the craziest part about being queer and closeted is that you don’t even know how exhausting it is until it hits in the most random situations

absolutely roller coster of an evening tonight i just got out of this absolutely deranged poetry class where i was critiquing one person’s writing and an entirely DIFFERENT person (not the one being critiqued) decided to get really defensive and turn into a fucking contrarian about literally everything i said ??? i had a feeling they didn’t like me but i literally do Not care about them or respect them At All so I didn’t even bother finding out what they thought abt me and now?? to have them go off on me MID CLASS was wild and i just fucking snapped

AND THEN i felt bad because all this went down and i really didn’t want the person who i was critiquing to think i didn’t like their work so i emailed them and just let them know that i really enjoyed their writing and they responded and said that they think im super intelligent in class and that they always look forward to what i have to say and i just fucking burst into tears

Sharing this from a FB group that I am in. I was very moved by the article and felt affinity with the experiences shared. A really sweet read.

Here is the article if you don't want to click on the link (I know it is a little long, but well worth your time to read!):

The letter I received ten years ago was unsigned and bore no return address. Clearly its author did not expect, much less want, a reply. A message in a bottle, from no one to no one, that letter still remains the most bizarre form of communication. It asks nothing but to be read, promises nothing but to share a few facts and feelings, and, seeing that it must have been dashed off on a lined yellow sheet that seemed hastily torn out of a pad of paper, the author would not be surprised if, after skimming through it, the recipient decided to crumple and lob it into the closest dust bin.

The letter is one page long. One page is enough. The handwriting is uneven, perhaps because the author had lost the habit of writing in longhand and preferred the keyboard. But his grammar is perfect. The man knew what he was doing. I assume he was writing the note by hand because he didn’t want traces of it on his laptop, or because he knew he was never going to send it as an email and risk a reply. Now that I think of it, he probably didn’t care if it even reached its recipient, a local Bay Area reporter who had mentioned my novel about two young men who fall in love one summer in Italy in the mid-1980s. The reporter eventually forwarded it to me, minus its envelope with the postmark. It took no time to see that all the author of the letter was looking for was a chance to blurt out the words he couldn’t dare breathe elsewhere.

My book had spoken to him. His letter spoke to me.

So here it is: dated April 16, 2008.

I came upon Mr. Aciman’s book while on a business trip back East. Not the type of book I am normally able to read, so I bought a copy for the flight home. I think I’m glad I did.

You see, I was Elio. I was 18 and my Oliver was 22. Though the time and place were different, the feelings were remarkably the same. From believing that you are the only person who has these feelings, to the whole “he loves me – he loves me not” scenario, Mr. Aciman got it right. I was particularly impressed with the attention he gave to the morning after Elio’s and Oliver’s first encounter. The guilt, the loathing, the fear. I felt it too much. I had to put the book down for a while.

But in the end I was able to finish the book before we landed at SFO. Which was good, because I couldn’t take the book home. Unlike Elio it was I who married and had children. My Oliver died from AIDS in 1995. I’m still living a parallel life. My name is not important. His name was Dwight.

Instead, I kept the letter. I kept it for ten years.

What moved me was not just its sobering matter-of-factness or its hint of downplayed sorrow, but the associations it provoked in my mind. It reminded me of those short, clipped messages to loved ones, written by people about to be shipped off to the death camps who knew they’d never be heard from again. There is a chilling immediacy about their hurriedly scribbled notes that say everything there is to say in the fewest possible words — there wasn’t enough time for more, no smarmy pieties, no hand-wringing, no treacly hugs and kisses before the tragic end. It also made me think of the moving phone messages left by those who finally realized they were not going to make it out alive from the Twin Towers and that only their family’s answering machine was going to take their call.

“My name is not important,” he writes, almost as an apology for remaining anonymous; yet the author drops quite a number of hints about himself — hints he likely knows will stir his reader’s wistful curiosity to know what made him write the letter in the first place, what he hoped to accomplish, and if writing did indeed help. The letter itself allows us to see that he travels for business. We also sense that he probably lives in the Bay Area and that he travels not infrequently to the East Coast, since, as he writes, he is “back” in the East. And we know one thing more: that he simply needed to come out and tell someone that a man called Dwight had been his lover when the two were young. The rest is a cloud. We’ll never know more. Writing has served its purpose. We write, it seems, to reach out to others. Whether we know them or not doesn’t matter. We write to put out into the real world something extremely private within us, to make real what often feels unreal and ever so elusive about ourselves. We write to give a shape to what would otherwise remain amorphous. This is as true about authors as about those who want to correspond with them. Over the years, many have written to me either after reading or seeing Call Me by Your Name. Some tried to meet me; others confided things they’d never told anyone; and some even managed to call me at the office and, on speaking about my novel, would eventually apologize before bursting out crying. Some were in jail; some were barely adolescents, others old enough to look back at loves seven decades past; and some were priests locked in silence and secrecy. Many were closeted, others totally out; some were widows who felt a resurgence of hope if only by reading about the loves of two young men called Elio and Oliver in Italy; some were very young girls eager to meet their long-awaited Oliver; and some recalled former gay lovers whom they’d occasionally bump into years later but who���d never acknowledge what they’d once shared and done together when both were schoolmates and neither was married. All were keenly aware of living a parallel life. In that parallel life things are as they perhaps should be. Elio and Oliver still live together. And no one has secrets there.

Unlike Dwight’s lover, everyone who took the time to write to me did not withhold their names, but all had, at one point or another, withheld something very primal. They withheld it from themselves, from a relative, from a friend, a classmate, or colleague, or from a beloved who would never have guessed what troubled longings seethed below their averted gaze whenever they crossed paths.

Some readers wrote to tell me they felt that my novel had changed them, and given them new insights into themselves; some felt it was urging them finally to turn a new leaf in their lives. But some couldn’t go so far and, despite their perfect command of language, confessed lacking the words to explain why they were so moved by my novel or why they felt an unresolved longing for things they’d never considered or desired before. They were experiencing an upwell of emotions and of ungraspable might-have-beens that were asking to be reckoned with because they seemed more real than life itself, a sense of themselves that beckoned from an opposite bank they’d never known was there and whose potential loss now was a source of inconsolable grief. Hence their tears, their regrets, and the overpowering sense of being lost in their own lives.

And yet, they said, theirs were not tears of sorrow. They were tears of recognition, as though the novel itself were a mirror for readers to watch their own emotions laid bare before them. These responses made me aware that Call Me by Your Name does not call attention to anything readers didn’t already know, nor does it bring new truths or revelations; all it does is shed new light on things that were long familiar but that they never took the time to consider. It would be so tempting to say that they are reminded of their forgotten first loves; the truth is that all loves, even those that occur late in life, are first loves. There is always fear, shame, reluctance, and not a tiny dose of spite. Desire is agony.

Everyone who’s read Call Me by Your Name understands not only the struggle both to speak and hold back their truth but also the shame that comes whenever we want something from someone. Desire is always cagey, always secretive — we’ll tell everyone we know about the person we crave to hold naked in our arms, but the very last one to know this will be the person we crave. Same-sex desire is even more guarded and watchful, especially in those who are just discovering their sexuality. Awkwardness and desire are strange bedfellows at a young age, but shame and inexperience are just as paralyzing as fear when we watch them tussling with the urge to be bold. You’re torn between the raw horniness that makes you dream scenes you hope to forget as soon as you’re up and the scenes you pray you’ll dream again and again — if dreams are all you’ll have. Silence and solitude exact a cost that leaves us emotionally wrecked. At some point we need to speak.

So “is it better to speak or die?” asks Elio, the narrator of Call Me by Your Name, quoting words penned by the sixteenth-century Marguerite de Navarre in her collection of tales known as The Heptameron. Marguerite was the sister of King Francis I and the grandmother of Henry IV, himself the grandfather of Louis XIV, hence she was plenty familiar with court intrigue, gossip, and the risks of opening up to someone who may not welcome what’s in our heart and could easily make us pay for it. Not everyone who has written to me has dared to speak their hearts to those they loved. Some have sought silence — slow, lingering droplets of quiet desperation taken every night before bedtime until they realize they’ve been dead and didn’t even know it. Many have written to me with the feeling of having missed their chance when someone tethered his rowboat to their jetty and simply asked them to jump in. “Some sentence or thought on almost every page,” writes a reader, “triggers tears and knots my throat and chest. Tears well up in my eyes on the subway, at my computer at work, walking down the street. Perhaps I am weeping in part because I know that at my age there is virtually no possibility of experiencing anything remotely comparable to what Elio experiences with Oliver.” Someone else writes, “Reading Call Me by Your Name made me feel a love I never had.” A happily married 50-plus colleague took me aside and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this much in love in my whole life.” “I'm 23,” tweeted someone else, “and have never felt such love, until I read Call Me by Your Name. I feel like I lived it.” “Elio and I are essentially the same age,” writes a teenage girl. “I have never really experienced his environment of the Italian summer…My experiences have only taken place halfway between nature and smog, however I have felt the same tension, fear, guilt and overwhelming love that you express perfectly through both Elio and Oliver…Finding myself in Elio was something I never expected and I’m positive that I won’t experience anything quite like it ever again. The first girl I ever loved remains…the only girl I have ever loved and though everything she and I shared…lives now as a secret between two friends.” “I finished reading Call Me by Your Name a couple of days ago,” writes someone else, “and wanted to let you know how much it affected me. It felt like a narration of my thoughts that I had systematically buried long ago.” And finally this from a 72-year-old: “I was fascinated by the idea of parallel lives where would I have been if I had gone with him, where would I be if I traveled alone? Maybe the point is just what do I do with the gift you have given me during the remainder of my life.”

There are at least 500 more such letters and emails.

Some find themselves weeping at the end of the film or the novel, not for what happened long ago or for what did not and might never happen in their own lives but for what has yet to happen, for the terrifying moment when they too will soon have to decide whether to speak or die. This from an 18-year-old: “[Your novel] gives me hope that one day I will meet someone whom I desire so badly that I’ll actually find it in me to make a move, the way Oliver is that someone for Elio. Maybe my Oliver will also turn out to be someone that I realize I love as well as desire.” She was crying for a week, as was this 15-year-old young man: “I stopped reading…because I didn’t want [the book] to end, didn’t want the wounds that you caused me to close, I didn’t want to overcome, for some reason that I have yet to find out. I wanted to stay a wreck, emotionally and mentally fragile….My mother handed me tissues because she had never seen me cry like this. I had finished your book and ‘moved’ is too weak a word to express what your book had done to me. Here a week later and it is literally all I can think about, not my midterms coming up, but…Elio and Oliver and if it is better to speak or die. You answered questions I didn’t even think I had.”

Indeed, the whole novel seems to enable the outing of all manner of feelings, feelings from Elio’s relentless inward journey and obsessive self-examination that readers are invited to identify with. Through Elio’s unfettered introspection they too feel exposed and sliced open like a crustacean without a slough, now forced to look at itself in the mirror. No wonder they are moved. The mask that is torn off their faces is not just the mask that conceals same-sex desires from themselves and from others. Rather, it is the realization, through Elio’s voice, of what they truly feel, who they truly are, what they fear, what bears their signature, and what coy little shenanigans they go through to read others and hope to reach them. Some identified with some effusive sentences in my novel so much that they had them tattooed on their bodies. They even attach photos of these tattoos. People have also tattooed peaches on themselves!

But what moves most people — and this is as true now as it was when the novel first came out — is the father’s speech. Here he not only tells his son to nurse the flame and “don’t snuff it out” after his son’s lover has left Italy, but that he too, the father, envies his son’s relationship with a male lover. This speech tears away the last vestige of a veil between reader and truth and is a moving tribute to the irreducible honesty between father and son.

Most readers have written to me about the scene because the father’s speech rekindles the very difficult moment when they decided to come out to their parents — or, as is often the case with people 60, or 70 or older, it reminds them of the conversation they wished they’d had but never did have with their parents. This is the loss no one forgets and from which no one recovers after seeing Call Me by Your Name. It bears the very essence of that precious and life-defining might-have-been moment that never happened and never will.

Here is the speech:

“Look…[y]ou had a beautiful friendship. Maybe more than a friendship. And I envy you. In my place, most parents would hope the whole thing goes away, or pray that their sons land on their feet soon enough. But I am not such a parent. In your place, if there is pain, nurse it, and if there is a flame, don’t snuff it out, don’t be brutal with it. Withdrawal can be a terrible thing when it keeps us awake at night, and watching others forget us sooner than we’d want to be forgotten is no better. We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to feel nothing so as not to feel anything — what a waste!...

“… {L]et me say one more thing. It will clear the air. I may have come close, but I never had what you had. Something always held me back or stood in the way. How you live your life is your business. But remember, our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once. Most of us can’t help but live as though we’ve got two lives to live, one is the mockup, the other the finished version, and then all those versions in between. But there’s only one, and before you know it, your heart is worn out, and, as for your body, there comes a point when no one looks at it, much less wants to come near it. Right now there’s sorrow. I don’t envy the pain. But I envy you the pain.”

I received the anonymous letter sometime in early May 2008. At the time, I was staying at my parents’, because my father was suffering from throat and mouth cancer and was already in hospice care. He had refused radiation and chemotherapy, so I knew his days were numbered; though morphine was clouding his mind, he was still lucid enough to bandy a few quips about a host of subjects. He had stopped eating and drinking water because swallowing had become very painful. One afternoon while I was stealing a nap, the phone rang. A reporter I’d met in California had just received a letter, which she wanted to share with me. I told her to read it over the phone. After she’d read it I asked if she felt she could mail it to me. I wanted to show it to my father, I said, and explained he was dying. She felt for me. We talked about my father for a while. I told her I was trying to make it up to him these days, and that he too had been exceptionally easy to be with. How was it growing up with him? she asked. Tense, I replied. Always is, she added. Then the conversation ended, and she promised to mail the letter soon.

After hanging up, I got out of bed and went in to see him. Over the past few days, I had made a point of reading to him, which he liked a great deal, especially now that he was having difficulty focusing. But rather than read to him the memoirs of Chateaubriand, one of his favorite authors, and feeling buoyed by the letter I’d been read on the phone, I asked if he’d like me to read from the French translation of Call Me by Your Name, the galleys of which I had just received from Paris that very morning. Why not, since you wrote it, he said. He was proud of me. So I began to read from the very beginning, and soon enough I knew I was opening up a subject neither he nor I had ever broached before. But I knew he knew what I was reading and why I was reading it to him. This made me happy. Perhaps it made him happy as well. I’ll never know.

That evening, after the rest of us had dinner, he asked if I could continue reading from my novel. I was nervous about arriving at the father’s speech because I didn’t know how he’d react to it, though he was the kind of father who would have given that very same speech himself. But the speech was two hundred pages away still, and that would have taken many, many days. Perhaps I should skip some parts, I thought. But no, I wanted to read him the whole book. My father didn’t last long enough to hear the father’s speech. And when the letter finally arrived from California, he was already gone. His name was Henri, he was 93 years old, and he inspired everything I’ve written.

things i love about you: you make lovin’ fun

a post-little do you know drabble series // story page

Niall was, in a word, exhausted.

For some reason, despite the many cups of coffee he’d consumed, he still felt himself nodding away at his desk, unable to keep his eyes open. The words on his screen were so blurry that he kept rubbing at his eyelids, as though attempting to scrub the drowsiness away would help.

He felt like he’d been behind at everything lately. He was always writing an article down to the last minute, barely making a deadline before he was assigned a new story. Eventually, he’d had no choice but to take his job home, often working on a story well into midnight, only making it to bed after his girlfriend basically had to drag him there. Even then, he couldn’t sleep, mind constantly buzzing with words and synonyms and phrases he could use to replace something in an article. It was like he was buried under a pile of work all the time.

“Here,” someone was saying to him, and he pulled his hands away from his eyes—apparently, he’d been rubbing at them again—to find his co-worker Duncan sliding a cuppa onto his desk. “You look like you need this. And if you have more coffee I’m afraid your heart’ll give out.” After tossing some sugar packets and a wooden stirrer onto the desk, he smiled, flashing that famous gap-toothed grin that Niall had seen woo many ladies at various evenings spent in multiple Manhattan bars. “And how will I explain that to your girlfriend.”

Niall rolled his eyes, laughing along nonetheless as he ripped open a sugar packet and dumped it into the hot beverage. “Thanks, mate.” Working with Duncan, a fellow Irishman, was something Niall didn’t expect to enjoy as much as he did. Always laughing and joking, he could be counted on to lighten the mood. He was also whip smart and was basically like Niall’s human thesaurus, something Niall never forgot to thank him for. Besides, the rest of his friends loved him, which he took as a good sign for keeping him around.

Duncan settled into his chair at the neighboring cubicle. “Need help with anything?”

A scoff pushed through Niall’s lips as he mindlessly stirred at his cuppa. “A fuckin’ break would be nice.”

This made Duncan laugh. “Tell me about it.” They had been absolutely swamped for the past few weeks, and if the darkness beneath their eyes were any indication, work had clearly taken a toll on them. “Why don’t you take a vacation, mate? You didn’t go anywhere this summer.” Duncan stretched back into his chair, his spine giving a rather satisfying crack. “Take the missus out to a beach somewhere or something. Might do you some good.”

Niall smiled softly at this, reclining back in his chair as well. It was not lost on him that this topic had come up several times over the past few weeks. “Yeah, we were talking about going somewhere but never finalized any plans.” The tea slinked down his throat as he took a sip, filling him with warmth and a newfound focus. Perhaps they should just take off and go somewhere for a week. He needed some sun and some quality time with his Mona. Preferably soon too. He felt himself slowly starting to go crazy, just sitting there at his desk. “Any suggestions?”

Duncan hummed, pressing the tip of his eraser to the corner of his lip. “Anywhere in the Caribbean is always nice. My mam’s from Barbados and it’s always quiet down there around this time.” He took a sip of his own drink before lighting up with another idea. “Oh, Hawaii in the off-season is great too. No big crowds, good prices, fantastic food.”

Pristine beaches, warm saltwater air, and a room that overlooked it all sounded like a phenomenal idea to Niall. Most of all, he wouldn’t have to share his time with anyone else except for Mona. Not with work, not with clients, not with friends or colleagues, even though he very much enjoyed every one of them. For now, though, he just wanted uninterrupted relaxation time with the person he loved most.

He and Duncan talked about Hawaii for the rest of their shift. While sorting through emails and drafting up an article, he quizzed Duncan on the most ideal resorts and sights for a quiet and peaceful but still fun trip. By the time the day was over, he had a rough draft, which he sent over to his editor, and some semblance of a vacation idea he can talk to Mona about when he got home.  

It was all he thought about on his commute. New York may have been teeming with gorgeous fall colors, but somewhere warm sounded so nice. And he’d like to not have to worry about waking up early to take the subway or meeting deadlines at work. He needed a break from it all. They both did.

He was just twisting his key into the lock when he remembered that it was Thursday. Mona’s Mimi day, as she liked to say. Her therapy sessions often left her in unpredictable moods. Lately, she’d been having more rough sessions than good ones, and he often came home to find her curled up either on the couch or in bed—whichever she could drag herself to first—her head buried into a pillow and eyes clenched shut.

He usually tried to pick up some flowers or her favorite sweets from the Indian grocery store on her Mimi days, just to cheer her up, but he’d totally forgotten today. A frustrated huff worked out of him as the realization dawned, and he scrubbed a hand over his eyes at how terrible a boyfriend he’d been lately.

