#I think it’s really wonderful that she is embracing that part of herself so young

[utilitycaster]

The thing with Imogen saying that she's normal there is that, heartbreakingly, it's not true.

She's less abnormal...because instead of being one low-level young woman with psionic powers in a rural town, she's a relatively high-level young woman in a rural town that has been under the thumb of an Imperium that wields those same powers as a means of control. She's "normal" to the Bormodos because she has a similar powerset to the military police and to the Ruby Vanguard, with whom they're all too familiar. And, to be clear, she is not using those powers to oppress them—she's in fact using them quite brilliantly to blend in and betray them—but that still sets her apart.

I've wondered a lot about what will happen with Imogen's powers, and what she wants, because that's been the leverage that Ludinus and the Imperium have had on the Ruidusborn. Imogen started this campaign searching for a way to be normal. That was how Liliana started on her path as well. That was the selling point she made to Imogen when she was contacted in her dreams: "In a brief instant, you remember what it was like to not be like this, to just be you."

And yet: that same episode, Laudna tells Imogen she always could, gods or no gods, just be herself, and still, Imogen continues on. She embraces her powers, even willingly taking off a circlet she initially called life-changing because those powers could allow her to foresee potentially risky actions from the rest of the party (though, to her credit, she has not used this, and from a metagaming perspective it is unlikely she really ever could). Her first two times connecting with Predathos, in dreams and then on the surface, are entirely willing. She boasts to Groon that she is the storm; she is excited by her connection with Fearne.

And yet: she's exclaims how she's normal, here in a town where she is quite literally an alien, and where the overwhelming majority do not share her powers. Her speed to claim a connection to her powerful mother is understandable for the party's survival, but she does not seem to show reluctance to do so, despite the possibility of this getting back to Liliana. She's normal on Ruidus: a place that wishes to pull her in and she fears she will never escape it.

Like her mother, Imogen can't decide: does she want to be normal or special? Should she join or run?

It's hard to define what "normal" would even be for Imogen. I think at this point giving up her powers would feel like giving up a part of her; at the same time, the only place for her to be truly "normal" is within the Vanguard. The place she feels the most like she belongs is when she's being sucked in by Predathos, and she doesn't want that either.

And that's valid! Even with control over her powers, they will always give her insights others simply can't gain. And even on Ruidus, the place that made her, she will be a foreigner and something they wish to use. She is, in fact, caught between places; neither is entirely home. But I think to accept that, instead of eternally bouncing between the two (as Liliana does) she needs to realize it, and to realize it she will need to look at it from the perspective not just of the people on Ruidus who have powers like hers; but from those on Ruidus who don't.

#imogen temult #cr spoilers #critical role #yes very narrative foils with ashton indeed

[aspoonofsugar]

Alyx - The Protagonist

Yang: But she was kind of a mean person, right? She lied and cheated her way through most of the book. Weiss: She was trying to survive. The morals of those old stories are so simplistic.

This exchange is interesting, especially because it is not the first time characters interpret Alyx in opposite ways.

Oscar sees her as a child who goes on an adventure, is changed by it and struggles to go home:

Oscar: I thought the idea of falling through Remnant into a new world was exciting. I never understood why she was so sad when she finally made it back home. But now it makes more sense.

Ozpin sees her as a girl, who runs away from her problems in a fantastical dimension:

Ozpin: I was recently reminded of an old fairy tale. A young girl flees the consequences of a choice, to a magical place. But, having never learned from her initial failure, she only succeeds in spreading it.

All of these characters project parts of themselves on Alyx:

Oscar sees her as lost, because he himself feels lost and away from home.

Ozpin describes her as a coward because he himself has run away into Oscar's subconscious.

Yang criticizes Alyx's tendency to lie and cheat because she sees these 2 attributes as the worst of the worst. She is conveniently ignoring she herself has been omitting information about Raven. Not to count that lie, cheat, survive are ideas that apply to Raven specifically. This means there is a part of Yang she herself is not confronting.

Weiss sympathizes with Alyx and refuses the moral of the story as too childish. Which kind of adult would truly believe that lying and cheating to survive is wrong? Except that Weiss's whole arc revolves around her embracing childishness once again and finding the hope and wonder that was stolen from her as a child.

So, everyone sees Alyx as a part of herself, but who is Alyx really?

ALYX - THE CHARACTER

Alyx is no-one, just a shadow:

Just an empty silhouette that can be filled by anyone:

This is what characters are, especially protagonists that are meant to carry a whole story on their shoulders:

Blake: I've read so many stories... I never thought I'll be the moral of one.

Characters are in stories to teach people morals and to convey messages. Basically, they all have purposes:

Blake: Have you ever heard the namy Alyx? Little: Alyx... Is that a purpose?

Maybe this is the real reason why names equals purposes in the Ever After. It is because characters are their purposes in a story... and yet, people are much more. So, what happens when a person ends up making their sense of identity overlap with their purpose?

Little: And is to Ruby Rose your purpose?

They lose themselves. Like it is happening to Ruby and like it has most likely happened to Alyx.

Weiss: What did Jinxy want from Alyx? Blake: Her saddest memories and her happiest.

Jinxy wanted Alyx's saddest and happiest memories. If a person loses both, they lose their past self. They lose who they are. It is probable Alyx chooses to leave the previous "her" behind, but can't forge any new identity, trapped forever to be a character. A protagonist. A fairy tale.

RWBY - THE LEGENDS

Blake: We are doing the same thing Alyx did. We are ruining everything!

Here, Blake is talking about RWBY's predicament in Ever After. She thinks that since they know how the story goes, they should be able to avoid Alyx's mistakes. She is frustrated they can't and overreacts. Why is she so emotional about it?

Because Blake is not talking about the Ever After. She probably means this:

Weiss: Maybe Jaune and Winter were able to get them out. Despite everything. Despite us.

RWBY has seen the adults fail at Beacon, so they strived to be better. They learnt from their mentors' mistakes, grew stronger and chose a different approach. Only to fail in the exact same way.

Blake and Weiss are having opposite reactions to the Ever After, but deep down they are dealing with the same sense of failure.

Blake is filtering it through a fairy tale. They must do everything perfectly here in Ever After, because if they can't, what good are even they?

Weiss is dealing with it by refusing the fairy tale. They messed up so royally in Remnant, that who cares what happens in this bizzarre world, which isn't theirs?

What about Yang and Ruby?

Yang is reacting the same as ever. She is going with the flaw and cracking jokes:

Ren: It's okay to be afraid, you know. You don't always have to hide it with a joke.

Ruby is choosing to push forward:

Ruby: We may not know exactly what's going on, but for whatever reason, this place is putting us on a similar path as a book we all read as kids. I say we follow it and stop pretending we know what we are doing.

She is given the role of Alyx and she is determined to fulfill it. She is stepping once again in the role of a protagonist. And yet, to keep on following an already pre-established script without putting that much mind to it isn't the right answer.

The fairy tale should be a chance for Ruby to face heself: who she was, who she is and who she wants to become.

What if you could leave Ruby Rose behind, shed like an old coat? What might happen, if you don't?

Isn't it interesting that the metaphor of an old coat is used? What is a little red hood if not something similar to a coat? A mantle (similar to that of a superhero for that matter) that Ruby chooses to wear? Who is she outside it? Outside her allusion? Outside her fairy tale?

The same goes for RWBY as a whole. They aren't in training anymore. They are Huntresses and are slowly growing into legends. They saved Haven, protected an ancient Relic, decided the fate of a Kingdom. Ruby is famous worldwide as the young Huntress who is challenging Salem. They are growing into more than just themselves. And yet, this is extremely dangerous, because losing one-self in a bigger tale is rather easy:

Pyrrha: For it is in passing that we achieve immortality. Through this, we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all.

This is why they are in a fairy tale they all know deep down, even if they have forgotten. It is so they can reconnect with whom they are. Metaphorically, they are going back to The Girl Who Fell Through The World, so that they can look at it from a different perspective. What teachings would they learn that they missed as kids? What will they discover?

What's sure is that they won't get anything if they keep refusing it (Weiss), not taking it seriously (Yang), being too worried about doing everything perfectly (Blake), following the script without thinking too much about it (Ruby).

ALYX - THE PERSON

RWBY must find themselves again and it would be interesting if they succeed by finding Alyx, as well.

In general, I think Neo, Jaune and Alyx are all characters the protagonists must "find" if they really want to figure out the world and their current situation. It is easy to see how this may work out for Neo, an enemy mad with grief, and Jaune, a friend traumatized and lonely.

What about Alyx?

It is possible she might stay in the background as a symbol. However, some hints suggest there might be more to it:

Weiss: He's adorable! Blake: And a lot older than I remember from the book

The world they are in isn't exactly the same of the fairy tale. Jinxy is much older and Little isn't in the original fairy tale. This is why they have no idea who Alyx is. How can they? They are too little to remember. They are in the Ever After, but in a future version of it. This ties with the idea they are confronting their childhoods as adults. It might also be there is a reason for it plot-wise.

Everyone seems to have their own idea of what happened to Alyx. Maybe the whole point is that they will have listen to Alyx's own version of the story.

THE GODS - THE WRITERS

These meta-themes are important outside this volume and for the story, as a whole. After all, let's not forget the Gods allude to the Brother Grimms. This means they are symbolically "the writers" of the characters. Through this lens, then, the whole conflict between the God of Light especially and Salem can be summarized as a writer not being able to write a character.

The God of Light wants Salem to learn an important lesson, so he comes up with a punishment and an obstacle for her to grow. This is how usually a writer approaches a character arc. However, Salem refuses to change, as the God of Light wants. She refuses to learn the theme he desires. If anything, the result is the opposite of what the God of Light expects. Why is that so?

Because the God of Light is dumb and not such a great writer on his own :P To write humans well he needs his brother's help. That is because humans are a mix of light and darkness, of selflessness and selfishness, of logic and emotions, of mind and heart. He approaches Salem as if she were to function exactly like him, but she is much more similar to his brother. Emotional and driven by her personal wishes.

So, the Gods are the writers and RWBY and the others are characters in their hands. When is it that a character overcomes their author? When they end up communicating something their author did not see coming. In this way, they surprise the writers and help them grow. This is probably how RWBY is gonna solve its conflict.

The girls will end up embodying a theme and a teaching the Gods and Salem did not account for. In this way, they will defeat them, symbolically.

At the same time, a meta-reading can very well apply to RWBY's most existentialist themes.

Let's consider these 2 lines:

Weiss: We are not in a book and even if we were we know how it ends, right over there.

Cinder: Oh, come now. Even if you know how the story ends, that doesn't make it any less fun to watch.

Even if all lives end in the same way (death), it doesn't mean they are not beautiful and worthy to be lived. Even if you know how the story ends, it doesn't mean you should not live it fully. You should dive deep into it, embrace wonder and go through it to the very end. Skipping pages means you are just giving up on new opportunities to grow and bloom.

#rwby #rwby volume 9 #rwby spoilers #team rwby #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiaolong #alyx #rwby meta #my meta

[nellasbookplanet]

I wonder how long it took Laudna to start to enjoy her spookiness after she first died. She views Ira as something of an aspiration, she seemingly has no issue with occassionally losing hair or minor body parts coming lose, she oftentimes deliberately spooks people, she refers to herself as 'fun scary'. And much as she has a tendency to compartmentalize any bad feelings and play at happiness, the delight and almost pride she takes in being spooky strikes me as entirely genuine.

The only times I get the vibe that she isn't delighting in it is when it’s partly happening outside of her control and when she doesn’t really know what's happening (narratively at least; outside of the narrative Marisha actively made the choice to cast, for example, hound of ill omen, but Laudna as a character was clearly rattled by the experience). Once, all of her spookiness must’ve felt like that; waking from the dead, her own body changed and coming apart at the seams, anyone she meets viewing her with fear instead of as a young woman in need of help. She was in control of none of that.

That was, what, 30 years ago? How much time did she spend confused and scared not only of the voice in her head and the powers it brought, but of her own body and what was happening to it? Was it simply time that made her come to embrace her new self, or was it a delibarete choice, an attempt to grab back control by refusing to hate and fear herself?

Or did she wake up almost as a new person from the start, already so far removed from her old self that it was her old body, her living body, that felt strange and alien? That this corpse of a body was her, felt right. Did thinking back to her living self feel like remembering a dream, and if so how odd and scary must it not be to know you used to be someone else, but being unable to really feel what it was like being that person, and trying to do so feels like imagining being a stranger, inhabiting the wrong body?

Alternately, was Laudna always a little weird and spooky and goth, and woke up looking like a corpse and went fuck yeah.

#critical role #cr3 #laudna #nella talks cr

[deanstead]

Christmas Surprise

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Requested: yes, by @enchantedblackrose

Summary: Y/N is pleasantly surprised when she opens the door on Christmas Eve.

Square Filled: Free for #resa.3kfiestabingo + Home for the Holidays for @storiesofsvu ‘s #storiesofsvuholidaybingo2022

Word Count: 1K+

Tags/Warnings: none

A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone!!! I know it's been a while, so here's a Christmas fic! There's other Christmas requests I had but this one really hit me so here it is! Thank you Ashley for the brilliant request hehe. Hope yall enjoy this!

JAY HALSTEAD MASTERLIST

This was the part of this job that really sucked.

Having to go deep undercover was never easy, especially after he’d had more than just himself to think of. But it was feeling infinitely worse now as he sat on his couch wondering how on earth he was supposed to tell his daughter, who was eagerly looking forward to the holidays, that he wasn’t going to be around.

“Jay?”

Jay glanced up at your voice as you looked at him with concern.

You’d been with Jay long enough to know when something was bothering him so you just threw yourself down on the couch next to him. “Something wrong?”

Jay gave you a small smile and shook his head before he paused.

“What?” You asked again, prompting gently.

Jay turned towards you with a sigh, looking almost like a child who knew he was going to get in trouble.

“I gotta go under. There’s no way around it, we don’t have any other way to get these guys and… I don’t know how long it will be.”

The words floated between the both of you and you frowned. “That’s what’s been eating at you?”

Jay raised an eyebrow.

“Jay Halstead, you’ve been brooding almost the whole night over this? I thought something had happened to someone, I thought someone was in trouble.”

Jay gave you a guilty smile, before letting the smile drop.

“It’s already after Thanksgiving. I highly doubt I’ll be back for Christmas.” He said quietly.

You reached over, putting your hand into Jay’s. “We’ll be fine.”

“Sophia’s gonna be crushed.” He responded, his hand wrapping around yours like a habit.

You smiled. “Sophia is gonna be fine. Just manage her expectations about Christmas, I’ll take care of the rest. Go save the city.”

