, hecate, bhavana, and of course harry mourned him. quietly, but together

roger

his first real friend. his best friend. he saw cedric the most, physically and emotionally. he thought maybe one day he’d get to see all of him, his flaws and his grievances and his silliness. he’d like to think so. he will never know, now.

people thought he’d honor cedric through quidditch, or something of the sort.

he wrote instead. he wrote for himself, for cedric. eternalized through writing.

every year he’d write something for cedric’s birthday, go to his grave and read it out to him

he’s scared of the day he runs out of memories. wishes they could still make more.

but as he tells cedric of his life now, his hardships and his triumphs and how much he misses him, he thinks he’s doing his best.

in this own, sad way, cedric is still with him. this is how they will make memories.

cho

cho cries, has a hard time sleeping. dark circles, bloodshot eyes, his death affects her the most physically.  she ignores the whispers, the confused stares at her emotional turmoil. but she has always been confident with her feelings, saw no shame in expressing them.

her performance falls in quidditch.

she remembers Seeking matches with him and later with harry, the way they’d laugh and how bright cedric’s smile had been

flying hadn’t been the same since. she hopes one day it will be.

next to roger, she visits cedric the most.

hecate

no one besides their circle of friends knew it, but cedric diggory was clumsy

she remembers the way he bumped into her when he was walking through the grounds, realizing he tripped over his robe

sorry he had said. i was lost in thought 

he looked like he had a lot on his mind then, as if he expected her to laugh at him.

funny, she had replied. i’m quite the same. are you headed to the lake?

and she remembers them sitting there. in comfortable silence, in easy conversation.

now she sits alone, cries silent tears, watches them run and spill and imagines them to merge with the lake

bhavana

cedric was knowledgeable about plants, but his skill at taking care of them was...questionable

she caught him, in the greenhouse, monologuing to himself

she remembered him stopping abruptly, coughing shyly. but she only laughed, said your secret’s safe with me

so she plants in memory of him, watches them grow and bloom the way he never can, now, treats them with the utmost care she wishes others had with him

harry

harry stays angry for a long time

the nightmares come every night, except this time, he doesn’t wake up in cedric’s arms

he couldn’t bring himself to visit his grave. not yet. he doesn’t know when yet, or if he ever could.

cedric diggory is harry’s first real loss.

he could have saved him. if he had never let cedric take the cup, if he had recognized the place faster, if he just got cedric to not move forward for the sake of his protection. 

this was harry’s new everyday, the what ifs running through his mind at every waking moment. and sometimes he hears a laugh, sees the way someone’s smile is crooked, a snippet of a song and everything is familiar and foreign and he aches and aches. and his heart breaks a little more

and it wasn’t love, not yet. but harry remembers the way they looked at each other, the way they smiled and laughed and played and kissed and were

it could have been love, and harry wonders if he’ll ever feel that way again

so he forms the DA, in cedric’s memory. meets with roger and cho and hecate and bhavana. they all stare at cedric’s picture in the room. haunted

and harry strives to do better. to be better.

(“who’s cedric? your boyfriend?” he was)

amos diggory mourned loudly. part of him resented harry, but only because the other part of him couldn’t help but think all of this was his fault, and his fault alone

if he pressured his son a little less, let him live as he wanted, and love as he wanted

if he spent more time with cedric

if he said the words “i love you” more often, told him “i am proud of you, always.”

 but he tells himself cedric must know. cedric had to have known

he doesn’t speak to cedric’s friends. tries to forget about harry potter

a hollow shell of a man, mourning for a son he never really knew.

he hopes history will treat cedric kinder than he ever did.

#cedric diggory #harry potter #hedric #hp #reposting bc my tumblr glitched and deleted the ask im CRYIGN #usergeets #userblair #useremma #uservioleta #usertessa #userbrienne #userjamie #madelinosjournal #userliyah #usersimone #anon i hope u see this still i love u sm #headcanon #hp meta

[marvels-agents100]

in the image of atlas

“we could have been happy. i know that, and it is perhaps the hardest thing to know.” ally condie

pairings: aaron hotchner x gender neutral ! reader

warnings: sad, deeply burdened aaron, unrequited love

word count: 1,954

author’s note: this started out one way, ended another... maybe a part two? also, to the anon that sent me a request- im working on it now !

You couldn’t quite recall how it had gotten to this point, your relationship with Aaron Hotchner.

You were a respite, someone outside of his job that was involved in his life. It began with a chance meeting at the grocery store, and a close friendship then blossomed quickly. You quickly learned the inner workings of him, how he operated, and how deeply he loved.

He always held the burden of the world on his shoulders. Furthermore, he would carry it without complaint, taking the weight as if it was light as air. It was admirable, of course, his self-sacrifice bringing comfort and ease to many people’s minds- most significantly, to his own team. 

It wasn’t until a crisp, October night that you saw his resolve crumble.

“I just can’t do it anymore,” his words were chopped and strained, his eyes pooling with retained emotion.

“Aaron,” you reached for his shoulder, but your palm hesitated before it was able to make contact, “tell me everything.”

“I don’t- I don’t even…” his hands ran through his air, head shaking as he talking, “where do I even start?”

“That’s okay,” you soothed, your restless hands clasping together. You wanted desperately to reach out and hold him, comfort him, but physical boundaries were still blurred between you, with only small brushes and light touches punctuating the tense, complicated moments you’ve shared.

“It’s so- everything is just… overwhelming, sometimes,” he choked on his voice, leaning forward on his elbows.

“I know,” you whispered, a worried pull in your brow, “you take on a lot, Aaron.”

And what a truth that was. Aaron Hotchner wasn’t a man that was quick to love, so when he cared, he cared deeply. If those he loved were haunted by any form of sadness or despair, he would roll his sleeves up and put the burden on his own back. It was natural, obligatory for him. There was never a time- that he could remember- where his shoulders were weightless. 

It had been a habit you chipped away at, trying in vain to break away his incessant need to hold up the world. With his determination and stubborn nature, attempting to convince him that the pain of others’ is not his responsibility, is an impossible task in and of itself. You could lament for hours about his lasting impact on so many lives, how his work changed the outcome of the world as a whole, how fighting battles for others was not a task he needed to complete, but all the words of reassurance never seemed to reach his ears. 

You tried to convince him that he did not have to set himself on fire to warm others, but he always kept matches in his pocket.

“Do you let yourself take a break, sometimes?” You asked quietly, gently, “You’re still human, you need rest, too.”

“Rest?” He laughed bitterly, tears streaming freely down his cheeks, “I’ve never heard of it.”

Maybe it was the way he looked so utterly exhausted, or maybe it was the way his shoulders slumped forward in defeat, but your once hesitant hand grew bold, resting on his shoulder lightly. The muscles below your touch relaxed immediately, your thumb tracing languidly along the white dress shirt he wore.

His eyes closed, his focus going to the warmth of your palm. The light touch traveled through him, deriving every ounce of comfort from the tips of your fingers. The relief that washed over him was almost euphoric, like reaching the surface after being submerged in deep water, or finding a light in a world of darkness. It wasn’t exactly surprising, the extremely visceral way he reacted to you.

As a self-aware man, he knew what the uncontrollable, undeniable parts of himself wanted from you. He craved attention from you in a primal sense, like the glances you spared him and the conversations you shared were the drug, and he was hopelessly addicted. He had noticed the tell tale signs of a tell tale heart when he had first met you, and the exponential growth of said signs were as anticipated as the setting sun.

You were an anchor in the stormy seas that occupied his mind-the mind that, currently, a hurricane was wreaking havoc upon.

“You have to find time for yourself,” you pleaded, “the team- hell, the world- needs you. And that means all of you, not just the part of you that’s still awake.”

“I know,” he sniffled, “I feel like I’m being pulled in every direction.”

 You sighed, knowing the truth behind his words. There was so, so much that was expected of him, you weren’t exactly sure how he was still standing upright. He was told to save lives, raise a son, and be a reliable friend and brother, all at the same time.

(Hell, why don’t you count the stars, while you’re at it?)

You wished more than anything that you could help relieve some of his stress, but other than being the occasional shoulder to cry on, he never delegated any of his tasks. It- meaning, the entirety of the pain he woke up to every day- was a battle he lead no army towards, just his lonely feet on the grassy uphill below his demons.

“What can I do, Aaron?” You sounded more desperate, pushing slightly to get some kind of solution from him, “Anything, absolutely anything you need.”

His reddened, slightly swollen gaze flickered to you, the sunlight seeping into the apartment catching them in a honey glow. It seemed to pull you in even further, his soft eyes being the first thing you had fallen for.