After all, the only reason they hadn’t actually gone on a trip yet was because he was too busy at work. Most days, he’d get home late, and even then he’d work until late into the night, unable to find it in himself to unwind and leave his job where it belonged, at the office. By the time he was ready to crawl into bed, it would be midnight and Mona would be fast asleep. He was honestly just lucky that she’d still indulge him with a cuddle, despite being deep into her dreamland.

To his surprise, and relief, when he swung the front door open, he was met with the soft twinkle of Mona’s laughter, his most favorite sound in the universe. She was perched on the couch, cross-legged with a bowl of pistachios on a pillow on her lap, the shells tossed into a smaller bowl beside her. Something on the telly was making her laugh so hard that she reached up to swipe a stray tear from her lashline with her sleeve. The mere sight of her, dressed in his jumper, her hair freshly washed and draping over her shoulders in soft, slightly damp waves, filled him with such a surge of affection that all he wanted was to curl right into her, on the couch, and not have to move for the rest of the night.

“What’re you laughing so hard about?” he asked as he kicked his shoes off and rounded the corner of the couch, stopping behind her to press his lips to the top of her head. She looked up at him, mid-giggle, and he pressed another kiss to her nose too because he couldn’t help it. He loved her like this, big, fluffy hair and flushed cheeks and a huge, wonderful smile that never failed to have his knees go impossibly weak.

“Worst Cooks.” She gestured to the TV, which Niall noticed was, of course, turned to the Food Network. “How have we never watched this show before? I never thought anyone except for Harlow could burn water but there’s a whole world of terrible cooks out there!” Sure enough, just as he looked up, a woman had somehow managed to flip her burger while simultaneously getting it to catch on fire. Mona cackled gleefully at the sight. He couldn’t help but laugh along with her, completely enamored.

After putting away his bag, hopping in the shower, and changing into clean clothes—he didn’t like staying in his dirty work clothes, especially after his subway commute—he felt much more relaxed and ready to curl into the warmth of his wonderful girl, who was still lounging about on the couch, laughing at the kitchen mishaps on the TV.

Taking the bowls of pistachios and shells from her lap and placing it on the coffee table, he stretched out on the couch beside her, head resting comfortably on the pillow on her lap. Her hair was fully dried now, and as she brushed the strands behind her ear, he caught a whiff of peppermint. It was only the beginning of October but she’d whipped out her favorite holiday shampoo anyway. It was his favorite too.

She smiled so sweetly down at him that he had to close his eyes, otherwise he was sure his heart might burst. “How do you feel about pizza for dinner?” she asked, trailing a finger down the bridge of his nose. She was so soft and so warm, her arms wrapped around him, consuming him with that peppermint scent, and Niall wanted her to just hold him like this forever.

“Whatever you want.” He breathed out a laugh when she let out a soft cheer, reaching for her phone to order. It was the second time this week that she’d asked but he didn’t care. She could ask for the stars and he’d find a way to give it to her.

When she was done, she tossed her phone to the other end of the couch, returning her attention to him. The TV was a quiet soundtrack to their evening but Niall felt like he couldn’t even hear it. He was too lost in the way she smiled at him, the way those big brown eyes glittered. It didn’t matter that he was dead tired and worn out; whenever he was all wrapped up in her, everything always fell into place.

Mona skimmed her knuckles over his cheeks, her fingers cool on his warm skin. “Everything okay?” she asked, voice a hushed whisper. When he opened his eyes, her smile was softer now, more subdued. He hummed in answer, nuzzling into the hand caressing his jawline. She simply sighed at him, fingers now gently trailing against the skin below his eyes. “You work too much. You look so tired.”

Her lips pressed kisses to his closed eyelids, the tip of his nose, the hinge of his jaw. Soft and feather light. It filled him with immeasurable joy. “’M fine,” he murmured, even though he knew she could see right through him. It was as though he could feel her eye roll when she scoffed, and he couldn’t help but huff out a laugh. She pressed her cheek to his forehead when she was done with her little butterfly kisses and he sighed contentedly, so comfortable that he could just fall asleep right there. “How was your Mimi day?”

Her fingers were twirling into the hairs at the nape of his neck now. “Fine. We talked about love languages, which I hadn’t heard of before.” She started to shift away from him but he stopped her with a quick tug on her wrists. It was too comfortable; he didn’t want her to move. “I was trying to figure out what yours might be but I couldn’t. Do you know what it is?”

Niall smiled because he did know. He had always known. It was her, spending time with her, lounging around like this or going out on dates or cooking a meal or curling into one another in bed. Anything with her. Everything with her. They could be doing absolutely nothing, just sitting there listening to each other breathe, and it was just enough for him. Simply being by her side made him happy. Nothing else could compare. “I think if would satisfy you more if you figured it out yourself.”

Mona sighed, pursing her lips against his forehead. “I think you’re right.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. He relished in the warmth of her as she continued to run her fingers through his hair. He could have fallen asleep like that, just lying in her lap, taking her in. Then he remembered. “Hey, Mo?”

“Hmm?”

“Let’s go to Hawaii.”

She sat up then, brows raised at him. “Hawaii?”

He grinned up at her. Just talking about it made him excited. Beaches and beers and tropical sights and Mona. It sounded like a damn great time to him. “We need a vacation. We keep talking about it but never actually go anywhere. What are we waiting for?”

She was grinning too, a laugh bubbling out of her. “Well, when do you want to go?”

He shrugged. “Soon, please.”

And so, the rest of the night was spent with pizza, some wine, and their laptops, sending in their vacation requests to their jobs as well as booking everything they needed, like flights and a hotel.

All Niall could think of was one thing: Hawaii, here we come.

~ “I told you to wear sunscreen.”

Niall huffed at this. He was currently slumped against the pillows of the biggest bed he’d ever seen in his life, watching as Mona got ready for their dinner plans tonight. She was fussing with her hair while simultaneously scolding him about his bad skincare habits. It wasn’t his fault, really. After all, he wasn’t used to applying sunscreen when it wasn’t the summer months, and how was he to know that their afternoon hike would cause a bad sunburn on his nose? “You’re being mean.”

It took a great deal of effort to hold back a laugh at the way she glared at him. “It’s not my fault you don’t listen.”

This time, a chuckle inadvertently escaped him. She wasn’t wrong after all. “Darlin’.” He crawled off the bed, hands finding her hips and smiling at her reflection in the vanity mirror. She was still trying to decide whether to leave her hair down or pin it up. “You look stunning as always and your hair looks fine. Now can we go get dinner? I’m starving.” This earned him one of her signature eye rolls and a flick to his sunburnt nose. “Ow!”

Mona simply grinned at him, turning around to pull him close and press a light peck to the stinging area. “You’re so annoying.”

“I can’t help it,” he breathed into her skin, all thoughts of dinner suddenly evaporating from his mind as he skimmed his hands down her spine. “You’re so cute.”

“Ugh,” she huffed out, but laughed nonetheless, lightly shoving him away. “Let’s go.”

Niall laced their fingers together as they walked over to the restaurant. He didn’t know why they had never done this before, splurged on an actual vacation, because this was quite possibly the best idea ever. Their flight into the Big Island had been long so they hadn’t done anything on the first night, but yesterday they had gotten a couple’s massage before lazing about in the hot tub, and today they rented a car to drive around before taking an impromptu hike to indulge in picturesque views of the island.

Now, with Mona’s hand in his, the night air warm and inviting around them, palm trees and flower bushes lining the walkway, he felt a bit like he’d fallen in love with her all over again. It was like he was twenty-one again, holed up in a winter cabin with his friends, completely entranced by this girl with dark hair and soulful eyes and a killer sense of humor. Except this time, she actually loved him back.

There was a moment today, when they had hiked up the mountain and were greeted with the mesmerizing views of the entire coastline, she had turned around and laughed, big brown eyes glittering in the sunlight, skin shining with the slight sweat she’d worked up on the climb, and he almost did it. He almost dropped to one knee right there, fingers already reaching for the ring in his pocket. Somehow, the words got a bit lost in his throat though, and it never happened. It was a perfect moment; she pulled him in and pressed the most reverent kiss to his lips, murmured that she loved him before smiling that sweet smile at him.

It was a perfect moment, yes, but something told him it wasn’t the right one.

“It’s so warm here,” Mona mused as they settled at their reserved table. They’d chosen a spot outdoors so they could eat with a view of the ocean. The sky was swirling with the colors of dusk, the sun already nestled beneath the horizon. Mona was smiling at him, pinks and oranges painting the sky behind her, waves crashing into the sand in the distance, and all he wanted was the ability to freeze this moment so he could hold onto it forever. “What if we just packed up and moved to an island? Left everything behind and lived the rest of our lives in…” It took her a moment to find the word she wanted, eyes glazed over as she mulled it over. Niall simply admired her, cheek resting in his hand as he leaned against the table. Her eyes absolutely lit up when it came to her. “Paradise,” she proclaimed dreamily.

Niall grinned, imagining them as island dwellers with their own little home in a tropical oasis. “What about all our friends?”

She shrugged, reaching for some chips on the platter between them. He hadn’t even realized when the waiter had placed it there. “We could write them letters.”

At this, he laughed, leaning back into his chair again. “You’d really just leave everyone behind?”

She tutted like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah, why not. I’d have you.” She was popping another chip into her mouth when her eyes were lighting up again. “Ooh, you know what we can do? We can get a puppy.”

“A puppy?”

“Yeah!” At this point, the chips were halfway finished. She seemed to notice this and offered him some, and he opened his mouth so she’d feed it to him. “We’re not having kids any time soon so in the meantime we can at least get a puppy.”

Niall was about to respond when the waiter arrived, asking if they were ready to order. Once they’d decided on what they wanted, the waiter left and Mona excused herself to the bathroom. As he watched her go, his fingers trailed absentmindedly against his pocket, tracing the outline of the ring inside.

He reached in for it, rolling it in his hands for a moment. For months, he’d been carrying it everywhere. At first, he figured he’d plan something nice; a date night, perhaps, and he’d surprise her with the ring. But the longer he thought about it, the more he realized he had no idea where to pop the question. The ideas were endless: at a picnic in Central Park, at the top of Empire State, at the botanical gardens, or maybe even in their damn living room. So he figured that if he just carried the ring with him everywhere, once the perfect moment arose, he’d be ready.

But every time he thought it was the right time, something happened. They were either being interrupted or there were too many tourists around or the words simply got trapped in his throat. It felt a bit like he was trying to tell her he loved her for the first time all over again.

The ring glinted in the candlelight. Mona’s mom, Raina, had given it to him last year when they visited her in San Francisco. She had waited until Mona had left the room before she pressed the box into his hands. “I was going to give this to Nick,” she had said, “but it feels more right giving it to you. It’s the same one their dad gave to me.” Niall had simply looked down at the box in utter shock. Raina closed his fingers around it and smiled. “Think of it as my blessing to you both. And I know Mona will really love having something of her dad’s.”

Niall thought of that moment every day. He sometimes just sat back with this ring, rolling it between his fingers, and wondered how Raina even considered him worthy enough for this. Perhaps it was why he was having a hard time figuring out the perfect moment. It was too important. This ring meant so much.

He was just sliding it back into his pocket when Mona returned. She smiled, asking how he wanted to spend the day tomorrow, but all Niall could think about now was whether Hawaii was the place to finally ask her to be his wife.

As their food arrived, she mentioned something about snorkeling or deep-sea diving. Niall wasn’t sure. He was too engrossed in how she glowed. The sun had splashed a bit more color onto her skin, and she shined as bright as the moon that was now visible in the darkened sky. She threw out another idea of swimming with dolphins and Niall told her they could do whatever she wanted. He’d follow her anywhere, no questions asked.

She settled on the dolphin idea, happily chattering away about making reservations in the morning and that they could even go to the luau on the beach on their last night. They’d have to do some shopping for their loved ones, of course, but they’d find time to do that somewhere in between.

When they were sufficiently stuffed with great food and even greater desserts, they took the long way back to their villa, hands interlaced as they strolled down the beach, the waves splashing up against their ankles. The ocean was surprisingly warm. With the salt and humidity swirling in the air, Mona’s hair had gone even bigger and fluffier than usual. She was laughing at something he’d said, head tossed back, strands of hair fluttering in the slight breeze, and his fingers instinctively found the outline of the ring in his pocket again.

Her eyes twinkled at him and he stopped himself. Not here, something in him said. It was dark and he had a sudden vision of accidentally dropping the ring into the water. The thought wedged a quick twist of anxiety in his chest and he inadvertently squeezed Mona’s hand.

“You okay?” she asked, brows quirked in amusement. She stopped walking to pull him into her, arms wrapped loosely around his waist. The stars seemingly reflected in her eyes as she smiled softly up at him. He briefly wondered if it was ever possible for this to get old, because they were nearing four years together and every time she looked at him like that he still melted inside. “You’re kinda quiet tonight.”

He dropped his shoes to drape his arms over her shoulders, holding her close. Sand in his toes, salt in his hair, and a whole lot of love in his heart. He was on cloud nine. “Just taking it all in, I suppose.”

She huffed out a laugh that gusted over his skin and he pressed his forehead to hers. They stayed like that for a few moments, taking each other in, swaying gently to the sound of the waves lightly lapping up against the shore. When she spoke again, her voice was a delicate murmur against his lips. “Thank you.”

Niall’s arms tightened around her as he pulled her closer, nose nuzzling against hers. “For what?”

He felt her smile against his skin. It sent a surge of warmth rushing down his spine. “You choose me every day. Even when you don’t have to. Even when you probably shouldn’t.” She held him so tightly it was as though she was attempting to keep him from floating away with the waves. “So, thank you.”

To any other person, this would have sounded nonsensical. But he immediately thought back to their conversation on the couch all those days ago, when she talked about Mimi telling her about love languages. He smiled. “You figured it out, didn’t you?”

A breathy giggle fell from her lips. “Yeah.”

He pulled back to press his hands to her face, the curve of her jaw nestling perfectly into his palms. The tiniest bit of moisture had collected over her lashes and he swiped it away with his thumbs. “Of course I choose you.” Sometimes he held her like this and she looked at him like she couldn’t believe it, like this was all just a dream, and he had to gently remind her that he did indeed love her. More than anything in the world. “You’re the other half of me.”

This seemed to work for now. She smiled softly at him, pressing her lips to his in a tender kiss before grabbing their shoes in the sand and tugging him back to their villa. They’d barely gotten there and he could hardly keep his hands off her, trailing fingers against her sunkissed skin, lips finding her sweet spots, the pulse on her neck, the space between her collarbones.

She’d only just gotten the door closed behind them when his lips finally met hers, kissing her slowly, languidly. They had all night and the rest of the week for themselves. “’M gonna take my time with you tonight,” he murmured into her mouth. She hummed, breath hitching when his fingers gripped her thighs beneath her dress, hoisting her onto the bed.

“Yes, please,” she breathed, blindly undoing the buttons of his shirt as he peppered kisses over the soft skin of her shoulders, making quick work of the zipper at the back of her dress and pushing her straps away.

After all, he didn’t need to be told twice.

~

Mona missed a few strands when she’d pulled her hair up into a messy bun. Niall busied himself with brushing them away to make room for his lips, grinning to himself as her skin rippled with goosebumps at the feather light touch of his fingers, shoulders giving a slight shudder. She sighed quietly as he pressed slow, lazy rows of kisses from the nape of her neck to the edge of her shoulders, his arms wrapped loosely around her middle, holding her close.

She was reclining back against him as they relaxed in the lounger on their private lanai, both of them dressed in nothing but the soft sheets from the bed. The lanai overlooked the ocean and was a perfect spot to watch the sunrise, which Mona had dragged him out of bed for, insistent upon watching the sky transition from dark blue to swashes of reds and yellows. He didn’t mind, really. Not when he could snuggle her close like this.

She gasped softly, gripping his wrist as she jutted her chin towards the horizon. “It’s happening,” she breathed, eyes lighting up brighter than any sunrise. Still, he followed her gaze, the sun just barely peeking over the sea in an arc of deep orange. Mona shifted so she could rest her head on his chest, wrapping both her arms around him, and they silently enjoyed the sight of the sun slowly slinking up the sky, bathing them in a warm golden glow.

When it had gotten too bright to look at anymore, Niall shifted his gaze to his wonderful Mona darling only to find a serene expression on her face, lips quirked up into a soft smile. He ran his fingers down her spine just to feel that sharp intake of breath again. “You thinkin’ about moving to a remote island again?” he teased.

A giggle bubbled through her lips. “No.” She looked up, head resting on his shoulder, and he held her close. “I was thinking about that time we went to Vegas. After Deepa’s wedding. And,” she started to laugh, “Harlow schemed her way into getting us that honeymoon suite.”

Niall laughed at this too, remembering. It seemed like yesterday, even though it was a few years ago. “That was a fun weekend. Even if we weren’t really together yet.”

She hummed, fingers tracing abstract shapes into his side. “I already knew how I felt about you though.”

This surprised him. “Really?”

Her smile grew. “Mhmm.”

“Huh.” He quirked a brow, looking off into the horizon for a moment, processing this. He had always thought she didn’t see herself with him romantically back then. “So, when did you actually realize?”

She shrugged, a hand finding his, pressing them together. They both had long, nimble fingers, but her hands were smaller. Niall liked how they slotted together with ease. “The cabin. You kissed me under the mistletoe and then you dragged me up that stupid hill in the cold.” They shared a laugh. Mona’s eyes had glazed over in memory, voice soft and reverent. “You made hot chocolate with whiskey in it. It was a full moon and the stars were out and you said we don’t get that kind of view in the city. And you smiled. And it hit me that I’d been in love with you that whole time and I never even realized it until then.”

Niall laughed in a bit of disbelief, mostly because he remembered the moment well. She was laughing at something he said until a sort of struck expression came over her and she swore under her breath. If he had known then what it all meant then he’d have told her how he felt right there. It didn’t matter much now considering she was currently in his arms, but perhaps they could have been together sooner.

“When did you know?” she asked.

Niall smiled wryly at her. “The cabin.” She tutted and he realized she didn’t know what he meant. “The first time at the cabin.”

She stilled for a moment, seemingly turning his words over in her head. It was as though he could feel the gears working. Then, she sat up abruptly, looking at him in shock. “Shut up. There’s no way.”

He grinned, highly amused by this. He loved her the whole time and she never even knew. “It’s true, darlin’.”

This earned him a scoff and a frown. “Nuh uh. You’re lying.”

“I’m not!” he got out through a laugh.

A deep breath worked through her as she thought this over, deflating slightly. “I never knew,” she mused, clearly still in shock.

“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head, “you were always kind of oblivious.” Then he thought of the fact that he’d been carrying around a damn engagement ring for a whole year and she was none the wiser. “You still are, to be honest.”

She swatted a hand against his chest, a stunned sort of giggle escaping her. “Shut up.” Still, it wasn’t long until she was curling into him again, pressing her cheek to his shoulder with a sigh. “All that time…you never said anything.”

The breeze was beginning to pick up. It swirled around them, their little sanctuary of love, and flicked her stray hairs into her face. He brushed the strands back into the knot on her head, pressing a gentle touch of his lips to her nose. “Darlin’. You would have freaked out if I told you before you were ready.”

She pursed her lips, rolling her eyes at this assessment of her. “I hate that you’re right.” Their laughter trickled into the air, echoing slightly around them. Mona shifted until she was straddling his lap, her arms draped over his shoulders as her lips turned up into that beautiful smile. Niall leaned back to catch the full view of it. “Doesn’t matter,” she murmured, tracing a finger over his eyebrows before delicately smoothing back his hair. “I think we turned out alright.”