Jay pulled you gently into his embrace, and you leaned your head against him as he pressed a kiss on your head. “Thank you.” Jay whispered.

You smiled, without looking up at him. “Team effort.”

“All done!” Sophia yelled triumphantly, looking proudly at the ornaments she’d displayed out on the bottom part of the tree where she had been given free reign.

Sophia hadn’t been able to hide the disappointment in her eyes when her father had told her he’d be away for Christmas but she put on her big girl face anyway and smiled back at him. “I’ll take care of Mama!” She'd announced.

You’d smiled, as a look of absolute pride at his young daughter shone on Jay’s face.

Even though neither you nor Jay had an answer for her when Sophia had asked how long Jay would be away for, your daughter had taken it in her five year old stride, asking if the both of you could keep the decorations until Jay came home.

You’d agreed with a smile, telling her that the both of you could get the house ready for whenever Daddy came home.

So when the tree was finally finished on Christmas Eve, Sophia was very proud of herself.

You’d gotten a roast chicken just for the two of you, some mashed potatoes and ham, which was more than enough to last both you and Sophia a few days, inclusive of the fact that Will would either be coming around either today or tomorrow.

You didn’t think much of it when the bell rang, putting the row of sliced ham on the table before going to get the door, expecting Will to be on the other side of the door and preparing yourself to nag him for spoiling his only niece.

But when you opened the door, you froze.

“Surprise.” Jay’s voice was quiet, a big grin spread across his face.

You glanced backwards where Sophia was absolutely engrossed in what she was doing with the Christmas stockings before you turned back to your husband.

“What are you doing here? You said you weren’t going to make it.” You reached forward for a hug and Jay pressed his lips against yours, smiling before he put his arms around you.

“Lucked out.” Jay answered, still keeping his voice low.

You grinned, stepping backwards as you turned towards your daughter who still had her back to you.

“Sophia, guess who’s here?”

Sophia raised her head now. “Uncle Will?” She logically guessed, as she turned.

There was a quiet silence as her five year old brain registered that her favourite person was actually standing in the room.

“Daddy!” Sophia shrieked in delight, climbing to her feet and all but diving into her father’s arms. Jay laughed as he picked Sophia up, tossing her lightly into the air before giving her a hug, Sophia’s giggles echoing against the walls of the apartment.

Sophia’s excitement level was off the charts and you couldn’t help but smile as she insisted on showing Jay each and every ornament that she had personally hung on the tree, closely followed by any corner that had a hint of Christmas in it.

You let her give Jay the tour before the three of you finally sat down for a nice Christmas meal, even through the ruckus of Sophia spilling her drink before dinner even started, or her absolutely loud protests for her father’s attention.

But nothing could spoil the evening as you finally cuddled into Jay’s side after you’d cleared whatever was left of dinner, Sophia sprawled comfortably in her father’s lap, her tiny legs reaching across towards you. The cheesy holiday movies playing on the television merely reminded you how delighted you were to be where you were, Jay’s fingers moving absentmindedly along your shoulder.

It was about halfway through the movie when Jay glanced at you. Sophia had long fallen asleep in her father’s arms and you smiled, nodding as Jay extricated himself from the couch as gently as he could without waking Sophia and taking her to her own bed.

He was back out in a minute, climbing back into the couch by your side, quietly opening his arms so you could fit yourself more securely in them. You leaned against Jay, feeling him lean his face against your head gently and you smiled.

“Thanks for making it back.”

You felt him smile. “Lucky break.”

You turned your head to look up at him as the digital numbers turned to 00:00.

“Merry Christmas.” Jay whispered, with a smile.

You leaned further back so Jay could lean down comfortably, your return of Merry Christmas lost to his lips as he kissed you.

THANK YOU FOR READING!! PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF THIS!!

If you want to support me, buy me a coffee!

#resa.fics #resa.3kfiestabingo #storiesofsvuholidaybingo2022 #resanoona request #oc: sophia halstead #jay halstead #jay halstead x reader #chicago pd #chicago pd x reader #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead oneshot #jay halstead fanfic #jay halstead x you #jay halstead x y/n #chicago pd oneshot #chicago pd imagine

[darkstar225]

Twice’s 10th member gets pampered by the foreign line

A/N: Heyyy, I'm back fr lol! Sry for taking so long to post but finally the semester ended :D I hope that my friend Thira2 that gave me this idea on Wattpad likes it! :)

The request: Hi for twice 10th member book can you do where she's clingy and want to be pampered by momo, sana, mina and tzuyu and they give her all their attention. Thank u

PS: Tysm for everyone that reads what I write, I hope I can bring a smile to your faces every time I post! I'd like to thank whoever sent me this idea 'cause I loved to write it <3

__________________________________________________________

In the vibrant world of K-pop, a talented and spirited young girl named Y/N found herself becoming the 10th member of the sensational girl group, TWICE. With her infectious energy and endearing personality, she quickly won the hearts of fans all around the globe. However, being the youngest and the newest addition to the foreign line consisting of Momo, Sana, Mina, and Tzuyu, Y/N sometimes felt a little overwhelmed by the magnificence of it all. Despite her charm and talent, she couldn't help but feel a tinge of insecurity. Often finding herself longing for the nurturing presence of her fellow foreign line members, who had been in the industry longer than her. They were like older sisters to her, and she cherished the thought of receiving their guidance and affection. One sunny afternoon, as the TWICE members gathered in their cozy dorm, Y/N's heart swelled with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. She had devised a plan to seek the attention and pampering of her beloved sisters, hoping they would shower her with the affection she secretly craved. Taking a deep breath, she approached Momo, who was engrossed in perfecting her dance moves, speaking softly with a hopeful feeling behind it.

Y/N - Momo unnie, I was wondering if you could teach me some of your amazing dance techniques. I really look up to you, and I think learning from you would be an incredible experience.

Momo, touched by her lovely dongsang's sincerity, turned to her with a bright smile. 

Momo - Of course, babygirl! I'd be more than happy to help you improve your dancing skills. Just let me know when you're ready, and we'll have a dance session together.

With her heart filled with gratitude, Y/N moved on to Sana, who was busy scrolling through her phone. 

Y/N - Sana unnie, I was hoping you could give me some fashion advice. You always look so effortlessly stylish, and I'd love to learn from you.

Sana's eyes lit up with excitement as she put her phone aside. 

Sana - Love, you have great taste already, but I'd love to help you enhance your fashion sense. Let's go shopping together sometime, and we can pick out some amazing outfits that reflect your unique style.

Feeling emboldened by the warm responses she received, Y/N sought out Mina next. She found her sitting by the window, engrossed in a book. 

Y/N - Mina unnie, I've always admired your grace and elegance. Can you teach me how to be as elegant as you are?

Mina placed her bookmark carefully and turned her attention to Y/N. Her serene smile radiated tranquility. 

Mina - Darling, grace comes from within. I'd be honored to guide you in developing your inner poise. Let's schedule some meditation sessions, and we can explore mindfulness together.

Finally, Y/N approached Tzuyu, who was practicing her Mandarin. 

Y/N - Tzuyu unnie, I've always wanted to learn Mandarin, and I know you're fluent in it. Can you teach me?

Tzuyu's face brightened up, and she nodded eagerly. 

Tzuyu - Of course, sweetie! I'd love to teach you Mandarin. We can have language lessons together, and I can help you practice speaking and writing.

As the days passed, Y/N's bond with Momo, Sana, Mina, and Tzuyu deepened. They not only fulfilled her desires but also embraced her with open arms, showing her that she was a crucial part of the foreign line. From dance practice sessions with Momo to shopping trips with Sana, mindfulness sessions with Mina, and Mandarin lessons with Tzuyu, TWICE's honey basked in the love and attention she received from her cherished seniors.

In the bustling TWICE dorm, Y/N's heart was filled with warmth as she continued to receive immense love and attention from her cherished seniors, Momo, Sana, Mina, and Tzuyu. However, she had an adorable side that craved even more affection, seeking solace in their comforting presence. And so, on a peaceful evening, she decided to let her clingy nature shine. After a day filled with dance practice, fashion advice, mindfulness sessions, and Mandarin lessons, the maknae found herself nestled in the living room with Momo, Sana, Mina, and Tzuyu. Exhaustion tugged at her, but her heart yearned for something more. Like a moment of intimate affection that would make her feel safe and loved. With a playful glint in her eyes, she approached Momo, her eyes sparkling with anticipation and cheeks colored with a faint blush as she spoke hesitantly. 

Y/N - Unnie, can I... um, cuddle with you?

Momo's eyes softened since she understood Y/N's need for comfort. So she nodded while she answered warmly and patted the space beside her on the couch. 

Momo - Of course, sugar. Come here.

The youngest's heart leaped with joy as she snuggled into the crook of Momo's arm, resting her head against Momo's chest. The rhythmic sound of Momo's heartbeat filled her ears, providing a soothing melody that calmed her racing thoughts. She closed her eyes, feeling the rise and fall of Momo's breath as a lullaby of tranquility. As she lay nestled in Momo's embrace, the other members noticed her contentment and joined in, creating a cocoon of love and warmth. Sana sat beside Y/N, gently stroking her hair with a tender smile. Mina settled on the other side, her voice a gentle hum as she sang a soft melody, blending harmoniously with Tzuyu's sweet voice.

Y/N's heart swelled with love as the harmonious voices of her beloved members washed over her, embracing her in a tender serenade. The stress and worries of the day melted away, replaced by a profound sense of peace and security. In that moment, TWICE's angel knew she was cherished, not just as the youngest and newest member, but as a treasured part of the TWICE family. As the gentle lullaby continued, her eyes grew heavy, weighed down by the serenity that surrounded her. Momo's comforting presence, Sana's loving touch, Mina's soothing voice, and Tzuyu's melodic harmony lulled her into a state of pure bliss. With each passing note, her breathing slowed, and her body relaxed. Soon, the girl succumbed to a deep and peaceful slumber, cradled in the arms of her chosen sisters. Her dreams were filled with melodies and dance moves, laughter and love, as she floated in a world where she was embraced and adored.

The following morning, Y/N woke up with a smile, feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. The events of the previous night lingered in her heart, reminding her of the deep connection she shared with Momo, Sana, Mina, and Tzuyu. With renewed confidence, she shone through on stage, knowing that the love and comfort she received from her cherished sisters would always be there to guide and support her. Fans admired her talent, but they also fell in love with the bond she shared with the foreign line.

And so, as the music played and the crowd cheered, Y/N stood tall as the youngest jewel in the wonderful foreign line, forever grateful for the pampering and attention she had received from her beloved TWICE members. And the look on the maknae's face made, not only the foreign line but also the other members have only one thought: 

We are proud of our dear maknae.

A/N: I apologise for any errors, English is not my first language. Pls, let me know if there's something wrong, ty for reading <3

#kpop imagines #kpop gg #twice imagines #twice 10th member #twice x reader #twice scenarios #twice #twice fluff #twice added member #twice addition #twice x y/n #twice x you #momo #momo x reader #sana #sana x reader #mina #mina x reader #tzuyu #tzuyu x reader #nayeon #nayeon x reader #jeongyeon #jeongyeon x reader #jihyo #jihyo x reader #dahyun #dahyun x reader #chaeyoung #chaeyoung x reader

[please-picturemeintheweeds]

I spent 40 minutes in therapy today talking about the role of narrative and self creation in Taylor’s interview, and how she acts in her life as the main character- she steps into her power. Which is of course a story I was telling about myself, too. And I’ve been thinking a lot about symbolism and fairy tales, and I just… love that Taylor is embracing her symbolic role as the people’s pop princess. I appreciate the scale of her cultural contributions, including introducing an entire generation of young women to a new vision of ourselves as subjects rather than objects in music (and yes, for many of us, our first taste of “modern” feminism that felt a whole lot better than the version my mom’s generation ascribes to which feels more like “you don’t need any help because you are independent”. By putting it so simply in 2014 during the cultural wave of legalizing queer marriage, Taylor made being a feminist cool. She gave me the basic language to seek out and begin exploring intersectional feminism on my own as a bright eyed 17 year old girl).

I think the part that bothers me most about the reductionist discourse - is she “good” or “bad”- is that it conflates Taylor’s real life with her symbolic place in pop culture. The discourse about her every move distills a full complete human woman down to her reputation as either the evil queen/witch/capitalist, or the slut, or the wife, or the crazy ex. And then, once the role is chosen, she mirrors how “good” the person discussing her imagines themself to be. I’d personally rather view her as the hero because that’s the kind of agency I am trying to empower myself with.

The confusing part is that lots of people have really wonderful sharp critiques of what Taylor’s real life symbolizes about our world, but those messages come out as personal attacks on a real human being, often by belittling her intelligence, accomplishments, impact, and character- as if none of us have ever been friends with a shitty person, or been a shitty person ourselves (sometimes even repeatedly). For example, I am fascinated by the white feminism phenomenon that emerged during the 1989 era, and by the monetizing of self care, the rise of influencer culture, and how it reflects on the political landscape over the last 10 years, and how my development from girl to woman was impacted by all of it- none of that discussion requires a decision on if Taylor herself is good or bad. We can’t keep reducing each other, including celebrities, down to binaries of “good” or “bad.” If we can’t even humanize the one stranger we all know intimately, what does that say about our capacity to grow from our own mistakes? To help each other grow?

One of the core things that builds people’s movements is working toward shared goals even if you disagree on some things- I’d rather have Taylor Swift as the symbolic person of the year, speaking about getting in touch with her emotions and rising from trauma stronger than before, working hard for her goals, being proud of her accomplishments, and loudly celebrating women, than another war criminal politician 🤷🏼‍♀️. There’s so much juicy stuff to digest from her crowning as Person Of The Year (including critiques of capitalism and white feminism!) and it just sucks that people are stuck on “is she good or bad,”preventing them from actually engaging with the interview as an enormous pop culture moment. And during the biggest labor movement in history! She’s up there talking about a patriarchal industry exploiting her and other musicians! She’s talking about recovering from an eating disorder and loving her past selves! She’s talking about staying true to herself even when the entire world is watching her every move. It is important, regardless of if she meets everybody’s personal standards of “good” or “bad.” Nobody is required to like her! We can all have different boundaries for different relationships- I might not be friends with Taylor swift in real life, but I have no problem appreciating her art and listening to her unique perspective. The haters are missing the point- she symbolizes unity, joy, fun, love, healing, family, trying to be better, forgiveness and women’s empowerment. She also symbolizes nuance and disagreement. She symbolizes gossip and cyber bullying and cancel culture. She symbolizes coming of age in a traumatizing world. She symbolizes perseverance and the value of owning your own work. She means something different to everyone because she is a mirrorball. What does she symbolize to you?