It was fascinating, how brown was just brown, until you loved somebody with brown eyes.

“You, being here,” he swallowed thickly, “that’s enough for me.”

And even though his words could have been interpreted in so many ways, your heart still swelled within your chest.

“Sometimes, I just feel so alone,” he began, “especially since Gideon left, then Haley passed. It seems like the people I confide in always seem to leave,” he though to himself for a moment, eyes scanning the carpet, “I have Dave, but that man can have so much on his mind, sometimes.” 

There was a pause before he continued, “And then I found you, and you were- you are- my sunlight.”

There was a twist somewhere deep inside your stomach, your pulse halting momentarily. Controlling your expression, you allowed a small smile to reach your lips. A content sigh escaped you, your hand squeezing on his shoulder slightly, encouraging him to continue, telling him you would listen. His large palm reached up to cover yours, holding onto it gently.

“You don’t realize how much it means to me,” he spoke softly, “the fact that you care.”

“Aaron,” his name was a whisper, words escaping you as overwhelming confessions and professions littered your mind, “you understand that having someone to talk to is the least you deserve, right?”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” you were breathless, in complete disbelief of his questioning of self worth, “God, you deserve so much more than I, or this world, will ever be able to give you. You sacrifice so much of yourself for the well-being of others, and even though karma has yet to recognize it, the people who care about you aren’t quite as blind.”

Self control seemed to escape you, your palms moving to rest against his cheeks, keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“You don’t have to save everyone,” your thumbs stroked his cheekbones, “sometimes, the person you save has to be yourself.”

“I just-“

“I know it’s hard,” you cut his self doubt off, “I know that all you’ve ever done is help others and it’s what you know, but Aaron, you are worth saving, too.”

His eyebrow twitted up, bottom lip quivering slightly. With your touch still on his cheek, he leaned into your hand, adverting his eyes from yours as they became misty once again.

You were right, and logically he knew that, but even as you preach his worth and importance in that soft, sweet, honey voice of yours, he still sat and wondered what he had done to deserve you. 

Another sigh left you, your hands trailing through his hair, landing on his shoulders. It sent another wave of comfort through him, and he knew then that he wouldn’t survive losing you, he couldn’t ever lose you.

“Can you promise me something?” Your question got his sight to shift back to you, “Promise me you’ll take some time for yourself, before it gets this overwhelming again?”

“Just-,” he hesitated, “just be here with me, and I’ll be okay.”

Your eyes looked over him, unable to decipher the way he was looking at you, unable to read his expression.

“I only need you,” and his words came out so soft, so incredibly tender, that you weren’t sure if you had the will to control yourself.

“Okay,” you whispered, not trusting your voice.

You pulled him to you, your back pressing into the couch cushions, his head coming to rest just below your chin. His arms found a home around your waist, hands splayed along your spine. You couldn’t see his eyes close- his dark eyelashes fluttering against your collarbone- or the small, content smile that graced his lips. With one hand tangled in his ebony hair and the other tracing patterns along his shoulder blades, you let your own eyes shut, just basking in the embrace of the man you quietly loved.

He couldn’t quite recall how it had gotten to this point, his complicated relationship with you.

He fell asleep to the sound of your heart beating, the monotonous reminder that you were truly real, not a dream he had imagined, despite his doubts. You were living, human, and you took your time and spent it with him, a man who viewed you as angel when compared to himself. It was a bittersweet thing, the absolute, uncontrollable love he held for you- a love he knew would never see the light of day. You were undeniably pure, comprised of nothing but sunshine and soft rain, and there would never be a time where he allowed the storm clouds that haunted him to cover the rays of your happiness.

So, he would take his moments when he could. He would fall asleep to your heartbeat and cherish your gentle touch, but his heart would remain his and your heart would remain yours. And maybe it was a cruel punishment, casting you into his life for you to remain out of his reach, but the mere thought of being in your presence was enough. It would have to be enough.

Your fingers carded through his hair, the soft strands brushing against your palm. The weight of him on top of you brought you a comfort you couldn’t fully explain- or comprehend, for that matter. Every thought and feeling you held for him was circling through your mind, erratic and loud. 

To you, he was everything. He was the stars in a dark sky, the sunlight after a rainstorm, the cool breeze on a summer afternoon. There was something so inviting, so safe about him, that you were entranced and pulled in within minutes of knowing him. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

You danced around your own heart when it came to him, avoiding and ignoring the way he absolutely completed you. His love was a privilege you couldn’t have, and it was a fact you had to accept and bury. In your own, silent way, you loved him endlessly. And, if fate decided you weren’t ever meant to be, then you would be content, for the mere thought of being in your presence was enough. It would have to be enough.

taglist:

@quillvine​ @winterscaptain​ @agenthotchner​ @davidrossi-ismydad​ @misskirkstark​ @good-heavens-chris-evans​ @vintagecaptainspidey​

#aaron hotchner imagines #aaron hotch x reader #criminal minds #fanfic

[twinkluffy]

fanfics for quarantine with α!katsuki x Ω!izuku.

Hiya, my fellows shippers. I know quarantine is being hard to everyone for different reasons but i hope you can stay safe at home. If you have to be outside for work or to work with/for people, thank you so much for your hard work and it is deeply appreciated. 

In this occasion it’s my pleasure to bring you all a fanfic recommendation list of Alpha/Omega KatsuDeku that i loved on AO3. So buckle up, gather everything you need for this wild ride because this gonna be a long post and this just the first part, sisters. Friendly reminder that every person writes their own rules for their omegaverse. It goes without saying that most of this post is+18 rated filth (and i did let out some nasty things that would make most of you don’t hold a face to face conversation with me without kinkshaming me) but even with that the sexual content is gonna have a bolded +18 beside the tittle; and as the old saying goes: read the damn tags on the fic, they are there for a reason.  

The links, rating, state and summary under the cut. Please, feel free to reblog and like or to come to my dms just to talk or ask for a type of fic in specific. I’ll post part 2 of this soon. 

drag me to the deeps of your heart (+18)  by halcyonwhispers [one shot, 5945 words // 1/2 from “The (im)proper way to an Alpha-Omega courtship” series ] 

Everyone presents on their 17th birthday, and while Katsuki has already (alpha, big fuckin’ shocker), he awaits his boyfriend’s presentation to finally get over the nonexistent (slight) curiosity over Izuku’s new rank. He can’t be an alpha, not crybaby, overthinking Deku. Anyways, both his parents are betas, and all that genetic and biology shit says Deku’s bound for that road. (he thinks)

Gravity (+18) by warschach [complete, 71477 words, 10 chapters]

Izuku is back in his hometown and plenty hasn't changed much from the 8 years he was gone. Except, Katsuki Bakugou, the alpha king of their small town. He's hotter- because that's fair, right, God? -, stronger, a now-famous pro fighter, and noticeably nicer this round. Not that he cares, pfft.

Ha, Izuku Midoriya caring about Katsuki Bakugou, thinking he's pretty cute and not half bad once you get past the asshole persona; though that gargantuan ego of his could take a dive off a very tall cliff. (Fine, he cares.)

what’s mine is mine (+18) by xenodickery [one shot, 5504 words // 1/3 from the “what’s mine is mine” series. Implied r*pe not related to the pair]

Bakugou watched, fists shaking in his lap, as someone pried open Midoriya's mouth and placed the pink tab on his tongue. An aphrodisiac. At least that's what they'd called it. A heat compellant.

Marshmallow by choimarie  [one shot, 3359 words // part of the 2k18 bakudeku week]

“Yo! Look at what we have here!” A voice said loudly and Izuku's heart stopped.

He turned around, his eyes widening. A group of six alphas was walking his way towards him.

What’s is this? The beginning of a porn0? (+18) by JijiHadidnt [2 chapters, 4625 words]

“Did somebody order a pizza?”

“What is this? The beginning of a porno?”

“Shut up Nerd just let me in.”

Izuku and Bakugou handle their argument over celebrity crushes in an interesting way.

A nest for the best by Camellia_Sinensis [one shot, 1007 words // Part of the “dorks in love” series] 

Deku’s been nesting and asking everyone in 1-A for pieces of clothing for his horde. Everyone, that is, except Katsuki. Cue the jealousy.

where i feel you the most (+18) by shousanki [one shot,3899 words]

In which Katsuki comes 1) to terms with Izuku's screwy biology almost as unpredictable as the person himself, and 2) down Izuku's warm and willing throat.

the last dragon-blood king (+18) by claimedbydaryl [complete, 13 chapters, 107.009 words]

Katsuki Bakugou was the alpha heir to a forgotten throne, reigning lord and warden of the Fyre Isles, a famed warrior of vicious repute in the Western Seas, and he would be wed to Izuku Midoriya by the day’s end.