He felt a surge in his chest then. This was it, a perfect moment. She was all wrapped up in him, soft and warm, messy hair and no makeup. Her cheeks were flushed slightly, from the sun and the fact that she couldn’t stop laughing. He was so enraptured by his love for her, laying back and taking her in. He could ask her right now.

But, for once, he didn’t have the ring on him. It was still in the pocket of his jeans, folded over the top of his suitcase, and to go get it he’d have to let go of her; he’d have to break the moment.

So he didn’t ask. Not now. Not yet. He wanted to hold onto her for the rest of the morning, wanted to savor that smile and the soft kisses she was currently pressing to every inch of skin she could find.

It didn’t matter. They had all the time in the world. And besides, she’d given him an idea. Another perfect moment. He’d just have to wait for it to come around.

For now, he pulled her face towards his and kissed her with his whole heart. She was here. She was his. The beach beyond was calling their names.

He was happy and nothing else mattered.  

--

thanks for reading! here’s some bonus instagram content: 

Fucking Project

Pairing: Sherlock x reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, maybe slight OOC Sherlock

Summary: reader lashes out at Sherlock because she’s mad at her boss.

All writing belong to me @bakerstreethound​

Word Count: 609

A/N: This is based on an event that’s happening with me right now, so I took the liberty to change the situation, but everything else is true to the best of my abilities and I’m sorry Sherlock. I just had to write about it as a kind of soothing therapy. Thank you for putting up with me (: (gif not mine).

“Sherlock, I don’t have the fucking time to deal with your shit right now! My brain is overloaded as is. Just leave me the hell alone!” I scream, throwing a book across the room. He stopped mid sentence, in which he was explaining about blood loss. I was infuriated. It didn’t help he kept wandering around me like a lost puppy while my boss was being a bitch to me via email.

I inhaled deeply as my blood boiled in my veins. turning my eyes back to my computer screen. Why can’t they just shut the fuck up? Doesn’t my boss care that I have a fucking life. No. they don’t understand all this work I put in then they throw in a deadline for another project before I’m even done. What a bitch, what an utter bitch. 

Sherlock stopped muttering, focusing on how her eyes darted back and forth in frustration, the way her shoulders tensed as if she felt the need to kill. He knew her outburst didn’t mean anything, but something still prickled at his core. He felt a twinge of remorse. He was in  rare mood, a very needy mood. Maybe some distraction will do her some good, he thought, a small smirk forming at the corner of his mouth, before sauntering away, doing precisely as I had asked. 

I sighed in relief, yet I could feel his taunting smirk behind me as he went to god knows where. he had done what I asked, leaving me the hell alone; however, the goddammed project I had yet to complete was frustrating the hell out of me. “Why can’t I be fucking done?” I whispered, almost screaming before bursting into silent tears. I was done, so utterly done. Doom surrounded me, pulling me into the depths of despair.  why did they have to throw this on me last minute? Who cares that the title needs to be changed. there’s no other fucking way to explain guidelines for taking care of a cemetery! “WHY CAN’T I BE FUCKING DONE. FUCK YOU GERALD SCUMMINGHAM AND YOUR ENTIRE CORPORATION! AHHHHHH” Lurching myself out of my chair, I ran down the darkened hall into the safety of my beloved husband’s room and crumpled onto the floor. 

Dammit, why does it have to be this way? I groaned, my eyes blurry, body too exhausted to drag myself up onto the bed. I leaned against the railing in defeat, the pent up anger of hours ago slithering around me once again. Before I could strike a new cord with the emotion, the door burst open graced with Sherlock’s silhouette. 

If I had hurt his spirit in the emotional outburst before, it didn’t show in the way he caressed my body as he picked me up and settled me within the soft linens pf our shared bed. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, choking on a sob. “I didn’t-should not have taken it out on you.”

He bent down, pressing his forehead against mine.“Shh, it’s alright. It’s just been a rough night.” his voice was so soft, so soothing from above as he captured my lips. My body gave in, molding into his as I wrapped my legs around him as he pressed me further into the soft mattress. 

“I can’t believe I had the audacity to take it out on you, Sherlock. None of it is your fault.”  I whimpered as his kisses trailed down my neck onto the simple diamond that graced my finger. “Well I did make a vow. For better or for worse, we’ll get through this shit together.” 

“For better or for worse,” I agreed, falling into bliss. 

@bakerstreethound​ @disneymarina​ @sherlocks-mind​ @the-cumberbatchs-stupid-penwing​ @cumberbatch-biscuits​ @destiel1597​ @birdiecurry​ @buckyssoul​ @cumbergirll​ @superfandomfeels​ @spaceyhufflepuff​ @julians-chest-hair​ @livy1391​​ @pandaqueen7799​

THERE IS NO WHY I’M KISSING A FROG AND EATING A BUG IN THE SAME DAY

BIDDI BOPPI BOOP A SPECIAL MESSAGE ADMIN ZULEMA: when i tell you that both kiara and i were excited to get this app i mean we are so freaking excited to finally have a tiana. Ash, bless you. Tiana is a character I love here and in general. You captured their voice so PERFECTLY. your app was beautiful as usual, you gifted human. i’m so excited to see what you do with Tiana. I know i’m excited to see Lottie and Tiana interactions. Please refer to THIS PAGE for your next tasks. We can’t wait to roleplay with you. Welcome to our Ohana xx.

It’s a pleasure to meet you…

Ash, 22, She/Her, GMT+1

Are you positive you can be active?

Im on as much as I can be, I had a bad few weeks during june where I wasnt able to get on due to personal issues but that is very rare for me. I give 70% of my day to this group… which now that I type it sounds really sad…

How did you stumble upon Walt?

Zane Holtz tag, a true hottie

Did you read the rules?

Yes!

Are you sure?

- and I bet they’d be cute!

Character you want?

Tiana Hudson

Please describe the character for us

Tiana is a realistic dreamer, when she dreams it’s bigger than anyone else’s but she is willing to put the work in. Tiana knows nothing in this world comes free and pours her blood, sweat and tears into everything she does in order to make her dreams come true, She is fiercely passionate and independent, she is extremely sure of herself and sets constant goals. She can seem a little uptight to others but its only because she doesn’t have the time to goof around or take her eyes off the prize. Once she sets her sight on something Tiana will stop at nothing to get it, even if that means missing key moments of her youth. She is a kind hearted soul who really would do anything for anything for anyone, her only flaw is that she’s so focused on her future that she can’t slow down to appreciate her present.

Second character choice

I would be torn between Gabriella Montez and Poppy Lang

It’s time to see that sample para.

The sound of crickets and birds chirping alongside the rising sun mocked Tiana as she reached the front porch, her shift lasted longer than expected as she offered to do overtime and clean the kitchen. It had been a slow night for tips and she needed all the extra cash she could get if she wanted to keep on track for buying a restaurant of her own. Yawning as she entered the family home she shut the door quietly behind her and dropped her bag on the sofa. “Morning baby” her mother called out from the kitchen as Tiana followed the scent of cinnamon and coffee. “Goodnight, Mama” she responded sleepily “I can’t believe you’re up this early” she mumbled taking a seat at the table. Her mother chuckled in her night robe standing over the stove and began spooning porridge into two bowls. “Someone’s gotta’ make sure you eat”. Tiana smiled lazily at her Mother as she placed a warm bowl in front of her “Thankyou Mama”. “You’re welcome Tiana.” The two women ate in silence while Tiana checked her emails and her Mother read the paper. Both too exhausted at this hour of the morning to make chit-chat. Tiana knew her Mother didn’t enjoy waking up this early but appreciated that she would not let her daughter dine alone, eating together was something they continued to do as a family after the death of her Father.

Tiana’s phone buzzed mid-spoonful of porridge and the entire thing dropped to the table with a clatter. “Its the realtors for the Old Sugar Mill!” Tiana gasped, jumping up from her seat. “Gone are the days when they used to mail documents to you– now everything is online” Her mother commented while taking a sip of her coffee. Tiana’s eyes narrowed “Mama stop being so negative– this could be it!” she beamed, feeling her heart pound against her chest. “Well don’t just stand there open it!” her Mother replied, masking her own anxiety. It was tough to watch your child grow up and even tougher to watch them chase their dreams in a world that could be so cruel. “Okay okay– Dear Miss Hudson, we are writing to inform you that your recent bid for Sweetman’s Sugar Mill has been rejected.” Tiana felt her heart sink to her feet as she briefly scanned over the rest of the email, her mother audibly gasped and stood up. “That’s just one realtor, there’s plenty more properties in the City” She said softly, stepping towards Tiana who stood numbly in the kitchen. “It was his dream…” she whispered. Tiana’s mother wrapped her arms tightly around her daughter and kissed her cheek. “Baby you are so young, you’re working too hard. Maybe its time to take a little break– go on a vacation!” she offered. Tiana shook her head. “I can’t. I don’t have the time– I gotta’ make sure Daddy’s hard work means something!”. Tiana’s mother took a step back. “Tiana!” she said sternly. “Your Daddy may not have got the restaurant he wanted but he had something better.” placing a gentle hand on her daughter’s cheek, her voice was soft. “He had love.”

Tiana felt like she was going to burst into tears, she buried her head against her Mother’s shoulder as she hugged her. “I don’t know what to do..” she confessed, feeling helpless, lost, not only was she letting herself down she was also letting her Father down. Her Mother soothingly patted her back. “There there– you learn from it baby. You take the rejection and you let it go. You use it to fuel your fire and you continue to live your life… and maybe you get coffee with the sweet boy from the bakery.” Tiana pulled back from her Mother’s embrace and rolled her eyes. “Quit tryna’ marry me off I’ve got plenty of time to date.” she replied, folding her arms. “So do it then” her Mother replied. The two women were now smiling, though Tiana was faking it to please her Mother. She didn’t understand, she wanted Tiana to date and go dancing, like any of that could mean something when her heart clearly belonged to a different dream.  A dream that was now just out of her reach. She was almost there. “Whatever I gotta’ go email some auctioneers and property scout” she said with a wave of dismissal heading towards her room. “Don’t forget to shower and take a nap!” her Mother called out in response. Tiana grunted some kind of reply reaching her bedroom door, she heard the sound of her mother’s sewing machine buzz in the background. Now she was free to feel her emotions without interruption.

As Tiana shut over her bedroom door she began to tear up, passing her collection of family photographs on her dresser she picked up the one of her Father smiling that they used for the funeral. “Daddy I’m so sorry…” she whispered, wiping her thumb across his face. He looked so happy, full of life and hopes and dreams. She missed him everyday and now she was failing him, it was a disappointment too hard to stomach. “There’s nothing here for us anymore.. I gotta’ go somewhere with real opportunities.” she explained. Tiana placed a kiss on the forehead of her Father’s photo and gently put it back onto the dresser, kicking off her shoes she climbed onto her bed and pulled out her phone. She softly wiped away at the tears that began to fall from her eyes. “No more crying, No more feeling sorry for yourself Miss Tiana!” she warned. “We accept it, we move on and we keep trying!”. In the spirit of looking for a new opportunity Tiana scrolled through her contact list and began to type a new message.

[NEW MSG; LOTTIE]

Hey girl! Long time no speak. Please don’t kill me because work already is. So.. I’ve been hearing a lot of good things about Elias. If I came up would you give me a tour?

Anything else, love?

I made an aesthetic HERE and a playlist edit HERE and HERE bc im v committed to taking up my favourite princess<3

The Dynamic Duo

Characters: MC, Gavin, Minor, Victor (Mentions: Anna and Willow)

Words: 1903

Warnings: Minor threats

 Part Three: Respect

Parting from the boys just moments ago, you didn’t know what to expect … Being honest to yourself you knew you had to get it over with. Gavin and Minor gave you a pep talk before entering the building, telling you to keep your cool and call them later. Grateful was the very least you felt for those two guys, especially Minor lately. He was really stepping up in and around the company. 

You entered the elevator of LFG, every time you’ve ever been in here seemed like a life time to get to where you needed, tonight though felt the fastest its ever gone. All but dragging your feet towards Victors office, scarcely anyone was left in the enterprise... Checking your watch, nearly 9pm. Gosh, usually you were home in your pyjamas by now, instead you’re standing infront of Victors door. Holding your breath, you knock...

tap - tap - tap

“Come in”

Pressing down the handle you enter slowly, Victor still staring at the file in hand waves you forward. You approach cautiously, considering how things were earlier you decided to wait until he spoke to you.

Just standing there… 

Minutes went by before Victor set down his file, looking to you, “Well, I suppose if you’re not going to talk then ill start. Today’s events were chaotic, unacceptable, and unprofessional. For that, I’m Sorry.”

It hadn’t quite registered with you yet, blankly staring at Victor.

He raises his brow, “It seems perhaps an apology isn’t enough to excuse myself for earlier, I’ll buy dinner. Have you eaten? Right before i forget, your subordinate, what’s his name? The one who clearly doesn’t care if he still has a job tomorrow?” Victor asks nonchalantly.

Speechless, you just sort of shook your head at him. You envisioned this conversation to go quite the opposite direction, this moment of reprieve swelled up something from deep within.

“You’re angry with me, right? I jumped to conclusions and…”

“Stop.” Finally speaking… “I don’t want your apology.”

Victor’s eyes widened.

“You ridiculed me in-front of my staff and guests, you didn’t even try to understand the situation I was in. I came here terrified of what was going to unfold but none the less ready for it… And y-you act as if nothing has happened? I don’t want dinner with you, what I want is ……. I want respect.” The tears that threatened you today were back again, this time falling down your face.

It was obvious seeing you cry unsettled Victor; he rose from his chair and in the very same moment you took a step back. Silence engulfed his office, all of today's emotions began exploding inside of you. You choked back desperately not to sob in-front of your boss, bringing your head down, you turned and started to leave.

“Mc...” The moment Victor opened his mouth, your feet took off on their own accord. 

You managed to get inside the elevator moments before he did, doors closing on the sight of him reaching out to you. “Wait!?”

.

After the doors shut, you immediately pull out your phone and sent a text to Victor - Please excuse me, I’m exhausted, lets reschedule - *Thinking, I was just demanding respect then ran away like a child. *

Stopping the elevator couple floors from the lobby, taking the stairs the rest of the way down, the objective was to avoid Victor. You were NOT ready for this, you felt compromised with emotions. Peaking around the corner, it seemed safe and you made quick steps to the exit. 

.

.

Meanwhile, Victor just stared at the text he received. Sitting on the floor of the second elevator, seeing you cry was like a blow to his heart. Once today you teared up in front of him, he took it too far then before your employee stepped in …

Perhaps that’s why…

It was rare for Victor to feel remorseful.

.

.

Gavin was just picking up take out when he got the call from you. Instantly taking to air when he heard your shaky voice, when he landed again it was only couple yards from where you stood. He could see that you were crying, “Didn’t go so well did it?” Wiping the remanent of what tears that still stained your cheeks.

“I didn’t stay calm Gavin, maybe I am not cut out to do this.” Avoiding eye contact, you stared at your feet. You called him to talk, not expecting him minutes later to be right there. Typical Gavin you thought, smiling inwards at the thought.

In that moment you were embraced into warm arms and a solid chest, “I don’t know a thing about producing but your amazing Mc, truly. You’ve never been a quitter, so don’t give up now.” His voice was soft like faux fur.

Your senses were heightened, you felt extremely warm, and smelled - noodles?? This caused your stomach to growl loudly. Staring doe eyed at Gavin when he released you.

Laughing, “Hungry huh? Good thing I always pick up food for two then.” Showing you the take out bag.

.

.

Next day, you woke up and started getting ready. This afternoon you had a meeting scheduled with Barner Wors heads, trying to figure out compensation for both sides during this halt. Gavin was going to continue his investigation with Minor, today Minor was off. You asked Minor last night to assist him, which he was more then thrilled to help ‘his boy’ on his day off.

.

.

When Gavin awoke from his little cat nap (sleep was something he barely got these days) he was receiving a call from the department. The call was brief, files were being emailed to him whilst he took the call, turns out his intuition was paying off. Just as he was reading through Nicole Kissman’s file, his phone began to ring again - Minor. He wanted to decline the call but considering that you seemed at peace with Minor helping him, he notioned; keeping Minor close may help in some way.

“Hey”

“GAVVVVVVVV- BRO, Chris – The lead for the show is in hospital! I just got a text from my friend, whose cousin texted her, whose roommate called him, that apparently spotted Mr. Heartthrob being taken in by ambulance!” Minor screaming into Gavin’s ear.

“And??”

“AND!! I decided to come to the hospital to check myself, AND INDEED HE’S HERE! Now I came incognito and decided to snoop around, there saying food poisoning. Now I’m no expert but! I did some digging on Chris; he’s a vegan, man don’t eat no meat, however! I was able to get hold of his papers by the desk and get this, his co star the one and only Madam Kissman stated after eating a hamburger he just got sick. Now correct me if I’m wrong but, he’s a vegan and food poisoning doesn’t take affect that quickly!” Minor was practically gasping for air after that explanation.

Silence followed, the only thing heard was Minor dying on one end and Gavin letting out a slight hmmm on the other.

“Nice one Minor, get out of there and meet me out front.” Gavin hung up the phone, the plot was thickening. If his police training and investigation films taught him anything, it was actors will sometimes do whatever it takes to shine.

.

.

You were just entering your company doors when Anna frantically came running to you with news, about the actor Chris.

 Food poisoning, oh dear… 

This joint production really was becoming a series of unfortunate events, you thought. Then Anna handed you a letter, normally you had a team that look after this sort of stuff. After examining the front of the envelop you knew why. In big black bold letters ‘TO BE HANDLED BY MC’, okay? You made your way to your office quickly running Anna up to speed of everything and having her make notes for preparations of this afternoons meeting. Sitting in your desk mid-sentence; you froze, you had opened the envelope and glanced at the contents inside…

Images of your outside apartment caught you off guard. Anna noticed something the matter so she peaks over and was too shocked by the findings. Your hands began to shake as you flipped through the photos, one photo in particular had writing on the back of it.

It read….

We know where you live. If you love your job, and do not want more ‘unfortunate’ things to happen and ruin your ‘reputation’ - drop the case.

Or else.

The picture after the note was an image of your company, completely scribbled out. So much that the pen used left deep in-grooves and in some areas punctured right through. A shiver went straight up your spine, Anna spoke up, “this isn’t just a coincidence anymore. Someone is playing seriously dirty...”

All you could do is nod your head…

What do you do?

You stared at Anna, neither of you spoke, till Willow burst through the doors.

“Victor is downstairs!!!”

The day was just beginning and already you wanted to go home. You sent Gavin a quick text ‘SOS office ASAP’ and stood up. Fixing your skirt, you took a deep breath; tucking the photos away in your top drawer.  You raised your chin up, and made your way to meet Victor. Considering your demand for respect yesterday, you had to be respectful.

You had a lot of crap on your plate, and Victor was one of them.

.

.

Gavin arrived at the hospital and seen Minor, oh dear god is that what he meant by ‘incognito’ he wondered.

Minor stood at the bottom of the entrance stairs leaning against the rail. He was wearing a backwards pink hat and dark sunglasses. If that wasn’t enough, he had on the biggest yellow sweater I swear he could find; that read ‘Bronies’ on the front of it. The tightest white jeans known to man, and a tooth pick sticking out of his mouth. Gavin was stunned stupid; Minor was one to easily annoy him back in school, and even now he still had that gift.

“Minor…. You have about three seconds to sort yourself out, before I knock you out!”

Minor didn’t notice when Gavin appeared, nearly falling over at his aggressive demeaner. “Bro, respect! It’s my disguise yo, can’t have people snitchin’ who I am. Don’t need boss stressin’ even more if my covers blown yo!”