#C #using Taylor to talk about politics again #Just have been sleeping in transformative justice and abolitionist activism recently and I feel so free talking about Taylor in real life #But then I come on here and everyone’s always arguing about if she’s a good person today or not #person of the year

[americanah]

Lili Reinhart: The Inspiration Girl is the Face of the Future for Max Mara

Riverdale star and film producer Lili Reinhart, after being honored by Max Mara as a Person of the Future in Film, talks to ELLE about the place of women on the small and big screen.

The actress Lili Reinhart who became famous from the young series Riverdale grows, matures, strengthens and claims for herself and for all women equal opportunities. She does it through her words and the way she has chosen to exist in this space, having her own production company. All this led the Max Mara house to highlight Lili Reinhart as Face of the Future by offering her the Max Mara Face of the Future 2022 Award in the context of this year's Women in Film Gala. The actress talks about her experience, but also about her path so far in the entertainment industry.

Q: How did you feel when you found out that you will be awarded by Max Mara?

L: At first I felt confused and wondered why they chose me. Then, however, I got over my self-doubt and got excited. It is a great honor for me to be among the women who have received this award. Max Mara is a great brand in the fashion industry and I am very happy to be on the same team with all these fantastic people.

Q: Do you think that this award also brings some responsibility?

L: When you're in that space and the whole world is looking at you, which naturally happens in the entertainment industry, I think you have a responsibility to convey the right messages and even talk about the toxicity that existed in this industry in the first place . I will try to continue to defend and speak openly about the issues I am called to speak about.

Q: Max Mara is a brand with a rich heritage that has always made significant strides to support women and make them feel good. What aspects of the company do you most identify with?

L: I really love Max Mara. Wearing the house's clothes, I feel like I'm living the dream of a sexy successful businesswoman. When I was little, instead of playing other games, I would pretend I was in the movie The Devil Wears Prada, that I was in an office answering phones and taking notes. I wanted to wear all those wonderful, elegant clothes that accentuated the business woman aesthetic.

Q: You have been in front of the cameras as an actor and behind them as a producer. What do you think is the future for women in Hollywood?

L: It is very important for me that there are (in the entertainment industry) as many women as possible and that the female experience is heard from them. That's the goal moving forward – to embrace women and include as many as possible. I feel very lucky to have my own production company and to have earned my respect and space as a woman, because I don't think I would have had this opportunity ten years ago. My collaboration and award from Max Mara, a house that empowers women, is very important. My partner in the production company is also a woman and together we try to work with female writers and actors. Women have been underestimated enough over the years and now is the time to claim equality. It is great that Max Mara has this attitude towards women's issues and I am very happy to be part of this family.

Q: You are an advocate of mental health and body positivity. How important is it to you to continue to speak openly about these issues?

L: It comes naturally to me. I just happened to want to touch on them because they speak my truth. It's what I believe. That's why I fight and I'm a person who wants to talk about them, so that I can connect with others and feel that I'm not alone. That's how I started advocating and promoting issues like mental health and body positivity and I'm proud of it.

Q: Have you always dreamed of becoming an actor?

L: Yes, I always wanted to. Growing up, I put on shows for my family in our living room. I was 12 years old and auditioning in New York and Los Angeles. When I was 19, my mother videotaped me auditioning at our house in Ohio for the TV series Riverdale, but I was rejected. Two months later I moved to Los Angeles, where my agent told me they still hadn't found an actor for the lead role, so I went to the casting director again. After a few auditions, I got the part.

Q: You watched the Max Mara Spring 2023 show in Milan. Which creations did you like best?

L: The collection was great! It's rare to like everything in a collection, to want to wear it all. I loved every piece because they perfectly represent my style, especially the suits. I want everything!

Q: What is your relationship with fashion? Do you like; Do you follow the trends?

L: Lately I've started appreciating fashion more as I get the chance to experiment with my looks and try different things. However, I don't think I have a specific style, I dress according to my mood.

Q: How do you imagine your career in the future? What dreams do you have?

L: I have founded my own production company and we are developing some projects with new roles for me and this is exciting. When I started playing more challenging characters, I felt more confident as an actor. With all my dreams, I will try to bring unique perspectives to the entertainment industry.

Q: What do you hope for the future of women in Hollywood?

L: I hope they get more and more opportunities and don't have to prove anything anymore. The belief that we have to prove that we are capable of having the same jobs and the same opportunities as men has taken root in us. I hope that women will be able to shine in the way they deserve.

#lili interview

[lindszeppelin]

Hmmm. Regarding who Kaia would date next, yes it’ll probably be fast but I also wonder if it would a woman. I’m genuinely unclear of the perimeters of her sexuality bc she’s been so vague about it (which is her right- I’m NOT shaming in any way) but something feels off. She only dates men, specifically men of the moment. Benefit of the doubt, she just hasn’t met a woman she’s wanted to go public with. I know a few bisexuals who happen to date men more bc that’s just how the cards have fallen. But something about her hinting and stating that’s she’s at least queer confuses me. This sounds crazy, but I almost wonder if she prefers women and suppresses it for whatever reason or is just confused/hoping on a band wagon or something bc again-benefit of the doubt- people really can be fluid and need a moment to sort that out. Again, no shame but something hasn’t added up about her sexuality to me. Maybe it’s bc she never directly talks about her personal life in general so there’s just too many gaps too account for, but as progressive and supportive of all walks of life that I am…the buzzer goes off in my head that something isn’t adding up. There’s tons of rumors that her parents make her hide it, but as as much as I believe a LOT of the Cindy and Rande lore…idk. That’s a stretch. They’re Hollywood folks. They’re probably not conservative like that. Cindy even posed with KD Lang in a sexual way in the 90s before that was socially acceptable. I don’t think they’re blocking their daughter from being out and dating women.

If she is into women, idk, I’d be rooting for her to have her next partner be a woman. But if she dates another it or older guy, I don’t know. Whatever, but I’m exhausted already lol. What are your thoughts about this topic?

I agree. I think she would feel much freer and more herself if she dated a woman. She seems more comfortable around women, you can just tell. She is so touchy feely with her girl friends and loving on them. But with men? Eh, it doesn't give the same chemistry. She knows that Hollywood isn't super giving to those in the LGBTQ+ community. She wants all the parts she can get? She wants all the riches Hollywood has to offer her? She has to play into dating men. Lavender relationships or bearding relationships have been pretty common in Hollywood, it's not uncommon. While she had more chemistry with Elordi compared to Austin, she just overall is so much more her honest self around women. And she did say she was queer, she put herself into that category. And she is always going to queer parties and events in LA and liking queer media more than a straight girl that's an ally would, imo. And it was rumored too that her and Cara Delevingne have an interesting history. I think this young generation is of the mindset that they don't need to "come out" or label themselves, which is 100% cool. But it is pretty plain to see that she has no sexual chemistry with men at all. It's just not there.

She just uses men to get ahead in her career in the acting sphere. That's just how the cookie crumbles for her. I mean, if she wants to be miserable for the rest of her life then she'll keep having her proclaimed "intimacy problems" with men...or she will publicly embrace dating women.

#lindsay's anon asks

[lightcreators]

@mvrtogg continue from here

The leprechaun grinned to the man, "So you're Philip Butler? Professor Burke talked about you." he mused leaning over the concrete edge of the bridge the pair were standing on. Oh he knew who Phil Butler was, he also knew Elizabeth Burke wasn't what she believed herself to be. He knew far more than he let on. True, his nature was usually kept a hermit of sort but where was the fun in that? Where was the mischievousness? He thrived on it. Yes, somehow when it came to Burke is was different. He arched a brow and snorted eyes wandering around before settling on the other. " -- thanks. I think. My question is, if I continue to help distract the young Malfoy, wot's in it fer me?"

Amusement flattered almost automatically his features. Rare were the people inside the wizarding world to be aware of resonance of his name, fragment of an faraway period of some of concerned lucky --- Harry Potter, the one in which everyone attention was attracted with, probably mustn’t had forgotten his sweet name though would wishing to avoid the reminder; compared to Draco Malfoy in which he could perceiving potential bloom interestingly … His boss as current Minister of Magic should be associated to these people, however Featherine simply created an suitable landscape inside the chessboarrd, considering she had to controlling the chessboard long enough before the Game Master take his rightful seat, nevertheless wasn’t really involved inside circumstances inside the manner that could be expected of her. Even if Draco eventually exploded a bolt in front of his face concerning couple of affairs who had remained hidden from him, in same manner as his true boss appearance remained unseen to his eyes, the name Featherine or the Doctor wasn’t supposed to fall under his lips --- Elizabeth Burke was an particular case. She was more than a simple witch exploring a particular time aspect of circumstances --- she was more than a companion of some teamed men inside the Ministry, in which sweet name of a Master playfully distracting him --- regardless how close she was towards a mysterious husband searching best of moves, another aspect of her existence remained yet to be discovered … in which brutality of the confession could have been as hard about how realization had been made inside the young Malfoy. Should have been a move that shouldn’t have been done? Oh. He will wait Featherine opinion, comment it. Personally, he didn’t care, he didn’t mind --- he wanted Draco expressing himself inside the most entertaining part of his personality, he desired that boy embracing all his feelings, he wished to be impressed by the kind of cruelty such an angel could offer … Of course, he was first person aware about consequences that will be created on the way, immediately. He doesn’t care. Phobos could bring all repercussions he desired, he will support him, and will remain amused if he managed to bring consequences over Featherine meanwhile remaining unaware of her presence inside the board, and wouldn’t exposing restraints towards revenge ---

Possible confusion his words could have been brought increased further his playfulness. Though, flattery was first emotion to showing up inside his expression towards confirmation about his person. ❝ Oh, I have no doubts Professor Burke talked about me~ ❞ He mused playfully. ❝ She needs a wonderful emotional support with the terrible husband she have~ ❞ Of course, the leprechaun would understand he was mocking freely his own boss inside that strange manner of reference, though he was uncaring concerning his reaction. Featherine left him restrained for years, unable to do an interference he would received order directly from Malfoy himself --- asking simply in return of that boy not to be disappointed. Compared to Phantomhive decades before, as first circumstances were, he didn’t need yet to pressuring the heir of the family handling business in the shadows to close his eyes --- it would be a gesture he would naturally do in total consciousness, and he really hoped he had awareness about what he could do. Whatever if his underground was a little higher than last time they met, when that innocent boy wished to becoming similar to a ghost … ❝ I hope she offered me all the compliments~ ❞ How an horrible person he was an constant reminder of his boss, and himself playfully mused with that notion. Hence, he had been needed for be sure Draco will be an biting dog --- with the right motivation, he could giving him murderous sparks … and with the right remembrance, he would be in first seat for burn the world! He was meant to becoming villain with him. ❝ Oh, you understand it that way. It’s not totally inaccurate though. You did offer him the best of distractions in which he will cling --- it’s magnificent~ Thank for distracting me beautifully with your move with Malfoy~ Such an interesting one, even if brilliant aid indeed. ❞ Playfulness increased. ❝ Lot of gold as you loves it for started. ❞

#mvrtogg #ic :: philip butler #harry potter universe tag. #hogwarts sixth year tag #harry potter / #long post / #phil and murtogg tbt. #that muse who breath naturally assholery

[knuts-and-bolts]

yellowjackets as tma fear entities!!

Van- The Hunt: (obviously) girl’s rapidly going more and more feral and i love that for her. In an interview, Liv Henson talked about Van in season two dying on the inside and losing her humanity because she realizes that they have to survive one way or another. While many of the girls try to rely on humanity to save them, Van let’s her instinct take over and becomes more of a beast than a person. adult Van tries to hide it but there is a part of her (Lottie pointed it out in episode eight) that has died.

Tai- The Dark: my biggest influence on this one is Sammy. Tai’s biggest problem is that she sleepwalks and loses control of herself, especially at night. as an adult, she does so much to stay awake but still ends up becoming her own son’s nightmare. it reminds me of The Dark and how it’s specifically a fear that a lot of children have, and Tai has this childlike fear within her. The thing that Tai needs the most is reassurance and somebody to look after her even though she wants to be independent, which also just reminds me of innocence in a way.

Lottie- The Eye: My other top pick for her would be The Web, but I really the Eye fits better. Lottie has very big Tim energy in a very specific way. She doesn’t want to be a prophet, she doesn’t want the girls to follow or worship her, but she can’t stop it. Lottie can certainly see and understand things beyond what others can see and instead of being some kind of gift it scares the shit out of her. much like Tim, she wants to be martyr. Unfortunately, Lottie does not go kayaking. Something about her struggle with her visions and strange ability to just know things reminds me of the perverted nature of how Elias forces this power onto others.

Nat- The Hunt: While Van is closer to an avatar of The Hunt, Nat is a victim of it. Even before episode eight (when she literally is getting hunted) she’s the one they rely on for food, and reason she can do this goes back to horrific death of her father. The Hunt follows (hunts) her and she can do nothing to escape its inevitability. Adult Nat can still fell something following her, and goes to great lengths to prevent herself from thinking about it.

Shauna- The Slaughter: She says it herself a few times, Shauna wants to kill people. She’s the butcher of the group not because she’s good at it, but because she wants it. Shauna, sweet, browned-eyed Shauna, who tries so hard to push it down and pretend it isn’t there, wants to kill and tear flesh from bones.

Misty- The Spiral: At the very beginning, young Misty’s greatest fear is Loneliness. This might lead some to believe that she embodies the Lonely, but she doesn’t. Misty obsesses with the attention she gets and learns that she can manipulate people to love her in a sick and twisted way. While she fears loneliness, she embraces the insanity and deception of the Spiral, even as an adult.

Jackie- The End: Jackie is a girl who dies horribly. She is a vision of teenage girlhood and it’s innocence that hides behind surface level corruption. Jackie is afraid of so many things, but she’s terrified of dying. She’s so scared of her friends dying that she manages to survive for months longer than she should have. Like Nat, Jackie is a victim rather an avatar.

Laura Lee- The Web: Laura Lee fully believes that everything in her life is controlled by god. she thinks it’s her fault the plane crashed because she called somebody a cunt. When Laura Lee finally decides to do something about it, for possibly the first time in her life, she dies. Laura Lee’s every action is predestined, and when she steps out of line and does something unexpected, she burns to death.

Akilah- The Corruption: I wish we knew more about her, but Akilah is another victim here. She has a sense of wonder and joy even in the darkest times with Nugget. This is, of course, destroyed when she realized it’s been dead the whole time, and she follows the path many victims of the Corruption take. Like Matin with the Jane Prentiss stuff, Akilah physically curls up and tries to isolate and protect herself.