Project: heat (+18) by ellslane  [one shot, 2914 words]

Katsuki can do this. He can control himself around Deku, who’s scent has spiked in sweetness and is dripping in pheromones. He can maintain his composure as they work together on a school project. He can keep himself in check as his stupid smell wafts through the air, and directly into his nose.

He can’t do this.

Dessert before dinner (+18) by Morpheel [one shot, 3473 words] 

Ground Zero has his work cut out for him as of late.

Between his increased Hero workload, and a pregnant mate at home, there's very little time to slow down and "smell the roses", as they say. He's too busy fighting the rampant crime rate going wild throughout the city without their Pillar of Justice on duty for 9 months. Yet leave it up to Izuku to find his own way in squirming some quality time in before Katsuki's shift.

Emergency contact (+18) by SurelyHeavenWaits [one shot, 3753 words]

There are some things in life that a person would like to know in advance:

weather forecasts, patrol schedules, patrol routes, being listed as an ERC for the person they've secretly loved for most of their life. Pro Hero Deku knew three of these things at the start of his shift.

Blonde haired bunnies (+18) by morpheel [one shot, 5194 words]

In an attempt to create a new genetic pattern in the Rabbit-Hybrid Gene, Izuku Midorya is paired with a very strange (and almost unorthodox) stud. The end goal is blonde haired, red eyed rabbits- though only one Alpha truly fits that bill.

Surely a wolf and a rabbit can't breed?

Late mornings (+18) by Oilux [one shot, words]

When Deku arrives, late for class, panting, red stained cheeks, every alpha in the class staring at him with open want, Bakugo only has one thought crossing his mind.

He’s mine.

Vitality in postpartum (+18) by ellslane [one shot,2989 words]

Katsuki can tell his husband has been dealing with his image after giving birth to their precious boy, and he's hellbent on making Izuku see the perfection he sees. Happy husband, happy life, after all.

Box (+18) by SurelyHeavenWaits [one shot, 3028 words]

On a stakeout for a villain with what's been reported as a lust-inducing Quirk, Pro Heroes Ground Zero and Deku find themselves boxed into a dire situation.

I’m so glad i found my mate today by kittiegirl1616 [oneshot, 2123 words]

Pro-Hero Ground Zero has captured a villain when he senses his mate is nearby.

whatever you’ve done, just bury (+18) it by ikvros [complete, 3 chapters, 18.593 words]

He knows how Katsuki thinks, talks, and fights. He knows how he sleeps, how he eats, how he loves, and how he leaves. And he knows what knows what it means for Katsuki to come back; has washed the evidence from the sheets countless times, scrubbed the scent of him off his skin in the morning until it’s as red and raw as his heart.

Their home (+18) by Veradiciy [one shot, 2694 words] 

There was nothing wrong with parking the car inside their garage. Nothing wrong with turning off the ignition and locking the car while still inside. Not even when the sensory light of the garage had went out a minute later to leave darkness at its wake. Having sex comes naturally between a mated couple like Bakugou and Midoriya in the late night during the start of Midoriya's heat.

Please scent me by fleurown [one shot, words]

In which Deku needs a quick favor at a party and Katsuki can't deny such a cute face.

eternity by PepeermintLeo [one shot, 9.724 words]

Izuku was Kacchan’s partner, in every sense of the word. He ruled right next to Kacchan’s side, an alpha and an omega, leading Kacchan’s tribe against all sorts of odds. As well as his romantic partner, steady and solid by his side but giving when emotions called for it.

Uncertainty by SuperiorDragonLord [one shot, 5129 words]  

Izuku was getting worried. After a particularly rough rescue mission, Katsuki had yet to even have a full conversation with him. Tensions are running high and Izuku is starting to get tired of walking around on eggshells. When he finally decides to confront Katsuki about it things take a direction he hadn't been prepared for.

Devil in me (+18) by glamour_weebs [oneshot, 1699 words]

Katsuki's usually the one getting into fights over Deku when they go to the club, but this time, his Omega's the one that starts a fight over him, but he doesn't stop there. Deku's determined to mark his territory.

if you can’t find the moning light, i’m here tonight by yabakuboi [oneshot, 3488 words]

Katsuki was never sure what happened to his childhood friend, quirkless Izuku who had presented as an omega and was whisked away to a traditional matchmaking house. Katsuki never saw him again after that, and tried to convince himself it was for the best. Many lonely years pass before he finds Izuku in the last place he ever wanted to, in the middle of a battlefield with a child clutching to his shirt.

Earned it (+18)by Morpheel [one shot, 6038 words]

Because within the illumination of lantern light stood a brothel’s worth of Omegas, all in various states of disarray, giggling and washing themselves without a care in the world to the army in their path.

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Say it again by susurrxus [one shot, 7153 words // Part of the (incomplete) “Mina Ashido approve of this ship” series] 

Katsuki discoveres he doesnt quite oppose to being called Daddy... nor does he oppose to abusing his Omega until he's a sobbing whore on the teachers desk.

#fanfic rec #fanfic recommendation #omegaverse #abo #katsudeku #bakudeku #bakuizu #bkdk positivity #bkdk #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #katsuki x deku #bnha #mha #ao3 #archive of our own

[onlysmagic]

🌌  ———  MEET CORDELIA .

hey hey hey! it's me, honey, back again. i've miss everyone so very much. how have you all been? good, i hope. for the time being, i'll be playing sweet cordy again ( nothing new  . . . nothing's changed . . . still the same old cordy! ) but noah could be coming back soon ~* and maybe some new muses *~ ooOOoOOh. as always, hit the heart for a new old friend and i'll im you to get the party started!

cordy’s stats 🌌 cordy’s wanted connections 🌌 cordy’s pinboard

thanks again for an incredibly warm welcome back! i've missed you all terribly!

🌌 —  THE STATS .

FULL   NAME *    . CORDELIA AMI WANTANABE . NICKNAMES *    CODY   ,   DELIA   ,   CORDY . AGE *    TWENTY-FOUR . DATE   OF   BIRTH *    APRIL   3RD   1996 . STAR   SIGN *    ARIES . HOME   TOWN *    NARA   ,   KANSAI   ,   JAPAN . GENDER *    CIS FEMALE . SEXUALITY *    (   CLOSETED   )   BISEXUAL . NATIONALITY *    JAPANESE . ETHNICITY *    ASIAN . FAMILY *    WANTANABE   TSUYOSHI   (   FATHER   ,   MAINTENANCE   WORKER   -   JAPANESE   )   &   WANTANABE   AMI   -   FORMERLY   ITO   (   MOTHER   ,   FLORIST   -   JAPANESE-CANADIAN   ) . OCCUPATION *   UNEMPLOYED . PLAYLIST *   COMING   SOON .  QUIRK *    STELLARKINESIS   ,   OR   THE   ABILITY   TO   CREATE   AND / OR   MANIPULATE   STARS   AND   USE   THEIR   STELLAR   ENERGY  . 

🌌 —  THE STORY.

           ONCE UPON A TIME , IN A FAR-AWAY LAND known as nara , an ordinary girl is born to two parents who love her ( but cannot seem to love themselves. ) they name her cordelia and, from a young age, there was always something a little . . . off about their sweet girl. now, many parents would claim that their child glows & a light seems to follow them wherever they wander, but the wantanabes would be right.

           it isn’t until the young girl turns 10 that she realizes that no, not everyone can bend space and time to their own whim. not everyone sees the universe as a malleable thing, able to be crafted in one’s own image should they wish. in fact, she is the only one she knows who can do anything of the sort. okay, her dad has superhuman-like strength ( in that he can help her open bottles and things of that sort ) and her mother is incredibly quick-witted, but neither of them can conjure hot balls of gas and light whenever they wish. cordelia can. it’s her mother’s idea to keep it a secret, out of fear that someone could find the young girl and exile her for being so . . . different. delia doesn’t see the harm in it. what’s the worst that can happen? at that age, all she tended to do was bring a bit of starlight to the light-polluted nara and its surrounding areas. it wasn’t like she was dangerous in her mind, it’s all fun and games . . . until someone gets hurt.

           and who should get hurt? why, her beloved parents, of course. a freak accident ( a rush, a blur, not knowing where her powers could take her. ) cordelia was swallowed whole by the guilt of seeing both of her parents in the hospital, doctors whizzing around them while not knowing what in the world had gotten to either of them. they couldn’t for the life of them guess; most thought lightning had something to do with it. if they only knew it was the little girl sitting at each of their bedsides, hot tears streaming down her cheeks.

           they both eventually got to go home -- becoming known around nara as the lightning couple, due to the belief that they both were struck by lightning, despite the outlandish odds -- but cordy knew that she wouldn’t be able to go home with them. she would never forgive herself if something worse ( and there wasn’t much worse that could happen to either of them ) so she found hosu and ran, ran, ran. of course, when she arrived safe and sound, she wrote to her parents, but she’s broken inside knowing that, well, it has to be this way. it’s breaking them all, but it has to be this way.