Gavin rubbed his temples, reminding himself, ‘don’t hit him, don’t hit him’ before speaking. “First off, I’m not your ‘bro’. Secondly, stop talking like that. Third, you look like a walking highlighter. You’re not blending in; you stick out like a sore thumb. If I didn’t know you, and I saw someone dressed like you; snooping round my hospital.. Attention is exactly what you’re going to get and not in the good way!”

“Alright, alright, alright…. Man can’t a bro catch a break, I’m trying here!” Minor takes off the sunglasses and fixes the hat.

“Minor, the more you try the worse you get. Just relax, or it’ll be you next; checking in.” Gavin signals Minor to walk with him as he enters the hospital doors. Before pointing out, “and for the record, stealing other people’s information in the hospital is invasion of privacy. That’s breaking the law, you could be done for that.”

Minor grins at Gavin, “Yea but, I was incognito. No one knows it was me!”

It took everything in Gavin not to knock him out at this point, they’re both trying to help MC he repeated again and again...

To Be Continued 

Master-list for Parts

jonmartin musicians au time folks!

OK ok ok ok so. au where Martin is like. The KING of indie music and has all of these lowfi acoustic songs with really poignant poetic lyrics (think like. Sufjan meets florence meets mitski) and Jon is a nobody who works in a bookshop or a library or smth BUT hes good friends w Georgie who’s like a B-list punk pop singer right? And one day, Georgie’s gf Melanie is out of town and she doesn’t want to go to this big party with producers and contacts alone so she drags Jon along and in a haphazard high school musical-like string of events he ends up singing karaoke and he’s Good ofc. but he sneaks away afterwards bc hes awkward and introverted and Martin (who is of course also at the party) follows after Jon and tries to strike up a conversation because here’s this cute guy who can sing and WHY NOT right? And Jon like. IMMEDIATELY shuts him down and tears him apart bc hes stressed and awkward and defensive and martins like :(( shit ok asshole

And THEN somehow over the course of the convo it’s revealed that Martin is The Martin Blackwood and Jon like. Almost Loses It but of course he goes “oh ok. Your music is........... tolerable” and inside hes dying bc he really does enjoy Martin’s music but he thinks he’s already burned that bridge and doesn’t know how to fix the shit he’s completely messed up. but they keep chatting and slowly Jon loosens up and chills out and Martin calms down and they end up spending the rest of the party having this really lovely conversation- the kind where you end up in some kind of emotional liminal space its quiet and private late at night and you feel like you can tell the other person anything? that. 

But then the party ends and Martin realizes after he and Jon have gone their separate ways that he never got Jon’s number or email or even his Last Name so he’s like. screwed, right? and he gets all sad bc he thinks that he’s never going to see Jon again. Anyway, Martin is staying in London and ends up unintentionally popping into the bookshop Jon works at and they’re both immediately like oh my god what the fuck dude. but then they start talking AGAIN and end up going for tea or smth after Jon gets off work and they just REALLY hit it off and they argue and bicker and discuss everything under the sun and its awkward sometimes and they piss each other off like twice an hour but it’s. it’s nice, you know?

And then Martin brings up the party, and specifically Jon’s song. And he’s like... “how would you feel about recording a demo with me?” bc Martin really Does like Jon’s voice and vibe and he’s been thinking about doing a duet for a while now and it’s a LOVE SONG of course and so there’s this span of like. Idk two three weeks? Where they’re writing and workshopping this song together (surprise! Jon studied music theory in college and has more than his fair share of Thoughts and Input) and of course. They’re Falling In Love the entire time. And then they release the song and Martin goes on tour for his album and Jon goes back to his quiet life and meanwhile they’re both pining out of their MINDS but don’t think the other person cares That Way.

And then like six months later Jon gets an email from Martin’s producer/manager asking if he wants to appear in a performance in the last stop in Martin’s tour- London! And he says yes obviously and they perform it together and the twitter response is IMMEDIATE! The song (which was doing well, but not one of Martin’s Big Hits) SKYROCKETS on the charts and everyone is Immediately like Oh So They’re In Love, Huh? And Martin and Jon are BOTH just stress.png because Oh No what if it’s Awkward bc Twitter is Outing my Feelings but he doesn’t Feel The Same Way

And they have a big fight that’s about it but also not about it? (You know how people fight about things as an excuse to fight and THEY’RE talking about the things they’re mad about but indirectly bc they don’t want to cop to what they’re actually mad about? Yeah that) and then of COURSE mid big fight one of them (Jon! Probably!) bursts out with the CLASSIC “well I AM in LOVE WITH YOU-“ and Martin just. Freezes and Jon deep dives into anxiety mode and starts to backtrack and then Martin is Kissing him and :))))

And a few months later they drop another love song duet with some cute self referential title and Martin goes on another tour a little while later for his new album (which is like. Mostly love songs 🥰) and Jon comes with and will sometimes open for him or come onstage and sing one of their duets with Martin and then Martin just kind of. Retires and steps away from the music business and there’s a rumor that somewhere in London there’s a book and record shop owned by The Martin Blackwood (and his husband)

and they lived happily ever after :)

Skin Deep: 06

Pairing: Yoongi x Tattoo Artist!Reader (M/F) Genre: Friends to lovers, slow burn. Eventual smut. Rating: 18+ Warnings: Language, mentions of infidelity Word Count: 4.8K

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 (links removed due to tumblr issue)

A/N: The angst train has pulled into the station! Exes revealed! I actually really enjoyed writing this one. Please let me know what you think! I love chatting with you guys. :)

“Why are you even awake right now?”

Yoongi moves the phone away from his ear to check the time. It’s almost noon, but Junghyun’s voice on the other end sounds thick with sleep, croaky and dry. “Dude. The day is already half gone. Why aren’t you awake right now?”

“Mind your business, Min,” Junghyun grumbles, and Yoongi hears sheets being rustled as, presumably, the older Jeon stumbles out of bed. “You’re the one who’s basically an indoor cat, napping the entire day away. Anyway, to what do I owe this call?” After a pause, he adds in a conspiratorially low whisper, “You never call.”

“Uh,” Yoongi falters for a second, leaning back in his office chair. He’s in his studio, working on his mixtape, desperately trying not to focus too much on the kiss you gave him yesterday. Clearly to no avail, hence why he’s on the phone with Junghyun. “I just wanted to ask you some stuff about Y/N.”

“Uh oh,” Junghyun snickers. “Jungkook told me this was bound to happen. And so the lion fell in love with the lamb.”

Yoongi blinks a few times, hard. “Did you just fucking quote Twilight at me?”

“Hey, you’re the one who recognized it. Anyway, what are your intentions with my best friend? You gonna try to bone her and leave or something? Because if so, I will end your life. You think I’m exaggerating, but I’m not. I’ll do it. I’m a maniac.”

“Hyung, do you ever shut up?” Yoongi grumbles, immediately regretting the call. “I just wanted to ask you why it is she doesn’t date. She’s been hinting at the reason why when we talk, but she’s never actually given me a solid explanation.”

Junghyun is quiet for a second, definitely uncharacteristic for Yoongi’s older friend. After a brief pause, he says, “She hasn’t told you about her ex yet?”

Yoongi scratches the back of his head. “Well…no. She said she would eventually, but—”

“If she says she’ll tell you, she will,” Junghyun interrupts. “She’s a really private person, Yoongi. Her ex was a piece of shit. Not physically abusive, but definitely emotionally so. They were together for a really long time, and when they broke up, it devastated her. She’s only just gotten back on her feet. It’s really not my story to tell though…if you want to know about him and their history, you’ll have to hear it from her.”

Yoongi sighs, but he knows deep down that Junghyun is right.

“You just sighed because you know I’m right, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up, hyung.”

—

It’s a gloomy day, overcast and drizzling, which is unusual for mid-August. Yoongi decides to brave the outdoors anyway, having already promised that he would hang out with you at your studio today. He stops by one of your favourite cafés to pick up some soup, figuring you probably hadn’t eaten yet and that he would surprise you with a late lunch.

As he scales the stairs leading up to your door, he can hear you talking rather loudly, sounding irate. Another voice filters through as well, a male one, and Yoongi immediately starts to prickle with caution and worry. He takes the stairs two at a time until his hand is on the doorknob.

He stops for a moment, straining to listen to the words being exchanged before he bursts in.

“Is there someone else?”

“What are you talking about? Why the fuck do you care? You lost the right to know anything about my life. You can’t be here, please leave.”

“You know, we used to be best friends. How can you throw that away so easily? C’mon, babe, I really miss you, let me treat you to a cup of coffee at least so that we can talk—”

“You were the one who threw our relationship away, not me. For the last time, I’m not interested. Please just go.”

Yoongi decides that it’s as good a time as ever to make his presence known. He swings the door open, the bell atop the door chiming brightly as two pairs of eyes land on him. One pair, yours, are wide with surprise but then settle into what can only be described as relief as you exhale a tiny breath.

The other pair belong to a man, tall and lean, with dark silver hair pushed back from his forehead. He’s covered in tattoos, a traditional black and grey dragon coiling down one arm, and two foo dogs on the other. His eyes are sharp and his gaze is focused on Yoongi. He’s standing close to you. Too close, judging by the expression on your face.

The man’s full lips purse as he sizes Yoongi up. He lets out a derisive snort and turns back to you. “So there is someone else, then?”

Your arms are folded over your chest, shoulders curling inward as you look away from him. “You don’t have the right to ask me that. Get out.”

The man hums for a moment, looking back at Yoongi with a critical eye. “Fine,” he relents. “But just think about my offer, okay? At least so that we can catch up. My number is the same, if you still have it.”

You open your mouth again to tell him to fuck off and leave me alone, when he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to the apple of your cheek. He then takes his leave, purposely brushing past Yoongi roughly by bumping his shoulder, causing him to nearly drop the takeout container of soup in his grasp.

Yoongi glares at the man as he stomps down the stairs before turning back to you, looking distressed as you furiously wipe at your cheek with the back of your hand.

“Hey, hey,” Yoongi coos quietly as you won’t stop rubbing at your face. He sets the soup down on the front desk and comes over to where you’re standing, noticing immediately that your eyes have welled up with tears. His hands rest gently on your shoulders as he tries to get you to look at him. “Are you okay? Who was that?”

You choke out a laugh, wiping at your eyes so as not to ruin your eyeliner. “That was my ex, Namjoon.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen. “That was your ex?”

You scoff slightly, shaking your head. “Don’t play dumb, Yoongi. I know you heard at least part of that argument when you were waiting outside the door.”

He gulps, nervously tugging on his ear. “You…knew I was out there?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, body slumping with exhaustion. “I heard you coming up the stairs.”

“Oh, yeah,” Yoongi silently curses himself. “Uh, well…do you…want to talk about it?”

You glance up at him, his eyes full of concern. “I guess. Come, let’s sit.”

You lead Yoongi over to the bench where the clients are meant to wait, and Yoongi immediately perks up. “Wait, you don’t have a client waiting for you, do you?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I was supposed to catch up on emails today. I don’t have anyone scheduled to come in.” The two of you sit, probably a little too close, but you don’t move away, so Yoongi doesn’t either. You’re quiet, wringing your wrists and playing with your left ring finger slightly.

“You don’t have to tell me if—”

“No,” you interrupt, looking up at him and taking in a deep breath. “I want to.”

Yoongi nods. “Okay.”

You exhale shakily, replaying the painful memory in your mind.

ONE YEAR AGO…

You’re sitting at your kitchen table, a tall glass of red wine in hand. It’s late, the moon already high in the sky as you stare at the dark liquid, hoping you can drown your sorrows in it. Your eyes are swollen from all the crying, a suitcase packed by the door. The house is dark, except for the light shining from above. You check the clock on your phone again for the hundredth time, waiting for him to come home.

Finally, the front door opens and Namjoon walks through the threshold.

“Babe? How come it’s so dark in here? What are you—”

Namjoon pauses mid-sentence as he registers the sight before him. Your luggage resting by the door, you downing half of your glass of wine in one gulp.

Namjoon approaches you cautiously, one hand on the back of his usual chair at your dining table. “Y/N, what’s going on?”

“I can’t do this anymore, Joon,” you say feebly, wrenching the diamond engagement ring off your left ring finger. You take one last look at it, the beautiful piece of jewelry that the two of you had designed together, and slide it across the table in his direction. “I’m done.”

Namjoon deflates almost entirely, pulling out his chair so that he can take a seat. He picks up the ring and holds it between his fingers, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“I thought…I thought we got past everything. I thought you said you forgave me, that it was all going to be okay.”

You bury your face in your hands, tears falling freely. “Joonie, please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“No, fuck that, you’re giving up? Just like that? Do I mean nothing to you at all?”

Your hands fall from your face, and suddenly, you’re furious. Your brows furrow in disgust as you regard the man that you used to call your fiancé, the one you thought was the love of your life.

“How dare you tell me that I’m giving up,” you say shakily as you ball your hands into fists in your lap. “I’m not the one who cheated on you with your best friend for months, Namjoon. Do you know how fucking stupid I felt when I realized how long the two of you were going around behind my back? For fuck’s sake, the three of us opened a studio together. We were business partners. She—” You pause, trying to collect your thoughts as your eyes dart around the room, looking everywhere but him. “You two were my best friends.”

Namjoon lets out a scoff. “As if you’ve never fucked Junghyun.”

Your eyes narrow at him in disgust. “I have never touched Junghyun in all the years we’ve been friends and you know that.”

“Do I?” Namjoon presses. “You’ve got your fucking bags packed by the door, ready to leave. How long have you been planning this, huh? What else are you hiding from me? What’s your end game? Where are you going to go? We bought a fucking house together, you’re going to just let all that money go to waste?”

“If you think I’m going to stay with you because of a mortgage, you’re insane,” you hiss. “You don’t get to try and turn this around on me. You know for a fact that I tried to go back to the way things were after I found out about you and Jisoo, but how am I supposed to be with you if I can’t trust you?”

Tears start falling freely from your eyes again, and you take a moment to hastily wipe them away with the ends of your sleeves before reaching over to down the rest of your wine.

“The lease for the studio is under my name, and I’ve contacted the landlord to let him know that I will be the sole renter of the space. You and Jisoo can find somewhere else to work, but it won’t be with me. I’ve already informed her of this, and she got her stuff out this afternoon.”

Namjoon is quiet, contemplative. He lets out a heavy sigh, slumping back in his seat. “I love you, you know that?”

He sounds earnest, you have to give him that. You bite at your lower lip to stop it from trembling. “If you loved me, then I should have been enough for you.”

“You’ve always been enough, baby,” Namjoon insists, holding out his free hand to you. “I made a mistake. A stupid, fucked up mistake. I was selfish, I get that. But we can work past it, yeah?We can do couple’s therapy, whatever you want. I love you more than anything. You don’t have to do this.” You stare at his open palm, wanting so badly, so desperately, to reach out and touch him. But you know that if you do, you’ll spiral, you’ll forgive him again like you did the last time, and you know that you can’t. You keep your hands in your lap, and shake your head.

“I love you too,” you confess, though the words feel wrong leaving your mouth. Namjoon looks at you, his eyes glimmering with the tiniest bit of hope. You swallow, hard. “But I don’t trust you. And I can’t be with you anymore.”

You rise from your seat, the legs of the chair scraping against the hardwood floor as you push off. You head to the door and slip on your shoes, collecting your bags as Namjoon watches helplessly from the table.

“Where are you going to go?” He asks softly. The despondent look in his eyes makes you believe that he’s finally accepted the fact that you’re leaving.

“Don’t worry about me,” you respond, one foot already out the door. “I’ll be alright.”

You take one last look at the man you thought you loved, the one that hurt you so deeply. Part of you still wishes that you never found out, so that you could live out your days in married bliss like you had planned when the two of you first met. But you know there’s no going back now. You can only push yourself forward, moving in a direction where he can’t follow.

“Goodbye, Namjoon.”

And then you’re gone.

—

PRESENT DAY

Yoongi stares at you, mouth agape, as you recall the entire story. You’d caught your fiancé, Namjoon, cheating on you with Jisoo, your best friend at the time. She was the one who had gotten you your apprenticeship all those years ago, and that’s where you and Namjoon had met. You had mentioned that you, Namjoon and Jisoo had opened your studio as a trio, and the wheels began to turn in Yoongi’s mind.

“Wait…if Jisoo is the one that introduced you to Namjoon all those years ago, then that means…”

You look over at Yoongi and give him a small, sad nod. “Namjoon was my mentor.”

Yoongi feels the air leaving his lungs. You just look so devastated, having to relive those horrible memories. That’s why, when he’d seen the studio initially, he thought it was too big for just one person. It was a space meant for three. Yoongi tries his best not to seem like he’s pitying you, but apparently it doesn’t work because you burst into tears.

“I saw them together, you know,” you sniffle. “I saw them, in the bed that he and I shared, in the house that we fucking bought together. The one that we were going to raise a family in. And it wasn’t like it was just one time. They’d been sleeping together for months, and if I hadn’t caught them in the act, they probably would have kept on doing it.”

Yoongi sighs, shaking his head. “Sounds like the asshole was only sorry he got caught.”

You nod weakly, part of you hating that he’s right. “I don’t know why he came here. I haven’t spoken to him in nearly a year, since I ended our engagement. I just…I don’t know. I have his artwork all over me, for fuck’s sake. Even when I don’t want to think about him, I can’t help but think about him.”

Yoongi bites the inside of his cheek, and leans over to nudge your shoulder gently. “Do you still love him?”

You swipe at your eyes, no longer caring about your ruined makeup. “Part of me will always love him,” you admit, looking away from Yoongi because you don’t want to see the way his face falls at your words. “But I’m not in love with him, if that’s what you’re asking. I haven’t been for a long time. It took a fuck ton of therapy to get myself out of that head space, of thinking I wasn’t good enough.”

“He didn’t deserve you,” Yoongi promises, and you meet his gaze. He can feel your breath tingling against his skin, you’re so close. “He still doesn’t deserve you.”

Your lips part, your gaze darting to his mouth. “Yoongi…”

This is it, he thinks. It’s now or never…

He leans in at a nearly glacial pace, and just before his lips brush against yours, your hand on his chest is lightly pushing him back.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stutter, pulling away from him with a shake of your head. “This is wrong, I can’t—”

Yoongi’s eyes fly open in surprise. “W-what…I’m sorry, I just—”

“It’s not your fault,” you mumble, unable to look at him now. Yoongi desperately wishes you would just look at him. “I just…can’t. I’m sorry.”

Logically, Yoongi understands that you’re going through emotional turmoil. Logically, he understands that now might not have been the best time to try and make a move on you. But his brain is no longer operating on logic. Just pure frustration and anger.

Yoongi shakes his head, letting out a scoff. “You’re really fucking confusing me, you know that?” He rises from the bench, wrenching his hands in his hair as he starts to pace. You watch him helplessly, your vision blurred. “First you give me your number when I never even asked for it, you ask me out for coffee, you flirt with me nonstop, and then the other day after the showcase you fucking kiss me—”

“Yoongi, I—”

“No, it’s my turn to fucking talk.”

Your mouth clamps shut, lower lip wobbling. Yoongi doesn’t look at you. He knows that if he does, he’ll cave. And right now, he has some shit to say.

“You have been so fucking confusing, right from day one. You make me feel so stupid, you know? Like you’re this otherworldly, all-accepting perfect person whose mission it is to make me feel like shit for not having the same mentality as you. Do you know how much of myself I changed just so you would look my way?”

You exhale shakily. “I never asked you to do that.”