Ben- The Vast: Of course we need so Vast out here lost in the woods! Ben seems to feel the most isolated, which makes sense given that he’s an adult man stuck out there with all of these teenagers, none of which seem to know him well or care about him all that much. Even at home, Ben has nothing. There’s one scene that really sticks out to me about Ben being the Vast, and it’s when Misty stops him from jumping off the cliff. The best threat that Misty can come up with is to put him, thus further isolating him. even though he says “tell them” i noticed some fear there. Ben wants to be loved so badly that he hallucinates his boyfriend, but is so haunted by his loneliness that his hallucinations tell him to kill himself.

that’s all for now!! i’ll probably think of more later. if you read this far, i love you.

#yellowjackets season 2 #yellowjackets #yellowjackets spoilers #tma podcast #the magnus archives #fear #tma #tma yellowjackets crossover #i have mental illinois

[asirensrage]

Gonna Smoke You Out -Part 5/Finale.

Gonna Smoke You Out - Part 5

Rating: T

Pairing: Billy Russo x OC

Series summary: No good deed goes unpunished

Warnings: Obsession. Stalking. Violence. Swearing. Abusive family mention. Implied toxic relationship. Darker fic.

Series Masterlist

She wakes up alone for once. 

Leda stretches in bed, considering whether or not she wants to leave it. She never expected this to happen. She made the choice to help a man on the street because it was the right thing to do. 

She did not expect to be caught up in his web, drawn out of the safety net she had given herself and thrown headfirst into being slowly seduced. It was the only way to explain it. She especially did not expect Billy to come to her rescue, scaring off her family who wanted to drag her back home to fit the position they demanded she fill. She didn’t think he could. 

Leda invited him in after that, demanding to know how he knew to come for her. She hadn’t messaged him, hadn’t asked for help. He confessed to the cameras in her hall. She couldn’t even be upset. Not when it ended the way it did. 

Billy Russo was by far the lesser of two evils. He did not ask anything from her except her free time and attention. He did not require her to give up her dreams or goals, in fact he offered her anything he could do to help her fulfill them. He just wanted to be with her. So he claimed.

The doorbell rings. 

Leda gets dressed quickly, throwing on sweatpants and one of Billy’s shirts that he left. It’s the closest thing she can reach as she runs to answer it. She can’t help but check who it is, even when she knows he’s aware of the visitors they get. The sight through the peephole was the last person she expected. She unlocks the door quickly and flings it open. 

“Grandma!” 

The old woman smiles widely as she sees her and Leda has to keep herself from lunging forward to hug her. She does so at a slightly calmer place. Her grandmother Coretta smells the exact same as she remembers and Leda feels tears well up the longer they embrace. It feels like home. 

Her grandmother pulls back and stares at her, smile never falling even as she wipes the tears from Leda’s face with her thumb. “Look at you.” 

“What are you doing here?” Leda asks before realizing they’re still standing in the doorway. “Come in.” 

Coretta walks in, taking time to look around the small apartment. “It’s lovely,” she tells Leda.

“Really?”

“Of course it is. It suits you perfectly.”

Leda’s heart feels as though it’s about to swell out of her chest. “Can I get you anything? Something to drink?” she offers. 

Her grandma sits down on the couch and pats the cushion next to her. “I’m fine, dear. Come, let me look at you. It’s been so long.” 

Leda moves automatically, sitting next to her grandmother and staring at her. She can’t believe it. She never thought she’d see her again. “How are you here?” 

“Your young man,” Coretta tells her. “He sent someone to get me. Your father and brothers, they came home while I was packing but the man he sent kept them away. We drove,” she smiles widely at Leda. “All the way here. It was wonderful. Such an unexpected adventure.”

Leda swipes at the tears that are falling. Not only did he save her, but her grandmother as well. How did he know?

“Tell me about your man,” her grandmother asks. “How did you meet?” 

Leda pauses, trying to think of what to tell her. “When the aliens came. I saw him standing there, looking dazed and…I just grabbed him. I pulled him to safety. We sat together in the dark. He was bleeding. I left without giving him my name, but he still somehow found me. I thought-” her throat tightens suddenly at the reminder of the fear. “I thought it was them, but it was him. He said he wanted to thank me, get to know me. I didn’t…he’s been watching me. That’s how he knew about, well, when they showed up.”

“I’m sorry,” her grandmother clasps her hand between hers. “They figured it out after the phone call.”

“I thought so. He threatened them. Told them if they didn’t leave, he’d destroy them. One way or another. It was like watching a scene from a movie. They left and compared me…” she pauses. That comparison hurt. “They said I’d be like my mother. He hit them then.”

“A good man,” Coretta nods. 

“Is he?” Leda can’t help but ask. “He has cameras outside in my hall. He paid my rent, bribed classmates and coworkers in order to find me. I’m pretty sure he beat up a classmate of mine for threatening my final project. I don’t know if I…if I should really let him in.” Despite their dates, and the few times they’ve slept together after his adamant defence of her to her family, she’s still hesitant. 

Her grandmother nods. “You should.” 

It takes Leda by surprise. “What?”

“Leda, dear, does he want you to stop what you are doing?”

“No. He’s supportive. He took me to a textile museum,” she laughs slightly. He hadn’t looked at a single display unless she pointed it out, just listened closely as she went on about the uses of a specific fabric and asked questions. 

“Then take the chance. And if he should try to stop you, to smother your light, I will beat him with my cast iron pan.”

“What?” Leda laughs at the unexpected remark.

“I’m old, I’ve lived my life. He’ll never see me coming and jail means nothing compared to your happiness.”

Leda laughs before hugging her again. “Thank you.”

It takes a moment before they settle, and even as Leda basks in the presence of her grandmother, she still considers the man that brought her. “I guess I don’t need proof that he’s a good man when he’s been good to me,” she says thoughtfully. “Is that selfish?”

“It’s human, my Leda. Now, let me tell you about this apartment your young man gave to me.”

“He what?”

Billy did not consider himself a lucky man. 

He lost more than he ever had long before he realized he was missing anything. He was not lucky, but he was determined. He fought for everything he had and he would do everything to keep it. He knew bringing her grandmother to the city would work in his favour. He had heard nothing but compliments for the woman from Dwayne, who he had sent to retrieve her. 

He does not regret spending the time and resources to find his Leda. Billy knows she’s worth it, but it is a surprise when she shows up at his office. She glances around quickly before she focuses on him. Billy waits. Patience is a virtue when it comes to the pursuit of all manner of things. He has it in abundance, especially for her. 

“Is there no limit,” she asks, “to the things you’ll do for me?” 

He leans back in his chair. She doesn’t look angry, just curious. “This coming from the woman who gave me the literal shirt off her back the day we met?” 

She smiles slightly at the reminder before she turns and heads back for the door. He’s tempted to rise and follow her, to stop her from leaving but she doesn’t. She closes the door to his office and locks it. 

Billy sits up, intrigued and watches as she walks toward him. He smirks as she starts to unbutton the shirt she’s wearing. She could ask him for the world and he’d give it to her, but all she wants is him.

Everything taglist: @raith-way  @ocfairygodmother @lokitrasho @zeleniafic @jvstjewels @reggiemantleholdmyhand-tle @chickensarentcheap @booty-boggins @residentdormouse @delicateblackrose @stanshollaand @itscapokaybye @stone-hearted-seymour

BIlly Russo taglist: @profoundme444

#fic: gonna smoke you out #it's over #lol #billy russo oc #billy russo/oc #billy russo fanfic #billy russo x oc #the punisher fanfic #darker!billy russo #obsessed!billy russo

[distortsverity]

 @iruludavare ( original post. ) 

Anonymous asked: we were young women, ill-prepared to carry the literal world on our and our teams’ shoulders, but in the end we prevailed . . . not by stupid luck, of course. despite our ages and our inadequate battling experience at the time, we must have been the right people for the task. we were no victims of circumstance. it’s still unfair, i suppose, being “ the right person ”. but i wonder if some part of her, any part at all, now accepts she was exactly that ( or embraces it, as i do ). . . . kind of strange how we met before either one of us became a proper hero. i like how far we’ve come. 

         "No victim of circumstance... I suppose you're right. It seems like we were there just at the time we needed to be, or never too far away to leap into action when no-one else would. I'm not sure about you, Hikari... but I do believe we have a fixed series of destinations in this world, to some degree-- even if we can change the path that leads us there. Those coincidences, you and I meeting when you passed through my hometown... Maybe they were all intentional. Not fixed into place, but drawn to and willingly moving towards wherever we had to be for that moment."

         "We weren't the first to go through this, either. We will not be the last. There are stories, myths, detailing similar events. The right person, the right place, the right time... Sometimes, I am almost convinced those that shape the universe designate the same role to someone when a crisis involving the pantheon lingers on the horizon... Just in case something happens to them. A outside party not bound to the same kind of corruption."

         "I cannot imagine how you must have felt. While we were both young during our own ordeals... you were considerably more so. I was eighteen. It was years after the fall of Team Galactic. But you... you  really were a child when your story unfolded-- we both were, back then. Still... figuring out how the world worked, and what place we wanted to have in it..."

         "...Do you still have the gift I gave you from that day?" 

❛ We should be the last, ❜ Hikari thinks bitterly. ❛ There shouldn’t be any more celestial crises, but regardless of what may surface, we would be more than capable enough of addressing it. ❜ Serena doesn’t let her ride that train of thought for much longer, thankfully, shifting topics to “ that day ” ( a decade ago ). 

They’ve both lived full lives since then . . .

The memory of their first encounter evokes a fond smile, as it always seems to do whenever Hikari revisits it ( which is . . . somewhat often, she’d be loath to admit. more often than Serena may ever know ). 

That day, Hikari routed the grunts who’d shattered the peace of Floaroma Town, hounding locals for honey and desecrating the meadow with their unsightliness ; that day, another young girl whose golden curls she distinctly remembers admiring approached her with palpable gratitude --- Gracideas, the floral embodiments of what she wished to convey from her heart, and a dainty beaded headpiece of her own creation ( Hikari wondered, then, just how long Serena had labored over the latter, and what for, before she decided she deserved it ). 

❝ The headpiece? Of course I still have it, ❞ she gasps, feigning offense that Serena would dare think otherwise. ❝ It’s a token of our unique bond, long before that became apparent . . . And I still admire the handiwork. It’s still very beautiful. ❞ To say she was touched to receive such an intricate gift from someone her age, someone she’d never met before, would be an understatement.

And in hindsight, that moment was much more meaningful than either girl could’ve possibly imagined at the time. Serena must be right : they were meant to bump into each other, right then and there ( one heroic soul already in the process of blooming, and another who’d find herself burdened with a similar, world-saving mission several years down the line ).

❝ . . . Y’know, I was eleven when you thanked me. Thirteen when I followed Cyrus to Spear Pillar. No matter how the rest of the world perceives it --- ❞ the world beyond Sinnoh --- ❝ I was much closer to being an adult than I was a child. ❞ An airy laugh escapes from her lips. ❝ Besides. If I was five years older or a thousand, confronting universe-breaking fuckery, would it have made any real difference? ❞

#iruludavare #[ v ;; infinities stretch out ] #/ GEE I WONDER WHAT GAVE IT AWAY THAT IT WAS HIKA \

[arkon-z]

Short fic - It's Just Us

Alright, who's ready for some tooth-rotting fluff?

It's not The Dorks for once, but it is about a couple of dorks. This is a lot more up close and personal than my usual subject matter, but it felt great to write. There's nothing racy or saucy in here, I promise. It's just wholesome cuddling. And it's not really finished, but whatever.

Context: Zelda was napping and had a nightmare, and Link took it upon himself to calm her down.

He wrapped his arms around her from behind, drawing her back against his chest. Normally, she would have been terribly self-conscious to be in this much physical contact with anyone. She could feel the motion of his breathing against her, the heat of his body warming her own, even through the layers of both of their clothes. Every tiny adjustment he made as he shifted on the bed, she felt it too. And yet, it was comforting. She knew she wasn’t alone, and no memories or nightmares could convince her otherwise as he held her like this. She relaxed into his embrace, slowly but surely as the leftover fear dissolved into nothing.

His arms around her gave her an incredible feeling of comfort. Almost without thinking, she found his hand and interlaced her fingers with his. His grip grew a little stronger in response and she smiled. Memories of the few other times they’d been in each other’s arms like this came back to her; weeping in his arms as she learned the fate of the Champions, him collapsing into her grasp, breathing what should have been his last breath. Those memories were too painful to look at for long, and she pushed them away. She didn’t want to weigh down this moment with the ghosts of their past. This was a new life, to be filled with better and brighter things.

Despite her efforts, she did find herself thinking of the past. Not of the pain and fear from a century before, but the recent past. Link had worked to save Hyrule – to save her – from the moment he had woken up. He set out to fulfill his role before he even remembered what it was. Had she even thanked him for it? Had anyone? How could she put into words the gratitude she felt for what he’d done?

Well then, perhaps she wouldn’t use words to express herself.

She let go of his hand and inched forward, out of his grip. A part of her protested, not wanting the moment to end, but she brushed it away. What she had in mind would be even better, perhaps for both of them.

“Where are you going?” Link asked.

“Nowhere.” She rolled over so she was looking into his face and sat up a little. “Here, move your arm.”

He did, sliding his arm underneath her, and she did the same to him. They laid back down, arms still around each other, but now they were facing each other.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Just an idea. I want to see how it feels.”

She adjusted a little more until his head was below her chin, then hugged him close. He tensed a little at the new feeling the same way she had, but began to relax after a few moments. Then he simply sank into her grip and let himself be held. The tension and alertness that he wore like armor fell away, leaving behind only a young man who ached to be himself and nothing more.

Zelda marveled at the trust he was showing her. She wondered if he’d ever been held this way, as if he were the one to be protected instead of the protector. He clung to her with a powerful gentleness and she knew in her heart that he had not. A kind of fierce tenderness came over her toward him. She wanted nothing more than to hold him and stroke his hair and rub his back and try to make him understand her inexpressible gratitude while reminding him that he wasn’t alone anymore. It was tempting to think that no one else he’d met could make him believe that like she could, but she’d seen the friends he’d made along the way. He wasn’t alone at all, and any one of them was proof of that. But, then again, she was here and they were not. They weren’t holding him like this; they didn’t know of this vulnerability that he trusted her with. He’d fought his way through the ravages of the Calamity like a force of nature, but here in her arms, he looked so small and vulnerable that she almost couldn’t believe it was the same person. She felt as if she could hold him like this for the rest of her life.