🌌 —  WELCOME TO THE ISLE.

          THE BROWN-EYED girl shows up on the island shaking. she'd never done anything so brash before, yet, here she was, so many miles away from everything she'd ever known and with nothing to her name . . . nothing other than that stupid quirk she'd been all but cursed with.

          stupid stars. stupid light. stupid gas. stupid universe.

          . . . so what if she's not exactly eloquent, she's too angry to care. what a wicked way to go, but cordelia figures it's better her than her parents. they do forgive her, eventually, but it takes quite a few conversations that last hours upon hours and some good, old fashion groveling. afraid of growing so close to someone that she can hurt them again, cordelia becomes a master of being seen and not heard; it's easier to not be missed if no one really knows you, after all.

          but it's incredibly lonely. living by a rule that an eleven-year-old version of herself created is becoming harder and harder with each passing day, especially when she starts having to lie to mom and dad when they ask about her friends ( cordelia never did like that sad sounding sigh that would always come across the line. ) so she creates these fanciful friends and their fantastic adventures across the isle. they all have their own quirks but they learn to live with them, learn to love them and, by extension, themselves. yeah, it sounds something out of a coming-of-age film that cordelia would probably love . . . but what her parents don't know won't hurt them.

          but it'll end up hurting cordelia. karma's been chasing not too far behind with its sight set on her and, one day, it finally gets her. a horrible accident, her mother exclaimed, so much blood and just -- what, what is going on? cordelia's heart was in her throat and she wanted to scream until she broke the sound barrier. she nearly went supernova ( quite literally, too. it took everything in her not to explode right then and there. ) her father was hit by some punk drunk driver and was announced dead on arrival . . . what? why would the universe do such a thing? why would those stupid stars that everyone swore by decide to take such an inherently good person away?

          it wasn't fair. cordelia fell into a deep deep depression. the stars didn't shine nearly as brightly as they once did ( there was no one to create new galaxies for anymore. ) every night, she'd watch the stars she'd created for her father, her mother, the old friends she knew in nara, die slow deaths. soon, there would be nothing left in the world with her namesake on it and cordelia, all at once, found that to be a crying shame. call it her father's optimism finally rubbing off on her, or just simply finding it hard to keep lying to her now-widowed mother.

          she was going to find some friends . . . anyhow, anyway. if karma, the stars, the government, anything or everything was keeping an eye on her, she’d at least give them a worthwhile show.

🌌 —  PERSONALITY TRAITS.

POSITIVE : appropriate, brave, balanced, sugary, polite, organized, practical.

NEGATIVE : co-dependent, stuffy, standoffish, aloof, lethal, anti-social, incapable, dishonest.

LABEL : the doll . . . beautiful but fragile / untouchable.

EASTERN ZODIAC SIGN : THE RAT . . . a clever, quick thinker; successful, but content with living a quiet and peaceful life.

WESTERN ZODIAC SIGN : ARIES / THE RAM . . . a fire sign.  a passionate, motivated, and confident leader who builds community with their cheerful disposition and relentless determination. uncomplicated and direct in their approach, they often get frustrated by exhaustive details and unnecessary nuances.

PERSONALITY TYPE : INTJ / THE ARCHITECT . . . highly analytical, creative and logical.

🌌 —  THE CONNECTION IDEAS .

AURIGA / THE CHARIOTEER  . . . you and cordelia live in the same building. you have the ( un ) fortune of living above her, and in the middle of the night, you awaken to so many odd noises. when you look outside your window, you see her in the middle of the field painting the night sky with thousands of sparkling lights. stars . . . and so many of them! maybe you like them, maybe you ask her to spell out a swear word in the sky, or maybe you just want to sleep.

CASSIOPEIA - THE QUEEN  . . . cordelia rubs you the wrong way. that emotionless void of a girl has gotten on your last nerve and you are going to show her. how? you're not sure yet, but she will rue the day she ever crossed you. wait, what do you mean she's not that bad? that's not fair! you're supposed to hate her . . . wait, did you ever?

CYGNUS - THE SWAN . . . you fell for a vision. no, literally, a vision. they say you only dream up faces you've seen in real life, and for some reason, cordelia is that face. maybe she visits you in dreams and messes with your head, or maybe she's that serial killer who runs after you down the never-ending hallway with a knife in her hand and a smile on her face. how do you deal with seeing her . . . all the time?

GEMINI - THE TWINS . . . something happened and you were both in a tough situation, with cordelia being in the tougher of the two. you two strike a deal to help one another, but you tell her that she owes you. whatever she owes you, that's the deal ( please don't be weird about it tho ) and, for as long as you'd like, she can run around and do your errands for you, tell everyone your blunt opinion of them ( she's pretty good at that ) or just have to listen to you sing the entire aladdin soundtrack over and over again at 3 am. your call.

LYRA - THE LYRE . . . cordelia's never been the type to truly understand people. she always thought that it was because she was so sheltered growing up, really choosing to spend her time with her parents and a select friends from school. however, as she's grown up, she's come to learn that she does want to understand people . . . she just can't. not for trying, but she's too blunt, too sardonic, too -- cordelia. which is why she enlists your help. you're the golden child and she'd like a little bit of that sparkle to shine on her, thank you very much.

ORION - THE HUNTER . . . call it fate, destiny, whatever you will -- something brought you and cordelia together for a fun summer romance. however, now that summer’s melted into fall and everything is getting colder, so did your romance. you broke it off in a way that you thought was amicable but cordelia would be quick to disagree with. she doesn’t want you back, per say, but she does wish that she could have had better closure than a single text message . . . then again, she wasn’t exactly an angel in the relationship either. after she drops off one of your hoodies, you find a crumpled up note stuck in the pocket of someone confessing their love for cordelia . . . during your relationship. seriously, it includes your name and everything! do you confront her, or do you try and get the pair together?

URSA MAJOR - THE BIG BEAR . . . she didn’t mean to, honestly !! you just so happened to be hit by that star and, oh god, it’s like the entire ordeal with her parents all over again. only except she doesn’t really know you. every day during your stint in the hospital, you receive a bouquet of beautiful flowers -- maybe they’re your favorites or maybe they’re the type you cannot stand -- with the same note. i’m sorry. you figure it isn’t from anyone you know; it can’t be, can it? on your second-to-last day, the apologetic message is accompanied by an address and a little, scratchy handwritten note asking to meet someone there. against your better judgement you do, but no one is there . . . until you look up in the sky to see an incredible array of different-colored gasses ,you’ve never seen a nebula up close, save for photographs. a tall, black-haired girl walks beside you and begins to explain that she did not mean to hit you with a shooting star. she was simply practicing but her aim isn’t where it needs to be. do you believe this girl, or run as far as you can away from her?

#quirks:intro

[fantasyfandommaiden]

ML Counsellor AU: Adrien Agreste’s Session

Carmine let out a low sigh as she reread her the purple file in front of her, sipping her tea.

‘Most likely male due to the voice, attacks happen throughout the day meaning he either doesn’t work, works from home or is freelance...’ she reread her notes from the multiple sessions she had done so far, as well as some proven facts from the Ladyblog. ‘No noticeable accent when speaking, so most likely a true Parisian. Also, most terrorist are middle aged, especially those who act alone.’

Carmine was stopped mid thought when she heard a timid knock at her door, causing her to blink and look at her watch. Class’s for the day would be finished in roughly 20 minutes and she didn’t have any appointments this afternoon.

She closed the file and placed it in a drawer “It’s open.” She called.

The door opened and revealed a student that Carmine had never spoke to but recognized instantly. It was hard not to with his face being all over Paris on billboards and buses.

Adrien gave her a small smile “Hello Mlle Regal.” He said “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

Carmine gave the young man a warm smile before gesturing to one of the chairs in her office “Of course Adrien, have a seat. Would you like some tea?”

Adrien smiled kindly, sitting down “No thanks Mlle Regal, Im fine.” He said looking around in a nonchalant manner. “So, Nathalie says she has known you for a long time” he began, looking straight at her.

