#did find out my mom has stage four cancer though

[centeringme]

I uhh… disappeared for a while. I had a little mental health spiral, but I’m doing better now.

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

Headcanons for Rick Flag I Guess

A/N: These are very specific to my fanfic (If I Go) so if you don't agree with them or whatever that's your prerogative. This has just been my reference guide for my version of Rick and I thought I'd share it with y'all cause why the fuck not? So! Here we go!

Born August 4th, 1979 (this is solely based off the fact that Joel Kinnaman was born in 1979 and I feel weird making him younger than that.)

He was born into a family with a long military history. Grandfather fought in WW2. His father was already in the army and stationed at a base in Texas (hello slight southern drawl), but like any army kid he moved around the country depending on where his father was stationed.

In 1991 Rick’s father was shipped out to Iraq to fight in the Gulf War and he never came back. They couldn’t even find the body, all Rick and his mom received were his dog tags, his pocket knife, a flag, and a purple heart. Rick was only 12 at the time.

At this point Rick and his mom move to Washington DC to be closer to her family in a time of grieving and loss.

This whole experience solidifies for Rick that he is going to join the army and serve his country just like his dad did

In high school, Rick was a skinny kid who grew so fast his clothes didn’t fit him like 80% of the time. But he played varsity baseball and dated a girl for most of high school he thought he was gonna marry (that didn’t work out, clearly). He was popular but quiet, voted homecoming king even though he hated it (his friends voted for him because he told them that he hated it).

He joins up in 1997 at the age of 18 as a private in the 165th company

The 165th is one of the first companies to be shipped out to Afghanistan after 9/11, at this point he’s moved up in rank to be a sergeant

He does four tours in afghanistan and iraq, so about 2 years time, when he is selected to go through Green Beret training

After three years of training he comes out of it a captain and leading elite teams on missions around the world, he holds the record for highest kill count for a long time

In 2004 his mother was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer that very quickly took her life. There was nothing he could do and it tore him up inside. He was only 25.

So at this point it's 2006! So for another 8 years, this guy is leading an elite squad of special forces dudes and slowly crawling his way up the military ranks, eventually earning the rank of Colonel.

In 2014 he gets assigned to ARGUS (prolly due to some altercation he has on a mission where he basically takes down a superhuman and they’re like oh hello sir would you like to be in charge of a bunch of these but like terrible ones?)

And I’m going to say that Task Force X has a way more...organized way of becoming a thing. Like, they’re gearing up and reading through profiles and hiring people for MONTHS when suddenly Enchantress (not in a relationship with Rick, sorry, but it’s my universe now you can’t stop me) takes over Midway City and the government is like “oh this is a lovely way to test run this thing we think is doomed to fail”

But that’s the thing, it DOESN’T fail and Task Force X is given more and more dirty missions for the rest of time and ta da. We’ll say the “events” of that first movie happen in like late 2014 so Rick is about 35 at the time

[pitiless-achilles-wept]

Not dead yet!: Marking my 2-year anniversaries

On Sunday I marked my two-year “cancerversary” of my diagnosis and on Tuesday a member of the support group I co-founded (for young women who are stage 4) died. Like me, she had triple-negative breast cancer. Like me, she was diagnosed stage 4 two years ago. Like me, she had exhausted several types of treatment (because triple-negative is a beast) and was looking for the one that would work. She asked me about Saci (Sassy!) and proposed trying it to her doctor less than a week before she died. Nine days before she passed she joined our Sunday cancer yoga group from bed at the hospital to join our meditation exercises. Like me, she remained confident and positive and absolutely refused to give up hope. (Like me, she also wore her hair purple sometimes.)

There were many things that are unlike about us too. She had two teenage children who now don’t have their mother. She was twelve years older than me and had had Hodgkin’s before she had breast cancer--even worse luck than mine, to triumph over one cancer only to get this diagnosis. Unlike me, she wasn’t strong enough for Saci, the only targeted triple-negative line of treatment, because her body had reacted badly to immunotherapy. She was in the hospital for two weeks with somewhat mysterious symptoms all of which added up to her body shutting down. On Saturday she went home with her family in hospice care. 2 days later she was gone.

It’s not usual for things to go so fast. Typically, doctors, patients, and family members all have some advance warning and patients spend a solid amount of time in hospice care. I am sure that people will ask me why it went that way for her. I’m asking myself why too, since it is so shocking and so entirely unfair. The fact that it can happen that way at all is frightening to me as a fellow patient since it’s the scenario of nightmares. That really could someday be me. No one ever wants to think that--and I cannot live my life focused on it either--but it has to be acknowledged as a possibility.

[More below the cut about memories from 2 years ago today and hopes for the future. Also, an invitation to contribute to some writing if you want.]

Today, January 28th, is the 2-year anniversary of my stage 4 diagnosis. In a way, it feels more significant than my initial cancer news. I had four days being horrified, but thinking that I would get through this as a phase in my life. It would be terrible--I’d have a double mastectomy, scorched-earth chemo, radiation, anything to get rid of the cancer--but then it would be done. On the Monday following my first set of CT scans I learned that that was not true. My lungs were full of tumors. (Later, after lots of waiting, MRIs and biopsies, I'd find that my lymph nodes, spine, and liver were affected too. I still have tumors in all those locations, but no new ones.) I wrote a description of getting that news in an email to a friend over the summer, after I had read Anne Boyer’s "The Undying”:

“The worst part about the lung tumors for me was that my dad had gotten a very early flight and I learned the news while he was in the air. My mom told me we could not text or tell him on the phone, that he would need to be with us both. So I drove to Newark straight from the doctor's office. It was in the teens outside and windy as we slogged to the baggage area where we were to meet. I saw my dad in his warmest and ugliest puffy orange down jacket, looking small in it, forlorn and horribly vulnerable. I fell into his arms, thinking at least that airports were such horrible places, so impersonal and banal, that no one would look twice. 'It's in my lungs,' I said into his shoulder so that I would not have to see his face. I was crying into the jacket that somehow smelled of winter cold even though he had been inside for hours. 'Please, Daddy. Fix it, please.' I spoke like a child because, on some very deep level, I think I really did still believe that my father could fix anything. I was embarrassed, though, and so I tried to stem my tears as he put his big hand on the back of my head and said, 'Oh sweetie, we'll get through this. We will.' I knew that really he could do nothing--and that this was his nightmare of powerlessness--and so I sniffed and blinked and I did not let myself cry again until June.”

Two years later this moment seems as if it just happened. The impact of my diagnosis on everyone dear to me, and especially my parents, is one of the worst things about it for me. We all know that there’s only so much “better” I can get, with the current science, and we’re all playing for time while the research moves forward towards something better, something that would make this a treatable chronic condition. I go back and forth, emotionally, on how likely I think that is and how good my position is for the future. Right now, comparing myself to the group member who died, I feel relatively fortunate, even as chemo exhausts me, I lose every scrap of hair that was ever on my body, and I spend half of my days being almost unable to eat from nausea and loss of taste. I feel glad that I was able to get Saci, that my body has so far stood up to the ceaseless trials I have put it through, with four treatments and surgery (and full-time work and living alone etc. etc.). I feel strong, not scared, even as I feel the emotional toll of terrible loneliness from covid isolation, winter, and carrying a sick body through my days alone.

I do not love the “fight” metaphor because so much of having an illness is completely out of your control and I never want to take myself (or anyone else) to task for “losing.” And so instead I will praise my body for enduring. I will praise myself for my enduring also, in both an emotional and physical way. I checked back in on how I was feeling as this anniversary approached last year and was pleased to see how much better I feel about it now, partly as a function of being in a treatment that is (likely) keeping me stable rather than in the midst of choosing another new one. Here is what I wrote back to my group of friends in November 2019, the run up to the one-year mark:

“I’m feeling like I can’t plan and don’t want to celebrate, like I can’t perform “fine” for the people in my life to spare them from the pain I’m causing by not doing better and feeling horrible about it. Perhaps it would help if I let them know that they didn’t need to perform “fine” for me? I understand the desire to protect me from the obligation to take care of them and appreciate it. But sometimes it can feel like I’m the only one experiencing anger or grief or pain, though I know I’m not. Feeling so isolated in my emotional response provides no catharsis for it. Compassion and sympathy function on the notion of “fellow feeling.” If you’re just out here, feeling by yourself, you can’t expect any comfort. As always, I think of the moment in the Iliad when Priam and Achilles cry together over dead Hector. Grief (and you can grieve for many things aside from a death) is something explicitly to be shared.” So I guess I’ve shared it here. I can do that. And I can do another thing, which is to tell you I love you. People don’t really say it enough and reserve it too entirely for romantic contexts. It’s weird--it’s not like we are wartime rationing love! And every time anyone says it to me it helps. It’s an affirmation that I am integral in some way to people’s lives which, in a society that so greatly valorizes marriage/partnership and children, is something I can be in doubt about.”

There are some things I like here, though, and that I would now like to reiterate and invite you, my far-flung friends, to do for my 2-year milestone. Never has the notion of “fellow feeling” in times of grief and depression hit harder or been more important than during covid. In a way, the nation (or even world) was forced into much the same position, emotionally and practically, that my cancer put me in. People are isolated, unable to perform “fine” and wondering if other people feel the same way, or even if any of us can take care of each other at all. I am here to tell you that you can. Maybe not immediately but--sooner than you think--you can. Emotional reserves may be low but reaching out to support someone else can actually replenish them. You do not have to feel alone, or to feel, alone.

And for me, for this milestone and for the cancer-related depression that I certainly do have, I’d like to invite you to help me, so that I can do the same for you. I invite you to write something about how this milestone feels for you (either about me or not), how it relates to all the other insane things going on in the world or with you (not about me at all), how you felt on the original day when I shared my stage 4 diagnosis (definitely about me)--really anything that is on your mind or in your heart.

“Oh great,” you may think, “the English PhD has asked us to do homework!”. But no! It's up to you what you do. Write in whatever form you want, however long, even anonymously. And if you do I will write you back! Not with grades or comments, but with something to connect to what you shared. It is a way to create fellow-feeling; to open up, connect, heal. With me, yes, but also as the group of extraordinary people who have gone with me so far on this hard road. It’s a very different proposition to support someone through time-limited treatment with a good outcome than it is to sign on for whatever comes next. You are all, truly, pretty extraordinary.

Anyone who wants to send a note or reflection can email me or drop a file or post in this Google drive folder. Like I said, feel free to share whatever and do it anonymously if you’d rather. You can also askbox me here (better than DMS) or submit a post to this blog. (I'm taking a chance with open DMs for now...we'll see if that needs to change.)

I am grateful for all of you every day, but especially today.

Love, Bex

p.s. The title of this post refers to the cinematic classic "Monty Python and the Holy Grail," a film my high school self and friends loved. They, along with other wonderful folks. gave me a "cancerversary" cake with "Not dead yet, motherfucker!" on it this Sunday. p.p.s. The average life expectancy for people who get this diagnosis is 18 months to 3 years. Hitting 5 years would be extraordinary. Starting Year 3 is a huge deal and I have every intention of being extraordinary. (Never been average at anything in my life...I either succeed spectacularly or fail epically!)

[suituuup]

clouds

Prompt: After finding out she has Stage II breast cancer, Beca gets started with chemo. She never expected she’d make a friend there, much less a kid.

rating: M

word count: 5,4k

ao3 link

*

“All done,” the nurse chirps as she takes out the needle and presses a wad of cotton to the small puncture spot. “You’ll have to wait an hour or so for the lab results to come back before they set you up for chemo.” 

“Okay,” Beca mumbles, lowering her sweater sleeve and standing from the cot. She thanks the nurse and shuffles out of the room and towards the elevator that will take her up to the right floor. 

A month ago, Beca found out she had breast cancer. She had just got back from tour and was on her annual gynecology check-up where the doctor felt a lump in her left breast. She referred Beca to a specialist and, following a mammogram and a biopsy, Beca was diagnosed with Stage II breast cancer. 

Her whole universe as she knew it shifted on its axis. While her chances of survival were pretty high at that stage, she knew treatment would momentarily change her daily life, and that the few months ahead would be an emotional whirlwind.

Beca got set up just over an hour later on a reclining chair on the infusion floor. She had packed a bag with everything she would need: snacks, a blanket, water, and her computer and headphones so she could get some work done. 

The nurse soon came over to start an IV, Beca wincing as the needle pierced her skin. “Alright, you’re all set. Call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks.”

She closes her eyes and puffs out a long breath, willing herself to relax. 

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay on your own?”

Beca opens her eyes to find a little girl, no older than ten or eleven, climbing in the chair next to hers. Her mom, Beca supposes from the matching hair color, crouches in front of her. 

“Yes, mom. I already told you I’ll be okay.” 

“Okay, okay. I’ll be back in half an hour.” The woman kisses the girl’s forehead, shrugging off the Wonder Woman backpack and setting it on her daughter’s lap. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” As soon as her mother turns away to leave the room, her curious blue eyes find Beca. “You’re new.”

Beca puffs out a surprised chuckle. “I am, yeah.”

A small hand is thrust towards her. “I’m Maddie.”

Beca shakes her hand lightly. “Hi Maddie, my name’s Beca.” 

“Nice meeting you.” She opens her backpack just as the nurse heads towards her. “Hi Jenny.”

“Hello Maddie. How are we doing today?”

“I’m okay, thanks. Mommy and I are going to eat ice cream afterwards.” She rolls up her sleeve and extends her arm, barely flinching as the nurse pushes the needle in. 

Beca realizes with a painful pang in her chest that it’s definitely not her first time getting chemo. 

“Lucky you,” the nurse gushes, taping the IV tube to her arm. “All done, sweetie. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Thanks, Jenny.”

Beca glances away, her eyes drifting to her own IV bag. It’s strange to think about how what’s supposed to kill the cancer is also killing every good cell in her body. Soon she’ll be losing her hair and—

“Who’s your favorite singer?”

Beca is pulled out of her thoughts by that same girl — Maddie. An amused smile curves her lips. “Um, I like a lot of singers, but I guess my top 3 is Fleetwood Mac, Harry Styles and Beyoncé.”

“My mom loves Fleetwood Mac,” she says. “Mine’s Shawn Mendes.”

Beca nods. “He’s a cool guy.”

Those striking blue eyes widen. “You’ve met him??”

Beca has worked with him on his last album and he’s become a good friend, but she wants to keep a low profile, so she shakes her head. “No, I mean— he seems like a cool guy.”

“Oh. Yeah. I was supposed to go see him live last year but I wasn’t healthy enough.”

Beca’s heart cracks a little bit at that. “That sucks, I’m sorry.”

Maddie shrugs. “It’s okay. Do you know how to play Backgammon?”

Beca lets out another chuckle. She hadn’t expected to meet anyone here, much less a kid (she’s not a kid person), but she has to admit it’s a nice distraction from her spiraling thoughts. “No, but maybe you could teach me?”