He sighed contently against her, his breath tickling her chest through her shirt. The sound of it warmed her heart and she knew this had been the right thing to do. Not just for him, but for herself as well. This embrace was fulfilling some deep need both of them had, that neither had found the words to describe.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could just make out the top of his face. There was a pinch in his eyebrows that didn’t quite look like pain or sorrow.

“What are you thinking about?” she murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

“How happy I am,” he sighed, “just being held like this.”

She hummed in agreement. Never in her life could she remember being so content.

“Yeah. It’s nice.”

Nice? That was the best word she could come up with to describe this moment? She thought she should be annoyed at herself for being so trite, but she couldn’t summon the will to care. This moment was too precious to let such things interfere.

“What about you?” Link said, gently rubbing her back. “What are you thinking about?”

She leaned into his touch, enjoying the warmth of his hand.

“You,” she said. “And how proud I am of you. How happy I am that we can just do this.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” The words came tumbling out of her, with no thought to say anything less than the truth. “I saw how hard you worked to save everyone and me, and how you remembered yourself, and how you made so many friends, and how strong you grew… And now, after everything, we’re just here like this.”

Everything he had done mattered, and in this moment, none of it mattered. She hugged him closer, threading her fingers through his hair.

“You’re right; it is nice,” he said.

She smiled to herself. What was it about this vulnerability that was making them so sentimental? Not that she minded. She had never felt so safe.

Link sighed again. “Have I ever told you that I love you?”

She blinked. He loved her? And he’d just…said it? This was no powerful, emotional confession like she’d been taught to expect. It was just a statement of fact, like something he’d always known. Perhaps he had.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “I certainly wouldn’t have forgotten that.”

“Me neither. I think I would have remembered by now if I’d said it.”

What a concept. He loved her. She supposed she should have been feeling all kinds of ways about this, but this little space of vulnerability was too small for large feelings. There was only enough room for trust and truth, and love, apparently, which was perhaps why the next words out of her mouth were:

“I love you, too.”

It was true, she knew. Just another statement of fact, as plain as day. In fact, it was obvious that they loved each other. What else but love would have allowed them to hold each other this close and speak so honestly?

He rubbed the space between her shoulders with one steady hand and somehow, she knew he was smiling.

“Does this mean we have to start dating now?” he asked.

She chuckled. “Let’s not. I don’t really want to date you. No offense.”

“None taken.” He laughed, too low to be heard, but she felt it. “I don’t really want to, either. I like what we have now. I don’t want to ruin it.”

“What do we have right now?” she said, half to herself. She stroked his tangled hair. “What kind of a relationship is this?”

“We’re friends.” His hand came to rest on her shoulder, and he stroked it with his thumb. “Best friends. That’s all we need to be.”

“Is this how best friends treat each other? Cuddling in the same bed and saying they love each other?”

“It can be how we are. Friends can love each other. We might be something other than friends, but we don’t have to put a label on it. We can just be us.”

Zelda rolled the thought around in her mind. She didn’t have enough experience with either friends or dating to really know how to categorize whatever their relationship had become. Maybe it was for the best.

“Then let’s just be us. If anyone asks, I’ll say we’re best friends, because that’s true. But otherwise, we’re just us.”

He nodded. “We’re just us. I like that.”

They were silent for a while, feeling the rhythm of each other’s breathing, content to feel the warmth and weight of their bodies against each other. What a beautiful moment this was. Being held, loving another, knowing that she was loved – it nourished her very soul.

“Hey Link? I love you.”

He nuzzled under her chin, laughter in his voice. “You already told me that.”

She stroked his cheek with the back of her finger. “I know. I just like saying it.”

He smiled, reaching up to the back of her head, threading his fingers through her hair. “I love you too, Zelda.”

She grinned and tilted her head down to press her lips against his hairline. To think she’d almost gotten up to work in the garden instead of doing this.

#fanfic #my fanfic #zelda #link #botw #zelink #i guess #this is platonic #i don't ship romantically #but you do you if you like #and get you a bestie that loves you this much

[sweetestofchaos]

Loved this new chapter of Blackthorn!!

Like I said, love that the misunderstanding was cleared up. And I also love the princesses strength being recognized by the prince. How the rain had stopped, and he wondered if she was okay despite their distance. While of course she was still sad, she was finding peace for herself on her own!

My favorite line though was “The Prince ignored Agust’s words, for he knew what the dragon considered weakness, could be his greatest strength.” With Agust creeping in during inopportune moments, I was glad to see Yoongi’s strength of mind in the face of him as well, embracing the softer parts of himself.

The Empress was also so cute when the love bird idea came to her, and the Emperor reeling her back in ☺️ Wondering how what Yoongi has witnessed of the care and affection between his parents will bleed into how he treats Princess Keena. Already there’s a playfulness and affection between them on their own. They are both so sweet and sincere!! And Keena basically professing her feelings for him!! Ahh!!

The kiss was so sweet, and Keena slippin a bit in the bath!! Girl!! On the verge of asking him to stay?!? Gettin spicy!! Then Yoongi having her wear his clothes so they could MATCH!!! When he could have easily called for her own clothes to be brought up double time?? 😂 They’re so cute!!

I cannot address the finger licking lol. I was like, I know Aga is saying to himself, ‘i won’t stand for this weird shit’ but of course it was Agust (right?). Definitely can’t wait to learn what went on w Ceyeh and Agust back in the day!

A much welcome conclusion to a period of angst, with so many answers to remaining questions to anticipate on the horizon!

Thank you for sharing this story with us!!

Can I just say how much I enjoy when you come yelling into my asks? Like this never fails to put a smile on my face, no matter what time of the day it is. Thank you so much for reading and always leaving feedback!

I have a lot to say, so I will do so under the cut!

You picked up on the rain being equal to the Princess' strength, huh? I love that! I like to drop small and big comparisons when I can to show that the Princess isn't as helpless as people would like her to be.

As for Yoongi and Agust, keep in mind that Yoongi has had to deal with Agust since he became of age, so around his 13-16th birthday. He is used to Agust being an ass and just tunes him out when he can. Agust will continue to try and pop up as much as he can, he sees himself as stronger and therefore thinks he should be in control. Yoongi on the other hand, knows himself for the most part. Is he strong? Yes. But is the man a total softie who melts at the sight of lemming ducks? Also, yes! Yoongi is the best of both.

Yoongi having parents who showed affection to one another around him, will help Yoongi in the long run with the Princess. He isn't afraid to show his emotions and speak on his feelings. Same goes with the Princess since yeah, she pretty much confessed lol You have to think, both of the young royals have great role models for how to treat their significant other, so I think it is safe to say they will be just fine.

Young love at its finest, am I right? Full of teasing looks, playful touches and suggestive words...yeah good for Yoongi for controlling himself. Not gonna lie, it took a lot of strength for me not to have Agust show himself at that very moment. With the matching clothing, I did a lot of research and a lot of couples would were matching outfits or colors that were complementary to each other. So, it made sense to me to have Yoongi take that in stride. They made up, so why shouldn't they take their roles in stride?

I am so, so pleased by everything you have picked up on and pointed out in this chapter and the others before this. There is so much I want to say but I will keep my mouth closed...for now. I am really excited to share Agust and Ceyeh's past with you. Which I think will be coming in August after my July break (please don't quote me on that), this story has a mind of its own lol.

Love you and thank you for reading!

Chaos

#soc reader review #soc answers #soc asks #blackthorn ch 9 review

[motownfiction]

first frost

Steph thinks there’s something beautiful about the first frost of the year.

When she was young, she used to be such a summery girl. Watermelon Pop Rocks, long walks on the beach, and endless glasses of lemonade. She would stay out all day – go wherever she wanted as long as she was back in her garage by the time the sun started to go down. That was her favorite part of a summer evening. The kind of day that just didn’t know how to quit.

Winter’s not like that at all.

When it’s winter, it’s dark when you’re begging it not to be. When it’s winter, you drive home in the pitch black, beams on high, wondering how anyone makes it back from wherever they are. And for thirty-five winters, Steph thought that was just the way it was. Something you got used to.

Things changed after Sam’s accident.

Maybe if it was still bright light outside in the evening in the winter, Sam would still be here. Maybe if there was no ice, Sam would still be here. Maybe, maybe, maybe. It’s hard to be sure of anything anymore. The only thing Steph is sure of is that Sam’s death has made her into a wintery girl, through and through.

It’s been almost two years since the funeral … since the icy glances she got from Sam’s mother, from Charlie, even from Lucy (but that last one might have been in her head – she’s always been a little afraid of Lucy). Almost two years since she felt like she was in the absolute right and wrong place at the same time. She remembers how she sat in that pew at St. Catherine’s and thought about how fitting it was for Sam to die in the wintertime. It was so fitting he probably would have been disgusted by the cliché.

Or maybe that’s just Steph herself.

Clichés used to bother the hell out of Steph. No longer. Clichés are the only things she can count on anymore. So she falls right into them. She’s grieving something she already grieved, somebody she already lost, so she lets the winter give her a long, freezing embrace. She takes her sketchbook and her charcoal pastels and draws the first frost on the pumpkins she can never remember to discard. She tries to think about the metaphor, but it’s too simple. Doesn’t require much thought. Only action.

She doesn’t know what the last few weeks of the year will bring. She just knows she’s tired of every new year creeping up to her door like a cat with a dead rat between its teeth.

So she draws the frost.

Maybe if she knows how to control it, that will make a difference.

Yeah, she thinks. Yeah, that sounds about right.

(part of @nosebleedclub november challenge -- day xxiv! getting this out a few minutes after midnight, which means i am still two days behind ... aahhhh! the holiday will really destroy you!)

#drabble #writeblr #ch: steph armstrong #year: 2004

[the-letter-horror-lover]

Expressing Feelings (Fluffvember)

TSsweets13

Summary:

Undertaker has fallen hard for his new apprentice, but what is he to do about it?

Notes:

This is based off of my own list of prompts for Fluffvember.

Day 3: Confession

Work Text:

“So many guests today.” Ere commented as she hurried about in the kitchen at the back of the Undertaker’s shop, where she lived and worked as his apprentice.

The Undertaker walked in and sighed nodding, “Yes, so many.” He commented, “You’re doing well in your training.”

She turned and smiled at him, “Thank you, sir.” She said, “It’s about tea time. Would you like anything in particular today?”

He chuckled and shook his head, “I trust in whatever you choose.” He said.

Ere giggled softly, a sound that went right through the grey haired man. Any laugh from her was pure perfection. He smiled as she buried herself with the tea time preparations. He didn’t mind doing this for himself, which he often told her, but she insisted. She took to taking care of things like this with as much gusto as she did in learning the trade. That was something admirable and wonderful about her. That was just one more thing he adored about her.

Oh yes, he adored her.

She was wonderful. Sweet. Smart. And caring. And not bad on the eyes. He was still a man after all.

She smiled as she brought the tray of tea and treats over to the small kitchen table where Undertaker sat. She set the tray down and sat across from him. She smiled sweetly at him. Oh how he loved when she smiled at him. It was different than the one she wore as she greeted the grieving public or worked with their guests. It was one for him and only him. And he treasured it.

He had been mulling over these feelings for months now. Afraid of pushing her out of his life with such amorous affections. But desire runs deep. And pining as he was, was not good for the heart.

He reached out and accepted the cup of tea offered to him. He smiled at her and thanked her kindly. She gave him that smile again and he was lost in her golden eyes. He could hardly drink his tea as they sat and chatted about nothing. Finally...after months of hiding he lost the battle with himself.

“Ere, my dear, may I be bold, and perhaps a touch crass with you?” He asked.

The young brunette was stunned at such an inquisition, but was also curious, she nodded.

“I desire you.” He said, “I fear I always have. And I am terrified it will drive you away to say such things, as you are so young and lovely and I am, well, the dark and mad, old undertaker. It is a queer notion for me to desire you, but even queerer were you to desire me. I don’t delude myself to think you would ever. But I had to tell you. Or it would drive me madder than I am already.”

Ere sat there dumbfounded. Had this man, this sweet and genuine man, truly just admitted his feelings for her? Did he truly want her like that? Like she had always wanted him.

She reached across the small table and grasped his hand, “Then let it just be queer in others eyes. I desire you as well.” She breathed.

And oh what feelings those words blossomed within his bosom. He stood and brought her with him. Pulling her into his arms for a strong, impassioned embrace. Sure the world may think it odd. But this was their business and nobody else’s.

Series this work belongs to:

← Previous Work Part 3 of Fluffvember 2020 Next Work →

Lifeline

cathouse_mary

Summary:

UPDATE 9/6: Again, I apologize for the length of time that ti's taken me to get this one ready. I've been working at my full time job, doing a lot of freelancing, and also started my own company. AUGH. In any case, here's the new bit. I will try my best to run the next chapter out by Thanksgiving here in the US. Thank you all for the comments and the kudos - I love them so and they really help me with the writing.

Alan Humphries is a man who has it all together - until a diagnosis of leukemia leaves him adrift, alone, and afraid.

Notes:

Inspired by this art - http://moisca.deviantart.com/art/Kuroshitsuji-AU-Alan-Humphries-Chemotherapy-380136554

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

It started with a nosebleed.

Alan had them even in childhood so when they began anew in his twenties, he thought very little about them. Indeed, Alan Humphries thought very little about anything but his work as a risk assessment analyst for Bridges Capital Management. He pulled insane working hours, and that night when his nose began to drip in the middle of a meeting with the senior analysts, he just pulled out his pocket square and kept going - but then it didn't stop, and to his horror and embarrassment, it turned into a positive gusher that nothing would alleviate.

Mr. Conti called his car, ushered Alan downstairs holding a wad of paper napkins under his nose and said to the driver, "Lenox Hill hospital emergency room. Floor it." He shut the door, thumped the hood and the driver took off, the 620 horsepower of the Mercedes sedan pushing Alan back into the seat as it raced uptown. A cold knot of dread settled in his stomach when the security guard took a look at Alan getting out of the car and brought a wheelchair to him.

The questions started even before he was properly on a gurney.

"Fill these out, please."

"Did you use cocaine or other inhalant drugs?"

Pulse, temperature, oxygenation.

Gloves. Splatter shields. Gowns. The bloody paper towels in a bag.

"Are you using an inhaler or a decongestant?"

"Please put this on, Mr. Humphries."

"Do you have nosebleeds often? When did they resume? How recently? How severe? Bleeding for more than five minutes?"

Cannula, fluids given, tubes of blood drawn.