Carmine raised a brow, not sure where this conversation was going. Nathalie’s birthday wasn’t for a few months yet, and she had yet to be akumatized as far as she knew. “Yes, we were roommates in university.” She said sipping her tea “She was a business major and I was in a duel credit of development and applied psychology.”

“So... you knew her when she began to work for my parents?” He asks tentatively. Carmine looked at him curiously, beginning to see where this is going “Yes...”

“Did you ever... meet them?”

Carmine gave Adrien a small, sad smile “... unfortunately Adrien, I never got a chance to meet Emilie.”

Adrien noticeably slumped at the comment “O...oh.... I just though... well, Nathalie said that you were a close friend of hers, and if I needed someone to talk to about anything, including mom, that I should... I thought that maybe you might know her.”

Carmine looked at Adrien very carefully, taking as much information in as she possibly could. He wasn’t that skinny considering he was a model, however it wouldn’t hurt for him to gain a few pounds, and he has spoken very formally to her from the beginning. She recalled a conversation she had with Nino about how polite and reserved Adrien was, and how the young DJ was trying to get Adrien to break out of his shell.

“Have you spoken to anyone about your mother since her disappearance?” Carmine asked him softly, to which the young man shook his head “I mean, I tried to speak with father, but he has been... busy since the disappearance, and Nathalie and Gorilla aren’t really that personable.”

“Gorilla?” Carmine asked, looking very confused at the name. Nathalie never mentioned a worker named Gorilla.

“My driver and body guard... it’s a nickname I gave him, he doesn’t talk much.” Adrien said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous manner.

“Ah.” Carmine said simply, sipping her tea. “When you say busy, do you mean distant?” The counsellor asked him gently, and Adrien tensed up.

“N-no!” He exclaimed, “Father is just very busy, what with running the Gabriel line and being the lead designer.” He expressed.

“... Adrien, doesn’t your father work from home?” Carmine asked slowly “Surely you at least have meals with him?” The model remained silent, looking down at the ground. “When was the last time you had a conversation with him face to face?” She pressed gently.

“... he’s been busy, I guess... it’s discouraging sometimes, but I’m fine with it.” He was a terrible liar to the point where it hurt just to listen to it.

And now Carmine felt like she had to up hold her promise to Nathalie about taking the stick out of Gabriel’s ass and hitting him with it. She understood perfectly well he was missing his wife, quite possibly in denial about it or mourning himself, but he had a child to look after as well, he didn’t have the option to be like this nearly 16 months after Emilie Agreste’s disappearance.

“Well Adrien, if you want someone to talk to, my door is ALWAYS open.” Carmine told him in a matter of fact tone.

Adrien blinked slowly, looking at Carmine confused “But... there is nothing wrong with me. I mean, I miss my mom sure, but I don’t really have a right to complain. I’m fine, I mean, father just isn’t the best at showing he cares, but he’s the only one that seems to genuinely care about me in the house.”

“It’s not about whether you have a right or not to complain Adrien.” Carmine explained to him gently “Also, this isn’t complaining. If your upset, or happy or lonely, or even angry your allowed to express that, I’m sure someone in your house would listen, whether that is your father, Nathalie or Gorilla.” She insisted to him. He didn’t say anything, clearly not believing her.

“Father is busy, and Nathalie and Gorilla only ‘care’ before they work for him...” he said softly, looking down at the ground still.

Carmine began to remember back to a few moments earlier in the year with her friend Nathalie.

When Mrs. Agreste’s investigation into her disappearance began to loose steam and Nathalie asked if Carmine knew any grief counsellors that Adrien could talk to.

The first day of school, before Carmine was even hired, Nathalie had pleaded with her to give Nathalie any and all articles or thesis’s on the benefits of children being in a public school setting verse being home schooled.

When Carmine was first hired, Nathalie asked Carmine to look out for him discreetly and that if Adrien ever came to her, to help any way she could. All of this had been done off of company time, and Nathalie insisted she had to do what was best for Adrien, to get him out of the house, to have some friends, to have a life.

She had actually got a text message from Nathalie earlier that days, asking how much free time a teenager should have, had if Carmine had any articles she could read up on. Carmine guessed that Adrien’s schedule was beginning to become full again, and Nathalie was trying to find any excuse she could to help lighten his load.

“No matter what Nathalie’s surname may say about her.” Carmine said to Adrien gently, looking at him with a warm smile “She is the opposite of heartless Adrien. She actually cares a great deal, she just has to be professional well she is working, which means she has to balance a fine line between professionalisms and being too personal.” She informed him gently “I can’t say too much, but know she does care and she does listen, and I am sure ‘Gorilla’ cares about you a great deal as well.”

Adrien looked up at her, starring her straight in the eyes “... your not saying that just to be nice, right?” He asked gently. Carmine raised a brow, giving him a deadpanned stare.

“Adrien, I may be called the Human Lie Detector, but I try my best not to lie, and I am being truthful about this.” Carmine explained to him. The young blonde looked at Carmine for a long moment, before giving a soft, genuine smile.

Adrien sat there thinking for a long moment before nodding again.

“I guess,... I could try talking to father again. But if that doesn’t work, and I did need someone to talk to, not that I really do...” he looked at Carmine expectantly.

“Than my door is always open, like I said.” Carmine said to him, smiling. The smile fell however when both hers and Adrien’s phones began to buzz loudly. Carmine lifted her phone and let out a soft groan “Akuma sited near the down town.” She muttered softly.

Adrien bolted out of his seat, causing Carmine to jump slightly. Adrien gave her an apologetic smile “Sorry, my driver is probably worried about me and I should get going!” He said going to the door quickly, before turning around and looking at Carmine “By the way Mlle Regal, thanks for giving me the ‘royal’ treatment.” He said giving her a wink with some finger guns before running full blast out of her office.

All Carmine could do is blink, noting how fast the teen was, but wasn’t nervous when she mentioned the akuma, he looked excited almost, as well as determined.... another student she would have to keep an eye on it seems.

#ml au #ladybug au #counsellor au #adrien agreste #carmine regal #nathalie sancoeur

[jedimasteramell]

Two Halves of a Whole

Original Characters // SFW // Post-SWTOR

Still doing OC Kiss Week cause Im slow as shit but determined! Set way post end-game with my Jacoac, and @uldren-sov‘s Azred’vsyt.

--------------------------

“There, you can touch it now, how’s that feel?”

If there was one thing Jacoac never had learned in his over fourty years of life, even with more than three of those decades spent as a jedi, it was sitting still. He reached up to test the newly trimmed beard on his face and itch at the spots he’d been dying to for the last half hour, much to Azred’s chagrin. “More importantly,” he tilted his head back, fixing his dedicated barber with a blind eye, “how do I look? Handsome enough for you?”

That earned a groan from Az, who lightly cuffed the back of his head in turn. “Someday Im going to accidentally nick you if you keep on squirming, and purposely if you insist on saying things like that.” His tone may have been even, and to those who didn’t know him, annoyed in the way a master would be of a dear student who refused to pay attention, but Jac knew him far better than that. Under the rule-weighty no-nonsense mask, Jac knew Azred to be a man of humor and affection, with an affinity for the natural order of the force, and one who loved him deeply.

They’d been bonded for nearly as long as they’d known each other after all.

“You like my face too much to do that to me.” Jac teased, as cocky now as he’d been as a teen, albeit with a few more scars and a better peace within himself. He felt the press of Az’s faux annoyance as if it were his own, allowing his own warm endearment to permeate into Azred. After all these years, even the greatest spiritual master would be hard pressed to tell where one of them ended and the other began.

“Jac you’d look like a crazed hermit living if I wasn’t here to make sure you brushed your hair and bathed and you know it. Your appearance is on the line as much as my sense of smell.” Az ignored the expectant purse of Jacoac’s lips, running his fingers through Jac’s amber hair to fluff out the haircut. It would be difficult to say who enjoyed the sensation more, even if they were both practiced at covering it.

Humming absently, Jac let Az take the last word so he could savor the experience of Az’s fingers in his hair. He wished for little more honestly, these small moments of tenderness amidst their daily lives as Knights of the Order, were everything to him. Feeling particularly nostalgic, Jac took one of Az’s hands in his own, bringing his lips to the knuckles where he knew the back geometric tattoos emblazoned Azred’s rich green skin.

“‘Like the sunlight through the leaves of Tython’s canopies’.” Az’s turn to tease. “You say that every time you know.”

“I didn’t say it, I thought it.” Jac smarted with another kiss, unable to help his grin. “And you should stay out of my head.”