The next two hours go much faster than Beca initially expected, thanks to Maddie’s company. Her mom —Chloe, as she introduces herself— comes back half an hour in, but she seems content reading her book while Beca and Maddie play. 

“Yes!” Maddie exclaims when she —once again— wins that round. 

“Well done, dude. I’ll do better next time.” 

“You wanna come eat an ice cream with us?” She asks as the nurse takes Beca’s IV out. 

Beca already feels tired and nauseous, so she declines, shaking her head. “Thanks, but I’m gonna head home. It was cool hanging out with you, though.” 

“You, too. See you next time!” 

Beca nods, casting her mother a polite smile as she gathers her stuff and stands up. “Bye.” 

The first effects of chemo hit her for real a couple hours afterwards. Exhaustion like she’s never experienced creeps on her right before dinner (she’s not really hungry anyway), and she crashes for thirteen hours, waking up with the urge to throw up. Her day is spent wallowing on her couch when she’s not bent over the toilet, weaving in and out of sleep while the sitcom channel fills the silence of her empty apartment. 

It lasts two days, and Beca starts feeling better on the third, which happens to be her second chemo session. Maddie and her mom are already there when she gets to the room, and she casts them both a wave and a tired smile before sitting down in the same seat as last time. 

“Hi Beca!” Maddie exclaims, grinning brightly. 

“Hey dude. Ready to kick my butt at Backgammon again?” 

“Yep!” She turns to her mom a second later. “Mommy I have to pee.” 

“Oh go quick then, before the nurse starts you on your IV.” Maddie scampers off towards the bathroom, and Chloe’s eyes flicker to Beca, a sympathetic smile spreading on her features. “How are you holding up?” 

Beca grimaces. “The last two days have been pretty awful, I’m hoping it won’t get as bad after each session.” 

“Yeah… it’s rough.” 

“How long-- um, has she been in chemo long?” She asks hesitantly. 

“It’s our second round this time around,” Chloe says softly, the pain evident in her eyes. “She was diagnosed with leukemia three years ago, and it’s been an emotional roller coaster since then. Two remissions, yet here we are again.” 

Beca’s eyes widen. “Wow... I’m so sorry.” 

“She’s a fighter. Much braver than I could ever be. Always has a smile on her face.” 

Maddie comes back before Beca can say anything else, hopping back on her chair. Beca manages to win two rounds out of ten this time, and she crashes in her bed as soon as she gets home. 

The next few weeks are a blur, as Beca doesn’t do much except going to the hospital three times a week for chemo and sleeping it off. She misses work, and going out with her friends, but she doesn’t have the energy to leave the house. She’s thankful for Stacie and Emily, who regularly come to check on her and even go grocery shopping for her. 

Four weeks after beginning her treatment, Beca’s hair starts to fall off. She knew it would happen, but she didn’t think it would hit her so hard emotionally. She loses weight, too, and her complexion is much paler. 

Maddie’s high spirits are a nice distraction every time she’s at the hospital. They play games, listen to music, and even grab ice cream once or twice with her mom when Beca feels okay enough not to head straight home. 

On her last day of chemo, Beca is surprised to see Maddie isn’t there. “Is her treatment over?” She asks Jenny as the nurse sets her up for her infusion. 

Jenny shakes her head. “She was admitted last night.” 

Beca’s heart squeezes in her chest, and she swallows down the rising lump in her throat. “Do you know if she’s allowed visitors?” 

“I’m not sure. I’ll check for you.” 

After her session, Beca heads to the oncology floor and asks for Maddie’s room at the reception. She heads down the hall, turning the corner and lingering in the doorway. 

Maddie looks so small in her hospital bed, her complexion as pale as the white walls. An oxygen mask covers her mouth and nose, a wheezing sound filling the room every time she breathes. Chloe’s the first to notice Beca as she sits by her daughter’s side, stroking her hair. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t sure-- I can go,” Beca murmurs, feeling suddenly out of place. 

“It’s okay,” Chloe croaks out, waving her in. Her eyes are bloodshot and her features scream exhaustion and despair, and Beca’s heart clenches yet again. 

Maddie finally notices her, a tired smile spreading across her lips. “Hi.” 

“Hey dude,” Beca greets with a soft smile, lowering herself on the opposite chair because her legs feel weakened by the chemo. “Missed you today.” 

“Did you ring the bell?” 

Beca nods. “I did.” 

“Sorry I wasn’t there.” 

“It’s okay, Maddie. I’m sorry you’re not feeling good. I was thinking-- would you like to listen to some cool music? I used to mix songs together when I was in college and nobody really ever listened to them, so you’re privileged.” 

Maddie grins and nods, taking the earbud Beca offers her.

She sticks around for half-an-hour, giving Chloe time to use the restroom and grab a coffee while she keeps Maddie company. As she walks out of the hospital, Beca pulls out her phone and brings it to her ear after selecting the right contact. 

“Hey. I need a favor.” 

Two days later, Beca finds herself heading back to the oncology floor. She knocks on Maddie’s open door, relieved to see her sitting up and looking overall better than she did on Beca’s last visit. 

“Beca!” She exclaims, grinning widely. 

“Hey you.” Her gaze flickers to Chloe, who too looks better. “Hey Chloe.” 

“Hi Beca. Thanks for stopping by,” Chloe says with a soft smile. 

“I’m not alone, actually,” she lets them know, craning her neck towards the door to signal for her guest to come in. 

Maddie gasps loudly, her eyes widening to the side of saucers. “Oh my god!” 

“Hey Maddie,” Shawn greets, grinning as he steps further inside. He’s got his guitar slung across his back. “How are you doing?” 

Maddie stutters, pulling a chuckle out of the three adults in the room. “Hi,” she eventually croaks out. “You’re Shawn Mendes. And you’re here. In my room.” 

Shawn lets out a soft laugh. “Beca told me you were meant to come see one of my shows last year but couldn’t make it because of your health, so here I am.” 

Maddie gapes, her gaze flicking back and forth between Shawn and Beca. “Mom, I think I need to be pinched.” 

“It’s all real, baby,” Chloe confirma, brushing a kiss to Maddie’s forehead. As Shawn gets settled in the chair by Maddie’s bed and fiddles with his guitar, she meets Beca’s eyes and mouths a thank you. 

Maddie has the biggest smile on her face for the following hour. Shawn plays her favorite songs, signs an autograph and they snap a ton of pictures together. Beca goes home with the biggest smile on her face as well, thrilled to have been able to make Maddie forget about her disease even for a short while. 

Beca goes back to work the following Monday as the chemo after effects have considerably lessened over the weekend. She’s still more tired than usual, but she feels like she can get some work done. On her way back home, she swings by the hospital to visit Maddie. 

She hangs out with her every evening after work for an hour, right before Maddie’s dinner is served. They talk about music and Beca brings her guitar because Maddie says she’s been wanting to learn. 

“Good job,” Beca says as Maddie successfully strums through her first song. “You’re really talented.” 

Maddie grins. “Thanks for the class.” 

“You’re welcome. I’ll leave the guitar here if you wanna practice some more during the day, okay?” 

Maddie nods. “Are you coming back tomorrow?” 

“You bet.” 

She’s reached the elevators when she hears her name being called, and spins around on her heels to find Chloe heading towards her. 

“I just wanted to thank you, for everything. Bringing Shawn Mendes here, giving her guitar lessons... “ Chloe sighs. “She doesn’t have many friends because she hasn’t been to school much and it’s nice for her to see other people than her lame mom all the time.” 

Beca smiles, shaking her head. “You don’t have to thank me. She’s a great kid, and I genuinely enjoy spending time with her. She made chemo a lot more fun than I thought it would be.” 

“I’m glad,” Chloe murmurs. “Do you… wanna grab coffee, maybe? Maddie kicked me out, telling me I should take a hospital break.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“Okay, great. I’ll go grab my coat.” 

They head to the Starbucks around the block as the coffee from the cafeteria sucks, settling at a small table in the corner. Beca orders a decaf and Chloe a hot chocolate. 

“How are you now that you’re done with chemo?” Chloe asks before blowing on her drink and taking a sip. 

“I’m okay. No more side effects except tiredness, but I’m glad to finally be able to work.” 

“That’s good.” 

“Maddie seems to be doing better?” 

Chloe nods as she cradles her mug. “Her test results have improved. I’m hoping she can be home for Christmas. She’s spent the holidays at the hospital last year and as much as the nurses and doctors do their best to make it merry, it’s just not the same.” 

“Yeah, I can imagine.” Beca hesitates for a beat. “Is it… just the two of you?” 

“Yeah. Her dad never wanted to be in the picture.” 

Beca’s eyes soften. “That must be tough, doing everything on your own.” 

“Some days are hard. I’m just-- so fucking tired,” her voice cracks and tears rapidly fill her eyes. She ducks her head. “Shit, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Beca rushes out, covering Chloe’s hand across the table before she can think twice about it. “It’s okay to cry. You’re stronger than you think, and you’re an incredible mom, Chloe.” 

“I’m terrified of losing her,” she whispers, those tears spilling down her cheeks. “She’s my whole life, and she doesn’t deserve any of this.” 

Beca doesn’t know what to say; no words seem powerful enough to alleviate Chloe’s pain. She squeezes Chloe’s hand, brushing her thumb over her knuckles back and forth. “No, she doesn’t.” 

“Gosh, I’m really sorry,” Chloe sniffles after a moment, puffing out a breath. “I guess I needed a good cry and you’re my victim.” 

“It really is okay, Chloe. Anytime you need to talk, I’m here, okay?” 

Chloe flips her hand up, wrapping her fingers around Beca’s. “Thank you. That means a lot.” 

As the next few weeks go by, Beca’s hair starts to grow back (she still wears a headscarf, and will do so until it thickens out), and her energy levels rise back to normal. Work gets busier but she tries to visit Maddie three times a week, usually going out for coffee with Chloe once out of those three times. They text a lot too throughout the week, sending each other memes or cute animal videos. 

Beca finds herself quickly developing a crush on Chloe over their sometimes hour-long conversations about their respective lives, charmed by her sunny personality, goofy sense of humor and both interior and exterior beauty. But she knows better than to do anything about her attraction, as Chloe is most likely not in any place to date right now, if she’s even into women at all. 

Maddie is allowed to spend Christmas at home, and Chloe asks Beca if she wants to spend it with them as she knows Beca doesn’t have anything specific planned. They spend the afternoon leading up to Christmas Eve building gingerbread houses and baking cookies while belting out Christmas tunes. 

(as if Beca needed anything else to fuel that crush of hers, it turns out Chloe sings beautifully.)

They eat a meal of Maddie’s choice --homemade burgers and fries-- and watch The Beauty and the Beast. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Chloe tells her as she makes it back down after tucking Maddie in for the night. Beca started cleaning up in the meantime, having just finished up. 

“I know. It’s no big deal.” 

“Want another glass of wine?” Chloe asks, lifting the open bottle off the kitchen island. 

Beca should head home, but Chloe’s place is much warmer and cozier than her own and she loves hanging out there. She also can’t resist the opportunity of spending more quality time with Chloe. “Sure, why not.” 

“Tonight was really fun,” Chloe muses aloud as they settle back down on the couch, facing one another. “I’m so happy Maddie got to have a real Christmas this year.” 

“Me, too,” Beca murmurs. “It was really nice. And that’s coming from someone who’s not that into the holidays, so kudos to you.” 

Chloe throws her arms up in the air. “Yay! I did it!” 

“You’re a dork,” Beca says, a smirk curving her lips as she shakes her head. “Ugh, I’ve got All I Want For Christmas Is You stuck in my head, thanks to somebody.”

“It’s a good song!” 

Beca rolls her eyes. “It’s cheesy as fuck, dude.” 

Chloe’s giggle makes her heart swell. “Okay, it’s a little bit cheesy. So is the movie.” 

“Never seen it.” 

A judgemental gasp fills the space between them before Chloe backs away. “You’ve never seen Love Actually?” 

Beca purses her lips. “Are you gonna kick me out if I say yes?” 

Chloe’s up from the couch before she can blink. “We’re watching it now.” 

Beca’s about to protest, but she realizes it’s only 9:30pm and she doesn’t have to go to work tomorrow. “Fine.”

Chloe sets it up on Netflix and grabs a blanket, throwing it over her laps as she settles back down. Beca nearly forgets how to breathe when Chloe curls up against her, draping an arm over her waist. She frees her arm from in between their bodies and wraps it around Chloe’s frame, pulling her closer as the opening credits roll. 

“Keira Knightley was my first girl crush,” Chloe states moments later as the actress makes her first appearance on the screen. “Pirates of the Caribbean.”

“Haven’t seen it either.”

“Oh my god,” Chloe laughs, lifting her head from Beca’s shoulder to look at her. “You’re missing out.”

“Mmm,” Beca hums, her eyes momentarily dropping to Chloe’s lips before she can really help herself. She forces them back up to find Chloe’s own gaze on her mouth and, following a beat of hesitation, reaches up to cup her cheek tenderly, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips. 

Chloe melts into it, her own hand coming up to rest on the side of Beca’s neck as she kisses back in kind. Time seems to suspend as they explore in soft brushes and nips, their bubble bursting when Chloe abruptly pulls away.

“I’m— I’m sorry,” she whispers, covering her mouth with her hand. “You don’t want that.”

Beca blinks, furrowing her brow. “What?”

“You deserve someone that can be all in, not…” she waves a hand towards herself. “Not this mess. My life is so complicated right now.”

“I know,” Beca says softly, covering Chloe’s hand with her own. “I know your sole focus is Madison, and I’d never hold your lack of time for me against you. I honestly— didn’t even think you’d feel the same way.”

Chloe’s eyes flutter shut for a few beats. “I like you a lot, Beca. I just… can’t promise you more than day to day right now.”

“We can do day to day,” Beca murmurs reassuringly. “There’s no pressure on my end, alright?”

Chloe contemplates it for a moment. “Okay.” She leans in to kiss Beca gently, resting her forehead against hers. “Okay.”

They fall asleep in front of the movie, eventually shuffling up to Chloe’s bedroom around midnight as Chloe states it’s too late for Beca to head home. 

Come morning, Beca takes care of breakfast while a nurse stops by to take Maddie’s vitals and do some injections. They open presents next as Maddie is too excited to wait until after breakfast. Beca got her a few books and a VIP ticket to Ariana Grande’s next show in a couple weeks. She got Chloe a full day spa package for whenever she’d like, insisting she could spend the day with Maddie. 

“For you,” Maddie says, extending a small package towards Beca. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything, dude.” She takes the gift nonetheless, opening it to find a rainbow themed friendship bracelet. Beca grins, taking it out. “I love it. Never taking it off.”

The New Year brings good news: Maddie’s health improves enough that she’s discharged from the hospital, and Beca is clear from any cancer, the chemotherapy having worked tremendously. They celebrate Maddie coming home and Beca being cancer free around a homemade dinner at Chloe’s house. 