And when Alan was alone, the curtains drawn around him for privacy, he lay there in silent shock, trying not to break down. A look at his watch confirmed it was almost midnight, but in Lewiston Idaho, Mom or Dad might still be awake - though his phone couldn't get a signal in here. He was scared. None of his bleeds had ever been that bad. Rolling up in the sheet and blanket, he fell into a thin and troubled sleep.

"Mr. Humphries? I'm Dr. Maples. Your admitting physician contacted me over your bloodwork." Dr. Maples spoke with a lovely Caribbean lilt to her voice, then came over and took a seat next to his gurney. "We would like to admit you tonight, just for some further tests."

Breathe, Alan. Breathe.

"What kinds of tests?" Because if a bloody nose was just a bloody nose, the admitting physician would not have needed to bring in an on-call specialist.

"Bone marrow. Spinal fluid." She gently squeezed his hand. "A high-def ultrasound, so we can look at your liver and spleen. Your admitting physician didn't find any enlargement upon a cursory palpation, but... Mr. Humphries? Is there someone I can call for you? Family? Someone to bring you some things from home?"

The items and circumstances remorselessly added themselves up on Alan's mental spreadsheet. Cancer. They were looking for some kind of cancer.

"No. No, there isn't. There's just me." His chest hurt, and his voice rasped. "Can I do this as an outpatient? I just want to go home."

"Mr. Humphries, I feel that would be against the soundest medical advice that I can give. Please, let us do the tests."

There was paperwork, of course, and at the end of it Alan was in a private room, a computerized IV stand slowly infusing platelets into his bloodstream.

It was one in the morning in Idaho.

He picked up the bedside telephone and dialed.

"Hi! You've reached the Humphries household. Ted, Jeanette, Teddy, Lori, and Deena can't come to the phone right now, but if you leave a message, we'll be sure to call you back. Wait for the beep!"

In the end, Alan couldn't make himself say anything, and he hung up quietly. You really couldn't go home again - even if it was the last place you ever should go.

~

"Good morning, Ronald." The hipster behind the counter at Pearl Street Kitchen was a bouncy kid with two-tone hair, an undercut, and a knit cap that never seemed to leave his head. "Cafe Americano and pain au chocolat, please."

"Missed you the last few days, Alan."

"Just a little under the weather." The pain au chocolate was still warm and steaming in the case, and dusted with a bit of cinnamon sugar this time. The soups were always fresh and flavorful, the sandwiches and pastas satisfying, but Alan would lie down and die for the patisserie. The smile faltered on his face at the thought, and could be very glad that Ronald is faced the other way as he made Alan's cafe Americano

"Yeah, that 'flu just hung on, didn't it? Next time you should get your shot." He turned and handed over the brew and bread, taking the money that Alan's set on the counter - tip included. "You have a good one, okay?"

"I will." Or as good as possible when you had to tell your boss that you have a diagnosis of acute lymphoblastic leukemia. Oh, and a 'portacath' implant for long-term chemotherapy. He felt the thing inside of him, poised to drip the medicines directly into his heart. It made Alan want to sit on the floor and have hysterics, but instead he turned away and heads for the door. "You, too."

"Alan?" It startled him, because Ronald the smartass suddenly sounded like a kid. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Fine, Ronald. And tell your chef that that pain au chocolate smells like heaven."

From there he tooks the short walk to the BCM building, an almost obnoxiously modernized redo of an early Federal that Alan thought more suited to a Benetton store than a capital managment company. Over the past few days, he'd rehearsed this so many times in his head, but given the conversation he'd had earlier with his parents he wasn't so sure that this one was going to be predictable either.

"Is it AIDS? It's AIDS, isn't it?"

"No, Dad. It's called acute lymphoblastic leukemia and-"

"I told you! Your mother and I both did! The wages of sin are paid in DEATH-"

"You told me that I'd go to hell for being a faggot, but you forgot to tell me that I was at a higher statistical risk for cancer because we were were born and raised downwind of the goddamned motherfucking Hanford Nuclear Reservation!"

Boy, had that not gone well. Frost wrote that 'Home is the place that, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.' Frost, in the parlance of New York City, didn't know jack shit.

The pâtissier had really outdone himself - Alan's pain au chocolate was smeared with bitter orange marmalade in the bittersweet richness of the chocolate and buttery dough. Add to that it was a gorgeous April morning, warm and full of promise. It was almost surreal that in his briefcase was a stack of papers detailing a regime of treatment, the drugs, radiation, and other therapies that would - hopefully - send him into remission.

"Good morning, Mr. Humphries." Jack the doorman gave the revolving door a push to get it going. "Feeling better?"

"Yes, Jack. Thank you."

And that was about as pleasant and reassuring as the day ever got. His meeting with his superiors was oddly noncommittal, though they expressed concern. Mr. Conti kept the Chief Risk Officer and the Chief Analytics Officer after Alan had been dismissed, and somehow Alan had the feeling that he was being followed by his own personal cloud. It was easy, however, to put everything out of his head and immerse himself in work once in his office. For twenty-eight, he hadn't done too badly.

He had an office with a window, his undergraduate diploma and degrees lined up on the wall, a low six-figure salary, a high six-figure bonus, a fat bank account and a luxe condo in the Financial District to his name. Granted, he earned it by working murderous hours, but when you were the toughest analyst on the Street, you could afford some pretty sweet treats, too. Alan gave himself a Conde Nast life, with tailored Italian cut suits and fine watches, silk ties and fine leather shoes. He took vacations at five-star resorts and hotels, dined in fine restaurants despite a top-line kitchen at home that he barely used. And almost as if to really drive the point home, he owned a custom-made violin from one of the finest luthiers in the world. It rested next to his grandfather Yager's old pawn-shop fiddle, and he played one or the other every night. Even better, he relished his work - he loved his job. The flow of data, the dance of numbers and concepts, the layers of mystery inherent in higher finance and best of all - the hunt.

It was a good life. He didn't want to lose it.

He brought his monitors to life, opening the files and looking for the Black Swans. Alan Humphries could see disaster not in the stars, but in the minutiae of a corporation's books, and he was the best hunter in the business.

It was almost 9:00 at night when he left the office, the lights were still on in Mr. Conti's meeting room, but Alan didn't say good night. He was rather certain that he had not felt this tired or headachy before his diagnosis. The walk home was uneventful, and he found himself hoping he could keep it up once his induction treatment began. His Google searches gave him reason to worry - adults had a 50/50 chance as a group of a five-year survival. Though admittedly the data was for all adults 18 to 65, and not sorted by any other criteria-

He slowed, distracted from his thoughts. The lights were on at the Kitchen and Ronald was outside, lounging in the vestibule of the battered-looking three-story walk-up and smoking what looked to be an electronic cigarette. "Late night, Alan?"

"I had some catching up to do. Are you open so late?" He needed a good feed - his first chemotherapy session was Friday. "If you are, I'd take some stuff to go."

"For anyone else, we're not." Ronald grinned and stowed his cig. "For you, yes. My brother's in the kitchen, and he's a fucking ogre when he's in cooking mode, but I've got an Italian on ciabatta with pesto mayo, some of the roasted tomato and red pepper soup, and white bean salad."

"So he's the mystery chef. I've been coming in here for three years and never seen him." Alan had rather imagined a team of chefs in and out of the narrow brownstone.

"Yeah. He does most of the stuff at night. He runs around a lot during the day."

Whatever else Ronald had to say just sailed right past Alan's ears and into space, because Alan's eyes had hijacked his brain. A man came out of the kitchen dressed in cook's whites, opened up the jacket and rummaged a Manhattan Special out of the cooler. And for a town where you couldn't spit without hitting a good-looking guy, this one just rang every last one of Alan's bells - even bells he didn't know he had. One thing was sure, the guy was not Wall Street, what with sporting a fauxhawk, multipierced ears, and wire-framed glasses in purple titanium. What he was was tall, broad-shouldered, and Alan could have washed his boxers on those abs. His blond hair was unselfconciously dark at the roots, and he had the most amazing blue-green eyes.

"Uh-" Alan blinked and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Ronald. What did you say?"

Ronald was lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. "He's single. Really single. And he's gay. And he's my brother. I can introduce you."

Alan's mouth hung flapping for a moment before his Emergency Backpedal gear kicked in. "No. No! I just remembered that I forgot something at... at home! This morning. And. I need it for the office. Tomorrow. I."

The gear stripped itself as Ronald's brother took of the chef's jacket (revealing tatted upper arms and a tank top), then squatted to look into one of the pastry cases (there were no words sufficient to describe his butt). Alan broke a sweat like the proverbial sinner in church.

"Alan. You're shy?" Ronald's smile was huge. "Oh, God. Don't be! Eric's the biggest teddy-bear there is and I'd love to introduce him to a really decent guy-"

"Ah. The thing. I have to go get the thing and I'll see you in the morning and um-" Alan backed away, holding his briefcase in front of him like a shield. "Have a good night and and bye-bye!"

It was probably not the best idea, and the guy was probably everything Ronald claimed for him, but-

Any other time, Alan would have said yes.

He made it home, fleeing into his apartment as if into a sanctuary, and locked the door behind him.

Right now? Like this? No.

Chapter 2

Summary:

Alan Humphries is a man who has it all together - until a diagnosis of leukemia leaves him adrift, alone, and afraid.

This chapter: Alan finds out that sometimes everything changes all at once, and sometimes the only thing you have the power to do is watch. Ronnie has concerns. And Eric.

Ron watched the retreat with his jaw dropped. If anyone had told him that Alan, a sharply-dressed and confident guy, would suddenly become the awkward wallflower at the 8th grade dance...

"Wow, man." He turned and went busting back through the door. "Hey! You're so hot that you made guy literally flail!"

Eric rolled his eyes. "Gimme a fucking break, Ronnie. They're really going for the Fat Bastards, aren't they?"

The Fat Bastard to which Eric referred was two thick oatmeal chocolate-chunk cookies slapped around a vanilla butter-cream frosting center, dipped in dark chocolate, and then again in crushed, salted nuts. Everyone who ordered a Fat Bastard got a free glass of milk and immediately turned seven.

"Yeah. Guys in suits get that and take off like little Brooks Brothers rockets from the sugar high. Oh, you have two catering orders for mini-desserts trays for Friday, and there's requests for bouillabaisse on Monday again." Ron nudged his brother with his elbow. "He's nice. A good guy. Single. A Street guy, but not a BSD. A little younger than you are. Really shy."

"Sounds good. Date him yourself." Eric stood and put his jacket back on. "Did they say what they wanted on the trays or is it up to me?"

"Come on. It's time. Eric, just let someone in for fuck's sake."

Eric wrapped an arm around his head, giving him noogies and then a kiss. "Thanks for thinking of me, kiddo. Nobody needs the kind of baggage I'm carrying, okay?"

"I just want someone good in your life." Fucking big brothers. Ron punched his shoulder. "And you're not baggage. You're an amazing guy."

"You're going to be late for your date. Which one is it this time?"

"You're changing the subject and it's not a date, it's just Sally and I hanging out - she's the one who did your 'hawk?" Ron regrouped. "And Alan's really nice. Did I mention?"

"Ronnie, a Street kind of guy is never going to go for me, especially not a nice one." Gripping him by the shoulders, Eric marched him into the kitchen and up the back stairs up to their shared apartment. "Now for fuck's sake, put on something that doesn't look like you pulled it out of the dirty laundry and do something about that weedy crap on your face."

"But-"

"I'm fine."

"But-"

"I'm good. Go out with Sally, have a good time, and get your ass back here in time to open." Eric sent him down the hall with a slap on the butt. "And shave! Sally's too nice a girl for beard burn on her ladybits."

~

The Thursday morning meeting was unusual only in the amount of ground covered. Alan reported directly to the CEO, CRO, and CAO. Mr. Conti, Mr. Goldsmith, and Mr. Shore wanted more in-depth details on the newest risks. In the end, the breakfast meeting turned into a breakfast and lunch meeting. As Alan concluded his remarks and put away his tablet, the room was unusually quiet.

"Alan, you've been with us right out of school. There's not a better risk assessment man anywhere on the Street." Mr. Goldsmith spoke quietly. "Believe me, we're not dropping you like a hot rock now that you're sick."

Alan could only blink, mind perfectly blank. What the fuck?

"We're going to pay your salary up to 36 months and pay your bonuses at last year's level. We'll keep paying the premiums for your insurance for three years as well. We'll even keep up your membership at the gym. You have twenty weeks of intensive medical treatments, and when you're in remission we'll be glad to have you back-"

He had literally nothing to say, sitting down in his chair very slowly as his superiors spoke.

Better than doubles your severance package.

Initial here.

A valuable member of the team.

And here.

We'll keep your office open for you. It will be here when you come back. Sign here.

Take the best care of yourself. If you need anything, anything at all, be sure to call.

Alan walked out into a spring afternoon with his entire professional life in a box. Jack stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "What happened, Mr. Humphries?"

"I'm... laid off." Alan blinked rapidly, pushing his glasses up and swallowing hard. "Until I'm well."

"You're sick, Mr. Humphries? I'm sorry. I didn't know."

The lump that seemed to fill his chest and throat made it hard to breathe or talk. "I have leukemia."

Jack whistled. "Son of a bitch. Where they hooking you up?"

"Sloan Kettering."

"Well, they'd know, wouldn't they? Let me get you a cab." Jack stepped up to the curb and raised a white gloved hand.

"Yeah. Thanks." Since he had to tote his whole professional life home in a file box, why not get a ride there?

A yellow cab came arrowing in on the spot. "Anything you want me to tell anyone, Mr. Humphries?"

For a moment, Alan didn't know what to say. "Would anyone ask?"

"Of course they will." Jake spoke as if to someone not in their right mind. "You're a good, decent man in a city without many of them. People like you."

His life was full of surprises. "I had no idea. Tell them... just tell them that I'll be back."

Jack opened the door for him and nodded, slipping a business card into the hand slot of the cardboard file box. "You keep in touch. I'll keep you in my prayers."

Alan nodded, took a deep breath. "Thanks, Jack. It means a lot more than I can tell you."

A very short time later he paid the fare, then tipped a fifty in cash from guilt at the five-block ride.

He picked up his laundry in the elevator foyer, went inside and set both laundry and file box on the couch.

And for the first time since he turned eighteen, Alan had nothing to do.

His cleaning service had been in. The dry-cleaning and laundry service left his clean items in the foyer and taken away his week's worth of wash. He didn't think it was a good idea to ride his Lynskey the day before starting treatment. Could he still play racquetball and swim when he was in treatment? Could he ski this winter? Would he want to? He brought the clean clothing into the bedroom.

