I feel like you all need a french lesson about “je suis allé au cinéma avec mon copain et ma famille.”
“Mon copain” has a double meaning in French. It could be “my friend” or “my boyfriend”.
But let’s be clear: you’re using “mon copain” as “my friend” when you’re 8 yo. If you’re on age of dating, it will be interpreted automatically as “my boyfriend”.
(But “mes copains” as plural will automatically be interpreted as “my friends”, even if you’re 20yo.)(or maybe you’re in a polyamory relationship but it doesn’t happen this often ^^’)
(also you can say “je suis allé au cinéma avec un copain”, and it will be interpreted as “just a friend”. Example : “tu sors avec lui? - Non, c’est un copain / oui c’est mon copain” Are you dating him ? No it’s a friend/ yes it’s my boyfriend”)
Bodhi distinctly remembers the smell of his mother’s apartment. He couldn’t tell you the color of the walls, he could only recall the number of rooms – one, with a thermistove in one corner and two beds next to each other in another. They’d used the restroom and sonic showers in the shop below – because they’d been too poor to afford a place that had them in the plural, but he could always remember the smell that clung to that single, tiny room.
His mother’s apartment had been above a Twi'lek spice merchant’s shop. It had always smelled like cayenne, like mint, like Jehda’s native Itmuul, like hundreds of different spices from hundreds of worlds. It had sometimes smelled like the delicate perfume his mother had spritzed on occassion. When his mother had fallen sick, it had smelled like bacta. When she had finally died, it had smelled like dust and memories.
Bodhi sits in the back of the Rebel captain’s ship and thinks about the fact that every scent, every moment, is gone, along with everything he had ever known that wasn’t the Empire.
His hands stir restlessly in his lap. He wishes he were the one piloting the ship. At least when he flew something, it took all of his attention. Here, sitting in the back with a quiet, angry young woman and two Temple guardians, he’s allowed to think too much.
That was his problem, he decides. He thinks too much. His hands ball into fists and squeeze until they hurt, and part of him knows that Jehda City had been destroyed because of him. Because he’d dared to think he could help change something. Because he’d listened to Galen Erso and his fervent words.
He’d had nothing left on Jehda, after his mother died. It’s why he’d joined the Empire. The chance to travel the galaxy had always been a dream of his; and the chance to get away from the spice-scented home of his mother had been something he’d needed, desperately.
But it hadn’t been as simple as that. He’d seen things, transported people and artillery meant to destroy entire towns. He’d played a terrible part in the destruction the Empire wrought.
Perhaps Jehda was karma coming to bite you in the ass, Bodhi tells himself, perhaps you deserve the guilt, and then presses his hands to his eyes when the thought runs it’s course. It was like Galen always said: grief fades, but guilt will eat at you until there’s nothing left.
Bodhi honestly isn’t sure which he’s feeling right now.
It’s while he has his eyes covered that the monk makes his way over to him. Bodhi pulls his hands away and looks up bleary-eyed at a smiling, blind face when the monk politely clears his throat and says, “It isn’t your fault.”
“And how do you know that?” Bodhi asks, angrier than he means to sounds.
The monk hums and sits down beside him. “Okay, I lied. It is your fault.” He says, cheerily. “But to live with regret is no way to live at all. You have done what you think was right.” He taps his staff once on the durasteel floor. “Think about that instead of whether or not it’s guilt or grief you feel. Most likely, it’s both.”
Bodhi doesn’t bother to ask him to explain. He’d grown up with Guardians of the Whills – he knows how cryptic they can be, and how much they can know without asking.
“How do you feel?” He hears himself asking the monk.
The monk purses his lips and thinks. “I feel great sadness,” he finally replies. “The only home I have ever known is gone, aside from Baze there, of course.”
The monk’s guardian grunts from the other wall. The monk smiles.
“You see, Bodhi Rook, homes are other people. I sense that Jehda has not been a true home to you for a long, long time.”
Bodhi doesn’t respond to that. They both know it’s already true.
“What I’m trying to say,” the monk continues, and presses a hand over Bodhi’s. “Is that you should allow us to take care of you.” Bodhi looks sidelong at him and the monk smiles at him, genuine. “Jehda City may be no more, but we are. We can continue it.”
Bodhi sighs, and shrugs. “Your bodyguard doesn’t even like me.”
The monk waves a hand in Baze’s direction, calling him over. “Baze is gruff and more than a little angry–”
“Thanks, Chirrut,” Baze grumbles as he comes to a stop beside them.
“–but he is a good man, and so are you.” Chirrut nods as if he’s just sealed the deal with that one sentence. “We would do good to stick together.”
Bodhi looks from Chirrut up at Baze, who offers him a smile that’s surprisingly gentle.
He’s thinks about his mother. He thinks about the one-roomed apartment. He thinks about Jehda City. The scent of spices fill his nostrils.
Summary: Feliciano is deaf and his older brother wants him to get a service dog to follow him around, one thing stands in the way and that’s his fear of dogs. Then comes in dog trainer Ludwig, a dog lover and has a soft spot for a certain deaf boy
Chat: I’ve been watching so many videos about service dogs and I think I’ve written so much deaf!Feliciano that he needs a damn service dog, now
Conversations with Feliciano and Lovino was quiet. They never spoke to each other, because Feliciano was born deaf. He didn’t learn much on how to speak, because he couldn’t hear anyone, Lovino was his brother who can talk and speak, but he learned sign language.
Together they were in a diner, signing back and forth.
“You should get one of those service dogs,” Lovino put into the conversation like he always did.
Feliciano laughed, his hands faltering, “I’m scared of dogs, plus they are so expensive!”
“I know where you can get a service dog for a cheap price!”
When another’s words
tamp down your spirit
pressing terrible shapes
into your skin, never intended,
and the incisions within
seep into your warm earth
nails digging in further still
tasting each sensation of hurt;
feel inside your emotional
skin letting criticism leech in.
Hail force winds, resounding tears-
let them out, feel the power
of disappointment, disapproval
Then–close the jar!
You have done your part,
withstood the truths of
of what comprises
But, my love, remember,
you are not the summation
of others’ thoughts or words;
your worth is in the magic
of the truths held far deeper.
Your worth is not confined
to your past;
nor as finite as a simple mistake.
Oh, love, your value
is rich as ermine
shrouded in silk folds;
your wealth made greater
for the wisdom you hold
of who you are today and will grow
Dear, you are always, always enough.
“You have to find a mother inside yourself. We all do. Even if we already have a mother, we still have to find this part of ourselves inside.” (The Secret Life of Bees)