“You first.” Az retorted, laughter coming through the mock incredulity. He slipped his finger’s free of Jac, settling both hands on Jac’s shoulders, looking at them in the mirror. Spirits, it’d been so so many years, so many things had changed, evolved, but here they were, Az still helping Jac shave as he’d started doing more than twenty-five years ago. Back when they were padawans, back before they’d known they begun to be bonded. His grip tightened to a surge of affection from Jac.

The blind man went back to running his palm across his thick beard, examining himself in the mirror he knew was there but he couldn’t see. “Yeah I look good. All thanks to you.” There were so many things he couldn’t do without Az’s help. Once he may have resented that, but he wouldn’t have become the person he was without Az ever by his side, helping him, even when he didn’t want it. Jac winked at Az’s reflection, or at least he hoped he did. His age-old charm earned a smile he felt rather than saw.

“I’m not falling for that one again, you ruined that about ten years ago.” So many countless jokes and countless times Az had fallen for one of Jac sly comments about ‘seeing’. Stars, he should have a tattoo for that one…

They both drifted into the silence of two who didnt need to talk to be companions, they two of them musing on memories and what else they’d get p to for the day. As Jac’s thoughts drifted in search for the last time Azred had fallen for his sight joke, he felt Az shift attention, a passing thought about his tattoos and then some little cloudy knot of worry.

“Whats wrong?” He could have pried if he wished, but they had well established rules about that.

“Nothing.” Az said hastily, then, sensing Jac’s friendly doubt he sighed. “Okay I don't know really, something just feels… Off.”

Though he didn’t need to, or rather the act was vaguely pointless, Jac turned in the chair so that his webbed-scarred eyes were on Azred. Just because he was blind didn’t mean he was free of social courtesies. “You’re fretting again, about your tattoos…..” Jac frowned and cocked his head, pondering. “You’re second guessing that the Council has you training younglings.” He ventured.

Az winced, and Jac felt that. “Yeah, I don’t know, I got a lot of these so fast, and I know we’ve done a lot, but to be a hand in raising the next generation of jedi? What if I don't do well, what if Im a poor teacher?”

Jac shook his head, and used his instincts to find Az’s hands and take them in his own. “Oh Azred…” His expression softened as he ran his hand up Az’s bicep, thumbing over the cuff of tattoos he knew to be there, ones Az had earned for his effort in rebuilding. “You haven’t been a poor teacher yet, the younglings look up to you. Dont tell me you haven’t put in all the experience and more in all the years we’ve been friends.” Jac will his reassurance along their bond to Az, who rolled his lips in consideration.

“I know we’ve done a lot but-”

“C’mon Az,” Jac interrupted his tone firm and affectionate as his touch. “Do you think I’m ready to be training younglings? Me, of all people.”

“Why not, you’ve really come a long way Jac, you're putting in so much effort to be a great master.” Azred sounded near scandalized by Jac’s implication.

“And I’d still be a lonely little brat if you hadn’t been with me.” Scolding gently, he spoke a bit like a master there didn’t he. “You got me to turn out okay, better than expected really, you’re not going to fail Az, it's all learning, growing, stepping beyond your past mistakes, and you know that better than anyone.” Jac beamed brightly, and tried to drag Az down into the kiss he’d been after for over an hour.

Unable to stave off the love and support he received from Jac, Az sighed and bent into the kiss, cradling Jac head in his palms. “It's always a day when you start talking sense.” A huff of laughter escaped him, and Az looked across Jac beautiful face he knew better than his own. If he focused just enough he could see in his mind's eye the glowing golden aspect that Jac saw him as. No amount of self doubt could stand against that light. He met his lips again, savoring the warmth, the familiarity, the scent of the aftershave Az himself had picked for Jac. “Even more so when you’re right.” He murmured mirroring the smile; he’d never tire of their banter.

“Im right fairly often.” Jac grinned, and Az kissed him furiously again just to put a cap on both their laughter..

Jac didn’t need to say anything else anyway, some things were best left unsaid, and some things, well, there simply weren’t enough words to do them justice.

#My writing #jacoac lenn #others ocs #otp: two halves of a whole #I was getting super emotional thinking about how much these two love each other #and just like how much theyve both been there to help the other grow #or just keep the other on track

[jess-oh]

Reflection

hey journal! my body is under a lot of stress today—probably from lugging around my laptop all day, errrday. 

i really dont even know who i am anymore or where my priorities lie or anything. ive been more pessimistic and self deprecating recently. but it was pretty nice to read my journal entries from the mission field and rewatching/listening to the performances from the festival in Turkey! I miss it all.

I totally forgot how much I struggled with my own innerdemons and pride while I was there! I’m glad I documented it. 

I felt pretty challenged by Jason earlier. I think my go to is to hate myself and make a joke about it. I simultaneously think I’m better than everyone else and hate myself whenever I compare myself to those around me, lol. What a strange complex indeed.

I think the biggest thing I learned while in Turkey was to not be so results oriented. tbh, i think my thoughts and emotions have just been so clouded recently and i havent been able to think straight in a long time. a lot of what i’ve said has contradicted other statements ive made. im not who i used to be. i used to be so good at being vulnerable and honest and real and genuine and really did care for others. but ive grown a lot more selfish since then. how can i call myself a Christian and claim these goals when I myself am not living them out? I want to. I’ve been wanting to help others but moreso bc i wanted to feel better about myself and not because i just wanted them to be okay. and i think thats why ive been struggling to create these more intimate bonds and relationships as of recently. im so quick to judge far too often and i really dont want to bc who am i to say or judge anyone? only God can do that. we all have our own stories and sin. i feel like I’m “further” in my relationship with God than others but what does that matter if I’m not moving forward? At least they are deliberately spending more time with God and not just remaining stagnant and complacent in their position! And when I have had the opportunity to talk to people, I’ve found myself finding the conversation boring and wanting to move onto the next best thing instead of just treasuring the moment and opportunity that I had right then and there. I’ve allowed myself to become far too prideful and I want to come from a much more humble mindset once more. Everyone is hurting and everyone has their own story. It isn’t my job to fix them. It isn’t my responsibility and no one expects me to do so. 

In February, I honestly didn’t want to live anymore. I think Sharlene helped a lot and going home to be with friends and family and attend Robbin’s funeral helped a lot. But I felt like I was in so much suffering and it felt overwhelming. He was dead and even in Turkey when I saw someone who looked like him, I was so shocked and distraught at the thought of having to relive that pain and see him again that I couldn’t help but cry and lose focus. My grandpa had cancer and things weren’t looking good. I couldn’t even bring myself to sing “Little Miss Sunshine” and I couldn’t even imagine a reality or possibility where he did pass away. I felt so much guilt and shame after Robbin passed. All the things I could have said. All the things I should’ve done. But I never did. And just like that, he was gone. And I felt like I was in an excruciating amount of pain and suffering. It didn’t matter if I was on the train or walking home or anywhere else public. I didn’t care anymore. At all. I had lost my family. He was gone. And I was so tempted to kill myself bc being with God in Heaven and having eternal life seemed like a much sweeter reality than the Hell I was living in. I didn’t trust the people at Lakeview yet and honestly, I still don’t. Though I am doing better.

I can’t make people happy because I myself am in so much misery. I am so pessimistic and upset and miserable. How could I possibly bring someone joy when I myself am feeling the opposite? I want to radiate with warmth and stand firm in my identity with the Lord. Not in aimlessly walking in this dark chasm that I’ve been walking in for who knows how long. There’s a lot that I don’t say in fear that it is “not as much” in comparison with others. There’s a lot that I don’t say because I don’t want people to see me as weak or think I’m less able of accomplishing certain tasks. 

I don’t want to help for the sake of helping. I want to help because I genuinely care. I’ve grown to be so selfish and apathetic towards it all. And God, I truly am so sorry for the things that I’ve said and the things that I’ve done. I am a child of God. I am a child of God. I am a child of God.

I used to jump at the chance of sharing common interests with others because I knew how lonely it had been being in the outside circle and never fitting in. Never having the opportunity to getting to know anyone because I was judged before I even had the chance. And my bitterness has definitely taken form and prevented me from doing a lot of things. It’s prevented me from going back to Sa-Rang without seeing them all as enemies targeting me. It’s prevented me from really trusting people within the church. How I can I hope to build a culture based in vulnerability when I myself am not willing to do so?

“Judge not, that you be not judged. 2 For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you. 3 Why do you see the speck that is in your brother's eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? 4 Or how can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when there is the log in your own eye? 5 You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother's eye.” Matthew 7:1-4

I want to be genuinely interested and invested in others. When they share what their interests are, I want to take the time to indulge myself in those things so that I may better understand them. I want to build a community and intentional relationships with these people. I don’t want to help so that people can praise my name. I want to help because I care about them. 