“Are you guys together?” Maddie blurts out halfway through dinner, causing Beca to nearly choke on her piece of bread. 

She and Chloe haven’t engaged in any sort of PDA around Maddie as Chloe wants to take it slow, but something must have given them away. 

Maybe the heart eyes Beca gives Chloe on a daily basis. 

She briefly meets Chloe’s gaze before Chloe focuses on her daughter, a soft, albeit slight nervous smile curving her lips. “We are, yeah. Is that okay?” 

Maddie nods. “You look happy, Mommy.” 

Beca feels her heart swell, and as Maddie goes back to her food, she leans across the distance between herself and Chloe to kiss her cheek. 

Something tells her this is going to be a great year. 

Over the following months, she, Chloe and Maddie do plenty of activities together now that Maddie is healthy enough. They go ice skating, attend concerts, bake, have movie marathons. Beca falls so quickly in love with Chloe, it’s kind of scary. 

They’re even talking about moving in together when Maddie relapses. 

She’s admitted into the ICU after contracting pneumonia, and the tests show that her number of white blood cells is higher than it’s ever been. 

“Where’s Mommy?” Maddie asks tiredly, twisting her head to look at Beca. 

It’s been a week, and the light has already left Maddie’s eyes. 

Chloe hasn’t gotten much sleep over the last few days, afraid that Maddie might pass during the night, on her own. 

“She went to the bathroom, sweetie. Want me to go get her?” 

When Maddie nods, Beca shakily rises to her feet and swallows down the lump in her throat as she leans over to press a kiss to Maddie’s forehead. 

Beca doesn’t step back inside Maddie’s room once Chloe is in there, preferring to give them privacy. She calls for a nurse, then sits down on a chair in the hallway, tears silently sliding down her cheeks when Chloe starts to sing. 

Her heart crumbles when the song doesn’t make it to the end, sobs filling Maddie’s hospital room instead. She hears the doctor pronounce the time of death, and the machines stop. 

Night has fallen over the city by the time Beca finds the courage to step inside. Chloe is curled up on the bed next to Maddie’s lifeless body, and Beca freezes in the doorway, feeling absolutely powerless against Chloe’s immense grief. 

“Her skin is still warm,” Chloe croaks out after a minute, her gaze blank as she strokes Maddie’s short hair back and forth. 

Beca pads forward slowly, tears burning her eyes as she lowers herself on the chair Chloe previously occupied and covers her free hand with her own. 

“I can’t let them take her away. It’s too soon, I-I can’t.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Beca whispers, her voice nowhere within reach. “Take all the time you need, they won’t take her away until you’re ready.”

Chloe’s parents, whom Beca has met a couple times over the previous week arrive only a few minutes later, and Beca suddenly feels out of place. 

She quietly slips out of the room to let them say goodbye to Maddie in peace. 

Madison’s funeral takes place five days later. It’s a beautiful day, graced with unexpected warmth for the season. Beca stands a couple rows behind Chloe’s family. She helps Chloe’s parents out during the wake following the ceremony, setting out the food and washing the dishes. 

As people shuffle out at the end of the afternoon, Beca is unsure what to do. She’s wiping the last of the dishes when Aubrey, Chloe’s best friend, rounds the corner to the kitchen. 

“Thank you for your help today,” she says with a nod. “I’ll finish up here.” 

Beca gets the message that she’s not needed anymore and nods, setting the dish towel down. “Oh. Right, okay.” 

She gathers her coat and purse and sees that Chloe is speaking to her parents on her way out, and as she doesn’t want to intrude, steps out without a word. 

“Beca.” She turns around halfway down the driveway to find Chloe closing the front door of her house behind her. “You don’t have to leave.” 

“Well, um, you’re with your family and...” she falters, shrugging. “I just didn’t want to intrude.” 

She hates how it sounds like she’s making this about herself when it’s the last thing she wants to do. 

“Can you stay?” Chloe croaks out. “I’d really like it if you stayed.” 

“Of course,” she murmurs without an ounce of hesitation, taking a few steps forward and wrapping her arms around Chloe. Chloe melts into her body, releasing a shuddering breath. “I’ve got you, Chlo.” 

The next days, weeks, months are extremely hard for Chloe, and Beca helps in whatever way she can. While she can’t make Chloe’s grief less intense, as much as she wants to, she can take care of things that will make her daily life easier, like taking care of the administrative paperwork following Maddie’s funeral, sending out thank-you notes, making dinner, cleaning and just being there for her. 

She holds Chloe when she cries, even if it happens in the middle of the night, gives her space when she needs some, listens to her when she needs to talk about Maddie, even if it’s a story she’s already heard. 

“Chlo?” Beca asks upon coming home one evening, about four months after Maddie’s death. She’s been staying at Chloe’s house ever since, and while they haven’t really talked about it, Beca wants it to become a permanent installment, and she’s got the inkling Chloe feels the same way. 

“In the kitchen,” Chloe’s voice carries to the entryway and, after taking her shoes off and tucking them away, Beca heads over to the kitchen, slipping her arms around Chloe’s waist. 

“Hello,” she whispers with a content sigh, brushing a kiss to Chloe’s neck. “Missed you.” 

“Missed you, too. How was your day?” 

“Good.” She takes a step back and hops on the counter, watching Chloe cook for a moment. She hasn’t done that since before Maddie’s relapse and Beca takes it as one small step towards healing. “Hey, I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

Chloe lowers the heat under her pot and steps in front of Beca. “What’s up?” 

“A few months ago, I pitched the idea to Shawn about organizing a concert in memory of Maddie, where all proceeds would go to funding leukemia research.” 

Chloe’s eyes get misty as she proceeds Beca’s words. “You did? What-what did he say?” 

“He agreed. Now we need to work on finding a venue with a limited budget, but I wanted to make sure you were okay with the idea in the first place.”

Chloe slides her hand into Beca’s, squeezing it. “Of course I am. You’re amazing, you know that? I can’t begin to explain how grateful I am for you these past few months.”

Beca leans in to kiss her softly. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” Chloe backs away a little. “I also need to talk to you about something.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think I can live here anymore. Everything I see reminds me of Maddie one way or another and it feels like I’m in a continuous loop of grief all day long. I wanna go back to work and— and find a new place to live, in a different neighborhood. With you, preferably.”

Beca smiles and nods, linking their fingers. “Okay, we can do that. Wanna start looking now?”

They find themselves a place in a quiet Brooklyn neighborhood and move in a month later. The concert for Maddie is sold out, and they raise close to $10,000 dollars for medical research. Almost a year after the funeral, Chloe asks Beca if she’d come with her to Oregon to spread Maddie’s ashes near her favorite beach. 

They fly there the following weekend, and Chloe bids her daughter a final goodbye.

“Mommy loves you, baby girl,” she croaks as they watch the ashes being swept away by the wind towards the ocean. 

Beca presses her lips to her hairline, holding her around the waist as tears burn behind her eyes. 

She proposes to Chloe six months later, and they get married in Chloe’s parents’ backyard on a lovely fall day, in an intimate ceremony surrounded by their family and close friends. Two years into their marriage, Chloe brings up a topic Beca has been putting off for a little while. 

That evening, Beca finds her wife on the couch with Maddie’s box opened in front of her. She’s flipping through Maddie’s baby book, a fond expression on her features. 

“That was her first time tasting lemon,” she says when Beca lowers herself next to her, wrapping an arm around her frame as Chloe cuddles into her side. 

“That’s adorable,” Beca comments with a soft smile, her eyes moving to the next picture as her fingers feather up and down Chloe’s upper arm. 

Chloe’s been going down memory lane the past few days, opening up the box that contains all the things she wanted to keep: Maddie’s plush dinosaur, a few Mother’s Day gifts she’d made Chloe, her favorite children’s book and of course plenty of photo albums. 

Her grief comes in waves. Beca knows the loss of her child is not something she’ll ever ‘move on’ from, or ‘get over’. The ache is still present, some days more suffocating than others, and Beca does her best to help her through those. 

“Do you ever think about having kids?” 

Chloe’s question makes Beca briefly pause in her motions. “I do, yeah. But it’s okay if that’s not something you’re ever ready for, I promise.” 

“Up until a few months ago, I thought that having another one would come across as though I’m trying to replace Maddie and I felt guilty. But my therapist helped me through it and... I do want to have a baby with you someday.” Chloe glances up from the album, looking at Beca. “I think-- I think I might be ready, soon?” 

“Okay.” Cupping Chloe’s cheek, Beca leans forward to brush a kiss to her lips. “I love you.”

Oliver Beale-Mitchell comes into the world a year and a half later, four days past his due date. 

“Hello,” Chloe whispers as she walks back to Beca, carrying their swaddled newborn. She lowers herself on the side of the bed. “He’s so beautiful, Becs.” 

A tired yet beaming smile spreads across Beca’s lips as she reaches out to run her thumb over his knuckles, leaning her head against Chloe’s shoulder. Her heart feels full. “Hi little man.” She glances up at Chloe. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” Chloe croaks out, seemingly unable to tear her gaze away from their bundle of joy. She bends down to brush a kiss to his forehead. “Welcome to the world, Olliebear.” 

[forever--darling]

not too far away - s.m. (part ten)

a/n: where the truth comes out 

warnings: 6k words of emotional conversations and secrets being revealed

X. cat’s out of the bag

her

Your dad stood tall as everyone stared at him. He looked nervous, you could tell by the way he kept wiping his sweaty palms on the back of his jeans. A soft smile pulled at his lips as he adjusted his button up on his chest. He sent you a look and even though you had a feeling that he was about to ruin everything you sent him an encouraging smile. He was going to get it all off his shoulders right now and let the truth surface during your once happy day. Everything you were scared to do was about to happen and instead of it being done by your hands it was going to be by your father’s. Clearly even at twenty years old, he wasn’t done taking care of you. 

“I just wanted to thank you all for coming to celebrate our little bug’s birthday, who clearly isn’t so little anymore,” he paused chuckling to himself, “In fact, she’s not. My girl is twenty today and what a lot of you probably don’t know is that we never thought we would see this day. Around four years ago, when Y/N was just sixteen, she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She was going through surgeries and chemo and upon her request, we decided as a family to keep it from almost everyone we knew. Which means keeping it from all of you.” 

He was getting choked up and at this point, tears were gathering in your eyes and if anyone knew your dad he didn’t cry. He was a strong man who hated crying because he thought it made him weak. You had never seen your dad cry until you were diagnosed with cancer. After that, he became a machine that produced tears every few days. After you were cancer free and discharged though, that soft side and that crying Bradley Y/L/N went back to where it belonged. Inside of him. Now here he was resurfacing, except this time, he was being shown to not only your family but all of your closest friends. 

“I know this is probably hard to hear, trust me I understand. Hearing that your kid has cancer is probably the worst news any parent can hear and I’m sorry that we kept this from you. You are our closest friends and it was hard what we had to go through without any of your support. Some days seemed impossible but we managed and here we are almost a year after hospital visits and casual chemo appointments, Y/N is healthy again and back to being that bubbly ball of joy we all love. Since we are in the clear, I thought there was no point to keep this from all of you anymore. Today, I am standing here thankful for all of you and all the things you have done for my daughter and I am beyond thankful that I still have my beautiful little girl.” 

It was silent. It seemed no one knew what to say and you didn’t blame them. Besides your extended family who obviously knew about the condition you went through, all of your parents family friends and neighbors had not a clue. Even their very best friends Karen and Manny didn’t know. It was a knock to anyone’s chest who probably just found out that for four straight years you were sick and battling for your life and honestly thought that you had just been too busy for any of their time. It was a shock and you had a feeling the rest of the night would be spent with people coming up to you to talk about your bravery and strength. 

Your dad may have just ruined the rest of the night for everyone else because it all of a sudden had gone from being a lighthearted and fun birthday celebration to a confession about how you almost died. A part of you didn’t care though because your dad just put himself out there for you. He spoke from his heart and you loved him for it. 

Finally finding it in yourself to move, you walked over towards your dad and brought him into a tight hug. “I love you,” you said earnestly. 

“I love you so much,” he replied placing a kiss on your forehead. 

You smiled weakly as you pulled away turning to see all eyes on you. To some people, it was like they barely could look at you while others were desperate to hug and hold you. You sent a small look towards your mom and James before you walked away from your father towards the family that looked the most devastated. 

A sad smile graced Karen’s lips as she pulled you against her, “Oh honey, I am so sorry you had to go through that.” 

“No, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you instead of ignoring you guys all together. It’s just I knew you already had so much going on with Shawn leaving Pickering for the first time I didn’t think I should put any more stress on you,” you explained pulling back to look at her. 

“We understand, completely. It was your business and keeping it personal was your decision,” Karen said giving your hand a squeeze as her husband took your attention. 

Manny placed a hand on your shoulder, “Y/N, you’re such a strong girl and we are so relieved that you are okay.” 

Your shoulders dropped in relief and you offered them a large smile, “Thank you so much, for being so understanding.” 

They both nodded as you looked to their right, eyes falling onto the younger Mendes sibling. Aaliyah stood, eyes downcast on the ground, fingers fiddling against her stomach. A frown was etched across her face. Your hand reached out to grab her arm gently. 

“Aaliyah,” you sighed, “I’m sorry. You don’t know how much I’ve missed you and it killed me every day, that I couldn’t see you.” 

Before you could say any more, Aaliyah leaped forward pulling you into a tight hug. Her head found a place in your neck and you could feel her tears against your skin. “Thank you for not dying,” she cried. 

“Well I couldn’t leave you now, could I?” you replied, rubbing your hand up and down her back. 

Releasing her from the hug, with both your thumbs you wiped the tears from under her eyes. She smiled at you and instantly you felt a small amount of guilt. Your father had just admitted that you had beat cancer and that you were now fine but that wasn’t the case. You hadn’t beat cancer and all these people were relieved that you were alive and that you were okay but there was a chance that in a few days you might not be either of those things. 

You were a liar, you knew that because though your father may have told the truth he didn’t know the full truth. Your parents had no idea that you had gone to the doctor and no idea that you weren’t cancer free anymore. Though a little of the weight had been lifted from your shoulders there were still lies that were present around you. You still had more truth begging to be spewed from your mouth. 

After one more hug, Aaliyah moved away to be engulfed in the comfort of her mother’s arms. You sighed and ran your hands through your short hair as you shared a look with Demi who had her arms around James. A part of you wanted to question her about it and what her relationship was with your brother but you knew that wasn’t what was important at the moment and she knew it too. Demi was the only person who knew about your surgery and about the reality that you were no longer healthy. She could see your guilt and you could tell by the way she was looking at you that she thought that you needed to bring your reality onto everyone else. Most importantly your parents and probably to Shawn, if you wanted to start a relationship, he needed to know everything. 