"Maybe I'm not being very realistic." He murmured to himself, just to hear something. "It's chemotherapy. Twenty weeks."

His reflection in the mirror on his wardrobe didn't look sick. Alan was kind of slight - he preferred the term 'wiry' - and smaller than his siblings. And 5'9" was perfectly manly, thanks. He ran his fingers through his brown hair, mussing his usually immaculate side part. Would it fall out? When? How about his eyebrows?

Maybe he should get his things ready now. Doing things would make him feel better.

The pamphlets and brochures were on his dresser and he found the one with the smiling nurse and cancer patient. Eat a light meal and take scheduled medications. There was intake, blood test, then the chemotherapy itself will take about four hours, and then observation for an hour after that. Dress comfortably, bring something to read, some music to listen to, or a portable DVD player. Family members are welcome. Bring juices and snacks in case you get hungry.

Okay. Something to do!

He opened his laptop and started checking his files on the hard drive, perusing days of music, movies, and television shows. He loved Gordon Ramsay, a Black Swan hunter in the kitchen. There were so many things he'd wanted to read, so the Kindle ended up packed to full capacity.

Clothing. How should he dress? Casual Friday might be best. Chinos, a tweed houndstooth sport coat, chambray shirt. For a kid from Idaho, he'd picked up on the preppy code very quickly. Hell, he'd never been on a boat other than the ferry and he owned two pairs of deck shoes - one pair of which he'd wear tomorrow. Those were his lucky shoes - he'd bought them as a freshman at UMass. Belt, pocket square, socks. Tie? Yes. Undershirt?

The undershirt would cover the portacath. He could go without tomorrow. See how it went.

The snacks and juice...

The fridge held condiments, craft beers, a carton of milk, and a couple of bottles of emergency champagne. The cupboard had a bag of Wise potato chips, a box of Captain Crunch, and a can of Spaghetti-Os. Alan tended to eat out, get something to go, or order in. He had a flyer for Organic Direct - he could set himself up with that tonight.

And download some cookbooks. because he had no clue how to make an actual meal.

He'd make a plan. He needed a plan. He needed a plan because his mind was starting to run in circles and there were tears in his eyes and he needed to think instead of feel because inside he'd just started screaming again and he couldn't breathe because there was no air in here-

Throwing the bedroom window open Alan lunged halfway out onto the fire escape, gasping like a landed fish. Scared. So scared. He needed to do things and think so he wouldn't be scared. He needed to work, to immerse himself in something that required his focus and concentration.

"I just don't want to die." It sounded so pathetic that he made himself angry, but it was true.

And more than that, he didn't want to die alone. There was nobody in this with him, and that made it so much worse.

~

Sally dropped him off after a night of not actually seeing a complete movie on Netflix because of highly satisfactory friends-benefiting.

Ron opened at six on the dot, Monday through Friday. This morning Eric left a note that there were new top-your-own oatmeal packets up by the register and the 22-quart Nesco was full of steel-cut oatmeal with chia seeds. The mini-dessert trays were in the walk-in, and an order of seafood and shellfish was on the schedule for this afternoon - there was a check on the pinboard behind the coffee bean grinders. A look in back revealed Eric sleeping in one of the recliners tucked away in an alcove - placed there just for all-night culinary jam sessions.

Ass.

A badly burned ass. A wary ass. But he could be a really good ass for the right guy.

Not that he wanted to think about Eric being 'good ass' - he meant that in a completely different way.

Ron covered Eric with a blanket, slipped the glasses from his face, and then went out front to open up. Morning trade was brisk on Fridays. The people coming in at six looked for something to go - oatmeal and a topping bag, a fresh yogurt with fruit and granola, or an omelette-in-a-cup. Between seven and eight, everyone wanted to bring something into the office for their crew, or to impress someone at an early meeting. Alan was there at his usual time in his Casual Friday attire. He usually picked up a box of pastries in addition to his pain au chocolat, but this morning was different.

Pain au chocolat with Nutella today, and his usual Americano. However, he also picked up a boxed lunch with a bottle of Frootsy Tootsie's Mean Greens, a couple of Completely Nuts snack packs, and a bottle of Juicy Tidbits Apple and Cherry juice.

"No trays today, Alan?" Ron rang it up.

"I'm heading uptown, I have an all-day appointment on the upper east side." Alan paid with his debit card, then added a twenty-buck tip. He was a good guy.

"Hey, about last night. I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable." And Ron was sorry. Maybe Alan was in the closet. "I really didn't mean to be creepy."

For fuck's sake, Alan actually blushed. "Um. I'm not usually that socially inept."

"No, it's cool. I just love my brother." And he did. Eric, no matter what went down, made room for Ronnie. They were half-brothers, but there had never been any resentment on Eric's part - just big-brother-love.

"Then your brother's a very lucky guy." Alan smiled and even if Ron wasn't gay, that smile made his heart do a little flip. It was... sweet. Kind. The type of smile that was so open and genuine that it could leave you a little breathless. "You have no idea how much that can mean in bad times."

Oh, yes. He did. "Hey. Seriously, and you can tell me to fuck off if you want, but you're my favorite customer - are you okay? You gave me a scare a couple of days ago."

"Ronald. Really. Seriously. Do not fuck off." Alan reached over and ruffled Ron's hair. "I'm as fine as can be. I'll see you tomorrow."

That was a hedged sentence if Ronald ever heard one. "You take care out there in the wilds of uptown."

"Watch out for the bears." Alan quipped back.

"Bears don't bother me, but the bull in this place goes on forever." Ron laughed. "See you tomorrow."

A few minutes later, after Alan was out of sight down Pearl, he became of Eric standing in the short hallway between the kitchen and shop.

Ron studied his brother. Yeah, he was interested. He'd had a good look. "That's the guy. He's cute, too - isn't he?"

"You like him so much, you date him. I'm going to take a shower." Eric grumped and stomped off.

This could actually work.

Chapter 3

Summary:

Alan Humphries is a man who has it all together - until a diagnosis of leukemia leaves him adrift, alone, and afraid.

This chapter: Alan's first day of induction-phase chemotherapy.

Chapter Text

It was a case of hurry up and wait.

Alan was a prompt person, and scheduled himself an extra forty-five minutes to complete paperwork - because there was always paperwork. There was a meeting with his 'team' and a very rosy picture painted for him. For someone who spent his career and put himself through college and grad school looking for the devil in the details, it was actually very discomfiting. They were selling him happy pictures, but he had seen the other patients in the lobby.

Dr. Millard, a psychologist and neuropsychiatrist with double-barreled degrees from Columbia and Hopkins was quite effusively speaking on - for fuck's sake - opportunities. "Mr. Humphries, we have counselors who can work with you while you're in treatment. Very often, a serious illness can be the impetus for-" She stopped when Alan held up his hand.

"Dr. Millard, I know you're probably going to talk about reconciliation with family. When I told my father I had leukemia, he told me that the wages of sin - my being gay - were death."

All the faces around the table went professionally smooth in a snap. Very good. About time someone around here cashed a reality check.

"I have a BS in Mathematics and BS in Economics from the University of Massachusetts at Amherst, an MS in Finance from Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and my Ph.D. from Cornell in Operations Research and Information Engineering was conferred when I was twenty-four. I have been employed as an analyst at one of the toughest capital management and risk assessment houses in the Financial District, hired when the ink was still drying on my degree from MIT. I look at financial entities trying to sell themselves as sound investments and then cut into their data looking for the stinkers. Believe me, good doctors, I know when I am being jollied or pitched. Now that I've whipped out my curriculum vitae and we've all measured off, can we get down to the numbers here?"

The faces around the table hosted a range of expressions from sour to surprised, and his assigned hematologic oncologist, Dr. Sam Chowdree, simply smiled. "Apologies, Dr. Humphries. We find that what many patients seek is reassurance and support instead of hard numbers. The truth is that the numbers are hard to come by. There are many factors in a given patient that make it difficult to predict with any accuracy the outcome of treatment."

"Surely there's some kind of breakdown aside from that asinine 18-65 age grouping? There's little subgrouping for genomic factors, risk factors, state of health at diagnosis, just flat nothing." Alan threw up his hands. "The clinical data that I can find is a homogenized nightmare!"

"For privacy reasons the specifics of patient data are not available to laymen, only to researching fellows. I understand that a man of numbers and facts might find the lack of a quantitative data and analysis unsettling, even frightening." He spread his hands. "Medicine is as much an art as it is science, the rest is a crapshoot at best."

Alan thumped back in his chair. "Shit."

"I know it isn't very reassuring. And you have a very hard five months ahead of you, but based upon my own experiences I think a good outcome is likely."

"Define 'good.'" He tried to keep that neutral, but he could hear the sourness.

"Survivorship of at least five years after the successful completion of induction and maintenance therapies."

That was a gut-punch. Seven years would be a positive outcome. He'd be thirty-five before that could happen. "Successful completion."

"Yes. But is it possible that we can cross that bridge only if we come to it?" Dr. Chowdree held up his chart. "We have a dizzying array of combined treatment options before we come to that bridge, Alan. I will keep you very much involved in your therapy, knowing that it is vital for your peace of mind. Now, let's bring you to a room and begin."

The chemotherapy infusion suite was a small hospital-beige room containing a very odd-looking recliner, an IV stand out of a sci-fi set, a chair and coat rack, a chair, and a small flatscreen television.

"Please, make yourself comfortable. Your oncology nurse will be here in a few minutes to get you started." Dr. Chowdree put a hand on Alan's shoulder and Alan nearly jumped out of his skin. "And I am adding an order for Ativan - an antianxiety medication that will work with your antiemetic medication. In my best professional judgement, you understandably need it."

Alan only nodded, not too sure about his voice or if he'd make his excuses and burn rubber down the hospital beige hallway.

Dr. Chowdree left, and Alan pulled the curtain to. Shoes went under the chair, jacket on the back of the chair. Laptop, reader, pen and stenographer's pad on the swingarm table to one side of the recliner. He unbuttoned his shirt enough to clear the portacath.

God. He did not want to sit in that thing!

He did, however, did want to live. Amazing how that thought could override fear and move one's ass.

It was actually a very comfortable chair.

"Hi, Mr. Humphries." A New Jersey accent came from behind the curtain. "I'm Andrea Capello, and I'll be your chemotherapy infusion nurse - may I come in?"

"Yes, please?" He became aware that he had a death grip on the arms of the chair and made himself let go.

Nurse Capello resembled Snooki's older and un-spraytanned sister with her hair under a mob cap, and she came pushing a small cart of things that looked unpleasant.

"Dr. Chowdree told me that you really like to be informed, and I really like to talk, so hey! I'm an oncology-certified RN with a specialty in infusion therapy, and I'm going to be with you for most of your treatments. Now, are you going to be comfortable in that, or would you like to put on a chemotherapy shirt?" She held one up and unsnapped the shoulder. "Long or short sleeve, and we even have prints."

Despite himself, Alan felt his lips twitching in a smile. "I'll go with your best professional opinion."

"Yes. My opinion is yes. It's less hassle for both of us and lets me get better access to the port even if you're asleep." She handed him one of the shirts - long sleeve, blue, and no prints. "You can change in the bathroom."

Alan went into the bathroom and unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it off. It was freezing in here. "All right."

"It's your first day, so I'm going to walk you through everything. What's the note pad for?"

Alan came out and hung his Chambray shirt. "Well. For notes. I should take notes so that I'll remember everything I need to remember. I've read about 'chemo brain.'"

"You do know that you can bring a caregiver with you, right? Someone to help you?"

"I know. I'm... Well, I'm by myself." It came out awkwardly and it stung, but there it was. He settled himself into the recline and took up the steno pad. "That's just how it is."

"How are you getting home? I can have a special transportation service bring you home, provide a healthcare aide-"

Her concern and sympathy were surprising, but he hastened to reassure her.

"Let's see how it goes. Dr, Chowdree was on my case about not crossing bridges unless we come to them." Alan put on his 'I'm really NOT counting cards' face. "And you observe me for a while after, right?"

"Well-"

"And I can always take a cab."

"You'll let me call a special transport if you're feeling rough."

That did not seem to be a question, but an order. "Of course."

"Uh-huh. My husband says that, too." She wheeled over the little cart and took a seat to his left. "Now, I know they showed you how to clean and dress your port when you got it. I'm going to access it now for a blood draw. I am washed and gloved and now - masked." The nurse held up her hands in blue gloves. "And the first thing I do is to check the chest wall for any sign of swelling or discomfort. Have you had any shoulder or neck pain, tightness in the chest, or swelling in the left arm or fingers of your left hand?"

"No, I haven't." Alan replied with a shudder as she removed the dressing, brushed on alcohol, then applied betadine. "But I can feel the thing in me, and sometimes even think I can feel it in my vein."

"It's a very unsettling experience, I know." She began to palpate his chest, shoulder, and arm. "No pain or discomfort? Good. It's a little like having a new crown from a root canal - if you've had one. Lift your chin for me? Great!"

The gloves came off, and another pair went on. "So far so good?"

"So far so good. Now, I'm going to access the port, give it a flush and draw some blood." The foot of the recliner raised and head lowered; there were foot pedals in addition to hand controls. Made sense - that was a manufacturer really doing the right kind of thinking. "I want to put you flat for this. Just as a precaution."

"... is it going to hurt?" God. He was such a chickenshit.

"It may hurt a bit. I'll do my best to make it not hurt. Some people have phobic reactions. Some faint." Andrea showed him the tray, pointing out needles, aspiration syringe, tubing, saline, tape, and phlebotomy tubes. "You can't tell who's going to do what, so this is safer. Ready?"

"... no." When had he become so freaked out by needles?

"Okay. Want a walk-through?"

Alan nodded, Cessna-sized butterflies zooming around in his guts.

"We're doing this like a nursing school demo. First, I take the IP needle package, and I open it like this. It has to stay sterile! Then I-"

It was really fascinating to watch. When Nurse Capello was explaining and demonstrating, he could almost pretend that it was someone else. He was a tutorial.

Until she drew the blood.

"See? That's why I had you lie down."

"Uh-huh." Alan jammed his eyes closed and held on to the cushions again.

More unpleasant things done, and he kept his eyes closed.

"There. Your cath is flushed and you're doing fine - though you don't feel fine." She squeezed his right shoulder gently. What a kind voice she had. "Now I'm going to take these to the lab, and I don't want you to move for a bit."

"That's not going to be a problem." Even lying down his head spun.

"I'll be back in just a few. I'm putting the call button right on the pillow." Warm blankets settled over him and then the soft sound of her footsteps receded from the room.