I think I’ve been more selfish and conceited recently because I am so desperate for someone to care about me. And I am so blind to the fact that people do. I think Johnathan cares, Jason cares, P. Josh cares, Amanda cares, and I’m sure Johnny does too. David L. cares, Rachel cares, Joyce P. cares. My sister cares, my mom cares, my dad cares. Jeanne cares, Sofia cares, Andrew cares. But I have been so blinded by my own self hatred and criticism that I haven’t been able to see or accept that. I just keep digging my own grave and running into a brick wall when they are more than willing to help. I just have to be honest and reach out to them. Asking for help doesn’t make me a burden. It is only when I expect them to always be by my side in every moment but if I am genuine about it and try to care for them.

By my own standards, I am the worst dirt of the Earth. By those around me, they praise me for my commitment, hard working nature, and determination to get anything done that I set my mind to. I don’t want to believe I’m better than anyone else because I really am not. I am so broken in my ways. I am so confused and lost and feel like I’ve seen nothing but darkness for so long. In February, I decided to try and go all in with God and see if anything changed. If I read the Bible, if I got super involved at church, went on a mission, and really did my best to give everything I am to the Lord and live a life so deeply rooted within the church, what would happen? If I still wasn’t happy and felt miserable then I would know it wasn’t worth it and God is not real in the end. And I would cast Him out and pretend He is fake. And that mindset of going all in has lowkey been super toxic to my faith. Because yes, I have been doing all these things and usually with an ulterior motive in mind. But because of this underlying doubt and caution, I’ve been so quick to point out inconsistencies and almost desperate to find any possible crack in the stone. But going to Turkey did really rekindle my faith, I think. There were moments when God was just so undeniable and real. When I talked to Arzu and my heart so desperately broke for her. 

I don’t want to be afraid to sing loudly at church or be honest about how I’m feeling or really cry out to God during a Sunday service. I so desperately need Him. And this underlying fear has been getting in the way of me really going deeper with Him. I don’t know how long it will take for me to find my identity in Him once more. But thank you God for giving me that wakeup call because if not, I may have ended up like Johnathan’s roommate and left the faith altogether because I tried to serve too soon without having a firm foundation first in you. I do want to better equip myself. I do want to serve your people. I don’t want to serve because it’ll make me look “cool.” I don’t want to serve because of how others will perceive me. I just want to serve just as I am with all that I am. And I pray that I may be a humble servant before you, God. Because your word will not be shaken, God. It will not.

I want to have full confidence in the Lord. Knowing that my identity 

I think initially coming into my freshman year, I was so scared and intimidated by everyone. But I was also much more real and genuine at the time. I think in some part because of all the heartbreak I’ve had to face the past few years as well as hanging out with the wrong people and turning away from God has left me very bitter and apathetic and self-centered and conceited and too afraid to be real. I put up a facade and walls upon walls upon walls up to protect myself from others. It’s in part because of Sa-Rang. But it’s also because I have felt pain so deeply and extremely during my time in college. And it’s honestly been so hard. I’ve relied on people to help me through those moments time and time again but something always happens when I can no longer be friends with them in that capacity anymore. Saying guys and girls are different and can’t trust the MAST guys bc they’re guys is just a cop-out. It’s an excuse so that I don’t have to open myself up. I don’t want to judge/rebuke for the sake of doing so. I want to say these words because I care so much about my friends and genuinely want the best for them. 

God, this is my prayer to you. I don’t want to do these things for the sake of doing them but I want to do them so that I may better honor and glorify you. I do need a community. I do desire just coming as I am to someone. Anyone. I need another Sharlene in my life. She was there for me when I didn’t know what to do. When my cousin had passed away, I didn’t care about anything anymore. I don’t want to brag about the things I’ve done anymore. It’s uncomfortable for everyone and doesn’t make me feel any better about myself. 

My family is not nearly as terrible as I make them out to be but that doesn’t make me any less scared of going home.

Instead of judging people for the things they may say against me, I want to be able to pray for them and lift them up in love.

I want to love as Christ has loved us.

I want to be so confident in my faith that I would be more than willing to die for Christ, regardless of the circumstances. Whether I must lead a life of suffering or face an immediate, I want to be willing. Even if I am imprisoned or socially outcasted or physically punished, I want to still stand tall and firm in my faith. Knowing that my God is so much greater than anything on this Earth.

#reflection

[fzhrrr]

Of career, family, and love life.

I cant believe that Im now at a point of deciding for my future. The biggest decision I had to make was 7 years ago after SPM, tryna figure out what course to take and which scholarship shall i apply for. The next 7 years was sealed on me dedicating my life to pursue medicine, and now that’s done and dusted.

I found myself at this heavy junction again, having to make a decision that will determine not just the next 7 years of my life, but probably the rest of it.

Upon graduating from college, I now need to apply for my housemanship, which is basically 2 years of compulsory training as a doctor. Some facts that might help you understand this better.

1. There are 6 rotations for housemanship; o&g, paediatrics, medical, surgical, emergency med and orthopaedics. Each lasting for 4 months. so 6x24 makes its 24 months which is 2 years.

2. You might get extended in those posting for another 2 months, so 2x6, brings us to an additional 1 year. ( Reasons for extension are highly variable)

3. All hospitals in Malaysia is known to have a malignant department. It is never set in stone that if you’re the best student in your class, your housemanship would be smooth sailing.

4. You can only change hospital in the same state, after 1 year of working.

5. You are the lowest of the lowest in the hospital food chain. Eating, sleeping, going back home in time for dinner would be a luxury.

Anyway.

5 years ago I was pretty set on doing my ho in Sabah. They have nice places to visit there, the allowance is big, and there’s no better time to work hard and earn money than the beginning of your career. However, when Dad started falling ill, I was then determined that I should/will/must do my ho in hukm. At least I could take care of him whenever he’s admitted. On nights when he’s lonely, I could just wear my white coat and doze off at his bedside. If mom is not feeling well, i’ll be around and be the first one to attend to her needs. I was away for so long, its now my time to stay home.

But a few things have changed since. Each with big consequences, that i feel so torn apart being pulled in so many directions.

Firstly Dad died. I wont even go to the emotional roller coaster this has caused me, but he died. Even before i got to take care of him. Even before i came home as a doctor. I looked at my mom and in my heart i feel there’s no way i would leave her now. But my relationship with mom was never really good to begin with. What keeps me safeguarding her is my personal conscience and responsibility as a daughter, rarely out of love. She was never really happy with what I do. Of the few months that I am properly home, she supported me, helped me out with my own chores (yes, even at 25) when i had a job and she mothered well. But i also have this itch that she never really liked me. With dad being no longer around, she dominates the whole vibe in the house. She would comment on every single thing i do; the clothes i wear, the route i chose when taking her out, the food i eat, the friends i see- because I am living with her under the same roof, she has this sense of control over me. Which of course i am very uncomfortable with, and which i also know, wont be a problem in the first place, if im not constantly home.

I also do understand at 25 years old, this is the point of my life where i need to serve my family. Before I ran out of parents to serve.

Ok, thats the family situation

So the second thing to consider is A. It just so happened in my last year of med school i fell in love with a guy from Muar. Omg that is so cheesy. But yes, I met someone that i legit think I want to spend the rest of my life with. Keep in mind, that he too has the same “its the time for me to be with my family” notion in his head. 

This wouldnt be a problem if like him, I can say ok lets just do our ho separately, maybe save up for a year till its enough for us to get married, finish our ho respectively and finally after three years apart we will be together.

Hah. Not when everything that involves distance fell apart in my life. I could not bring myself to agree with the idea of maintaining the relationship for three years, during our housemanship. It doesnt make sense at all in my head, to stay loyal to an idea. The ideal situation would be to stay together, either me in Muar, or A in Selangor, but again, would you risk it all for an idea?

I operate on logic and not fairytales. Love fades, relationship gets messy but come hell or high water, family stays. 

But you want love, you need love, and sometimes you do believe that love wins. I could be in a room full of people and still feel lonely. Its when A arrives that i feel whole again. Recently I spent a whole day meeting friends while A was busy at work. I thought i had fun and sure it was nice catching up, but it was only at the end of the day, when I got to sit down with A for a late dinnner, i felt genuinely happy. The peaceful kind, the why the hell watching him sip tomyam is bringing me so much joy kinda happy. His presence just ignites something in me.

Worn out, yet loved.

A’s pants can be up to his tits and i’d still find it weirdly adorable.

How now?