Shawn. Your head instantly snapped in the direction of the small stage to find that he was gone and the only thing that sat in his place was his guitar. You had forgotten about him as soon as your dad started to talk and now to see that he had left made your stomach drop. God, you couldn’t even think about what his reaction might have looked like to hear all the reasons why you had ignored him for years and why your friendship had been on pause. He had just learned the truth that had been hiding from him, worst of all though he didn’t hear it from you. 

Instantly, without another second to think, you bolted up the hill towards the porch steps. You sprinted up the stairs, taking two at a time, still barefoot. You pulled open the glass door and shoved yourself inside. The kitchen was empty and frantically you moved to the living room. “Shawn?” you called out gaining no response. 

You began to check every room in the house, from the bathroom to the storage closet. With no such luck, you moved upstairs and made your way towards your bedroom. Storming in through the doorway, you froze near the door as your eyes landed on Shawn’s back. 

“Shawn,” his name fell from your lips sounding breathless. 

He was stood by your bed, staring at the nightstand where a bunch of framed pictures were. Multiple ones being of you and him. You could see how his shoulders were tense and he remained motionless with his arms limply at his sides.

“Shawn,” you repeated taking a step forward noticing his head turn to the side and drop towards the floor. 

You couldn’t pinpoint how he was feeling. He could be mad, upset, or maybe just frustrated. You had lied to him and kept things from him you never did before. You had caused him such pain to hide how the sickness you were dealing with. For minutes, it was silent. You stood waiting for him to say anything and finally as if in slow motion he turned around and you felt your heart break at the sight before you. 

His hair was messed up and his shirt was wrinkled. His eyes were rimmed with tears and they were red and puffy. His cheeks were flushed and his bottom lip was swollen from him chewing on it so much. “You were sick,” his voice was raspy and sounded completely broken. 

And just like that. The cat was out of the bag. 

You nodded ashamedly that he had found out this way and knew by the end of this conversation you would probably look just as disheveled and upset as he was. If you knew Shawn like you thought you did, he wasn’t going to take this well at all. 

“How did this happen?” he asked tugging at his curls. 

You let out a small shaky breath as you felt your chest tighten, “It was months after you left-” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” he questioned starting to raise his voice, “How could you not tell me?!”

He was starting to react exactly as you thought and you knew if you didn’t stay calm this would end with you yelling at each other loud for the rest of the party guests to hear, “I knew that if I told you, you would have came home to be with me.” 

“For fuck's sake,” he shouted hand raising and falling back to his side letting out a loud slap, “Of course I would have. What’s wrong with that?” 

“If you would have came home you wouldn’t be where you are now. You would have missed so many opportunities just to sit next to my bed all day,” you explained taking a step closer to Shawn. 

“I don’t fucking care!” he yelled.

“You don’t mean that, Shawn,” you said softly, eyes beginning to fill with tears, “You love your job. You love singing and performing.” 

He ran his fingers through his hair again, tugging at the ends, eyes wide and eyebrows raised as he stared down at you. A look of anger across his beautiful face, “Yeah, but I love you more!” 

Just like that, you felt the air had been knocked from your lungs and you had lost this small argument. In all of the years you had known Shawn, you had never seen him look so sad and so in pain until now. His lip was curling as more tears streaming down his face. Snot was gathering at the edge of his nose and he kept making noises as he sucked it back up. You had caused this. You had hurt him so deeply and in a way, you had no idea how to fix it. This was all your fault. 

He shook his head, not bothering to wipe away his tears from you. “All this time, I thought there was something wrong with me to cause my best friend to disappear from my life. I thought I did something to drive you away but now to find out that while I was having the time of my life creating a name out of myself, you were stuck in a bed sick and dying. And if you had been taken from all of us, I wouldn’t have even known. Probably would’ve found out by a sad voicemail sent from your parents. It’s a good thing that your ass pulled through because I would have not been able to deal with that. You should’ve told me, and you know that. Fuck my career and fuck whatever opportunities I was being given at the time because I should’ve been there. Y/N, I needed to be there.” 

You could feel the tears that were falling down your face like a waterfall at this point as small whimpers fell from your lips. Your hands were balled into fists and you could feel your nails digging into your palms. You could feel them cutting through your skin but you didn’t care because the pain distracted you from the one coming from your chest.

The pain that was only there because of the destruction you had caused. Shawn’s lips were trembling and his hands were shaking and you knew he was out of words and wouldn’t be able to get any more out even if he had. They wouldn’t be able to pass by the sobs that were being wrenched from his chapped mouth. 

It was over, finally, your walls were broken and now you were exposed. He now could see you for everything you had been trying to hide from him for the past four years. Your high and mighty walls had failed to keep him out because somehow he had wiggled his way into your heart. He had found a way inside and just like a storm turned to a monsoon that crack in the stone widened causing the whole damn wall to crumble. 

And though a part of you, a large part of you, begged to stay where you were. Pleaded for you to stay away from Shawn as he stood fuming, chest raising, with fresh tears falling from his eyes. That part of you, that small tiny part, told you to turn and run out of the room, away from him and away from dealing with this once and for all. It told you that he was angry and not calm enough for you to get closer, but somehow you ignored that small voice in your head because you found yourself crossing the room to fall into his strong arms. 

Your body connected with his, and in an instant, it felt like all tension in the air drifted vanishing from the both of you. His arms encased you providing a place of warmth and safety. It was familiar, and in a lot of ways, it was home. You hugged him back just as tightly as he hugged you hoping you could give him that same sense of protection he was giving you. Your tears continued to fall as his voice filled your ears. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” he whispered repeating that statement over and over again, his cries dying out with each time he said it. 

It was a relief to hear. To know that after it all, his feelings towards you had not changed and that he still wanted you as much as you wanted him. This man brought something out of you, you had never felt before. He was a drug in so many ways. All you could see, feel, and smell was Shawn and it was making your head dizzy. And all you could think about was how your heart screamed for him, and how you were too choked up to return those three little words. 

+

It was around eleven o’clock and you stood near your bedroom window, in your parents' house, admiring the stars in the night sky. Your short curls had faded, and you had tied the top pieces back into a small bun to keep them out of your face. Your makeup has been washed away and your skin was moisturized and ready for bed. You were wearing an oversized baby blue tee and white pajama pants, the same thing you had been wearing the morning Shawn showed up at the house with tickets to the Maple Leaf game. The day had felt like forever ago, though it had only been no more than a few weeks. So much had changed in such little time and you weren’t sure if you were ready for any of it. 

The party had ended an hour or so ago but the Mendes’ had only just left about fifteen minutes prior to the time now. Shawn and Demi were the only other two people who were still at the house besides your family. He was helping your dad put away the tables in the yard and Demi was in the living room talking to James, and about what, you didn’t have a clue. Honestly, you didn’t want to know. If she was going to try and engage in a relationship with your brother, you weren’t going to stop her, but you also weren’t going to be around to hear about it either. The whole day had been a whirlwind and you could feel the exhaustion creeping in on you. 

After what happened with Shawn, you hadn’t talked much for the rest of the party. You had spent a good ten minutes calming down and cleaning yourselves up before you returned back in the yard. No one seemed to notice the change between you two or maybe they did and just decided to not acknowledge it. Either way, you were grateful. As the evening went on, you made your way around to everyone listening to what they had to say and answering whatever questions they had about your treatment and your cancer. 

You also were roped into very long hugs, the longest by far being from Loretta, but you didn’t mind at all. The end of the party had in no way been like the beginning or the afternoon. It wasn’t filled with laughter and fun but rather an emotional revelation that made everyone appreciate the life they had. In your opinion, it still ended on a good note with every single person going home with a smile on their face and at the end of the day, that’s all you could have ever asked for. 

As you gave the black sky one more glance, your hand reached up to fiddle with the necklace, Shawn’s necklace he gave to you, like you had been doing all day. You turned around on your heels and jumped as you noticed Shawn leaning against the doorway, curls disheveled and shirt loose around his torso, top button undone. 

You didn’t know how long he had been standing there and it had startled you a little bit. Your hand laid flat across your chest as a small laugh passed your lips, “Shit, you scared me.” 

“Sorry,” he replied, voice low as his eyes fell to the floor, “Uh I finished up helping your dad.” 

Nodding, you moved closer to him noticing the way his feet were shuffling against the carpeted floor. “Are you going back to your parent’s then?” you asked his eyes instantly moving back up towards you at the question. 

“Well, I was hoping you’d let me stay,” he mumbled, fully stepping into the room. 

Almost if on cue, you could feel your heart speeding up in your chest. Sometimes it felt like you had a string attached to your heart and on the other end, Shawn stood pulling on it to get it to beat for him at all the right moments. But you knew, that sounded ridiculous because he didn’t need a string to do that - with just a simple look or a few words he was able to make your heart move a little faster and beat a little louder. 

“I’ll go get some clothes that you can borrow from James for the night,” you replied, hand giving his arm a reassuring squeeze as you passed him. Without a response, you were out in the hallway making your way towards your brother’s room. 

It was on the other end of the floor you were on which wasn’t such a bad thing except that you had to pass the stairs that lead down to the living room. You moved as fast as you could past the stairs but as you did, the loud laughter from your best friend was clear in your ears. Rolling your eyes, you ignored it and continued down the hall. You pushed open James’s door to be met with an unmade bed and a floor that was littered with a few pieces of clothing. 

Typical, you thought, not clean. It was funny whenever you told people that you had your own apartment and James didn’t and he was the older one out of the two. They would always have the funniest reactions about him living with your parents but then you would go on to explain that he had been in Venice the last year and had just gotten home. “He’s searching for a place, don’t worry,” you would always tell the person reassuring them that your twenty-five year old brother wasn’t going to be living with your parents the rest of his life. Who knows maybe at this rate he could move in with Demi. You rolled your eyes at the idea. 

With a huff passing by your lips, you moved towards James’s dresser and pulled out a pair of black basketball shorts and a plain white t-shirt. As soon as you had the clothes in your hands, you basically sprinted back to your room, gagging as the laughter only seemed to be louder than the first time you heard it as you passed the stairs. Walking back into the room, you closed the door behind you and leaned against the doorway a sigh escaping you. 

Shawn turned around from where he stood by your bed, more buttons undone on his white polo. He looked towards you with confusion as you generally looked disgusted. “I don’t know how you think it’s okay that Demi and James are downstairs flirting heavily on the couch.” 

Though things were far from perfect, Shawn still laughed, “I think they’re cute.” 

You practically gasped at the sentence as your finger came up and pointed in his direction. “Don’t do that. Nope, not going to happen, mister. My brother, Demi, and cute are not all allowed in the same sentence.” 

He laughed again causing your chest to warm at the sound as you lifted yourself off the door and approached him. “Here,” you said smiling up at him as you handed him the shorts and shirt. 

“Thanks,” he smiled taking them, hand brushing against yours in the process. 

You stared at each other for a few seconds, before you brushed by him and over to your side of the bed. Sitting down on the edge, you looked back towards your window, away from him so he could change without your eyes staring at him. It was funny how you two were acting like earlier hadn’t happened. It was like he was denying that he had found out you had been sick and you were ignoring that he said he loved you. In your mind, it seemed like if you just passed by it without acknowledging it, it would all go away, and you weren’t sure if you were supposed to let it or not. 

“Should I take the guest bedroom?” his voice broke through your thoughts and when you glanced over your shoulder, you found him dressed and hand gripping the doorknob to your door. 

You shook your head, a smile playing at your lips, “Shawn, don’t be ridiculous. You can sleep here with me. It wouldn’t be the first time we slept in the same bed.” 

It was funny to you, how he couldn’t be away from you at the moment but offered to sleep in the guest room. 

“I just wasn’t sure if you wanted me to or not,” he mumbled hands gripping the jeans and shirt he had been wearing all day. 

“Shawn?” 

“Yeah?” he replied. 

“Just shut up and get over here,” you chuckled pulling the covers back on your bed and crawling in. 

Dropping his clothes to the floor, near your nightstand, he slipped into the other side of the bed and without him even touching you, you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. He laid on his back, hands clasped across his stomach, and eyes staring at the ceiling. You were on your side, hand propped under your head, as you looked at him. Turning his head, his gaze met yours, and a pleading smile formed on your face hoping he would finally stop acting like earlier hadn’t happened. 

You wished that he would start asking you questions about what it was like the hospital or even better, kiss you and hold you for the rest of the night. But he didn’t do either of those things. Instead, his hand moved towards your nightstand where he turned your lamp off engulfing the room in darkness. 

You sighed, disappointingly, falling onto your back on the mattress. Your head sunk into the pillow, and your eyes locked onto the dark ceiling with one thought on your mind as silence filled the room. Maybe this was the end. Maybe you and Shawn were a mistake and it was best to stay just friends. You hoped that wasn’t the case but as of the moment that’s what it was looking like was going to happen because he wasn’t acting like the man who claimed that he loved you. No, he was acting like the best friend who was sleeping in your bed and was too scared to move in case he would end up accidentally grazing your thigh giving you the wrong idea. 

You didn’t know how much time had passed. Was it an hour? Two? Or had it only been thirty minutes? You weren’t sure but what you were sure about was that Shawn was still awake too. His breathing wasn’t light and steady like it would be if he was sleeping and every couple minutes you would hear him sigh which gave it away that he wasn’t asleep. 

Not able to take it anymore, you leaned over his body and turned your lamp back on. You sat up in the bed, knees to your chest, to meet his tired eyes that were very much open. His eyes locked with yours and within seconds he was sitting up too, covers falling down his chest and into his lap. He looked at you worriedly, that single ‘s’ shaped curl hanging across his forehead. 

“I can’t sleep,” you mumbled simply. 

“Why? What’s the matter?” Shawn asked either acting clueless or in reality, happened to be so dumb that he was that clueless. 

“What’s the matter,” you retorted sending his words back at him, “What’s the matter is that we’re lying here and you can barely say more than four words to me. A few hours ago you say that you love me but now it’s like you’re scared to even touch me.” 

Your hands found their way to your face, covering your eyes so you wouldn’t have to look at Shawn. It falls silent for a good thirty seconds before you hear a deep breath from Shawn and then feel his warm palm land on your knee. He scooted closer to you too and you could feel how warm he was as his skin touched yours. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized chin falling onto your shoulder, “It’s just I can’t stop thinking. Can’t stop picturing you in that hospital bed without me there by your side. You told me and that should be enough but I guess it’s not if that’s all I can think about.” 

Hands falling from your face, you heard turned to him. His face was only inches away from yours. His eyes were wide and no longer looking droopy and tired and his lips were puffed out almost asking for you to lean over and kiss them.

“Please just tell me something,” he begged to give your knee a light squeeze, “I know it’s probably hard to talk about but I need to know something. Anything about what it was like in that hospital.” 