“Yes, you did!” Yoongi yells, his voice strained. “You asked me to be less judgmental, and I’ve been fucking trying. Do you know how shitty it is to have someone point out your flaws? As if I didn’t know them already? Sometimes it feels like I’m just some project for you so that you can convince yourself that you’re doing some sort of good by making me less of an asshole.”

“Yoongi,” you whimper. “You know that’s not true.”

“How am I supposed to know that?” He bellows. “I fucking let you into my life and you changed everything. All of my friends think you’re fucking perfect, and that I’m an idiot because I fucking fell for you and didn’t have the courage to do anything about it. And then you kissed me after the showcase, and it made me really believe that you liked me. I really thought for a second that maybe that’s what it was like to be in love, to have the stupid butterflies and dreams and hopes—and now what? This?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head.

“This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.”

A tear rolls down your cheek in the silence that follows. “I…didn’t realize I made you feel that way,” you say, barely above a whisper. “You know that I only wanted to help you, right, Yoongi? I just—”

“I didn’t ask for your fucking help!” Yoongi seethes. “I never asked for any of this. I never asked to feel this way. I never expected or wanted to fall for someone like you—”

At that, you rise. The tears are still welling up in your eyes, but your face is set in angry determination, fists clenched at your sides. Your voice is thick is you repeat, “Someone like me.”

The way you phrase it isn’t a question. It’s a statement.

It’s in that moment that Yoongi realizes everything that he’d said. “Y/N wait, that’s not what I meant—”

“Save it, Yoongi,” you shake your head at him, brushing past him to get to the door. You grab the knob and fling it open, holding it there as you stare directly into his eyes. “Get out.”

Yoongi reaches out, desperate to touch you, but you jerk your arm away.

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“I thought you were different,” you whisper, shaking your head. “Get. Out.”

Yoongi opens his mouth again to say something—anything—but the look in your eyes tells him that you’re done. He feels his heart sink down to the pit of his stomach, his throat beginning to constrict as regret and despair wash over him. With what dignity he has left, he forces himself out of your studio, out of your life, and down the stairs to the outside world. He hears you slam the door behind him, the lock clicking into place.

The rain is still pouring outside, and Yoongi squints his eyes up at the thick, dark clouds that tower overhead. Rain droplets dot his face, and as they roll down his cheeks, he can almost pretend as if he isn’t crying.

Upstairs, you grab the container of soup that Yoongi had brought you. You dump its contents down the toilet and chuck the empty container into the trash before collapsing onto the ground in a fit of sobs. After what seems like an eternity, you fish your phone out of your pocket and scroll through your contacts.

His name is still there, mocking you.

You take a deep breath, and click on it.

Now calling Kim Namjoon…

—

“Yoongi-hyung, maybe you’ve had enough,” Hoseok says gently as Yoongi tosses back another shot of soju. He sucks in a breath through his teeth as the alcohol burns his throat, making his vision hazy and his words slurred.

“Maybe you haven’t had enough,” he counters, draining the rest of the bottle. “I just want to forget this day. Forget the last six months ever fucking happened.”

Hoseok sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’d ordered a beer that he was slowly nursing as Yoongi took shot after shot, but he decides now that at least one of them needs to have a clear head. He pushes his beer away and places his elbow on the bar, turning his body so that it’s facing his friend.

“What happened?”

Yoongi has his arms crossed and is leaning heavily on the solid oak, his head hanging low as he tries to control his emotions. “I fucked up,” he croaks. “I fucked up, and now she hates me.”

“Who, Y/N?” Hoseok asks, stunned. “She could never hate you, Yoongi. I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

He scoffs, shoulders shaking in a sarcastic laugh that has him nearly falling off his barstool. “You weren’t there, man. Whatever chance I had, it’s…it’s gone. She’s done with me. It’s over.”

Hoseok frowns, knowing he’s not going to get any information out of his friend tonight. Not when he’s like this. Exasperated, he picks up his beer again and takes a deep gulp.

“Atta boy,” Yoongi hiccups, patting Hoseok hard on the back before directing his attention to the bartender. “Hey, another round over here!”

—

Yoongi stumbles into his apartment, not entirely sure how he got there. He recalls that he can’t drive, so drunk driving is out of the question. He squints his eyes, peering into the darkness of his home as if the answer to how he arrived there will emerge from the shadows. He vaguely recollects Hoseok shoving him into a cab and tossing some money at the driver, so that’s probably what happened.

Kicking off his shoes, he wanders towards the bathroom to brush his teeth. He may be wasted, but he’s not a barbarian. As he stumbles out of the bathroom once he’s brushed his teeth and relieved his bladder, he comes face to face with his studio door. There’s a sign on it that reads GENIUS LAB, a name jokingly given to him by Hoseok that just sort of stuck. He snorts at it now.

Some fucking genius I am, he thinks, but pushes the door open anyway, ambling inside.

Immediately, he regrets it.

Everywhere he looks, he sees you. Glimpsing at his piano, he sees you practicing your scales as he watches intently, helping you adjust your finger movements so that they’re more fluid. Turning to the grey couch by the door, he sees you with your brows furrowed in concentration as you draw on your tablet, trying to figure out different compositions for larger scale tattoos. And then he looks at his computer, where all of his hard work is created and stored, and remembers the way you looked at him the first time you listened to his music.

You’d gazed at him so adoringly, like you were one soul separated in two bodies. He would do anything to have you look at him that way even just one more time.

The realization sobers him slightly, and he shuffles out of his studio to wander over to his bed. Flopping face down against his pillows, he wonders if he could suffocate like this if he tried not to move. He groans and rolls over after a few seconds, knowing that death by pillow won’t solve any of his problems.

He takes out his phone against his better judgment, and starts dialling your number from memory. His body and mind are operating on separate levels, and before he realizes it, he’s pressing the phone against his ear as the line rings and rings and rings.

It keeps on ringing.

You don’t pick up.

Hi, this is Y/N. I’m not available at the moment, but if you leave your name, number, and a detailed message, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks!

BEEP

Yoongi swallows the lump in his throat. What is he doing? What did he expect, that you would pick up the phone, that he would confess his love to you, and that everything would be forgiven?

He’s quiet for a few more seconds before he finally decides to speak.

“Hey,” he begins. He’s silent again for a beat, trying to find his words. “I know you probably hate me.” He pauses to croak out a laugh. “I hate me too, if it’s any consolation. I fucking suck. I’m a fucking idiot and…I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said to you today. You make me a better person. You changed me, yeah, but I needed that change. Just like I need you. And I don’t…I don’t want to pressure you into anything. I know I fucked up, and you probably don’t ever want to see me again, but…if there’s any chance that you do, then please, please call me back.”

Yoongi lets out a shaky breath, tears blurring his vision and tightening his throat. He sniffles loudly before he remembers that he’s still on the phone.

“Fuck. I’m sorry. You’re probably going to delete this message as soon as you hear it. But, uh…don’t cut the others out of your life because of me, okay? They’re good people, and they care about you. So do I, even though I’m shit at showing it. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me one day. So…yeah. Bye.”

He removes the phone from his ear and presses the button on the screen to end the call. Tossing his phone aside, Yoongi shucks off his jeans and burrows under the covers.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he hopes and prays that tomorrow will be better, that maybe he’ll wake up and none of this will have happened. That he’ll check his phone and see a text from you asking when he’s going to come by to hang out, that he’ll be able to go to your studio and bring you lunch, that the two of you will take the bus to HopeWorld together to watch Hoseok, Jungkook and Jimin dance.

He still hasn’t forgotten that he promised to dance for you, way back when you were teaching him about tattooing. He hopes he’ll get to see your smiling face as he makes a fool of himself for you, because there’s no one else in the world who could coax him into embarrassing himself on purpose with just a smile.

Hope is all he has left. So he embraces the darkness behind his eyelids, and hopes for a better tomorrow.

This obituary by Janis Ian about Anne McCaffrey is very A Passion for Friends:

There've been so many mentions of Anne McCaffrey in the post below, I thought to post this homage I wrote for Locus Magazine when Annie died. I miss her, a lot. I kept a few of the most precious books she gave me, but last time I opened one I burst into tears... I feel fortunate to have loved someone so wonderful, to have been loved in return, and to miss her this much. From Locus Magazine: THE MASTERHARPER IS GONE "I have a shIelf of comfort books, which I read when the world closes in on me or something untoward happens." —Anne McCaffrey I miss her fiercely, more than I have any right to miss her. I remind myself of this whenever I run into her at the library and am stricken with tears. She was not kin, was not connected to me by family ties, not even a distant cousin. Not even Jewish. I have no right to miss her this much. And once in a while, when I chide myself for my silly sentimentality, the sudden lightning that pierces my heart gives way to a duller, deeper pain. One I can live with, perhaps. Like today, waking to a terrible cold, with headache and foggy brain I reach for solace. Put on my red flannel comfort shirt, add my favorite PJ bottoms, then a pair of  fleece-lined slippers. Make my favorite tea, cover myself with an old patchwork quilt, and reach blindly for a book on my “comfort shelf.” Of course. I can’t escape her. Hours later, still miserable, I finish "All the Weyrs of Pern"  for the umpteenth time, and scold myself for the tears that fall – first, because she is gone, and second, because I never really succeeded in telling her just how much she meant to me. I’d never heard of her when I stumbled across for "The Ship Who Sang" at my local library. I wrote to her, saying that it had moved me profoundly, wondering how a prose writer could have such a clear understanding of a musician’s soul. Being one myself, I said, a musician that is, and would like to send a copy of my last record in gratitude. She responded with a laugh that she had never heard of me but oh my, her children had, and could we trade books for recordings? And so, we began. I raced through everything she sent – such generosity, so much that it took two large boxes to ship it all. She, in turn, told me that while she appreciated the beauty of my “Jesse” and the clarity of “At 17”, she was writing her current novel to the beat of my one disco hit, “Fly Too High.” I laughed aloud because it made an artist’s sense to me – dragons flew, and Anne flew with them, regardless of the beat. It was the third or fourth email that she began with the salutation “Dear Petal,”.  Petal. Me? I responded that of all the things I’d been called, no one had ever dreamed to name me “Petal”. She answered briskly that obviously, they’d never seen me bloom. From that day forward, I was her Petal, and she my Orchid. We corresponded ferociously, both all-or-nothing no-holds-barred types, Aries to the hilt. Weekly, daily, sometimes hourly. Dropped out at times when one of us was “on tour”, came back to it as we could. The time passed. Her beloved agent died. My parents passed away. She got a scathing review; I sent a few of my own. She was stuck on a chapter, I was stuck on a verse. We got unstuck, stuck again, and through it all we talked, comforting one another as only a “good hot cuppa” can. She picked me up herself in Dublin, leaning on a cane, nervous to meet in the flesh until I ran into her arms and smothered her with hugs. She drove between the hedgerows with complete abandon, a total disregard for ruts or speed limits, while I clutched the seat and wondered who’d get the bigger headline if we crashed. Annie, I decided, for she was truly a two-column, bold print kind of gal. By then, she was always “Annie” to me, or “Annie Mac”. My larger than life friend, who consorted daily with dragons and starlight, her own luster never dimming  beside them. Once, after she showed me the rock cliffs of the Guiness Estate and explained that Benden Hold looked just like that, she asked if I would write a theme for it. For the movie? I said. “Yes”, she said, “A theme. Because if Menolly came to life, it would be with your voice.” I say this not to brag, but to indicate the trust between us – such trust that when I got home, with no film in sight, I began sketching out some notes for “Lessa’s Song”. I wanted it to be haunting, the way her words haunted me. I wanted it to be sweeping, like the thrust of dragon wings. I wanted it to be everything I could bring to her, a gift for someone whose words took me out of my world and into hers. As she said herself, “That’s what writing is all about, after all, making others see what you have put down on the page and believing that it does, or could, exist and you want to go there.” I hope someday to finish that melody. I hope it’s good enough for a MasterHarper to sing. I hope she regarded me worthy of the title. Because that’s what she was for so many of us – the MasterHarper, singing in prose, songs that reminded us of where we’d been, and what we could become. She came and stayed with us in Nashville, bringing a broken shoulder and trusting me to care for her. We visited Andre Norton, Annie insisting I not just drive but sit with them and listen to “a bit of gossip”. These two women—one writing at a time when pseudonyms were necessary for a woman to get published, the other cracking the New York Times bestseller list with, of all things, a science fiction book, and by a female at that!—talked of publishers, rumors, scandals old and new, while I sat as silent as an unopened book, wishing I’d thought to bring a tape recorder. At first, as her health declined, she bore it cheerfully. “I’m bionic now, Petal, complete with metal knees!” she declared. “Better than ever, and no pain.” She kept to her writing schedule, doing what she could to help her body retain its youth. Swam every day, bragged about her granddaughter’s accomplishments at school – “First prize, don’tcha know!” and commiserated over our various surgeries. We sound like a couple of old Yiddishe mamas, comparing whose surgery was worse! I laughed, and she laughed along with me. Neither of us reckoned on the psychic toll. “Old age is not for the faint of heart,” she quoted, as her energy began to leech away. How is it we artists always forget just how hard it is to write? how much work it is? How can we ignore the vast psychic drain that accompanies every act of creation? We both knew it from her Pern books, when going between enervated even the hardiest of dragon riders. But somehow, we never expected it in “real” life. It’s only when we lose that effervescence, through age, through illness, through sheer attrition, that we realize how necessary it is to our work. How fundamental to our beings. “I can’t write.” She confessed the shameful secret to me not once, but dozens of times, as if repetition would prove it a lie. At first, playing the friend, I tried to reassure her. Then don’t! Take some time off, Annie. Restore your body, and the brain will follow. Talent doesn’t just disappear, you know – it lies in wait. But she knew better. “I'm still not writing.  I think I know how Andre Norton is feeling, too, because I suspect that she's finding it very difficult to write, as the wellspring and flexibility that did us so much service is drying up in our old age. And no false flattery. AT 76 I AM old, and she's in her nineties.   It takes a lot of energy to write, as much as it takes you to keep on adding flavor to your song presentation. Sorry to blah at you but you're one of the few people who does understand the matter when an artist questions their output.” I responded in kind. "No worries talking to me about not writing... I sure as hell know the amount of energy it consumes. Every time you sit down to write, it's a performance. Only you don't have the luxury of props - no lights, sound, other actors to step behind when the inevitable fatigue hits. Heck, Annie, I'm feeling it more and more now, and you've got a quarter century on me.  I notice it mid-show; two hours used to be a piece of cake. Now I feel myself flagging at 45 minutes, and I really look forward to that 20 minute intermission, if only so I can have some water and sit for a few minutes. "Same with writing, for me. Used to be able to sit and write for 6 hours at a stretch. Now I'm good for two if I'm lucky. Part of it's my back, but most of it is - I fear - just that I'm older. It sucks." And she wrote back. “Must write. There are IRS problems. You wouldn’t believe. Mouths to feed, people depending on. Advances already spent and gone. Must write.” And so, she wrote, but for a while there was no joy in it. Still, I loved what she wrote, and told her so. I was proud of our friendship, not because she was so damned famous, but because she was so damned good. She even used my name in a book – Ladyholder Janissian in Skies of Pern – and roared with laughter when I admitted I’d been so wrapped up in the story that I hadn’t even noticed. But she knew – as artists always do – that while her ability to plot continued apace, the actual writing of it was becoming an endurance contest she couldn’t hope to win. “Turn more of it over to Todd,” I argued. Her son had a real knack for a sentence, but it was hard for Annie to let go. Of course. What artist can? “His words may not sing the way yours do – yet. He doesn’t have your lyrical grace – yet. But he will, Annie, you’ve just got to let him breathe!” I said it and said it and said it, to no avail. Then came a day when, 25 years younger and an ocean away, I finally lost patience and angrily berated her. “Damnit Annie, quit complaining and just stop! By God, you have created a mountain of work, an incredible legacy that will endure and be read by zillions of people long after both of us are gone – so quit whining about what you cannot do and start looking at what you have done. It’s time, Anne. Take this unbearable weight off your shoulders and stop!” I sent the email off and waited for her response, fearing I’d gone too far. A day. Then another. Finally, sure I’d lost a friend, I called to ask just how angry she was with me. Oh, no, not at all, she’s “in hospital.” She took a fall. She’d write soon. And she did, quoting me and saying “I knew you, of all people, would make sense.” A sweeter absolution I’ve never had. We continued our friendship, bitching about our bodies, menopause, the inevitable “drying up” of everything that comes with the feminine mystique. You cannot imagine the luxury, for me, to have a compatriot a quarter-century older. As an artist, I admired her work. But as a woman, I was relieved to have someone relentlessly honest about what was to come in my own life. We traded constantly. I sent her Lhasa de Sela, Sara Bettens. She sent stories about her animals, and the garden. One spring she changed my salutation to “Dear Crocus Petal – there are eight coming up now!” We planned  to visit Prague together in September ’01, but then came 9/11, and I chickened out. To be brutally honest, I was afraid to fly. Annie gently took me to task, then went off with someone else instead. I will regret that for the rest of my life. She went into the hospital for the last time while I was touring the UK – just a ferry boat and an ocean of commitments away. Knowing how out of touch she’d feel, how fretful she’d be, I tried to call every day. We fell into a pattern – I’d wait until I was in the van, then phone her up and tell an off color joke, a bawdy story, a bit of kindly gossip. Sometimes about people we knew in common, Harlan perhaps, or Scott Card, whose work she admired. Sometimes just a silly series of puns I’d found on line. Whatever it was, I wanted to make her laugh, because I loved to hear her laugh. She died while I was on vacation, just days after the tour’s end. I’d brought a copy of Dragonsinger with me because on vacation, I always brought a few “comfort re-reads.” I’d fallen asleep over it, waking to an email from Gigi. Please keep it quiet until I can reach everyone, she asked. My older brother Alec is still in flight, and we don’t want him seeing it in the paper before I can reach him. I called with sleep still in my eyes and heard the hum of people behind Gigi’s answering voice. It was fast, it was painless, it was everything Annie had wanted. No lingering. A “good death” for her. But not for me. It’s hard to open my computer knowing there will be no “Dear Petal.” It’s hard, after knowing such a warm and giving shelter, to go without. Sometimes I run across a sentence that sings to me, and jot it down to show her. And sometimes, when she leaps out at me from the cover of a book, I remember she is gone, and it hits me like lightning, fast and lethal and completely unexpected. It stops my breath, until I remind myself that she is gone, but I am still here. When the lightning hits, I comfort myself with this. The beauty of Anne’s writing is that she makes it all seem, not just possible, but normal. For men to go dragonback. For women to become ships. For young, unwanted girls to become MasterHarpers. For brains to pair with brawns, and sing opera under alien skies. And for an unlikely friendship to bloom, a pairing no one could have imagined, between a petal on earth, and an orchid in flight.

tsukkiyama + 4? :O

4. teacher/single parent au

Also doubles as a belated Tsukkiyama Month day 12 (teachers) and 27 (single parents) fic! AO3

Send me a ship/number and I’ll write a short fic!

support the creative writing student maybe? 

Tadashi was going to throw-down on the person who made his son cry. After everything the two of them had gone though, Tadashi was no longer allowing people to step all over his family. Even if that meant he had to step on a few people.

Solving this problem was exponentially harder when the tear-jerker jerk was a seven year old. 

Still, Tadashi was not going to take this lying down. He’d been bullied all his school life, elementary through high school. And he was not going to sit by and watch his son go through the same. Michi was too good of a child, he did not deserve to come home in tears every day. Tadashi had raised a strong boy; they both had to become strong after Tadashi’s girlfriend had abandoned them a month after Michi had been born. 