[skyquack-blog]

I am in such a bad mood you guy's A survivor story WiLL FolloW Legit this is a story of triumph and survival... Please read this. If i ever post anything important THIS is it so please for me read this!! This is my story and its pretty amazing. :'( Here i want all ya'll judging me right now to read this and think about it for a moment okay... This is what i wish would happen to you ass holes who cant keep you fucking opnions and scruteny to yourself... Okay!! Go back in time and be essentially a "shut in" with no actual friends to hang out with or talk to mostly because your suffering from certin aspects of schizophrenia that you as well as your family arent aware of... so here we are living under a rock way more quiet than the average human being dealing with weird ass issues like hearing voices and feeling like people can hear your thoughts and feel your emptional states so as a result you shut up and keep to yourself all the time... Then for the first time ever since ever you move to town and get yourself a friend who is mind you border line psychotic but she likes you and shes fun... now 6 months of this and suddenly BOOM your pregnant at 17... your baby daddy dont wanna hang around dont seem to give a fuck bout you even tho he does ect... Spend the next 2 years of your life fighting hard core yelling matches breaking things in a desperate ploy to get your baby daddy to fucking come home... Fight like this hard every day damn near for 2 fucking years b4 you finally give up... Then at 20 i want you to be the single mom of 2 children work every day pay all your own bills take care of and try to raise 2 kids all the while looking back on your bad relationship trying to find a new better more loving and equal partner ship (as a parent so young mind you your only 20)... and now here is for the fun part... Your 22 years old now and you found your self a psychopath... yup full on crazy ass mother fucking manipulative beyond your wildest understanding of manipulation im talking weird mk ultra shit going on and you fall head over heels in love... Great things are stupid as fuck by now but hey your in love who care right??? Well they get even dumber for some unknown reason to you still to this day your kids dad and his family decide to rip your 3 year olkd son away from you and your in a state of total SHOCK and cant seem to even think............ Cant even think........... Your still in shock....... Your son is gone. SEVERAL MONTHS PASS B4 your even allowed to talk to him........ your 3 year old son.... its just you the baby and the psychopath and daily texts from your BFF..... You finally push loosing physical custody and not being abel to have ANY contact with your son of which YOU HAVE COMPLETLY TAKEN CARE OF AND RAISED BY YOUR FUCKING SLEF so deep down insode of you it hurts even to simply think about him but now you get to visit CAUTIOUSLY btw.... Are we done yet??? NOPE!!! Alrigh well now your 23 god damn years old you survived a horrible relationship screaming and fighting, having your 3 year old son ripped away from you DATING A PSYCHOPATH (which has its own uneik set of fucking issues btw like rejection on a constant basis as well as being manipulated into self destruction yourself as well as your life without knowing your doing it) Dating a psychopath.... LOOK IT UP and suddenly out of no fucking ware you go through one of THE MOST INTENSE ONSETS OF SCHIZOPHRENIA most people and doctors could imagine happening to somebody... I mean normally people notice little symptoms like hearing voices and shit... Its already a rare brain disorder but its even less frequent for somebody to go through a full blown psychosis... Thats you... That 1 in 1million out of a billion going through a psychosis RAISING 2 CHILDREN IN LOVE WITH A PSYCHOPATH MENDING A BROKEN RELATIONSHIP WITH THERE CONTROLLING ANGRY FATHER ECT... EVERYONE THINKS YOUR HIGH ON DRUGS AND YOUR NOT.... Also not only are you experiencing this intense onset but your BFF ditches you cuz shes a huge attention whore bitch and suddenly you actually need her to be there ONLY for you and she just cant have that in her life so now your alone in the world... AGAIN!! For several years actually... You spend years recovering yourself your personality your ability to properly communicat eand associate or identify with yourself and the world around you because yeah the onset was that bad... Your relearnign and TEACHING YOURSELF how to human agin (nobody knows nobody gives a fuck) it was bad people... really really bad!!! Okay cool you think you have been through enough so quickly right i mean like within a 3 or 4 year time span you've encountered the worst of the worst for the most part loosing your son giving up week days with you daughter DATING A PSYCHOPATH that stupid relationship that was hugely stressful Did i mention that you were working full time paying all yo bills on yo own taking care of yo kiddow by yourself living essentially completly isolated at least 20 minutes to half an hour away from EVERYBODY you know you indapendent as fuck b4 this onset... SOBER dont even drink!! Your good to go... like good to fucking go... But no during this onset you loose your JOB ($10 an hour mind you that you were bad ass at and loved and ready to retire from) you loose your car you loose your house (for the better part of owning a home you cant live in it anymore) you LOOSE YOUR GOD DAMN MIND LITERALLY its gone schizo psychosis took it from you and held you captive no joke... your insane... considering your an adult now and not a child and your less susceptable to things you should be done by now right... NOPE so your by this point LONELY as fuck and kind of clueless cuz why has life been so hard for me man like i didnt intentionally fuck shit up for myself you know... i really honestly didnt... and you have a new outlook on things which is kind of really uneik considering how things have gone for you, your boundaries thanks to the schizo are all fucked up and off but you have managed to like regain certin aspects of your personality enough to feel strong and confident and your head on going itno life full force with hope and determination you got a year and a half of university under your belt ect... your not done... Your addicted to meth right now... yup whole heartedly consuming the shit out of one of the worst drugs IN THE WORLD right now... You know your addicted (your 26 btw) and your doing your absoulte best to quit (have i mentioned thanks to the schizo you pretty much went a year without physical custody of your other kiddo just so you could actually manage that year and a half in college which killed you every singel day to be away from her so that was hard) well even though your really trying to stop like really trying so hard you call 911 one night and ask an officer for help... okay cool your like a fucking METH ADDICT HERO by all tweeker standards lolz Well you go to some friends for help and instead of keeping it in the family they call DFS and even though you have done EVERYTIHG in your power INCLUDING giving you kiddow to friends of the family to look after while you go to rehab ect... yeah now you actually legally lost custody of your kid... The light of your life is gone... YOU ARE ALONE IN THE WORLD NOW... (both your fucking kids have been taken from you OMFG your entire life has been built arounf being a fuckin parent and now your nothing but a drug addict... they say time dont matter but dang a year on meth and my ENTIRE LIFE DISSAPEARED BEFORE MY EYES) you have nobody and nothing to look forward to on a dily baisis now... what do you do though?? By now youd think with all you been through how lonely you are how much of yourself and your life and the people you love that you have lost youd sink into a full blown life destroying meth addction... NOPE you actually get clean... YOU GOT SOBER OFF METH OF ALL DRUGS against all the odds set before you YOU GOT CLEAN (does anybody care nope) god i mean your not a success story at all by now. Not only have you survived being a single mom at such a young age as well as survived an tramatizing schizophreina onset loosing both of your kids and got away from a PSYCHOPATH but now you have survived a fucking meth addiction... JESUS CHRIST YOUR AN INSPIRATION do people think this about you??? NO not at all... your a looser fuck up crazy weirdo... damn and you thought you were doing good... nope... not yet... All you had through all of this was your mom. figures the strongest person you know is your fucking mom. Like nobody has survived as much shit as your mom accept you by this point. Sooo thanks mom for always being there when i needed you the most.. okay cool so here we are 7 fucking years later things have chilled out FINALLY for sure you got this after all that bull shit your pretty much back to normal and you got shit under control... K well i want you to look around and realize that nobody gives a shit... Your a LEGIT survivor and not one fucking person (welp accept oyur mom cuz shes the only one who really knows) gives a shit and people are constantly judging you thinkning you should have a job and be trying harder at life ect... You not doing the mom thing well enough your not doing the stay at home wife thing well enough your not being a productive member of society ect... Go through all that stereotypical DIFFICULT and CHALLENGING as well as RARE INSANITY and loss and then well and then place yourself under as much scrutiny as you can possibly imagin... Look around and realize that all the people in your life (beside maybe your mom) think your a puriah of the system cuz your living off a dissability check (a whopping $500 a month) a crazy weirdo your nothing but an insane weirdo looser lazy person... The only way anyobody will ever have any respect for you is if you get a pathetic $8 an hour job and pull yourself away from life as you know it now and work like the rest of humanity... GET A FUCKING JOB AND BE A BETTER PARENT BECAUSE YOUR A POS int he eyes of a lot of people close to you... CLEAN YOUR FUCKING KITCHEN AND COOK 9 course meals every single day... Your a looser I feel like dying right now... No joke :/ Im having a really bad fucking day~!!!!! Somebody mail me a fucking gold star okay!!

#schziophrenia #struggle #FML #addiction #recovery #life #love