No throwing up, Alan. No crying, either. Grow up, asshole

After a while, Alan opened his eyes and blew his nose.

Okay. Can handle it. First days are always rough.

He made some quick notes in his steno pad about the procedures - there would be tutorials online somewhere - then he powered his Kindle. Louis Bachelier's Theory of Speculation would take one's mind off anything short of hanging - and it did.

"Mr. Humphries?" Nurse Capello came in with a basket of little bags. "You're cleared for treatment. Before we set up, you might want to use the bathroom - the treatment's going to run about six hours because of all the medicines we have to give on the first day."

There were two bags of saline, and five little bags of other things.

"All that?" Alan protested. "I'll be hitting a restroom every block on the way home!"

"The drugs are infused at different rates. The Benadryl and Ativan go first - the Benadryl to buffer against an allergic reaction and the Ativan for your anxiety." She hung the bags and threaded the tubing into the pump. "It might knock you out, but I think your jitters are mostly from the Prednisone and that honking bucket of coffee you came in with. All right - ready?"

"Be right back." Some shaky breaths in the toilet with the door closed helped. So did offloading the processed coffee and splashing his face with cold water. He went back out. "All right. Ready."

Liar.

Nurse Capello accessed the portacath again. "This time I'm giving you a little lidocaine. I know that it hurt last time and you didn't say anything. No more macho from you, alright? I need to know when things hurt, or you feel sick, or anything else. It's important, really important to your treatment and your health."

"I'm not macho." The idea was silly. "And in any case, I'm gay."

"Still applies. Gay, straight, male, female, any of the above and other. Most people try to be tough, and end up being macho." She smiled. "See? Didn't feel a thing. Better?"

Wow. He didn't feel a thing. "Better."

"Benadryl first. You're going to feel dopey and might doze a bit. The Ativan's next, and since it's a tranquilizer, the combo of the two is going to put you in la-la land." She programmed the pump and then activated it. "I know you've been researching your treatment, so here's the order of dose: Cyclophosphamide, Daunorubicin, Vincristine. This is the only day this month that you're having Cyclophosphamide. You'll only have the Daunorubicin today, tomorrow and Sunday, and the Vincristine once a week for the four weeks of induction."

"I made a spreadsheet for the side effects." Alan admitted. "There were so many drugs-"

"Keep it up, Mr. Humphries, and I'll have you bucking for your RN."

"I-" There was a cool feeling in his chest followed by a sudden sleepiness. "Hm."

The head of the bed tilted up slightly and the blankets were arranged again. "There you go. I'm going to be checking in on you often, but if you really need me just ring."

"...'kay."

Chapter 4

Summary:

Alan Humphries is a man who has it all together - until a diagnosis of leukemia leaves him adrift, alone, and afraid.

This chapter: Alan's first day of treatment is something of a reality check. Eric has his own problems, and reminds Ronnie that the past always has bearing on the present.

Notes:

Feedback is precious - and my beta-readers deserve to be showered in rose petals strewn by scantily-clad dancing boys.

Chapter Text

When he awoke, Alan was confused. His glasses were on the swing arm table and he fumbled him onto his face. The room came back into focus and look at the IV stand showed that hours had passed - one bag of solution was empty and the other a little more than halfway down. Two things, however, stood out. The first was that his bladder was about to bust, and the second was that his stomach was cramping either from hunger or from nausea.

Someone had configured the recliner into a cradle that prevented him from rolling onto his left side in sleep, and trying to figure out the controls though the drug-haze summoned his nurse.

"Hello again. What are you trying to do?" Nurse Capello helped him to sit up and lower the footrest. "If you need, I can bring you a bedpan or urinal."

That cleared the brain fog quickly. "No, thank you. Um... can I wheel the stand over?"

"Yes, but I'm going to help you. Your balance might be off and you're a little impaired from the Ativan and Benadryl." Lowering the arm of the recliner, she supported Alan as he got to his feet. "How do you feel otherwise?"

"My stomach... I'm not sure if I'm hungry or nauseated." The IV stand rolled with them and he did need the help – he had jelly-legs. "I brought some juices and snacks."

"Did you have breakfast?"

"I had some pain au chocolate - a chocolate croissant."

"Tomorrow could you try something a little more substantial? Proteiny." She opened the door to the restroom. "Use the handrail, or sit if you feel wobbly. Tomorrow we'll need to start taking urine samples to see how your kidneys are handling the load."

The stand fit though the restroom door, and Alan was simply relieved that - nurse or not - she did not try to come in with him. He did use the handrail, because he did feel foggy and wobbly, but felt much better after he was done. When he came back out, he opened his briefcase and took out his cooler bag. Mean Greens juice and Completely Nuts Full Vermonty mix - maple-sugared walnuts, dried cranberries, freeze-dried apples, and mini cheddar biscuits.

The snack met with approval. "You should stock up. That way you have stuff on hand for when you need to eat but are too out of it to go anywhere. There are some meal services, too - and diet is going to be more important than ever."

"What made you want to be an oncology nurse?" Alan added, "If you don't mind me asking."

"Well, I remember how lonely and scary being sick or hurt can be, and how alone I felt. I want to help my patients feel less scared and less alone." And then she gave that blazing grin. "And I get to talk a lot! My husband says that's the main attraction. According to him, I talk in my sleep, too."

The food went down and stayed down for the time being, and Nurse Capello went in and out on her rounds. Feeling achy, Alan dozed until the pump began to beep, summoning his nurse and her little cart.

"How do you feel, Mr. Humphries?" She began to take down and disconnect the bags and tubing.

"Achy. Weird. Tired." Alan scrubbed at his face. "Sorry. I'm usually a lot more articulate."

"It's okay." She squeezed his arm. "Now I'll give you a small dose of heparin so that there won't be any clotting, and then I’ll flush the line. After an hour of observation, I'll remove the access, dress the port, and you’ll be formally discharged."

"You mentioned a better idea than a cab?" Somehow the idea of taking the subway or a cab downtown didn't sound as appealing as it did this morning.

"I'll call the transport service right away. Do you want to lie back down and cover up while I do this?"

He did, reminding himself to dress more warmly and comfortably for his visit tomorrow.

"Okay, here we go. I've also put together some stuff for you to take home.” She pulled a little bag from middle shelf. “I put some tutorials on a USB drive. There's a packet of information on side effects, with a chart on what you need to come to the urgent care for and what you need to go to the ER for. There's dressings, tape, gloves, swabs..."

"You didn't have to go to all that trouble." Alan protested, opening his eyes.

"Yes I did - because you don't have a caretaker and it's a lot to remember on your own." She put the bag in his hands. “You’re my patient.”

"Thank you." It was not often that he was touched or humbled, not in his profession, but he was now. "Thank you very much."

"And there's some business cards in there - the transport company, a few home health care aides I know and trust, and some good meal services." The way she looked at him Alan took to mean that there had better be calls made. "And by meal service, I mean sound nutritional science and good food, not a bunch of woo-woo."

"Yes, ma'am. No woo-woo." He could stock up at the The Pearl Street Kitchen, and there was a Whole Foods on Houston. He could stop there, too. And he should sign up with Organic Express. "I'll call on Monday, but I have things on hand until then."

He'd ordered a bunch of delivery food from Nish-Nush, The Dish, and Great Wall.

"Is it all Chinese food?"

"No. Of course not." Steak Oscar was not Chinese, nor was falafel.

"M-hm. How are you feeling now?" Nurse Capello spread the blankets over his lap again.

"Cold. Still weird. Tired and achy - like I'm about to come down with something. My mouth is really dry."

"Is there any nausea?"

"Now that you mention it... a little."

"I don't want to interfere or rag on you, but you really need a home health aide. Just get someone to sit with you tonight, okay?" She took his hand. "I'll call someone for you."

"No. It's fine. I promise I'll call someone if I need help. I will."

Nine hours later, he was on the toilet with the trash basket between his knees. Nurse Capello's notebook was open on the bathroom floor, and Alan had marked the pertinent information in yellow highlighter.

It was okay.

It was fine.

This was within allowable limits.

It was expected.

He was going to be okay.

That was okay within a given measure of okay that did not include dying in the bathroom and distressing his housekeeping service.

~

Monday, Ron waited most of the day for Alan to show and when he did at a little after two in the afternoon, it was a shock. Pale and moving slowly, Alan wore a pair of chinos and a knit pullover shirt instead of his suit and tie and carried a battered backpack instead of his briefcase.

"Sh. I'm fine, Ronald." Alan chided. “And you do not have a poker face by any measure.”

"Fine does not look the way you do right now." Ron brought him one of the bent-back chairs from a table. "You look about to fall over."

"It's a case of - as the docs say - 'gastrointestinal distress.'" Alan didn't quibble about the chair, but sat with a low sigh and adjusted his glasses. "If you could set me up with some easy, tasty eats my innards and I would be profoundly grateful."

"For how long? Are you seeing docs for this?" Juices - nothing too acid or overly sweet. Oatmeal cups with a bunch of topping bags. Some of the pudding and custard cups would be good. Instant omelettes - a scrambled egg disk with a little bag of fillings – would be small but filling.

"If you could fix me up so that I can pick up some more on Thursday? And yes, I am seeing a physician." Alan gave a longing look at the espresso machine. "I really want an Americano. I likely shouldn't have one, though."

"How about trying a cafe con leche in vanilla hemp milk? That's easier on your stomach than dairy. Some cinnamon in there?"

"Vanilla hemp milk. That sounds..."

"Like a hipster joke, I know. Just trust me on this." It was unnerving, because Alan looked really sick and exhausted with puffy dark circles under his eyes and faintly hollowed cheeks.

"Not too sweet. I know it sounds odd coming from a pain au chocolate addict, but since this started I can't do too much sweet."

There was something going on and Ron didn't want to pry, but it was and wasn't what Alan was letting on. "We have chocolate-covered crystallized ginger jellies. Those are good for nausea."

As Alan sipped his hemp as they figured out a load of meals, and then ate a massive bowl of Eric's Italian seasoned whipped red potatoes while he waited.

"Want some more of those?" Alan was scraping the bowl with the spoon when Ron came back from his gathering - an encouraging sign.

"Oh, yes. Please. They're delicious. I had no idea you did dinners." Alan looked much better, and a little sleepy.

"People pick stuff up between four and six. I'm putting in some of the meatballs and sauce." Ron started bagging and Alan packed his backpack. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, ten o'clock and four o'clock snack, plus two juices. "Steamed salmon and sauce, and chicken with gravy. Meatloaf – don’t make that face. Eric makes great meatloaf. Sole almandine. Some good soups and a chicken fricassee. You still need protein."

Alan signed the charge and hoisted his backpack into place. "Thank you, Ronald. Your help is appreciated."

With a fifty-dollar tip, no less.

It was long after closing that he laid back in one of the recliners with a sour cherry lambic, watching Eric cook and thinking. The difference between unwell and sick was that unwell went away, but sick tended to stay around. Alan was in bad shape, and somehow Ron did not think it was a just a tummy bug.

"Alan loved your potatoes today; he ate two bowls of them." He took a draw of the fruit beer and rolled it around in his mouth. Best yet. Sour, but not too puckery. Eric was the man who could cook, but Ron was a budding brew master. "Almost put him to sleep."

Eric fanned a sliced strawberry over a square of paleta tres leches. "Nice. You're getting very attached to him. Do we need to have the safer sex talk?"

"Eric. Come on.”

"Ronnie. No." Eric didn't even look up from his garnishing.

"Look. I haven't told him anything about you other than you're my brother, okay? He's one of the nicest... no, not nice... he's good. Really a good person." He unreclined and set the beer on the small table between the big La-Z-Boys. "But I'm worried about him. He came in today and he looked just awful. He said he's had a stomach bug."

Eric just looked at him. "Ron. Come on. Even if he were Mr. All That, I'm not anymore."

"Just-"

"Try. I know. 'Just try' is not that easy, not after the fucking over I took."

"I know." Ronnie couldn't imagine it - not that Eric talked about it much - but the aftermath made him handle his big brother very gently. PTSD could be ugly.

"And it's not just a fucking over, Ronnie. Gary Buckland fucked over my whole life, and everyone I could have sworn was a friend went along with him. I put everything I had on the line to go to San Francisco and open The Quarter." Strawberry after strawberry was sliced with painstaking patience and fanned over the frosting even as Eric's voice went raw with hurt. "And it cost me every dime, everything I thought I had and could rely on. I lost every lifeline I should have been able to count on to a massive, multiparty lie. I was left alone and dependent on him, and he lied to me and gaslighted me until the whole thing blew up in his face. You don't 'just try' after that, you can’t. I can't."

Ron sighed. "I just want good things for you. I want you to be happy. You deserve to come out the other side of this and be happy again."

"Happy doesn't come from other people, Ronnie. It comes from inside you." Eric said softly. "I'm a headcase. A fucked-up, screwed-over, miserable bastard - but I'm good with it."

"You're not any of those things. You're my big brother and the biggest teddy-bear I know." And he was - a 6'3" Beanie Baby.

Eric brandished his slicing knife with a scowl. "Keep it up, beer brat. I’ll go Hannibal Lecter on your hipster ass. Collops de Manhattan Bucketmouth."

"Yeah, yeah.” Ron waved it off. As if. “Still, you have to admit he's cute." Eric liked masculine and he knew Eric took a good look. "And you looked. Come on."

"And you know why I won't do anything about it." Eric dug in. "You know why. Why would I burden anyone with that? I come with a lot of baggage, Ronnie. That one in particular is one I can never lose." Eric's smile was bleak as he trashed his prep gloves and unbuttoned his chef's jacket. "It's with me until the day I die with love from Gary."

"You don't know that. You're not even at the threshold where they'll give you antiretrovirals." If that turd-fly were still alive... but he wasn't. "You don't even know if you'll develop symptoms."

Eric took a lambic and popped the top, slinging his jacket over the back of the second recliner. "Not the point, Ronnie."

"Someone who loved you wouldn't care." They'd be careful. They'd take it into account. They'd love his brother anyway.

"Ronnie, HIV doesn't go away. I'm a time bomb." Eric pulled his tank top aside to reveal a black biohazard symbol tattoo with a red plus symbol in the middle of it. "I'm a dead man. Gary murdered me. I just get to walk around for a little while longer."

Chapter 5

Summary:

Alan Humphries is a man who has it all together - until a diagnosis of leukemia leaves him adrift, alone, and afraid.

In this chapter, Alan's optimism and self-image take a hit while Eric gets cooking.

Notes:

Feedback and critique are awesome, and thanks to those who have given so generously. :)

#black butler fanfiction