As a parent, this was something Tadashi needed to do. So, he went straight to the source– Michi’s teacher.

He called the school not ten minutes after his son returned home, eyes red and swollen and nose stuffy. He’d been connected to the faculty office where a soft-spoken woman directed the call to the appropriate teacher. There was some shuffling on the other end of the phone before it settled. Tadashi tapped his foot, waiting.

“Tsukishima speaking,” came a dull-toned voice. 

“Hello, Tsukishima-sensei? This is Yamaguchi Tadashi, Michi’s father.”

The man on the end of the line hummed. Tadashi clenched his fist. He hoped that wasn’t a disinterested hum. If so, he may have an adult to step on as well.

“It has come to my attention that Michi–”

“Yamaguchi-san.” Tadashi was cut off mid-sentence by the teacher. “I am aware of the issue with Michi. I am currently organizing a meeting with the parents of the children involved in the bullying of your son. Rest assured, the problem will be solved.”

Tadashi lost his voice, mouth flapping like a fish. Though Tsukishima had spoken in a monotone voice with little inflection, his words betrayed his tone. Tadashi was used to interacting with Hinata and Kageyama on a regular basis, who spoke with lots of energy and emotion or short bursts of emotion, respectively. This change sent a shock to Tadashi’s system.

So the teacher does care, he thought with a rush of relieving warmth.

“Thank you,” Tadashi’s voice rushed out of him on an exhale. “I will be in attendance, absolutely.”

“I would actually prefer to meet with the other parents first, if you don’t mind.”

Again, same rough tone, but this time with a bit more force behind the words. 

“But…but as Michi’s father, I feel I should–” Tadashi argued, but was interrupted, again. 

“If it would make you more comfortable, I could meet individually with you as well, to discuss the incidents.”

Tsukishima-sensei made it sound like that would be the worst thing he could ever experience. 

Tadashi swallowed thickly, ignoring the tone for just a moment to focus on the more important thing. “Incidents? How many times have you seen things of the nature towards Michi?”

A sigh; the creak of a chair. “Yamaguchi-san, you have a bright son. Children are intimidated by that, so they emote in the only way they know how with their limited vocabulary. It’s happened a few times this week, likely once a day for the last few weeks.”

Tadashi moved to sit down at the kitchen table. His son had been suffering for weeks, and it was only now that he noticed it? How terrible of a father was he?

It wasn’t like he’d been expecting fatherhood, but he thought he’d adapted well! He did all of the research, had learned through trial and error how to respond to his son, and he’d thought they’d been doing pretty good…

“Yamaguchi-san.”

“Yes?” Tadashi snapped to attention at the call of his name, grip tightening around his phone. 

“We will fix this. You take care of your son. I’ll deal with the rest. When the time comes, I will give you another call, and we will have an apology meeting.”

“Okay,” Tadashi found himself agreeing. Tsukishima was right. His son was the main thing he needed to focus on right now. He could trust the teacher to do his job.

“What is the number I can reach you at?”

“Oh! This number is fine,” Tadashi responded automatically.

There was a moment of silence. Then, Tsukishima chuckled. It sounded a bit sinister, but in a cute way. “You’re going to have to give me an actual number, I do not have caller ID.”

Tadashi felt his cheeks inflame. “Right, I’m sorry.” He rattled off his number, and he could hear the click of a pen down the line, so he knew the teacher had likely jotted it down. After a beat, Tadashi rattled off his email address as well. “In case I don’t answer the call. I am usually very responsive to emails.”

Tsukishima-sensei hummed again, there was a crinkle of paper, and then another click of a pen. “Alright. Will do. Tsukishima Kei, by the way.”

Tadashi pinched his face in a wince. “Right, sorry, I didn’t properly ask. It’s good to meet you, Tsukishima-sensei, though the circumstances aren’t ideal.”

“Perhaps you’ll find we’ve met before? During better ones?”

Tadashi stared down at his phone, pulling it away from his ear before returning it. He didn’t immediately recognize the name, though he’d never been the best at remembering people from solitary meetings. 

“What?” Tadashi eventually asked, baffled and confused by the question.

Tsukishima sighed, and Tadashi got the feeling he did that a lot. “Never mind. I can wait.”

Tadashi was only deeper in confusion now. 

“I will contact you soon, Yamaguchi-san.”

Tadashi knew a dismissal when he heard one. “Of course. Speak with you soon, Tsukishima-sensei.”

Tadashi ended the call and clutched the phone tightly in his hand. As much as he thought about it, he could not immediately call up a memory of a Tsukishima that he knew. Perhaps he should pull out the old yearbooks?

But that was a question for another time. Michi was peeking his head into the room, and Tadashi smiled and beckoned him closer as he slid off of the kitchen chair, allowing his son to embrace him.

“We’ll figure this out together, okay?” Tadashi assured his son, rubbing his thumb over Michi’s cheek. 

“Tsukishma-sensei too?” Michi asked, voice still a little rough from crying.

“Yes. Tsukishima-sensei too. Trust him, okay?” Tadashi looked into his son’s eyes, waiting for him to understand.

Michi nodded slowly. He scrunched up his nose and sniffled. The boy had freckles over the mask of his face, just like his father. Tadashi left soothing touches behind over the path of them. “Okay, to-san.”

our universe is not this one; i can live with that (but i cannot bear it)

Inone universe they are the best of friends. Bernie does not fall head overheels, they do not kiss, Serena does not have a mid-life Sapphic revelation.They are still inseparable, are still each other’s first port of call, stilllove each other fiercely – but it is never other than platonic, in thought orin deed.

*

Inanother universe Serena had kissed agirl in Stepney. When Bernie kisses her she doesn’t panic because she hasalready acknowledged and accepted this part of herself. There is no awkwardnessor confusion, no crossed wires, no suggesting keeping things confined totheatre. Serena kisses Bernie back just as enthusiastically, when the nexttheatre team comes in looks at her with burning eyes and murmurs, ‘Later,’ withsuch wanting that Bernie moans.

*

Inanother universe Bernie is not a coward and does not run to Kyiv when Serenamentions falling in love.

Inanother she does go but Serena comes to visit her, and Bernie speeds throughher work as quickly as possible so she can come home to her.

Inyet another she runs and stays far longer than she should have, but when shefinally comes back she tells Serena she couldn’t stop thinking about her, andSerena kisses her like it’s the only thing she’s wanted to do the entire timethey were apart.

*

Inthis universe, though? In this universe Bernie comes back from Ukraine ready tobeg Serena’s forgiveness with a poorly wrapped bottle of wine and a speech shespent the entire journey writing and rewriting in her head, ready to expose herheart and confess her feelings – only to find that Serena has moved on.

It’shardly her place to complain, of course, or to comment at all really. She wasthe one who left, after all, the one who didn’t reply to Serena’s texts oremails, thereby relinquishing any stake in Serena’s love life.

Shemakes an effort to like Robbie, because Serena seems happy and he and Jason aregetting on, squashes down the longing every time she sees them together – thefeeling that that could have been me.She volunteers to work the Christmas Day shift so Serena can have it off,spends the evening with Cam and Charlotte and ignores the ache in her heartwhen Serena sends her a selfie complete with paper hat and mince pie, feels Camhug her a little tighter and is grateful he doesn’t say anything.

Timemoves on. The problem is, however much she tries, Bernie does not. She hasaccepted that they were not meant to be, takes some measure of comfort from themany worlds interpretation, from the thought that somewhere there is a versionof reality in which she wasn’t a coward and they are happy together – even ifit can’t be this reality. Serena is happy, and that’s what matters most.They’re friends still, somehow; Jason likes her and even Elinor more thantolerates her. She’s a part of Serena’s family and is allowed to love her andcare for her and see her vulnerable. It’s enough, it’s more than she deservesreally. If only her heart would get the message.

Bernieis hardly unused to unrequited love or hiding her feelings, but she allowsherself to flirt with Serena because Serena flirts with her, and that’s justhow they are; in theatre it’s like nothing has changed. But then they’ll stepout onto the ward and Robbie will be waiting in their office, will greet Serenawith a kiss and take her out for dinner, and Bernie will be left alone, fistsclenched and eyes screwed shut, her carefully constructed, calm acceptancemomentarily shaken.

Itbecomes easier, with time. And then it becomes harder again, for no discerniblereason. Bernie finds herself wondering if acceptance has an expiry date,wonders if there’s only so much of Serena she can be exposed to before she’lllose her mind. Serena goes through a rough patch with Robbie, and it takes allBernie’s willpower not to tell her to just dump him. She watches as Robbiegrovels with expensive bouquets and jewellery and dinner, as Serena forgiveshim and begins to smile more again, as they talk of moving in together. Sheforces a smile, ignores Serena’s questioning frown, hides behind her fringebecause she can’t risk Serena seeing the anguish in her eyes. Because thatwould be it, wouldn’t it – the end of there being even the slightest chance forher? But maybe it would be for the best.

‘Forgod’s sake would you just do something about it?’ Dom pleads one afternoon onthe roof. He knows, of course – she told him, had to tell someone and trustshim, but he’d probably have known anyway.

‘Ican’t. She’s happy, I’m not going to selfishly ruin that. I had my chance, Imessed it up.’

‘Isshe really, though? I mean, is she actually truly happy?’ he asks, and Berniefrowns. ‘Sure she’s happy enough, but I think maybe she’s just settling.’

Berniestares at him, eyes wide and brows knotted.

‘You’renot the only one who’s pining, Bernie,’ Dom says gently. ‘I’ve seen the way shelooks at you.’

‘Butwhat about Robbie? And why hasn’t she just said something?’

‘OhI don’t know, maybe the way you buggered off to the other side of the continentat the first mention of feelings might have something to do with it?’

‘Iwas such an idiot,’ Bernie moans, burying her face in her hands. ‘A stupid,cowardly idiot.’

‘Well,yes,’ Dom agrees, bumping his shoulder against hers. ‘But you could start beingbrave.’

Berniehas always found bravery to be fleeting, to need seizing in the instant beforeit drains away. She thinks about what Dom said as she jogs down the stairs,thinks about how Serena has looked at her and smiled at her – compares it tohow she smiles at Robbie and thinks she comes out on top. She bursts onto AAUready to do – she isn’t quite sure what, but something.

There’sa huddle of junior doctors and nurses around the nurses station, all lookingtowards the office with a mixture of curiosity and concern. Bernie’s about toask why no work is getting done despite them having a ward full of patientswhen she hear Serena’s raised voice.

‘No,Robbie, I am not retiring and movingto the bloody Cotswolds with you! I don’t know what ever gave you the idea thatthat was something I wanted.’

‘ButSerena, we could–’

‘No,’she says firmly. ‘Clearly you don’t know me at all, haven’t been listening tome all these months.’

‘Ijust thought you wanted the same thing as me.’

‘Idon’t,’ Serena says icily. ‘I think you should leave.’

‘Fine.I’ll see you later?’

‘Idon’t think so, Robbie.’

‘Youmean you’re breaking up with me – over this?’ he asks incredulously, and Berniebarely keeps from rolling her eyes as she exchanges a glance with Raf.‘Seriously, Serena?’

Itgoes quiet for a few minutes, Robbie clearly trying to convince Serena. Andthen the door opens and everyone pretends to be working as he walks out andleaves the ward.

Berniegives it a moment and then firmly orders everyone to get on, takes a deepbreath and goes into the office, closing the door behind her. Serena is sat ather desk, shaking with anger and tears; when Bernie touches her shoulder shemelts into her, allows herself to be held.

Berniejoins her and Jason for tea that evening, Serena sitting close to her andsnuggling in as they watch Mary Beard.

‘I’mjust so cross with myself, Bernie,’ she admits when Jason has gone up to hisroom. ‘I should’ve realised he wasn’t joking when he said I should retire.’

‘Hewas an idiot if he couldn’t see how much you love medicine,’ Bernie sayssoftly, squeezing her shoulder.

‘Thankyou,’ Serena smiles.

‘You’revery welcome,’ Bernie replies.

Shecan’t do anything now, she thinks. It would look opportunistic, would seem likeshe’s preying on Serena when she’s weak and vulnerable – not that Serena iseither of those things, although she is dull for a little while, cross anddisappointed with herself. Bernie plies her with coffee and treats, takes herto the cinema, cooks dinner for her and Jason, even does some of her paperworkfor her, does everything she can to make her happy. One morning she comes inwith her spark back, and Bernie is lost all over again. It’s just like before,all flirting and teasing, and Serena is so happy Bernie decides she isn’t goingto rock the boat.

‘Idiot,’Dom says frankly when she tells him. ‘Can’t you see this is exactly where you were before? It’s likeyou’ve been offered a chance to go back in time and get it right – why wouldn’tyou take it?’

ButBernie ignores him and does nothing, because what they have now is wonderful.Until Jasmine is injured and they have to fight for her life. Until they’reslumped together on the floor of the theatre and Serena says shakily that thiswas all her fault, that if she hadn’t shouted at Jasmine then she wouldn’t haveleft the ward, would have been safe.

Bernielooks at her, stunned. ‘This isn’t your fault, Serena. How could you possibly haveknown this would happen? And Jasmine thinks the world of you, thinks you’re thebest surgeon in the entire hospital.’

‘Jasminethinks Jac’s the best surgeon in the hospital,’ Serena corrects her.

‘Ok,yes,’ Bernie admits. ‘But she’s biased. I happen to think you’re an incredibledoctor though. Pretty incredible woman all round, really.’

‘Aren’tyou biased too?’ Serena asks – almost hopefully, Bernie thinks.

She’sstruck with such a strong sense of déjà vu, wonders if Serena is thinking of thefirst time they kissed too, wonders what feelings the memory stirs in her. Andthen she sees Serena’s eyes flick down to her lips and she thinks, fuck it, I can’t bear it any longer,consequences be damned.

Serenameets her halfway, grasps her gown and moans against her lips.

‘Definitelybiased,’ Bernie murmurs when they draw apart for breath, foreheads restingtogether.

Serenalaughs, opens her eyes and gazes into Bernie’s. ‘We’re going to get it rightthis time,’ she vows, fingers carding through Bernie’s hair.

‘Yes,’Bernie agrees, lips ghosting across Serena’s again, again, smiling at the feelof Serena’s smile.

‘Starting,’Serena says on her third attempt, once she’s forced herself to pull back justout of Bernie’s reach, ‘with you coming home with me tonight.’

[send me a made-up fic title and i’ll tell you what i would write to go with it]

Cameron Diaz's Short Hairstyles and Haircuts - 10+

Cameron Diaz's Short Hairstyles and Haircuts, will be considered one of the most beautiful and talented American actresses in the world. He successfully impressed us with his great performance in all kinds of musicals and historical romances. His good taste in style has also earned him a large amount of huge fans in many countries. Today, let's take a look at 17 Gorgeous Cameron Diaz hairstyles with our wonderful photos below.

Cameron Diaz's Short Hairstyles and Haircuts

Cameron Diaz's Short Hairstyles and Haircuts, I'm sure you were surprised by Cameron Diaz's stunning red carpet appearance. She looks very bright and shiny with her soft blonde hair. Different hairstyles showed more pride under pale skin tone and charming blue eyes. Of all the hairstyles, love curly bob and a sleek layered middle haircut can create the most impressive style for this beautiful lady, along with her special talents.

Cameron Diaz's Short Hairstyles

Cameron Diaz's Short Hairstyles and Haircuts, Short hairstyles are popular. More celebrities cut short long or medium hair this year Cameron Diaz also cut her long wavy hair style short for the start of this year. Also Miley Cyrus cut her wavy hair into a new short fairy cut last month (Miley Cyrus new hair). If you're still hesitant to cut your hair short, you can make a decision now. It's a short-cut trend.

Cameron Diaz's Short Haircuts

Cameron Diaz's Short Hairstyles and Haircuts, Here are some pictures of Cameron Diaz's latest short bob hairstyles. View yourself with Cameron Diaz hairstyles. It provides you with tips on how to style your hair by letting you know which facial shape matches your hair texture and hair density as well.

Cameron Diaz's Hairstyles

Cameron Diaz doesn't take himself too seriously, and his hair and makeup choices are equally carefree, fun and adventurous. While she has successfully pulled off a more serious brunette shade for several years.

Cameron Diaz curly hair

Diaz is best known as a Californian blonde to match the tanned skin of a surfer girl. His cartoon alter ego Shrek Forever flaunted himself in that colour after Princess Fiona had red hair and Cameron Diaz.

Cameron Diaz's Haircuts

The typical blonde actress also went Brown and has worn a variety of different cuts and styles over the years. Check out the hairstyle pictures below for evidence of Diaz's colourful coif past. Cameron Diaz is one of the top icons for short hairstyles. Cameron Diaz hair the holiday She has a really great style and you have to check out this more than 20 Cameron Diaz Bob hairstyle if you want to look as beautiful as her. Celebrities are a great guide to new trends and styles. Cameron Diaz's Short Hair This is something new and if you want to try one of these popular bob haircuts, it will help you to look new and stylish. Cameron's bob style looks layered and short. Cameron Diaz Hairstyle: her gold charming freshly cropped honey. Cameron Diaz hair color Blonde locks feature only thin layers cut from the side and front to enhance the bounce and movement of soft waves added to mid-length tips. The length of this thin hair is rough cut and reaches to the collar. Cameron Diaz's Hair The soft elegant style is perfect for thin people with moderate hair who are looking for a hairstyle with elegance and brilliance. Cameron Diaz Bob's haircut and styles are iconic. Cameron Diaz natural hair People know the Funny Girl with the short hair. This style is an elegant blonde bob that will work for all events including weddings and proms. Blonde bombshell Cameron Diaz is fed up with her hair just like us. Cameron Diaz haircut You know how it is; your Christmas hair looks a bit boring and you want a new look for the party season. He just left and cut his locks. Cam showed off her newly tousled bob on. Cameron Diaz hairstyles short The tonight show with Jay Leno and one minute we barely even noticed Hello. See those super-long legs. Lucky girl. If this is what loads of exercise and healthy eating you can consider it. Cameron Diaz haircut in the holiday Oh wait. Cameron is 84. he showed off his new look at the Annual Academy Awards. With a small product in length, a blunt cut is easy to enhance the side and back Shape of the cut making jagged layers with the chin line. A small product is required for regular fixes to keep and maintain brightness as well as shape. Best Cameron Diaz Hairstyles images Blonde bombshell Cameron Diaz accidentally chopped off her long locks and then a. Friend of Cameron Diaz 'tears' when a friend accidentally cut her. Hair so short that Jay Leno tells her she ‘tears’. Cameron Diaz natural hair color Appearing on the Jay Leno Show last night, the actress said she never intended to have her long blonde hair cut. It was a little misunderstanding ' I said I just wanted a little trimmed and Cameron Diaz told the host as he pointed out the two very different hair lengths went from here to here. Cameron Diaz hair in the holiday It was just one of those moments where I could burst into tears. I felt so vulnerable for a woman that she suddenly moved on. Cameron Diaz has been one of America's sweethearts since the 1990s. Cameron Diaz hair 2020 - 2021 Something about the blockbuster Mary the mask and, of course, my best friend's wedding. The Cuban-American actress was known in Hollywood and the United States for her short bleach blonde haircut. The 46-year-old star took a moment. Cameron Diaz haircut the holiday To look at her 'hair' story over the years while catching up with Instyle. More: Cardi B is vintage and obsessed with her latest hair look "I was probably a bit crazy at the time, so I wanted to cut all my hair," Cameron told InStyle. The beauty writer is known for dancing. Cameron Diaz haircut the counselor To the rhythm of her own drum and believes no one can put her in a box. Actress Cameron Diaz admitted to Jay Leno that she 'burst into tears. When her friend accidentally cut her hair short. Oops. There's been a little misunderstanding. Cameron Diaz bob haircut the holiday I said I just wanted to cut it a bit and it went from here to here, 'she told The talk show host. It was just one of those moments where I could burst into tears.'Charming graduate. Cameron Diaz haircut bob Bob with a few beautiful waves is styled into waves along the mid lengths to the ends and worn over one shoulder showing layers cut to enhance movement and lighten the edges. Cameron Diaz hair in something about mary The gorgeous bob is dressed over one shoulder showing off the long layers cut along the edges to lighten the length. The elegant hairstyle with side-sweeping bursts is perfect for many special days and can. Cameron Diaz blonde hair Only be recreated with appropriate tools. The actress used to admit she had a shoulder length Do used to ‘a little misunderstanding. When her hairstylist friend gave her a trim at Christmas. Cameron Diaz short hair the holiday Cameron told Jay I wanted to get away. quoth. 'A woman suddenly has no hair Oh my god. I felt so vulnerable. He started crying, I started crying ‘ a few more people started crying. I finished writing him a few emails over the next few days, comforting him.’ Read the full article

Dear Evan Hansen, Jul. 13th 2017 (Act 1)

Dear Evan Hansen,

Today’s going to be a good day and here’s why:

Because Michael Lee Brown was on as Evan Hansen, and you get to review him! (and cry a lot more than you already have.)