You nodded, forehead bumping his lightly, as you reached forward to brush the curl back and out of his eyes. Sitting back against the headboard, your hands fiddled with the comforter in your lap. He laid on his side, hand running up and down your thigh for comfort as his amber eyes were zoned on you. 

“I don’t really know where to start except that it was hard,” you sighed, head falling back against the wood frame, “The chemo was probably the worst part. It does a lot to a person. You’re constantly dizzy, you don’t ever feel like eating, and always think you’re going to vomit. Honestly the only thing, I can think about that wasn’t completely horrible about it all is that during chemo they would give us these cancer popsicles that tasted like oranges. That wasn’t so bad I guess. Oh, and in the spring, sometime after I had been given a room when the cancer started to get bad, Patty, the sweetest nurse at that hospital, would sneak me outside in a wheelchair so I could enjoy the fresh air. I would just sit there soaking up as much sunlight as I could as the breeze danced across my dry skin. Those were the best days, I think.”

You smiled softly at the memories, of Patty and how she had always managed to balance out those bad days with some good ones. She was a light of sunshine who cared about every single one of her patients and at the top of her list, a spot had been created for your name. 

Eyes looking back towards Shawn who laid silently watching you, you knew there was more you should say. So reaching down, you lifted your shirt revealing your stomach. his orbs followed the movement and widened as they locked onto the three pink scars. Two of them were small and on your waist, either side of your belly button while the third was large and extended below that horizontally, a few inches long. 

“The worst day, I would probably have to say is when they told me I would have to get a hysterectomy if I wanted to survive,” you whispered, tears filling your eyes, “They took my ovaries, uterus, and my fallopian tubes and I remember after it happened, I remember the only thing I could think about when I woke up was that I was never going to be able to have any babies. This plan that I thought I had for my life had changed and I realized that I would never be able to do the one thing that a woman’s body was made to do. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to give, the man that I would someday spend the rest of my life with, a child and that alone is so unfair.” 

At this point, tears were slowly falling down your cheeks, as you stared at Shawn. His eyebrows were furrowed and a frown played on his lips as he looked at your sad state. Slowly without a word, he leaned forward, and his lips found a safe place along your stomach. He kissed softly at the left scar on your waist, and after a few seconds switched to the other. 

A sad sigh fell from you, hand moving up to knot in his curls as his warm plump lips moved lower towards the largest scar, the one you despised the most. “I really wanted to have a baby someday,” you cried as he kissed at the sensitive skin gently. 

After another minute he sat up and you let your shirt drop, recovering your stomach. Both of his hands cupped your face where his thumbs went to work wiping underneath your eyes until there were no more tears staining your skin. Then he wrapped his left hand around the back of your neck and pulled you closer to him. Your face sat along the dip of where his neck and shoulder met as your arms wrapped around his strong torso. Shawn’s nose nestled into your hair and for the next few moments, you both sat there enjoying the comfort that was brought to the both of you.

“I knew that I was right,” his voice rang through your ears causing you to sit back so you could look at his face as he talked, “I wish I hadn’t been but I knew that I was right.” 

You were confused, “About what?”

“The hair,” he answered simply and you gave him a small look that said you were thankful he changed the subject, “I knew that you were too crazy to ever cut it.” 

“You’re right about that. Too bad it wasn’t my choice,” you admitted hand slipping under his, James’s, t-shirt. Your cold hand splayed across his lower back, the warmth instantly spreading across your palm. 

“Eh, I like the short hair,” Shawn admitted reaching up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. 

A soft smile rose to your lips, as your other hand found a place near the collar of the white shirt, where your thumb began to swipe across the skin on his neck, “At least you didn’t have to see me bald.” 

“I bet you were beautiful,” he responded, gaze falling down to your lips. 

You could feel your cheeks heating up at his words. Your breathing was getting heavier and at first, you didn’t know what to say in response. It was silent as Shawn sat, hand cupping your cheek while the other moved to your waist. His eyes were locked onto your lips and the only thing you wanted at that very moment was for him to kiss you. It was killing you the longer you waited and you were practically squirming under his touch. You could smell the remains of his cologne and the cinnamon that always clung to his skin. He leaned in closer the smell invading your senses as his forehead leaned against yours.  

“Shawn, please kiss me,” you whispered and without a second to waste he obliged. 

You sighed happily, eyes fluttering to a close as you fell back into the mattress, Shawn falling on top of you. Your legs wrapped around his waist pulling him in closer towards your body as his lips molded with yours. Your body reacted instantly, melting against his. His thumb stroked your cheek lovingly and all you could think about was how soft and warm his lips were against yours. It made you realize how in many ways it was like the first kiss you ever shared. Sweet. Soft. And all around life changing.

next part

[peace-coast-island]

Diary of a Junebug

Wandering around the Raindrop Park

Lately I've been feeling kinda off - I can't quite put it into words. The weird thing is, the events that happened over the past few days don't affect me directly - as in it's directly related to stuff happening to friends that have little or nothing to do with me. It's basically me being somewhat emotionally invested in someone or something even though I barely know the person. Kinda like the whole how do you miss someone you never even knew sorta thing.

Maybe part of it has to do with a lot of changes happening around the same time in the span of roughly a year or two. By that, I'm talking about a specific group of people - Jamie's entourage, to be exact. Since the entourage disbanded, everyone has still been keeping in touch for the most part. And since then, a lot of members have moved on, pursuing bigger things, working on new projects, coming a long way since the entourage days. A lot of them were just starting out back then and now here they are.

A couple weeks ago, Roselle passed away. It wasn't a surprise since she told us about her prognosis last year, but still sad nonetheless. She was a former teen idol actress and singer turned director with her own production company that she co-founded with a friend. I became a fan of her during her Amanda Savannah days, a role that shot her to stardom as a kid. Like many in her position, she had a sort of love-hate relationship with the character who made her famous.

After Amanda Savannah ended, Roselle wanted to take a break from acting to focus on college. During that hiatus, Roselle was going through a lot of changes, including being diagnosed with stage four cancer. Nearly a decade after Amanda Savannah, Roselle reemerged from the public, starting from the ground up as a director. As for acting and singing, she was willing to keep that open, but realistically, the chances of her going back to either one were slim to none.

I remember when I last hung out with Roselle, about a year ago, when we visited Windcrest Wolf, not too long after the beginning of the end. Roselle has been keeping us updated with her video diary, Business as Usual, which is basically about her final year. The end was quick for her, which is what she had hoped for, so she was able to carry on for as long as she could. In her final entry she said that she was at peace with her life and that she was ready to go, ready to see her mom again after all these years. A few days later she was gone.

That's why I'm here with Jamie and Nedra at the Raindrop Park. Well, part of the reason - there's another thing too. Another death unfortunately, one of someone who I never got to meet.

Two former entourage members, actress Nedra Aylen and stuntman Allan Townshend crossed paths due to a tragedy. Allan's cousin Stef was one of Nedra's close friends at Starling who was gravely injured in a motorcycle accident. The crash left Stef in a coma for years before passing away weeks ago, a few days after Roselle's death.

According to Nedra, Stef and Allan didn't have a good relationship as Stef was abused by his parents. I don't know Allan as well as Nedra, but he comes across as someone who's making an effort to right his wrongs. It still doesn't make up for his past actions, which he is aware of. The two visit Stef at the care center but other than that, they don't interact with each other much.

Given how different Nedra and Allan are in terms of their social circles/personality/upbringing, and such, it's unexpected that they ended up crossing paths through Jamie. Nedra's a classical actress, preferring the stage over the screen while being prolific in both. Allan does stunt work, which I don't know too much about, but basically it means he and Nedra, although they were in the same entourage, had absolutely nothing in common other than Stef.

People always talk about how important it is to form connections, especially through tragedy. You'd think that Nedra and Allan would at least be able to bond over that, but in reality, you can't always share your burdens with someone. In the case of Nedra and Allan - at least the way I see it through Nedra - them being friends won't do much with that burden they carry. That's not to say they're dealing with their problems alone - in fact, they're quite well adjusted despite the circumstances - it's just that they don't need to seek each other to help cope.

It's not that they dislike each other, it's just the fact that they're so different in such a way that forming a connection would feel forced. Nedra says they do keep in touch but other than that, they don't feel the need to keep up with each other. It's good to form connections, but sometimes there's people you just don't feel the need for a strong bond with, and that's okay.

I have a feeling that's the case with Nedra and Allan - they share a struggle but don't need to rely on each other to pull through. Sometimes it just works out like that.

Nedra believes that Allan wants to make peace with Stef, which is why he visits her regularly. Although he and Stef were never friends, they were close to coming to some sort of a truce, with Allan more likely to side with Stef than against her. After all, why would Stef decide to intervene on that fateful day when Allan backed himself into a corner? I imagine the guilt of surviving the accident as well as being the reason why it happened is what pushed Allan over the edge. Nedra says it's not up to her to forgive him for how he treated Stef, but she's willing to give him the benefit of the doubt as what he's going through is punishment enough.

Like with Roselle, Stef's death wasn't unexpected either. By then, Nedra knew that she was already long gone. She says it feels like a weight off her shoulders, the relief of knowing that Stef can finally rest in peace instead of being stuck in limbo. I can't imagine being in Stef's position, stuck to machines keeping me alive even though it's futile. I don't think I'd want to be kept alive on life support if it won't do anything except prolong the inevitable.

When I'm gone, let me go. I don't want to die a slow death where I become nothing but a husk of who I was.

Nedra stuck with her to the very end. Allan was there too but he kept his distance. The end came quickly and quietly, her heart stopped beating and that was it. She says it's been rough, but not as difficult as she thought it would be. Then again, she said she already made her peace with losing Stef so I think that helped a bit.

I can't imagine losing two friends in a short time like what Nedra's going through right now. That's why Jamie invited her along her travels so she can take some much needed time off, leading to us crossing paths at the Raindrop Park. Before coming here, Jamie and Nedra spent the weekend at the Sparkling Spa Resort, which they said they enjoyed a lot.

After the Raindrop Park they weren't sure where they were gonna go next before deciding on the camp. The timing happens to be perfect as another entourage member's gonna drop by later on along with some other friends for a fun event. It'll be good for Nedra and Jamie to see Jean again as we were talking about how she's one of the busier members.

Maybe one day I'll get Marlo to meet Jean and Nedra as she's big fans of them. She and Don are planning to come back, likely during a camp event, so maybe I can finally make her dreams come true. I told Nedra about Marlo and she's totally down for a get together with her and knowing Jean, she'll be all for it too. Now, if only we can find a date and time when all three are available...

The Raindrop Park is one of those places where it's easy to get lost in. Watching the raindrops fall is strangely mesmerizing, I can't take my eyes off them. In a way, I think it's a good thing, probably because I've had so much on my mind regarding the stuff I just mentioned, so maybe I needed to take the time to process the information. That, and of course, writing my thoughts out once I finally found the words.

Along with the mesmerizing raindrops, another thing that sticks out to me is the decor, like the benches. I really like the leafy designs of the benches and lampposts - a lot of art inspiration around here. The foliage is lovely too and the raindrops really add to the aesthetic. I'm partial to rainy days so of course I'd be drawn to something like this. The cloudy, somewhat gloomy sky seems fitting enough as well. Even though it's gray, there's still some sunlight poking through, so it's not completely dark.

The fog in my mind's clearing up a bit, even more so now that I've put my thoughts on paper. I also think being with Jamie and Nedra also helped, especially knowing that Nedra's gonna be all right. It's rough, but as she said, she's made peace with it. And as for Roselle, she was able to make the most out of the time she had left so she was able to leave with no regrets.

I hope that when the end comes for me, I can leave the world the same way Roselle did. Is that asking for too much?

[marawritingstuff]

ASHES

Gwen twisted her finger in her short black hair.  Normally, she loved the 500-mile drive from St. Louis to Detroit, the fields filled with horses and cows. Except on holidays, few cars cluttered the highway until she got close to the city.  She cherished her visits to her Aunt Ann with her oversized sweaters and non-stop cups of tea.    Aunt Ann wasn’t her destination today.

           Four hours on the road signaled the half-way point.   She pulled her rusty Camry into a rest stop.   Time to get, yuk, vending machine burning coffee to keep her awake for the rest of the ride.    Gwen even missed her boring job of entering columns of useless data, anything but visiting someone she was supposed to call “father.”   She downed the rest of her coffee and made her way back to the car.

           It had been more than twenty years since she had seen her father, and that was merely a glance across the room at her cousin’s graduation.    The situation was a dire one now.   The diagnosis of Stage IV lung cancer left only one outcome.   He squandered his life on two or maybe three packs of cigarettes a day.    Was it the guilt from what he did?   No, Gwen thought to herself, the man she knew felt no guilt.

           Dang.  She almost missed her exit.   Bringing her thoughts back to the present, she turned off the interstate and made her way to the medical center.   Due to all the problems with Aunt Ann, she was very familiar with Henry Ford Hospital, so it didn’t take her long to find the information desk and the bored volunteer behind it.

           “What room is James Harper in, please,” Gwen inquired.

           “OH! Are you family?”

           “Yes, I’m his daughter,” Gwen said, sighing to herself.

“He is in intensive care, room 201,” the flustered volunteer proclaimed.  “You will

need to stop at the desk at the ICU to gain access.  Do you need directions, I can . . .”?

           “No, I know my way,” Gwen said, already making her way down the hallway.

As instructed, Gwen checked in at the ICU and strolled to her father’s room.  She felt like covering her nose from the antiseptic smell of the hospital but thought twice.

           As she entered the room, she saw a thin figure laying on the bed hooked up to five or six machines. She supposed the purpose was to keep him alive.  She stifled a laugh when she caught sight of the thin frame in the bed, never remembering him under 300 lbs.  Though it disgusted her, Gwen sat in the chair next to her father.

           Within minutes, a nurse came bounding in.

           “Ms. Harper?”

           “Yes.”

           “A doctor will be in to speak with you in a few minutes,” she said, her body shaking at every word.   If the staff only knew how she really felt.

           “Thank you.”

           She continued to look at her father.   She wondered if he could hear her.  The relevancy was immaterial.   There were no more chances for confrontations.

           “O.k., asshole, the time has come. Forty-years later for you to pay.  No last rites for you. I may have only been five, but I know everything that happened that day.”

Gwen was transported back to her five-year-old self. On that snow bound day when

everything changed.  Six feet of oppressive snow trapped Gwen’s family in their tiny three

bedroom home.  The portrait of her family was the usual one; nine-year-old brother Luke watching tv, Dad eating a sandwich on the couch, mom outside working, and Gwen in the corner trying not to make noise.  Hours passed when Mom came in, tears streaming down her face.

           “What’s wrong with you,” Gwen’s father bellowed, his face scrunched up.

           “I can’t shovel anymore.  My back and my hands hurt so much.”

           “The driveway isn’t uncovered yet.”

           Gwen’s mom started to ball.   Gwen didn’t think she would ever stop.