This is Part 1 of my summary and review! A second part will come soon!

I’m dedicating this whole thing to @neglectedrainbow because they seem to love Michael Lee Brown as much as I do. (I also love their writing and their account)

Alright everyone, buckle up and make sure you’re sitting down because I have a lot to dump on you. And when I say a lot, I mean a lot. Michael Lee Brown was better than I ever could have imagined. I saw DEH originally with the full cast on March 7th. Now that was a little while back, but I’ll still be comparing it to this performance.  I’ll also be referencing the bootleg a little since it was filmed before March 7th. Please note that during this performance the only person out was Ben. All other actors were the same as they were on March 7th. Alright, time to get on with it.

I’m going to put this simply, Michael Lee Brown destroyed me. I don’t even really know how to describe this performance, so I’m sitting here just staring at my computer thinking, ‘wow. I just spent four hours sobbing because of some guy that I had never seen until today.’ Now, Michael’s performance was a lot different than Ben’s which is something I’ll be going over, and a lot different than Colton Ryan in the audio boot. Along with things I noticed now but not the first time I saw the performance!

So we start off with "Anybody Have A Map” Michael Lee Brown as Evan looks great, I thought Evan having longer hair would be weird, but it wasn’t. His hair is slicked back and goes down to about mid neck. So Evan starts his monologue and I knew right off the bat that he would be different than Ben by a long shot. He showed up biting his nails, just chewing on them until he has to talk. He talks quickly, very quickly almost faster than Ben. He repeats his words and second guesses himself and you can already tell his performance will be with feeling. He also uses his hands, a lot. Like, a ton to express things. "Anybody Have A Map” was pretty much the same because Evan’s not a major part in it, but when he walks he hunches over in on himself trying to act smaller and visibly gets nervous when people go near him. Also, the mystery of the milk has been solved! Connor drank a glass of milk, not milk used for the cereal. Also during this Connor put a knife up to his head while he was arguing with his family at the table which I found interesting. They also don’t have his bag on the chair anymore, which means it wont fall over!

Evan’s interaction with Alana was interesting. Evan seemed more nervous and Alana seemed, off. Not in a bad way! She seemed to be trying hard to make conversation with Evan but it’s not really working out and Evan keeps stumbling over his words so it’s awkward for both of them.

Jared shows up, and wow do I have things to say about Michael Lee Brown’s Evan and Jared. You’ll see what I mean just by reading all of this. This Evan and Jared are so different than Ben’s Evan and Jared, by a long shot. Evan keeps further away from Jared and makes more major arm motions. He still picks at his cast and pulls on his shirt, if the shirt isn’t near where his hand is he’ll grab for anything in the area (i.e Connor’s bed frame, sheets, air, etc.) Evan seemed more visibly upset when Jared declined signing his cast. Also, when Jared and Evan are talking over the computer we get to see Evan and Jared’s snapchats. Jared is the only person that Evan has added on snapchat and Jared’s snapchat score is an underwhelming 12. (Jared I have a higher snapchat score than you)

Then there’s Connor, he shows up, rummaging through his bag - seemingly desperate to find something - I’m still not sure what it is he’s looking for though. Jared says his “joke” and Connor looks up. He doesn’t look mad, but then Jared says “it was just a joke” and Connor tightens his grip on the bag and says his “oh I'm laughing” thing. Here’s the thing though, Connor leaned forwards during the “Am I not laughing hard enough for you?” getting close to Jared and said it seemingly jokingly. Jared froze up and backed up a little before running away, he didn’t say it before he ran but on his way out he mumbled “freak.” When he ran he looked like a scared puppy. This is different than when I saw it March 7th and in the boot. So Evan makes a nervous noise and Connor turns on him, he gets really close to Evan in this scene and shoves him - hard. I also confirmed that Connor does indeed wear silver rings on both hands.

"Waving Through a Window" was an experience. When I saw DEH the first time it took me until Good For You to shed a tear, this is nothing against Ben Platt (I love him with all my heart and he’s wonderful) but, the feeling that Michael Lee Brown puts into Evan? He made me cry starting at this song. Right off the bat. He put so much emotion into the song. When he had his conversation with Zoe, Evan wouldn’t look her in the eyes (well he didn’t with any of the characters) he used over exaggerated arm movements and stuttered a lot. He wiped his hands on his pants a lot, you could see he was visibly stressed by the interaction. During this everyone’s walking normally except Connor, he storms everywhere quickly and angrily.

When Heidi and Evan have their call Evan looks upset that Heidi can’t come pick him up and mumbles, “I’ll- I’ll just… take the bus then.” He types out his note, which was also heart breaking because you can hear the feeling in his words. So Evan prints his note and In comes Connor Murphy. He’s quiet for a moment before they talk. Evan’s avoiding eye contact and playing with his shirt. Connor actually seemed very nice and open until he read part of the note, he sounded so worried for Zoe. He storms off taking the letter with him, and Evan cries out reaching after Connor pleading for him to give the letter back.

Evan seems more upset when Jared makes fun of him. Alana’s waving through a window piece felt more heart felt and she looked over to where the couch was coming in and then looked away. Alana feels a lot more, lost and invisible in this. Like, no one sees her, and when they do it’s only because of school things.

Evan about the letter situation was interesting as well. He sat in the chair facing as far away from Larry and Cynthia as possible, not wanting to look at them. He wouldn’t make eye contact at all and sat there picking at his shirt. When Cynthia pulls out the letter and he reads it he immediately goes, “I- he didn’t write this” And he stutters a lot, saying it about 4 times before getting it right. The interaction with Jared, Alana and Evan after this was the same as with Ben.  

(At this point I had to take a break from writing this because I started crying again, I’m surprised I had tears left from last night.)

When he had dinner with the Murphy’s he looked nervous, growing more and more freaked out at each question Cynthia asked. His nodding was exaggerated and when he spoke he spoke in quick stuttery bursts. When he messed up and the Murphy’s questioned him he used his arms trying to explain, he waves his arms a lot throughout the show. Cynthia’s interaction with this Evan felt more loving and motherly, and Larry’s felt more fatherly as well. Zoe felt more cold and closed off until later in the show however. Also while at the table Zoe’s leg shakes when Evan starts talking. When they’re at the table and Cynthia’s talking to Evan, Zoe’s watching this whole thing and Larry’s looking down like he’s in denial. When he said “telling jokes no one understands” Cynthia got this look on her face that made me immediately think of “A little bit of light” and young Connor telling jokes. During “on my face” he hold out his note, which was higher than when Ben did it, and then stops and waits before saying “and suddenly I feel the branch give way” he looks like he’s remembering when It happened. Cynthia comes over at the end of the song and embraces Evan in a hug, he flinches back at first but slowly brings his arms up to hug her.

When Heidi was talking about a taco Tuesday Evan wouldn’t ever really make eye contact with her, even when he did look at her. When she put her hand on his shoulder he flinched away, something Ben didn’t do. He was also more defensive about the cast saying Connor, “No- no- t-this is- is a d-different Co-Connor.”

I’m glad "Sincerely, Me” was pretty much the same. This is when I confirmed Connor wore rings. Also in this scene you can tell the difference between this Evan and Ben’s Evan’s interaction with Jared and Connor. When Jared asks him if he’s hyperventilating he responded in more of a mumble and not as aggressive as Ben. This scene right here is what cued me into knowing the difference between the Evan who was on his meds at the beginning of the show, and the Evan who stops taking his meds later in the show. This Evan is more anxious, less aggressive and confrontational, keeps himself hunched over to seem smaller, and shakes when he’s scared or nervous. He also does the thing where he tucks his hair behind his ear.

Something I didn’t notice the first time around, which was just me being to caught up in the story: Larry drinks quite a bit in the first act. Do with that information what you will.

Now “Requiem” oh god requiem. Requiem was when I lost whatever I was holding onto to keep the tears back. They sounded so hurt. Larry’s holding the emails tightly, Zoe’s holding them the same as Cynthia until she crumples them up. The exact moment I lost it was when Cynthia sits down on Connor’s bed and runs he hands over the blankets. She stares at it and you can see her choke back a sob before she picks up Connor’s pillow. She holds it like Heidi does Evan at the end and sobs into it, hugging it tightly. That’s what broke me and I started sobbing and didn’t stop until the end of the show. I’m not joking here. I don’t usually cry and the first time I saw the show I didn’t even shed a tear until good for you and didn’t actually cry until so big/so small. But this… this. Just was so much.

Little things I noticed about Connor’s room: The broken window, the x-box controller, the grey water bottle, the large speaker, the headphones, the no smoking sign, and the numerous books. It’s also mainly blue and grey while Evan’s is red and orange.

Evan and Heidi use dell laptops while everyone else uses macs.

"If I Could Tell Her” was a little more than awkward. You might have thought the awkwardness with Ben was bad, but ho boy. He was so loving with Zoe, he sounded like he was in love. The song was great, they put feeling into it. At the end when he goes to kiss Zoe… you know second hand embarrassment yeah? With Ben I got a little, but with Michael multiply it times 10x. He leaned forwards so quickly and kissed her before shooting back like he had been burned. Zoe gets up and looks confused and angry so Evan just shrink backs and gets up quickly and starts apologizing as much as he can.

Maybe you thought the crying was over by now? Nope. “Disappear" comes along and ripped my poor heart out. You’d think it would maybe be because of Connor, but nope. In the scene where they’re talking to the Murphy’s about the Connor Project, Evan starts talking but Jared tries to pipe up and say more. Evan shoves him back, hard, to get him to shut up. Now, Ben didn’t stop Jared like this when I saw the show, he just put his arm out. He didn’t push him. So, Jared falls silent and hangs his head, he looks upset that Evan made him stop talking when he was trying to help. He pipes up again later when Evan mentions the Jazz band helping out. “GREAT IDEA EVAN” Ben’s Evan just says “Thank you Jared” a little exasperated. But Michael’s Evan basically whisper yells “Thank you Jared!” He seems a little angry that Jared talks again. Like, Jared clearly doesn't have other friends and he's clinging onto Evan as this… lifeline. And he talks a lot so when Evan shoved him and cut him off he looked so hurt. Then when he spoke up to help Evan yelled at him, and he just shut up and hung his head, and didn't say anything else after that.

“You Will Be Found” was amazing. He goes up front and center on the stage, holding his note cards tightly. He starts his speech the same as Ben did but he drops a single note card. Evan drops his note card and he reaches down to grab it and he falls back and looks up, he scrambles backwards in fear. The audience goes deadly silent as Evan looks down, at the notecards and the tie he’s wearing. You can just see the emotions in his face as he runs his fingers over the tie. He looks nervous, anxious and scared as he scrambles to get back up. He takes a breath, puts the cards away, and starts the song. Everyone’s looking at the screens except for Larry he’s facing away. Cynthia acts like a motherly figure towards Evan in this, something he wanted Heidi to be but she’s busy with her job and school. So then they move away to the sides of the stage and it leaves Larry standing there with dozens of photos of Connor’s face on the screen behind him. He turns, to face the screen and his shoulders slump. You can see the exact moment that he breaks. He chokes out a sob and falls down to his knees sobbing. Cynthia sees him and comes over to help him up and comfort him. But he was so devastated, this seemed like the moment that he finally accepted that Connor, his son, was gone. He was like everyone else, for that brief moment, he seemed more open as he cried into Cynthia’s shoulder as he embraced her in a tight hug. The lights dim, the spotlight still on the Murphy parents and Heidi comes onto the stage. She looks around at the screens, taking in everything, and you can see the confusion and the little bit of anger in her features. She runs off to the back of the stage and the others come back on. Zoe’s sitting on Connor’s bed, Evan sits down on the very very edge as far away as possible. She thanks him and then goes to kiss him. Evan jerked back so quickly that he almost fell off the bed. He looks back, still not looking her in the eyes, and goes to kiss her. They kiss (very aggressively) and then it cuts to black.

The lights come back up and I look around, everyone is crying. I don’t know if a single person didn’t cry in act one. So that was Act One. I’ll be writing a second part to this about act two, something that I haven’t stopped thinking about because Michael Lee Brown ruined me. Anyway, stay tuned for that! Thanks for reading if you made it here :)

Tutor (One-shot)

Pairing: Steve Roger x Reader Summary: Steve has a lot to catch up on after 70 years of beauty sleep, and Y/N in all of her history-nerd glory is just the woman for the job. Genre: Fluff Warnings: None. Well, someone says ‘fuck’ I think, but this is the internet. I’m sure all of us have seen a lot worse. Word count: 3,751

[Masterlist]

A/N: Oh hey, look, an actual Steve Rogers x Reader fic and not something that totally isn’t Steve Rogers x Reader but is still tagged as Steve Rogers x Reader because some people just wanna watch the world burn, I guess. No, I’m not bitter at all.

The door shut with a sharp bang as Maria Hill situated herself in the black SVU.

“Well,” she said to the man sitting next to her, “that was a spectacular failure.”

“On the contrary Agent Hill,” Fury replied, “the goal was to find out what kind of man the legendary ‘Captain America’ really is. Now, we’ve got an idea.”

Maria shot Fury a disbelieving look. They just messed with the mind of America’s most iconic war hero. A man out of World War II just ran head first into a modern-day Time Square after fighting to escape his “captors,” which turned out to be agents of an American intelligence agency. Fury’s little game may have very well fucked Captain Rogers even more than the situation itself would, and Fury considers it a victory because they got to see how he reacts under stress?

She may not have agreed with his tactics, but Fury was her boss and Maria was no idiot. She kept her comments to herself. Instead, she asked, “So what’s our next move?”

“Take him to the Retreat,” Fury stated simply. “The man’s just had the shock of his life, and New York City isn’t exactly a place that encourages relaxation.”

“He’ll need to get into society eventually,” Hill countered.

“Eventually,” Fury stressed. “But right now, he needs time process everything that’s happened.”

“Are you going to bring him in on Phase Two?”

Fury considered her question carefully, replaying the argument he’s had with himself on a daily basis since the captain showed signs of life. Phase Two may be a necessity of modern warfare, but it was based on Hydra technology. He wasn’t sure the captain would be ready to accept something like that just yet.

“Eventually,” he answered. “Before that, though, he’s gotta catch up on 70 years of domestic shifts, foreign affairs, scientific progress, and social evolution.”

Maria sighed deeply. “That’s gonna take some time.”

Fury smirked in response. “Don’t worry Hill, I’ve got a plan.”

“Does this one involve a storage container and armed guards?”

“Nope,” Fury said with a proud smirk. “A tutor.”

Steven Rogers walked down what remained of Amsterdam Avenue, taking in the sight of Manhattan in ruin.

To be fair, Stark and the Department of Damage Control were doing a more-than-adequate job of cleaning up after the chaos of the attack; but the evidence of a hard-fought battle remained. While it was horrifying to see a city, his city (even if it wasn’t his borough) in such a state, he found some morbid comfort in it. The giant television screens that lit up Times Square, the franchised shops down every block, the overabundance of cars was all so foreign to him. War, and its remains, was familiar.

After the battle was over and the team – however mismatched it was – took time to recuperate, Fury “suggested” that Steve meet with someone to help him transition into modern life.

Fury already contacted the person in mind, a Y/N L/N, and arranged a meeting at a café on Amsterdam and 82nd. Steve wasn’t sure about the whole situation, but he begrudgingly admitted that it was probably for the best. As much as he missed his life, his friends, and the world he knew, he had to accept that this was his life now, this was his world. And the first step to accomplishing that was to probably get acclimated with everything he missed.

Steve laid eyes on the café and inhaled deeply.

‘No time like the present,’ he thought, swallowing down the bitter aftertaste of accepting this time as his “present” and not some distant future. He’s seen men get vaporized in an instant, watched a man peel away his own face to reveal the truth beneath it, and just saw a worm hole rip the sky open and unleash unimaginable hellfire on an unsuspecting world.

Still, some things, like waking up 70 years in the future, are harder to accept than others.

He approached the café – most of the windows were boarded over with “Open for business” spray painted on the plywood – and pushed open the brand-new door.

A few customers were scattered around the inside, seated at tables, the counter, and some cushioned chairs in the corner. Steve looked around for the bright red bag that he was told would identify his new “tutor”.

He found it tucked beneath one of the high-tops along the back wall. A good choice, he thought. Secluded, but not so much that he couldn’t find it.

Sitting at the table was a woman, gently sipping on her drink while looking over a notepad in front of her. She absentmindedly clicked the top of her pen while she read over whatever was on the pad. Her focus would be admirable if it weren’t so intimidating. Steve was a 26-year-old war veteran who just fought off an alien invasion. He really didn’t feel like going back to school.

Still, he swallowed his pride and started towards the woman, reminding himself that she was just doing her job. She was just trying to help. He shouldn’t take out his frustrations on her.

“Excuse, Miss L/N?”

You jumped slightly, turning to face him with wide eyes. Your lips curled into a pleasant smile as you recognized your new student.

“Mr. Rogers!” You greeted enthusiastically, climbing out of your chair and holding out a hand for him to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. And please, call me Y/N. There’s no way this is going to be that formal.”

Steve took your hand and chuckled in relief. Right now, the one thing he needed more than anything else was a friend. And even if you weren’t that, you were a hell of a lot friendlier than most people he’s met so far.

“In that case,” he said, “please call me Steve.”

You smiled wider. “Can do, Steve. Please, sit down. Do you want anything to eat or drink? SHIELD’s paying.”

“No, no, I’m alright,” he told you with his own smile as he took the seat across from you. “So, what’s our first move?”

“Our first move,” you answered, picking up your pen and adjusting your notepad, “is to determine our baseline. You went into the ice in the mid-40s, yes?”

“That is correct.”

You scribbled that down in the margins of the page.

“Okay, so what we’ll want to do is start this whole thing a little bit before that, since I’m assume you were a smidge too busy to pay attention to anything that wasn’t immediately affecting your squadron.”

Steve chuckled sheepishly.

“That’s a safe assumption,” he said, a blush rising over his cheeks as he cast his gaze downward. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to stay up-to-date on the world beyond the battle field… it’s just that taking down Hydra bases tended to absorb all of one’s attention.