           “Fine.   Give me that stupid shovel and I’ll do it myself.”

           Gwen’s father stomped out of the house.   Luke and Gwen ran to the window waiting for the emanate eruption.      As her father started shoveling, Gwen noticed a strange black figure coming down from the sky.  

           “Luke do you see,” pointing to the figure.

           “Stop making up stuff again, stupid head.”

           This was not the first time Gwen had seen things that others had not. Before she had time to consider the figure further, her mother let out an ear-piercing screech.  Their gaze turned to their father, now laying on the hard ice.  None of them wasted time getting to his side.

           The deep groaning.  Their mother’s scream. Her brother’s crying. These would be imprinted on Gwen’s memory forever.  But above all was the black figure descending upon them.   As it came closer Gwen recognized the shaped as a coal black angel, with wings spanning twice the size of the already seven-foot body.

           “I need to speak to your father, little one, “it said to Gwen, in a voice that shook the child.

           “I’m too scared.”

           “Shut up Gwen, we are all scared,” her mother screeched.

           “I’m talking to the black angel.  He wants to talk to Dad.”

           “Not your stupidness, now,” her mother said, tears running like a river.

           Gwen’s father’s eyes grew large.  It was then that Gwen knew he could see the angel, too.  

           “YOU’RE DEATH AREN’T YOU,” he cried.

           The black angel looked at Gwen and repeated:

           “He can’t hear me.  You have to talk for me.”

           “WHAT, I CAN’T HEAR YOU,” Gwen’s father squealed again.

           “I can hear him, Dad,” Gwen said, shaking, waiting for her father’s response.

           “Well, tell me fool.”

           “You are going to die now.”

           Gwen repeated the angel’s words and her father burst out in tears.

           “But you can sacrifice two for one.”

           Gwen tried her best to repeat again, though she didn’t understand the word “sacrifice.”     “I don’t understand,” her father said through the tears.

           “Choose two to take your place.”

           Gwen barely finished when her father began to shout out.

           “Take the girl and my wife.”

           Her mother, who had thought her husband was hallucinating, jumped in.

           “Take me where,” she began to ask.

           However, before she finished her thought, the angel swiped her mother into his large black wings and held her tight on one side.

           The angel reached for Gwen.

           “I never wanted that stupid child anyway,” her father said.

           “Do you truly want to make a sacrifice,” the angel said, and Gwen repeated.

           “YES.  YES,” My father shouted.

           The angel turned away from Gwen and swiped up her brother in its other wing.

           “What are you doing, take the girl,” her father shouted.

           “Only something you care about can be a sacrifice.”

           Gwen repeated to her father.

           Before he could say anything more, the angel closed his wings, and what once was Gwen’s mother and brother turned into ashes.  The black angel skyrocketed into the air, back where it came from.

           My father got unto his knees.  Perfectly fine but sobbing uncontrollably.  

           “My boy, it took my boy, and left me the little bitch.”

           The story simply became that Luke and her mother were lost in the storm.   For some reason, the police never really questioned the ludicrous explanation.   It became apparent that her father had no interest in taking care of Gwen and she spent the rest of her juvenile years living with aunt Ann.

             Now she was here, watching him die.  

           “Help me,” he whimpered.

           “Help you what,” Gwen asked.

           Gwen turned her head to the end of the bed already knowing what she would find. The black angel.

           “Hello, old friend,” Gwen whispered.

           This time she only got a nod.

           “Sorry, old man, there is no help for you this time.”

           Gwen slunk back into the chair and waited.  And waited.  Deep into the night, an unidentified doctor came in and told her some sob story about them doing “everything possible.”  

           Then it happened.   He began gagging.  All the machines seemed to go quiet.   The nurses came in, giving their apologies.   Then asking what she wanted to do with her “father.”

           “Burn it,” Gwen declared, winking her eye at the soaring Black Angel.

[alolanrain]

It’s sad hour my dudes

Missing dad!au where Ash’s dad died of cancer when Ash was five and Delia is a Bad MomTM in this AU. She makes sure that Ash doesn’t remember his dad at all because she secretly started to fall out of love with the man at the time.

Ash’s dad was Champion of Johto and top Elite Four for Kanto while Lance was the reverse, Champion of Kanto and Top Elite Four for Johto, making them fast and the bestest friends ever in their life. They also traveled during their first Journey a while ago. Ash’s Dad, Aaron, absolutely adored his son and always squirreled Him off to Johto when Delia allowed him to. It broke his heart because he knew he was dying but never told Ash because he didn’t want his son to miss him. Which Delia took that moment to say that Ash’s dad wasn’t coming back because he was traveling to become a very strong Champion and let that fester in her sons head until Ash started to hate and actively forget his dad.

Ash is also basically a mini copy of Aaron, the only difference is that Ash has gotten Delia’s height and brown eyes while Aaron has bright blue eyes. Delia also forced Lance and the other Elite Four our of Ash’s life at that point, flaming it as an act of grieving but she really didn’t want Ash to become a Champion even though Ash still wants to become a Pokémon master.

This doesn’t come to head until a giant event is being held on Father’s Day and the league shows off a small video of each Champions father or male guardian they grew up with. Ash was expecting Kukui because the man had practically became his father while in Alola but he was absolutely shocked when a male that looked just like him but taller with blue eyes came onto the screen. Little four year old him was situated in the man’s lap and was shying away from a Richu.

“It’s alright little one,” the man cooed, taking Ash’s little hand and holding it palm up so that the Richu could inch closer and put one of its own paws gently into his hand, “see, Riri won’t hurt you.”

“It’s so soft!” Ash gasped. Wiggling closer as to see if every other part of fur is the same. The Richu edged closer to, leaning down until it could nuzzle it’s snout into the top of Ash’s hair making the little kid gasp and giggle. “It’s soft papa! Riri’s soft!”

“I know munchkin.” The male, which just had to be Ash’s dad, chuckled.

“Ri!” The Richu cooed nosing Ash’s forehead and face gently while Ash continued to giggle.

The camera shakes and the sound of Lance’s voice floated through the stadium speakers, “now that’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Uncle Lance!” Ash squirmed a little in his dads lap to face the Kanto Champion while Riri was still cuddling up to him. “She’s so soft!”

“Oh is she?” Lance asked. Reaching over and jostling the camera even more to pet the side of Riri’s head. The Richu cooed and tried leaning into the man’s hand while still nuzzling Ash to death. “Well I be darn!” The man mocked gasped, obviously humoring Ash who ramped up his giggling, “she’s super soft.”

“The softest!” Ash declared before turning back to focus more on Riri.

“M’glad my two buckaroo’s get along so well.” Ash’s dad said more to himself.

“Ash gets along with almost every Pokémon, Aaron.” Lance jabbed a little with his fingers into the man’s side. Making him squirm and send a playful glare over to him. “Except Beedrills.”

“‘Cept Beedrills.” Aaron sighed. A slight pain look on his face appeared before melting away into one of the most softest looks Ash has ever seen.

The video ended there before another one started. This time who ever was holding the camera was a little bit away from A small lump on the ground.

“What are you doing Ash?” This time Aaron’s voice sounded behind the camera. And Ash, who was wearing the same clothes from the last video but was now exceptionally dirty, straightened up with a worried look.

“Papa I found a hurt Pokémon!” Ash called. Making his dad mutter a small curse before jogging the rest of the way.

The camera jerked with the movement until it caught the top of Ash’s head as both looked down on an extremely weak and malnourished Pichu who barely could glared at the two. Little harmless sparks glittered around his cheeks and that made Ash flinch away slightly into his dads leg.

Aaron places a comforting hand on top of Ash’s head as he turned and called for Lance to bring a kitchen towel. “It’s okay Ash,” his dad mumbled, “it’s to weak for it’s electricity to hurt you.”

“You sure?” Ash mumbled. Becoming shy and turning his head into his dads pant legs. Looking like the Pichu would jump up at any second and attack him.

“I’m absolutely positive.” Aaron soothed. Petting Ash’s hair as Riri ran from the house behind them and came skidding Over to her trainer and son. Cheeks sparking as some fur along her spine spiked up like something dangerous was going to happen. Only for her to flatten her fur as her eyes gazed at the weak little Pichu who tried hissing at her.

Ash watched as the two electric Pokémon’s cheeks light up, Pichu’s being much fainter then Riri’s. “What’re they doin’ Papa?” Ash asked in a stage whisper.

“Well Ash,” Aaron started, “Electric types like to communicate by their electricity. It’s like their own little language outside of using their voice and our human languages.”

“Wow.” Ash’s Bambi brown eyes sparked with curiosity.

“But don’t go touching their electricity when their speakin’,” his dad warned, “it’ll shock you something fierce.”

“Did you get shocked papa?” Ash asked. Not tearing his eyes away from the two mouse Pokémon.

“Oh multiple times, Uncle Lance still falls for it to sometimes.” Ash’s dad huffed.

Ash giggled at that and gasped in excitement as he turned back and saw Uncle Lance, along with a younger Agatha, jogging across the back yard over to the forest line where Ash and his dad were sitting.

The video ended when Aaron went to exchange the camera for the towel Lance handed him.

The third and last video started up right after. The camera was far away again, what looked like the person was standing or sitting on the back porch of the house.

It had a clear view of Aaron in a low hanging hammock with one of his feet planted on the ground. Gently swaying him with Ash napping on his chest. Riri and even the new found Pichu were curled with the two humans. Riri has taken up the side that Ash wasn’t curled up in and the Pichu was napping down lower on Aaron’s chest.

Aaron himself was gazing at Ash with another soft look. Watching his sons little chest go up and down. Matching with Riri’s and a little slower then the Pichu. The short video cut off with someone chuckling softly behind the camera and the lense pointing down onto the wood of the porch before the screen went black.

The crowd was silent for the most part and so were most of the Champions, they didn’t recognize the man and Ash was to preoccupied by staring at the black screen, mind working millions of miles a millisecond.

“Your dad loved you a lot Ash,” Lance was the first one to speak. “He was extremely sad to find out that he had a rare cancer in his lungs and the doctors couldn’t find a cure, so he spent as much time as his jobs allowed with you until he passed before your fifth birthday.”

“He...” Ash’s throat felt to restricted and dry, “he had cancer?” Everyone paused. Lance looked at him with a weird look.

“Didn’t Delia say anything to you?” Lance asked. Looking more concerned by the second as Ash struggles to answer.

“Mom never mentioned him besides the fact that he wouldn’t be able to come to my fifth birthday become he left us to go become a great trainer and possibly a Champion in the future.”

Murmurs spread around the stadium. The other Champions looked at each other in confusion and Lance was starting to grow tense.

“Don’t you remember your dad at all?” Lance asked. Taking a few steps forward towards Ash. Pikachu had jumped up to the platform the Champions were on from where the other main Pokémon were standing. Cooing at Ash and circling his trainers feet.

Ash took a moment. Digging deep into his memories, trying to Find an inkling of this man he saw on the screen. He started to panic as time slowly inches on. Hands spasming at his side and eyes flickering all over the place.

“Ash?” Lance asked. The other Champions were looking at him too. Worried at Ash’s expression. “Do you not remember your dad?”

Ash’s mouth started moving but no sounds, from what he could tell, where coming out. He took a step back as his mouth continued to flounder and brain short circuited. He didn’t even notice that he started crying his cheeks were covered in them. The next thing he knew was Lance charging station him and pushing Ash up the tiny flight of stairs with Pikachu hot on their tail and back into the hallway the Champions came out of when the announcer called him. The next thing was distantly hearing said announcer announcing a half an hour break.

Ash slumped against one side of the hallway half way down and Lance didn’t push him further. Allowing Ash to sink down into his ass and for his hands to clench the side of his head. Sobs racked his body as those videos played in his head over and over again.

How does he not remember his dad? Why didn’t Mom say anything? Why did she lie to him? Was she hiding something else from him? Why did He never see pictures of his dad aroudn the house? Didn’t Mom love him? How the fuck did he forget his dad?!

[olliestcne]

TITLE: CALAMITOUS LOVE AND INSURMOUNTABLE GRIEF. SETTING: John and Sharon Stone’s residence aka Oliver’s childhood home. DATE: August 27th, 2020. PREMISE: John Stone has something important to tell his three children and his wife. TRIGGER WARNINGS: DEATH AND CANCER.

Death has never been a thing Oliver has fully comprehended. Everyone in his family was present and beaming, oozing a kind of everlasting life that most would beg for. Sure, his grandfather died when he was young, but that to him always seemed inevitable. When you’re old, you pass. You go somewhere nice as you’ve lived a full, happy existence. That’s as far as Oliver’s brain can manage the concept of death or loss. It was simple. Simple but naive.

He gets a text from his father early in the morning. Something about a family meeting. Urgent. Oliver takes it with a grain of salt, as do his siblings, as usually it’s about where they were going to go next as a family and what they were going to get mom for Christmas because she was a kind but picky woman.

Oliver shows up at around 5pm.

“I already got mom the little Pandora bracelet last year. I can get more charms. She likes those, right?” Oliver says upon arrival, plopping down onto the armchair in the living room. It smelled like his father and always has. This entire home smelled like his childhood. Like his mother’s favorite vanilla lotion, like the smell of popcorn on family movie nights. He would feel empty without this space, that much was certain.

Charlotte, John and Sharon’s youngest, barks out a laugh. “No way. We need to step it up this year. Maybe some diamond earrings.” Charlotte had just given birth three months ago, her husband was home with the baby. A new little bundle of joy welcomed into the Stone family. They couldn’t be happier. 

Thomas, John and Sharon’s oldest, arrives right after Oliver, tossing his coat on the back of the couch. He circles into the kitchen and grabs a water for himself before sitting down beside Charlotte. “Dad already got her diamond earrings for a birthday one year. That’s weak, Char.” He says, unscrewing the cap to his water and taking a generous sip.

“Where are they? Are they late to their own family meeting?” Oliver says, leaning over the arm of the chair into the hallway just behind him. “Hello! Your children are here!” Oliver, forever suffering from middle child syndrome, was always dramatic. Looking for attention. Hence the theatrics.

Sharon walks in nervously then, her expression fallen. This alone was jarring, especially since they were the most chipper family known to man. Yet, Oliver tries not to jump to conclusions. His mother was always the harder of the two, coming from a bad childhood and a family who basically disowned her. She was a survivor, a warrior. There was nothing to worry about.

But, then comes John, seeming tired and, of course, nervous. Just as Sharon. The living room goes a little silent, none of them expecting such a strange and unsettling entrance from their parents. Charlotte’s brows furrow, watching as her parents sit on the other couch located beside the fireplace. “What’s...going on?” She asks, knowing Oliver and Thomas were thinking the same thing.

Oliver suddenly feels the rhythm of his heart increase. He has to swallow hard to contain himself. He was already dealing with a plethora of problems within his marriage, he didn’t need more. What could this be? Were they just messing with them?

“You’re getting divorced, aren’t you? Is that it?” Oliver says on the brink of tears already, nervously balling his hands into fists. “Oh my God, you’re getting divorced. Oh my God...I guess one of you can stay with me and Eli for a while and I-” Always dramatic, this one. 

Sharon shakes her head, reaching her hands out, “No, baby, no.” She says, interrupting him before he falls into the deep end. “We’re not, never.”

Thomas, always the more noble of his siblings, sits back, preparing for what’s about to happen. They all know it’s not good but it’s as if Thomas was in the front of the trenches, protecting his siblings from impending doom. 

“Your father has something to tell us. I don’t even know, actually...” Sharon says, earning  a strange sound to come from Charlotte. It’s a noise of shock and confusion, all four of them now looking to John. 

A few moments pass. Nothing comes. Nothing comes until it does.

“I have lung cancer. Stage four.” John rips the bandage off and creates a new wound. The room goes so silent you could hear a pin drop. It earns a ringing to sound in Oliver’s ears. His eyes dart back and forth between his mother and his father. John’s expression remains still. Tired, sad. And Sharon looks shocked into silence, just as her children.

“You —” Thomas says, being the first one brave enough to break the silence that blankets them. “When did you —” He’s holding back, Oliver and Charlotte can tell. It was odd to see their older brother struck like this. Usually, he was their protector, someone they can go to when things were tough. But, they were all in this together now, sprung into a state of confusion and hurt.

It’s then Oliver realizes he’s started crying, hot tears silently streaming down his face. This can’t be happening, is the first thought that pops into his head, this can’t be fucking happening.

“We — Well, we have to get treatment. We have the money, we can —”

“No,” John says, interrupting his wife. Sharon is instantly taken back by this, eyebrows knitting together in a way Oliver has never, ever seen before. 

But then he registers what his father just said. No. No? He wasn’t getting treatment? This can’t fucking be happening.

“What do you mean no?” Oliver says, or perhaps spews, out. He doesn’t mean to sound harsh but it all comes spilling out of him. It doesn’t pair well with the state of his face, decorated with tears still streaming from his blue eyes. Charlotte’s begun to cry too, silently, just like Oliver. Her breath hitches for a moment before her face is buried in her hands. This was something she did even as a child, a way to calm herself when she became anxious. Their mother would usually rub her back then or sing to her when this happened. But, now, Sharon couldn’t do a damn thing but stare into the face of her husband. 

“I don’t want you guys to see me like that. Losing my hair, throwing up. I want to go as I am now. As a man who loves his family.” John, understandably, gets choked up as he speaks. John Stone doesn’t want to die, but he doesn’t want his dignity stripped from him either. Oliver wasn’t aware that his father was such a prideful man until now. Something about that earns pain to surge throughout his body. 

That same silence blankets them once more, each of them too rattled to say a damn thing. Oliver feels as though a scream is perched just under his chin, a combination of sorrow and anger beginning to brew inside his stomach. 

With that, something inside him swerves, like a car on ice. He loses track of his emotions and they go flying around his mind, everything all at once. “What the fuck?” He finally says, moving to stand, “You’re gonna just — you’re gonna just...die?” It’s not what he wants to say, not at all, but he can’t find the right words anymore. It earns a sob out of Charlotte, her head still in her hands. Thomas reaches over to touch her back. 

“Ollie, this is what I want. I know it’s hard, but...” John says, looking up at his son with glossy eyes. Oliver was still crying himself, his bottom lip quivering as he opens his mouth to speak. Nothing comes out, just a pathetic little breath. Sharon up and leaves the room and her children watch as she does so. Sharon Stone was not a crier. Never has been. She was the strongest and bravest woman Oliver has ever known. If anything was going to break her, it was this, and she still didn’t want the world to see her in that state. Oliver understood that.

Oliver looks to Thomas, who was also sporting glistening eyes, before allowing his gaze to land back on his father. “Can you say something, please? Our father’s lost his fucking mind.” Thomas sighs before speaking after Oliver, “You need to get treatment, dad. You can beat it.” Stage four was a hard thing to beat, they all knew that, but the Stone family has always been endlessly optimistic no matter what the circumstances were. 

John remains quiet.

Charlotte stands, grabbing her things and heading out the front door. It’s slammed behind her as she makes her way to her car, shaking as she shoves the keys into the ignition. Charlotte had never contemplated death either, that much was obvious. 

John’s head moves into his hands, rubbing over his tired face with his palms. Thomas looks down at the carpet, his body and face turning to marble. He was still, like a quiet sea. Meanwhile, Oliver was an ocean with violent waves. 

“I can’t believe this..” Oliver trails off, looking down at his shoes. Then to the carpet that was still the same from when he was a child. Everything was the same. Except for this. This feels like a nightmare in a perfect place that threatens to spoil everything. 

By a sudden stroke of impulse, Oliver inhales sharply and walks out too. He follows the same trail his sister left, slamming the front door behind him as he makes his way to his vehicle. He slams the car door too, looking out towards his childhood home one more time before pulling out of the driveway with tears in his eyes. In truth, he tries not to sob, though the lump in his throat was growing larger by the second. 

His hands tremble violently as they grip the steering wheel, eyes focused on the road as that sheltered sob finally rips through his throat. 

Oliver arrives him at 9pm. He had to stay late at work, he’ll say as an excuse. He kisses his daughter’s head, his son’s cheek, and his husband’s jaw as they sleep. He stays up for the rest of the evening into the morning, staring at the carpet in his living room. This wasn’t happening.

[lcngview]

✈️ — ⌜park jimin, cismale, cis male⌟  ↝  have you heard ? it seems like the heir of the HAE was very close to Liam Yu too. they go by ISAAC and they were Liam's MUSE. their network is of 87M and they’re only TWENTY FOUR … what a burden it must be. i heard they can be very ENERGETIC and LIGHT-HEARTED but these last few months, their RESTLESS and EMOTIONAL personality has been showing more. the media is sure having a filled day with them! i hope this road trip with friends will help them. did you know that LATE NIGHTS AT THE DANCE STUDIO, NEW TATTOOS THAT HIS PARENTS CAN’T SEE,  A GRILLED CHEESE WITH TRUFFLE OIL AND HANGING OUT WITH THE FAMILY DOG DURING DINNER PARTIES really show their true persona ? maybe Liam was the only one who knew that.

hello my darlings!! i’m lis and this is my cinnamon roll isaac. he’s a old muse of mine that i’ve decided to repurpose so there’s still some random holes in his backstory i still have to figure out so pls excuse me. i’m kind of a hot mess all the time honestly but ily all already and im v excited to start writing with you! you can find me on discord ( *𝙡𝙞𝙨.#2158 ) or we can just chat on tumblr <3

oh also you can find isaac’s pinterest here! its not totally finished but u know.

basics.

name: isaac hae gender: cis male. age: twenty-four ( 24 ) sexuality: homosexual. birthday: december 14th. zodiac: sagittarius hometown: new york, ny.

physical.

faceclaim: park jimin. hair: naturally black, currently dyed and styled like this. eyes: brown. build: despite his small stature he has an athletic build with strong legs from dancing.

tattoos: [he has a few artsy ones mostly on his back and ribs where his parents can’t see them but i'm too lazy to list them rn, i’ll get to it eventually jfkjsbjk] height: 5′7″

languages: english, korean

+ traits: energetic, light-hearted - traits:  restless, emotional

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bio.

↳ isaac hae was born and raised in new york ctiy as the only child to two real estate developers turned luxury hotel owners in december 1996.

↳ his parents weren’t around much when he was growing up so he was raised mostly by the families butler Simon; as a result, isaac isn’t really all that close to his parents. to this day, despite having lived on his own for the past 6 years he still makes it a point to go to the family estate to see Simon when he can.

↳ isaac was around five when his parents began enrolling him in various afterschool activities; soccer, piano, tennis, archery, but he knew he had no interest in doing any of those things. he wanted to dance. after a few months of begging his mother gave in and enrolled him in a contemporary dance school. while his father was never silent about his dislike for his only son being interested in dance isaac never really cared, he barely saw his dad anyways.

↳ it didn’t take long after he started dancing for his teacher to notice his natural talent and isaac quickly became the most skilled dancer in his year, the competition trophies and metals quickly filling up the bookshelf in his bedroom.

↳ when isaac was around twelve his mom was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer almost out of the blue. this dropped a bomb on his relatively normal life up until that point. the next nine months were spent in and out of hospitals as his mom got treatment from the best doctors in the world. despite the fact that he was never all that close to her the fact that she was sick and not getting better made him rethink their relationship, she was his mom after all. 

↳ after his mom passed isaac spent the next few years throwing himself into dance more than usual while the relationship with his father quickly deteriorated. the only time his father made it a point to talk to his son was to ask about school and how the college search was going, only interested in the future reputation of the company his son would take over. 

↳ isaac eventually graduated high school and ran off to college, wanting to escape being under his father's thumb as quickly as possible. this was where he met liam. the older boy had wandered into the dance studio one day while isaac practiced for an upcoming showcase asking if he could watch and while he was confused at first he eventually agreed. 

↳ the first few times all liam did was sit in the corner and watch isaac while he practiced, only asking a few questions but not really speaking much beyond a greeting and saying goodbye. by the third or fourth time liam showed up at the studio he didn’t come empty-handed like normal, instead he had a sketchbook which he had immediately opened once isaac started dancing.

↳ it wasn’t until a few weeks had passed that isaac learned what liam had been doing, why he had continued coming to the studio even after that first time and was now sketching him. he had been painting isaac... and not just once either. after some coaxing liam eventually showed isaac the paintings.

↳ it was from that point on that liam and isaac developed an interesting relationship, anytime the older boy was feeling particularly uninspired he would come watch the younger one dance. isaac wasn’t totally sure what it was about his dancing that inspired liam but he didn’t ask, genuinely enjoying the company as he was usually alone in the studio at night. eventually the two became actual friends, keeping in touch even after liam had graduated. 

↳ the next few years isaac spent dancing and working towards his business degree (to appease his father and the board of directors) before eventually graduating and moving into one of the penthouse apartments owned by his father's company in downtown new york city. 

↳ despite being in the same city as liam (most of the time), with their crazy schedules it was difficult to see each other as often as either one of them would have liked. but liam still made a point to come to the studio to watch him dance when he had time. 

↳ currently isaac works for his dad and dances at a nearby studio whenever he’s not at work. 

tldr; isaac is just a dancing cinnamon with some parental issues spurring from his moms death and father just not being around. 

------

personality.

isaac can be a sassy little shit when he wants to be, typically always joking around and always in a good mood. it’s very rare to see this boy have an off day. despite this isaac has the most insane worth ethic which is why he is either practicing at the studio or working, rarely letting himself have any sort of off time (he prefers it this way tbh). at the end of the day isaac is really just a giant ball of sunshine wrapped up in a cinnamon roll. all he wants is to be your friend and make sure you feel loved. (he doesn’t always save a lot of that love for himself though asfjhg)

-------

headcanons.

↳ third generation korean-american, his grandparents moved to the states in the early 1960′s.

↳ despite being comfortable with his sexuality he hasn’t totally come out of the closet to his family and doesn’t see that happening anytime soon. outside of his friends, he tries to keep his sexual preferences on the down-low, not wanting the media to get wind of it. 

↳ is NOT a morning person, never was and probably never will be. the only time isaac doesn’t have his sunshine personality on full display is in the first couple hours after he wakes up so he makes it a point to avoid everyone until he feels more like himself.

↳ isaac is absolutely terrible about his phone. it’s always dead or broken (despite being able to buy a brand new one) and he almost prefers it that way. this boy always has at least 17 unread texts and 9 missed calls at all times. if you are trying to get in contact with him it’s best to just give up.

↳ while in college he did his best to keep his family's wealth a secret, not wanting people to look at him differently just because he had a large trust fund waiting for him. 

↳ it wasn’t until a couple years ago that isaac realized he had a crush on liam and it scared the crap out of him. almost immediately after he came to the realization he knew liam could never find out and shoved the feelings deep down. isaac valued their friendship too much to ruin it but now kind of regrets not saying anything now.

↳ the duality this boy possesses is almost comical. day to day he is just isaac, the ball of sunshine and happiness most people know him to be but the moment he steps into that dance studio he turns into a different person. he becomes the type of person you probably wouldn’t want to bring home to your parents. isaac can turn this side of him on and off like a switch though most of the time he doesn’t realize that he is even doing it in the first place.

[studentlulu]

Disclaimer: Everything that I have written about is completely true and happened to me within the 2017-2018 year.  I wrote all of this as not only a way of coping with what has happened to me, but to come to terms with and helping me understand the difficulties and challenges I went through in the past two years.  I did not do this because I sought attention or for any other self-serving narcissistic purposes.  If you have read through this completely and have any questions for me or want to learn more, please feel free to personally message me and I will answer your questions to the best of my ability.  In addition, after you have read this through, if you feel like commenting, please leave only positive comments.  Please refrain from leaving any negative comments.

           My journey to college graduation has been a long and difficult one, full of twists, turns, and bumps along the way.  I entered into the University of California Irvine (UCI) as a Freshman in Sept. 2014 and fully intended to finish in Jun. 2018.  That would have been the plan if things had worked out perfectly well.  However, as we all know, things never go perfectly well, especially not with life.

           Sure enough, I was diagnosed with stomach cancer in spring during my junior year in 2017.  It was devastating news beyond comprehension.  I was so scared.  I was only 20! There were so much things I wanted to do!  I want to explore the world and I even planned to study abroad in Singapore that year!  I want to eat different cuisines from around the world! I want to do so much more! Now with this news, all of this has abruptly stopped!  Everything became dire uncertainty.  What do I do?  Do I have tomorrow?  How long? How do I tell everyone?  Who do I tell?  Most of all, how do I cope?  My mind went ballistic!  My family was by my side when I found out, and we promised that we would get through this together.

           We discussed treatment options with my doctors and decided that I should go through one round of chemo, surgery, recovery, and then one final round of chemo.  Each chemo round was four appointments and would require me to come to UCSF Medical Center.  Due to the rigorous treatment plan, it was decided that I would have to postpone school till I finished treatment and recovery.  It was a very difficult decision, but it was the only way to deal with the condition.  So, I contacted the Bio Sci School of Affairs Office and told them about my predicament, and requested to postpone my education and enrollment until further notice. Thankfully, they were quite understanding and informed me that they would readmit me back to school whenever I was ready.