You smiled softly at his embarrassment and pressed on with your explanation.

“I’m thinking our best course of action is to go by decade,” you said, your speech getting a little quicker as you got more focused on your mission. “I was debating between that and going by topic – you know, American history, international relations, geopolitics, etc. – but all that stuff is so intertwined and important to one another that there’s no way to really talk about a single topic without at least referencing two or three other topics, so I think going chronologically is best.”

Steve, a little overwhelmed by your enthusiasm, simply nodded in agreement.

“Sure, yeah,” he said, dumbfounded and still trying to process all of the words that came out of your mouth in such quick succession. “I mean, you’re the boss.”

You beamed at him.

“Perfect!” You exclaimed. “I’ve been sketching out some rough lesson plans that match that course.”

“Am I gonna have homework?”

You burst out laughing at the dread in his voice. You couldn’t blame him, though. Homework is awful.

“Yes, a little,” you told him. “But nothing like busywork. I don’t have the patience to type up 12 worksheets a week. It’ll be stuff like ‘watch this documentary,’ or ‘listen to these songs,’ or ‘read this book’. Stuff to actually help you learn, not to test your memorization skills.”

Steve smiled lightly at that and nodded. While he didn’t grow up with a lot of homework, the depression forced educators to change their habits as classes got too big to manage. Most of the half-baked assignments Steve turned in were incomplete and covered in doodles. And he really didn’t want to disappoint Y/N by doodling all over a worksheet she’d give him.

“Okay, good,” you said with a bright smile. “While this café is good neutral ground, I’d prefer to meet in a more controlled environment from now on. My apartment is on 73rd, so just a few blocks away from here. They’re repairing the balcony and one of the external walls right now, but we can meet there if you’d like.”

Steve considered offering his place, which had survived the attack unscathed, but decided against it. It was technically a SHIELD safehouse, and you didn’t seem like a SHIELD operative, so he wasn’t sure if you were allowed there. Regardless of that, he wanted to see what normal apartments were like nowadays. He’d only seen SHIELD locations and Stark Tower, and he wasn’t sure those were good parameters to determine an “average” from.

“We can meet at your place,” he answered.

“Good!” you said, writing down your address, cell number, and email in the corner of the notepad before tearing it off and giving it to him. “I’ll need some time to compile everything for our first official session, so let’s meet again at this time in two days at my place.”

Steve nodded, examining the piece of paper and slipping it into his wallet. “Sounds like a plan. It was nice to meet you, Mis- Y/N.”

You smiled at him. “Nice to meet you, too, Steve. Call or email me if you need anything between now and our next meeting.”

“Will do,” he said, awkwardly waving the wallet that held your phone number. “I, uh… I guess I’ll get going now.”

You chuckled. “Have a nice day, Steve.”

“You too, Y/N.”

Two days later, you pattered around your apartment as your scheduled meeting time quickly approached. You’d been so focused on getting the lesson plan ready that you completely forgot to get your apartment ready. While you were never one to put on a show for people, you didn’t really like the idea of Steve Rogers, Mr. Captain America himself, thinking you lived like a slob.

You folded a throw blanket and tossed it on the back of your couch, picking up an old plate from the coffee table while you were at it. As you put the plate and utensils in the dishwasher, you grabbed the pile of mail from the countertop and stashed it in your desk drawer. While you were there, you tidied up the top of the desk, dropping scattered pens in the ‘I

You were just setting up everything for the lesson when your buzzer rang.

You darted across the room to the door in an instant, slamming your hand onto the call button.

“Yes?” You asked into the mic.

“It’s Steve,” a distort voice greeted over the com.

‘Okay,’ you thought, ‘Game time. Be cool.’

“Come on up,” you replied, pressing the button to unlock the front an ignoring the fact that your voice was a few octaves higher than normal.

You undid the chain lock from your own door and opened it slightly as a wordless invitation into your home.

You went back to arrange your set-up for the lesson, popping a documentary of WWII into the DVD player and scrolling through the menu screen. While it may be redundant to someone who lived through the war and even fought in it, you thought it’d be good for him to know what history remembers of the war, how and why it was fought, and ultimately, how it ended.

By the time you heard Steve lightly knocking on your doorframe to announce his presence, you were all set and ready to go.

“Hi Steve,” you greeted from the loveseat next the couch. “Come on in. How’s your day been?”

You watched him inhale deeply as he closed the door behind, anxiety clear in his stiff back and shoulder. When he turned around, the worry-lines on his face confirmed your suspicions. His nerves were getting the better of him. You weren’t sure if he was nervous about your meeting (as he seemed to be the first time) or if he was suffering from PTSD or if the stress of his new life was getting better of him. You also weren’t sure if it was your place to ask or not.

“It’s been good,” he lied. “How’s your’s?”

“Good,” you responded, letting the lie slide. “Why don’t take a seat on the couch? Do you want anything to eat or drink? We’re gonna be here awhile.”

Steve looked around your relatively small apartment (though it was admittedly huge by New York let’s-call-this-closet-an-apartment standards) and laid eyes on your kitchen – or really kitchenette. You had a quaint home. It actually reminded him a bit of the apartment he grew up. While that was too small for a family, your’s was just the right size for a single person.

Steve briefly found himself wondering how the apartment would fair with two people living in it, but he quickly shut that thought process down. Now was not the time to develop a crush.

“Steve?” you asked, pulling him back into reality.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he stuttered. “I can just… get a glass of water… or something…”

“Sit down,” you ordered playfully. “I’ll get it.”

As you went to fetch the two of you some water (and a bowl of chips, because you knew he was going to get hungry at some point), Steve made himself comfortable on the couch and examined the things you had laid on the coffee table.

Two notepads – one for you and one for him, it seemed – a couple of packets of paper seemingly printed out from a computer, a laptop, and a few movie cases. By the looks of things, you were just as organized as he thought you’d be. It’s probably why Fury chose you, a civilian, instead of an agent.

You came back from the kitchenette and set the drinks and bowl of chips on the table, hopping into the seat perpendicular to it and grabbing your notepad.

“So,” you began, “let’s get started.”

Three weeks later, your lesson plan was securely in the 1960s and Steve was securely insecure.

“How the hell am I supposed to remember all of this?” He asked, his impatience with himself and the situation leaking over into his voice. “And you said we’re just hitting the big stuff. I can’t… how am I supposed to catch up on 70 fucking years?”

You leaned back in your chair and studied him closely. You could understand his frustration, and you wished there was an easier way. But some things just took time and dedication, as annoying as it is.

“Well, I mean, you don’t have to remember all of it.” You told him. “Nobody remembers all of it –“

“You do.”

You scoffed lightly. “No, I don’t. I remember a lot, but not everything. And with smartphones, I don’t have to remember everything. A world of knowledge is in my pocket at any moment.

“Besides,” you continued, “I’m not normal. I love this stuff, so of course I know more than most people. But even people who lived through it or who studied it for years in school don’t remember most of this. This is just to catch you up, not to make you an expert on modern history.”

Steve nodded sullenly, pouting as he flipped through another one of your packets.

“So what things do people usually remember?” He asked. “What stands out the most?”

You took the packet from his hands and grabbed your pen. You went through the packet and circled the biggest of the big stuff, like John F. Kennedy’s rise and assassination, the continuation of the Vietnam War and the Cold War, and the entire year of 1968. Among all of that and so much more, what stood out the most? What’s one of the first things people think of when they think of the 1960s?

“Okay, so most people think ‘hippies’ when they think the 60s. Flower children, Woodstock, that stuff,” you told him, thinking about the majority of pop culture references to the decade of “peace and love,” no matter how inaccurate that collective memory may be.

“And Woodstock was that giant concert, right?”

“Right,” you smiled up at him, delighted by the small smile that graced his face. “People also think about the Civil Rights Movement. Do you remember what that is?”

“African-Americans and other minorities protesting against racial discrimination and systemic oppression.”

“And who were the two biggest faces of the movement?”

Steve paused, gaze distant as he racked his mind for the answer.

“Uh…” he started, “there’s a lot of individual letters involved.��

You chuckled at his response.

“MLK and Malcom X,” you told him. “There was also W.E.B. Du Bois, but he’s not one of the most recognizable names. So between MLK and X, which was which?”

“MLK was Martin Luther King Jr. and he vouched for the peaceful approach,” Steve summarized. “Malcom X leaned more towards fighting fire with fire.”

“Well,” you smiled, leaning back in your chair, “by my estimate, you seem to be on par with most of America.”

While that sentiment didn’t say much about America as a whole, your heart soared as your watched Steve’s sad puppy eyes fill with pride. You leaned closer to him and patted his knee in what you hoped was a comforting fashion.

“You’re doing just fine, Steve,” you told him softly. “I know I’m gonna sound like almost as big of a nerd as I am, but history is fun if you have the right teacher. Just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

Steve smiled up at you, affection written across his face. “Won’t be hard with a teacher as great as you.”

Four weeks later and you and Steve were closing out your dive into the 1990s, with all of the tie-dye, denim, and sex scandals Steve could handle.

“We’ll finish talking about Y2K, which was a trip, and start on the oughts in our next meeting,” you said as you cleaned up the coffee table. “9/11 will probably take up most of the day.”

“I’ve already looked into 9/11,” Steve told you as he carried your empty snack plates to the kitchenette and turned on the sink. “People were saying that the Chitarui invasion was ‘the worst thing to happen to New York since 9/11’ and I wanted to know what they were talking about.”

“Good,” you said, walking over the breakfast bar and climbing onto one of the bar stools. “That means we can focus more on the after effects with invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan.”

“What’s after that?” he asked, eyes focused intently on the plate that he has been washing for longing the necessary. He was nervous again. You couldn’t fathom why. In the months that you’d known each other, you two had gotten pretty close. Steve even admitted that you were one of the few true friends he felt like he had right now, so you knew he’d tell you if something was bothering him. Or at least you hoped he would.

“The housing bubble and Great Recession,” you told him, cautiously eyeing the plate he was so focused on. “The worst global economy since the depression.”

He looked up at you in shock. “I thought that happened in the 70s?”

“Oh, it did,” you said. “Then the housing bubble came and blew the oil shortage out of the water.”

“Well,” he began with a sly smirk, “oil and water never do mix.”

You looked at him flatly, doing your best the suppress the giggle that wanted to erupt. The longer you held eye contact with him and his shit-eating grin, though, the weaker your resolve became. Before you knew it, the two of you were a laughing mess on the apartment floor. Every time you were calming down, you’d catch a glimpse of each other from around the cabinet and start cackling all over again.

“Oh, that was so bad,” you groaned when the giggles finally stopped and your abs started to burn. “That was so. bad. Steven.”

“You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first,” he countered indignantly, sending you into a new fit of laughter.

“Oh yeah,” you said, “that’s it. I’m envious of your puns.”

Steve chuckled softly, rising from his place on the floor and walking over to where you lay. As he looked at you – face flushed from laughing, tears streaming down your cheeks, and smile so wide it had to hurt – he knew he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Will you go out with me?”

Shit. That was a little blunter than he intended.

“Go out with you?” you questioned through a giggle. “Like ‘let’s go get something to eat’ or like ‘will you be my girlfriend’?”

Steve smiled sheepishly, tucking his hands in his pockets and shrugging his shoulders. “Both? If you want…”

You smiled and got up off the floor, taking Steve’s hand when he offered his assistance. Looking into his scared and hopeful eyes, any reservation you may have had about straining your relationship died on the spot. Steve was one of the sweetest, funniest, smartest, and most well-mannered guys you had ever met. And you’d be lying if you told yourself you weren’t looking forward to your tutor session a little more than you probably should.

“Let’s see how dinner goes first,” you suggested with a smile, grabbing your purse off the countertop. “Then we’ll talk about the other thing.”

Steve chuckled quietly, head hung in shame at his complete lack of skill with women. He could hear the Commandos laughing in the back of his head. They all picked up women with such ease, and he could barely manage to ask one dame – one great, terrific dame – out on a date. Somewhere in the mix, he heard the Avengers, too, though they were faint.

“Come on Steve,” you called to him. “No better way to get acclimated with the world than to go out into it.”

He smiled at you.

“You’re the boss.”

A/N: Yay, a Steve x Reader fic! I’m glad that’s out of my head so it can stop haunting my every waking moment.

I have no sequel planned for this, but if you want other Steve x Reader fics, let me know or drop a request in the notes or my inbox! Check out my prompt list tag for ideas if you want!

Can’t really think of a title for this one... awks...

Hello blog readery people :) So it’s Saturday afternoon and I’m not gonna lie I’m in a bit of a weird mood, kind of an in-between mood… am I happy? Meh… am I sad? Meh… I don’t even know anymore…. I can tell you one thing though, I have been SO EMOSH!!! - I am in the process of coming off my antidepressants which I’ve been on for 14 years and it’s naaaaat been easy. I’ve cried freakin’ rivers, ok, probably puddles- but hey theres a lot of water in a puddle!! - and I have also laughed like, a lot. It’s like I can feel everything so much deeper than before, and I’m still not sure if I am doing the ‘right’ thing or not…. it’s like, do I keep taking a chemical that affects my brain and dulls all my feelings a bit and makes it harder to cry... or do I FEEL everything but maybe get some of the highs back too?!?! Time will tell eh!!

So my last two weeks has been pretty good I guess :) Can’t complain too much… although I’m sure that’s basically what I’m about to do! ;) I’ve had a few great writing sessions beginning of the week including one with Reece who is mega awesome!! We wrote and recorded a topline for a proper coooool song- thing is, we were both so sure we nailed it, and it’s a song I’ve had stuck in my head ever since and feel it’s SO strong, but we didn’t get the bloody cut did we!!! :( 

It’s such a shit industry, where you just constantly do your best work and put hours and days and weeks (sometimes years!) into songs and send them off to usually not even get a response, or to get a ‘no’, and then you’ve just gotta pick yourself right back up and do it over again, and again until one day (please for the love of god) you get a yes! And even then I’ve had ‘yes’s back which then haven’t actually happened…. It’s cool though I’m sure we will use what we wrote on another song but it’s just that constant rejection that makes you doubt if you’re any good or if you should bother again- but of course I do! I have to! Even when it’s a ‘no’ I love writing songs more than anything and am pretty damn determined!!!!

Mid week I had a few meetings with some people I have been potentially thinking of working with - I think they went pretty well, but again I am never quite sure wether to mention my health or just cross that bridge if and when…. I usually just see what the vibe is and on this occasion the guy I met with actually told me all about his health issues so I went for it! You never know who is suffering what and we seemed to bond over this so that was good!

I had a few admin days and days of resting but then had a mega awesome night on the Thursday! A good friend of mine who works in publishing invited me down to ‘Fekky’s album listening party- he is a well known rapper signed to Universal & Island Records and it was an industry event so I had to go!!! I had all the usual worries… will there be a queue to get in, will there be anywhere to sit, what if I feel too ill and have to go home bla bla bla, but all worked out SO well!! I got a bus all the way there (massive win for me legs!!) and then the night went without a hitch. I met so many great industry people and got lots of email addresses!!! I have of course done all me follow up emails and really hope something comes of it! It was also great to meet Fekky and hear the album- not totally the kind of music I am ‘into’ but genuinely really enjoyed it :) And great to catch up with Ben too! GOOD PEOPLES!!

The next day was a rest day and then in the evening it was one of my best friend Katie’s birthday dinner. I felt so shite. I’d almost cancelled a few times but pulled it together and was sure I could get through it, but for me it basically sucked balls. I’d been in tears because I’d felt so unwell all day and on the way there but was not going to turn up crying at someone elses birthday thang!! (Even I wouldn’t do that ;)  So I got there and I smiled. I really tried to smile lots, but when people asked me how I was I had to change the subject as I literally couldn’t talk about anything to do with me without bursting into tears. MAJOR AWKWARD. 

My best friends who I live with were all there and all I wanted to do was tell them how gutted I was feeling and collapse in a heap on the floor and cry my eyes out - and I really do mean gutted- heartbroken- I get into this place of utter despair quite quickly, as though my life is completely over and not worth living and that I just can’t do it anymore, and like no-one understands. I think it was brought on because I’d had such a great night the night before and made all these great contacts and then had woken up feeling so ill that I was in bed / on the sofa all day, and so it was like, what’s the point of me even going to that event and networking if I can’t even really function the day after - how am I meant to live the lifestyle of a singer / songwriter when I have to rest all the bloody time - ok so just writing that sentence has made me well up….  I just can’t put into words how much I want to be well enough to follow my dream and work at it every day. I know I should be grateful that I managed to go to that event in the first place…. But it’s just not enough. Ugh, anyway… I got through the dinner part of it but then had to leave. They were drinking and having fun and it was like being on a diet sat with ALL the cakes in-front of you. 

I could’t sit and watch them- I’m sure this sounds so bitter- ofcourse I am so glad that Katie had a lovely birthday and of course I want my friends to all be happy but I obviously have major jealousy issues!!! So I said my goodbyes and they were all very sweet to me and I left. As soon as I got out of the door I phoned my poor mum and sobbed down the phone. I could hardly breathe I had been holding it in for so long! I had a complete crying panic attack at kings cross station but luckily mumma bear was on the end of the phone to make everything that little bit better. I spoke to her and my wonderful step dad for about half an hour and they kind of got me to just focus on one thing at a time, like getting home, getting to bed, and what I had to do the next day…. Which just so happened to be a gig day- probably also why I felt so panicked about everything!!

The next day was like I say, gig day- The only money I have coming in at the moment is function gigs, so weddings, birthday parties, cooperate events etc and I really do love them….. but never really feel well enough to enjoy them!! However, this one went pretty well! I took my lil’ gigging stool with me as my legs just get too painful if I stand up on stage the whole time. And what with a mix of determination and adrenaline I got through the gig. 

Then the Sunday was spent in bed all day - I couldn’t even get out of bed to pee until about 4pm…which probably aint good for ya!! Sorry…. TMI!!! But I was SHATTERED… so ordered takeaway and did utter nothing all day :) - At least I felt like I’d done something to deserve this rest though :)

The next week was again a mixture of resting days and meetings, oh and a Crohns flare up I think…. I know I only really talk about my M.E. on here, but I guess I should try and be a bit more open about my Crohns… my bowels certainly are ;) (see what I did there) hahaha… but Yea, I’m not gonna go into too much detail don’t worry… but last week really did have a fair few ‘moments’ where I really fucking hated my silly silly body and what very random situations it had gotten me into….. I had a little op a few months ago and am getting all the results etc next week when I see my Crohns specialist… so fingers and legs crossed she can help!! I’m sure I’ll let ya know ;)

Then I went home to Sussex these last few days to see my cat, mum and stepdad (in that order!! Haha - JOKING) and go to the dreaded dentist!! Ahhhh!!! - it actually went ok but I do have to have a filling (woi oi) in a few weeks so I will be bloody terrified then!!  Is ANYONE ok about going to the dentist? Please do tell me…..nah didn’t’t think so!!

Right… I’m gonna go and paint flamingos on my nails now - as you do! Oh I haven’t mentioned it yet- tomorrow is our yearly house party so I am sooooo looking forward to it! I am praying to the M.E. gods that I am well enough to enjoy it at least for a bit!! So I’ll tell you all the #clubtropicana (party theme) goss next time!! Let’s see if I can get away with having one drink!! Maybe even two! Ah!

- Please do feel free to get in touch if you want to- I will reply ASAP and LOVE hearing from you guys! You are all wonderful and having this support network means a lot :) We can get through all these shitty times together right?? Right!! ;) xxx Mwa xxx