           Chemotherapy left me tired, nauseous, moody, and grumpy. It also left me very cold-sensitive and UV-sensitive.  Starting with my second infusion of chemotherapy, my hair fell out.  I slowly became bald and I hated my look.  I loathed the fact of losing my stomach even more!  I love food! Without my stomach, how can I eat? What can I eat?  How can I go to school or go on with life without my stomach?  Of course, not to mention the unimaginable constant need of going to toilet!  After the pre-surgery chemo was done, I then had the surgery to remove my stomach in early October 2017.  I was hospitalized for more than two weeks for that procedure.  Recovery from surgery was extremely difficult.  I was not allowed to eat what I wanted nor as much.  I had to mentally force myself to ignore my hunger feelings as my brain needed time to adjust to the fact that there is no stomach to store food.  I had to eat ¼ the portion of a normal adult meal.  This proved to be arduous because I love food and love to eat.  In fact, when I was healthy, I could eat as many portions as I wanted and sometimes, I would finish others’ leftovers.  Wasting food is a crime, I believed that.  In addition, in Chinese culture, it was considered respectful and a sign of appreciation to be able to eat as many portions as you could.  I couldn’t do that anymore with a smaller stomach size. What if others who did not know about my condition became misinformed and thought I was eating less and being disrespectful?  With this new body, I totally resented the fact that I could no longer eat as much because I equated it as I would no longer able to enjoy food!  Recovery was very painful; and I hated the “heathy” but very bland food that I had to eat.  What is there to look forward to when I could not even enjoy the most basic thing in life: eating?  Life seemed bleaker at every moment passed.  Only the constant encouragements from parents and others kept me going, but barely without passion.

           Another chemotherapy soon went underway after surgery. This time around, my physical reactions were worse, and my mental stage sunk even lower.  I developed dry heaving.  I could not stop scratching my skin, I was extremely tired and fatigued, sometimes unwilling to leave the bed, and there were times I did not want to take in or even eat food because the mere sight of it made me ill.  Then, on Dec. 19, 2017, during what was supposed to be my second fusion of chemotherapy during my final round of chemo regiment, something went terribly wrong.  I went into anaphylactic shock due to negative reactions to chemotherapy.  I could hear my younger brother (chemo treatment center only allowed one relative staying with patient) franticly calling me, and I could barely hear my nurse called out “Code Blue” before I lost consciousness on the treatment chair!  When I faintly regained my consciousness, I felt heavy stuff on my chest.  I believed that it must had been my unconscious will to live that kept me alive.  Or perhaps the prayers from parents and my families had kept me alive.  Or perhaps it was not my time to die yet.

           I was extremely fortunate that I was under the care of the world-class doctors, nurses, and other medical professions at UCSF Medical Center, because they revived and saved me.  I woke up in the emergency unit after 4:30 pm with my parents on my bedside.  I had been out for at least six hours.  I wound up staying in the hospital for observations and treatments for two days. IV chemo treatment was discontinued after that; and the doctors prescribe another form of chemo treatment for me.

           I went back to school after completing treatment during spring break in April 2018.  I wanted to go back to school so badly for a change of venue and for a more “hopeful” environment.  A familiar place where I thought I had better control of life.  After all, I had been in a school environment all my life.  Ironically, as I started back to school, it was ending for many others.  As everyone else was enjoying their spring breaks, I was slowly readjusting back to school.  It felt weird to be returning to school towards the end of the quarter.  School was so quite.  I got new roommates who were very friendly though.  For that, I was grateful for their kindness.  

           I found it very hard to stay off social media and see everyone else’s progress.  I was supposed to be part of the graduating class of 2018 that quarter, but I couldn’t.  Facebook was the worst place because many of my classmates and friends were posting their graduation pictures.  I would read their posts or look them over and I would feel terribly inadequate afterwards because I was not to part of that graduating class which I had set my heart and my mind to be a part of.  I felt like a big failure.  I failed! That was the only two words that occupied my mind.  I fell into darkness.

           To prevent myself from feeling worse I tried my best to stay as far away social media as I could.  I would call and text my parents, often in tears, asking whether I could have done better or been better to graduate on time like everyone else. They would often reassure me that I had (a) done my very best, (b) that everyone finishes college at their own pace, (c) there’s no rule saying that I had to finish college in four years, (d) that I went through something extraordinary that most people could not comprehend, and (e) that I could reach out to medical professions or my trusted relatives or friends to seek their opinions.  To my parents, I stood up to cancer and I won!  Such accomplishment and my life are worth every bit of celebration!  I should be very proud of what I went through and had achieved.  Sometimes their comforts worked and made me feel better; but more often they did not because I felt that my parents were not me and could never understand what I had gone through.  Talking to my therapist and sometimes my cousin D (who was also a licensed therapist) temporarily helped me to sort through my feelings, as it seemed to be a safe place to open up and freely express myself emotionally.  

           However, no matter what, I still had to live with my new physical form.  I hated this new me: missing organ, patched up body, and no amount of time would ever restore it!    

           Summer rolled in.  It was much worse for me than spring.  During the summer I was trying to find employment while living on my own. The long periods of unemployment dragged me down to spiral back into the same emotional depression I faced in spring. I started to question my self-worth and believed that because I did not finish school on time, I was stuck here as a failure, forced to finish school late, or attempted to finish school now, while my classmates graduated and moved on with their lives.  I was stuck in a negative emotional spiral; and the worst part of it was that it was self-inflicted.  At that time, I didn’t see it, and couldn’t get myself out of it. It was a negative self-hatred cycle, one that I found comforting and validating in its own twisted sort of way because it was the one thing that was being truthful to me in my life.  I felt that everyone else, including my mom, stepdad, cousins, and friends, knew nothing about what I had gone through personally.  I felt like they did not truly mean what they said about being proud of me and loving me. Even worse, I had forgotten what a champion and fighter I had felt like completing chemo and cancer treatments. What I had gone through no longer felt like an accomplishment worth celebrating, but a laborious task that anyone could have done or gone through.  It was no longer impressive.  Instead of saying to myself, You went through something terrible and came out of it a stronger person, I found myself saying instead, So what you went through chemotherapy and finished your cancer treatment? Thousands of people do that every day. You’re nothing special.  YOU’RE not special but a failure!

           The negative self-hate caused me to cut off contact with loved ones, even my immediate family.  My mother tried very hard to keep contacting me and was concerned for my well-being.  Once, when she called me to ask me why I hadn’t spoken to her in a long time, I finally managed to choke out, “I don’t want to talk to you because I’m angry and I hate myself, mommy.  I hate myself and want to end it!  I don’t want to talk to you about it or let you know.  You would never understand!”  My mother would respond, “Your feelings are always yours and no one can truly feel exactly.  However, please note that you are loved and not alone.  We are here for you, always!  Just let anyone know that you are around or reach out to anyone you trust. That’s okay.  You had been so brave to go through so much in your young life. Every bit of your life is worth in solid gold!”  Of course, I could not listen to her. I cut her off and took her out of my contacts. That’s how deep I was in my own dark world!  Without me knowing it, Mom never gave up on me and had clever ways to send encouraging words to me.  Today, in my clear conscience, I cannot imagine the amount of anguish my mother must had in hearing her own daughter said she hated herself.  

           I ceased having social interactions with others because I did not want to be around others who, I saw and viewed, as not supporting me and my thoughts.  The few times I did speak with others I sometimes got into emotional outbursts. I wound up treating my mom and others as emotional punching bags, venting out my angers or more negative emotions on them.  At times, I would even text them to tell them that I found life unbearable and not worth living, and that I wanted to end my life.  My behaviors were so reckless but I was not in the right mindset to realize them. I was in such a deep depression stage and only focusing on all the terrible things.  I learned later that my suicidal threats made my mother go into emotional breakdowns and become physically ill.  God, what hell I had put my mom through!  I regret such awful behaviors!  If only I knew what I know now.  I am sorry.

           What finally pulled me out of that negative spiral for good was my witness in person to my mom’s unconditional love.  In September 2018, I came home for my follow-up doctors’ appointments.  My parents sat me down and had a heart-to-heart talk with me.  We talked about things and addressed my negative spiraling emotions.  My mother looked me in the eye and told me that she could not believe what I had said or even considered giving up on living.  “Life is precious,” she said, “please take good care of it, and always carry a grateful heart!”   Especially since my dad went through the same thing and so much worse, yet he never gave up and fought to the end.  He was a true fighter.  In addition, my mother’s boss has a daughter, in my age, who went through the same thing, but she never gave up.  In fact, she was now in Africa doing volunteer work. As we talked, I learned of the efforts my mom and stepdad made behind the scenes to keep me well.  I could see and feel mom’s passions for life and for me as she held back her tears.  I saw for the first time in person how my actions and words had deeply hurt her.  I could see how much my life meant to her, and I will always be precious to her and a part of her.  I could see how I had misunderstood my parents.  My struggles were their struggles, plus much more.  I’m a survivor and indeed I should be proud of it!  

           I decided that it was time to change.  I changed how I saw things and decided that I would only focusing on positive thoughts instead.  I changed my perceptions of my new body.  I shifted my focus on the bad things happened to me to how I can use my story to inspire others.  I changed my mindset about future outlook of my life.  God has given me many chances to live, that’s got to mean something.  I am intended to find my purpose in life. I will keep trying my best and never give up.  

It’s been two years since the initial diagnosis and over a year since I finished treatment.  I haven’t shared my story publicly until now because of many reasons, but mostly fear of criticism from others.  However, it is my life, and it is my story.  As time passes, I have gained more confidence and strength in myself. More importantly, I am here today because I have so many giants standing behind and supporting me.  I owe it to them, all of those unsung heroes, to share my story as an upcoming UCI Class of 2019 graduate.  And no, I did not graduate late, I graduated just right on time.

Acknowledgement and Thanks: I would like to thank my mom, stepdad, brother, and both sides of my family for their love and support during the difficult times in my life.  I would also like to thank Dr. Korn, Dr. Nakakura, Ms. Renee Wang, Nurse Lana Taran, Dr. Jaime Cohen, and the rest of the medical teams and staff at UCSF Mission Bay Hospital.  You are literally my life-savers!  At UCI, I would like to thank the Bio Sci Student Affairs Office for being very understanding of my situation, allowing me to take time off to recover, and allowing me to re-enroll again after I regained my health.  Thanks to Mr. Cheng Ko at the DSC Office for registering me with important resources on campus, as well as helping me get reacquainted and readjusted with school after I returned.  Thanks to Ms. Sheena Danesh for helping me find important resources to use when I first got diagnosed, such as the DSC, and when I returned to school. Also, thank you for helping me with the multiple doctors’ appointments that I had to attend.  I would also like to thank Ms. Adelí Duron and Jane Killer at the VSC for their support and understanding, as well as answering any questions I had about financial aid.  I would also like to thank Dr. Eldridge and the UCI Counseling Center for seeing me for the past two years since my diagnosis and upon return from treatments.  Thank you for providing me with a safe and secure place for opening up emotionally and tools to deal with my stress.  Finally, to the countless unnamed friends, people, and others along the way who helped me or motivated me along the way.  I could not have gone through this alone.  

Thank you so much.

Love,

LuLu

[daniellepstevens-blog]

Soon You’ll Get Better

I haven’t talked much about my experience with anyone in my life. So this should be healing. I was 21 years old.  I remember the moment my mom called me to tell me she was sick. I was at work, opening up a store alone. She said calmly, “I have something that I need to tell you. I have cancer.” I said “what?” My mom is one of the strongest people I have even met and private until necessary. I remember sitting in my store, customers coming in, my face beat red from crying, and them turning around and leaving the store. The next person wouldn’t arrive for an hour. This was an hour of absolute torture. I finally was able to leave. Forty minutes from her, I rushed home. I remember seeing her face, which was unusually relaxed for someone who had just found out they had cancer. Personally, I am someone who holds in my emotions and takes action. I called my boss and immediately started a leave of absence. I had made the decision on the spot that I was not going back to work till my mom was better. Days later, we walked into the doctors office to find out all of the information of what to expect. My mother had stage 3 throat cancer. She wasn’t even a smoker. The doctor said “The good news is I think we will be able to beat this cancer, the bad news is this is the most painful, demon of a cancer treatment.” Just before treatment started, she had to have a feeding tube placed directly into her stomach due to the fact that the radiation would completely stop her from being able to eat naturally. Radiation begins, Monday through Friday for months, and months. Chemo on Wednesdays each week. The pain was unimaginable. At 21 years old, I was completely in control of all of her medications which included extremely dangerous drugs. I fed her through her feeding tube as she laid there asleep. I fed her slowly for 8 hours a day so that she wouldn’t feel nauseous. Later into the treatment she was virtually unable to swallow. Buildup of thick saliva would get stuck in her throat and she would choke on it. I would reach in her mouth and literally pull it out. I realize this is a little dark, but cancer is dark. We are a few weeks away from the end of her treatment. Her doctor wants to start weening her off some of the extremely rough drugs she is on and up her Fentanyl patch. I asked them if they would keep her in the hospital if they were going to make this huge change of drugs because I just did not feel like I was capable of handling it. They assured me her body would be fine with the change. Boy they were wrong. I woke up every couple hours to check on her as usual, and early that morning I just felt like her coloring was a bit off. She was TURNING BLUE. My mother was overdosing in front of my eyes from the dose of the patch they had put on her. I called my brother and aunt to get over and they were there in minutes. We all made the decision to call 911 immediately and thank god we did. They got there, she was minutes from death. They stuck her with Narcan and all of the medication that she had been on for months and months all were shocked out of her body which is extremely dangerous. She started projectile vomiting blood and had a look of absolute confusion and fear in her face as they wheeled her by us into the ambulance. And don’t forget, she is vomiting out of a throat that she can barely swallow out of. Imagine the pain. My mom ended up in the ICU for over a week, then bumped to a normal floor for days, and eventually came home. To say this was the scariest moment of my life doesn’t even begin to explain my feelings. Working so hard day in day out 24/7 to keep her alive and then a change of her medication being what could have got her is absolutely insane. Mom is officially home. We as a family are exhausted. We just took everything one day at a time. And slowly she improved and got her functions back. Fast forward, I am 30, and I still have my mom.

I had a boyfriend at the time who I have to say was very supportive of me leaving my job and taking on the responsibility of bills which was so kind. But ultimately the ptsd I had from the whole experience put a huge dark cloud over our relationship. Understandably so, he was young, had never been through something like this before. I guess our relationship just was not strong enough to handle such a life altering situation.

It took years for me to be ready to be with anyone again. The pain from my mother and my breakup was just too much to handle at such a fragile age. After some serious healing, I met a guy who would be a friend for over a year before we decided to date. He was supportive on every level and so easy to be with. A year into our relationship, we got a call from his mother that his dad had went into the hospital and it didn’t look good. We drove six hours to the hospital to see him. After some testing had been done, the doctors told us that he had pancreatic cancer and wouldn’t ever leave the hospital. And he did not. He passed away 18 days later. Which on that day, we found out his mother had breast cancer. His mother ended up doing months of radiation and beat hers.

Two months later, my boyfriends cousin, a 21 year old Army Ranger took his own life. My poor boyfriend had never experienced pain like this in his life. But thankfully I know what its life to live through such hard times, and I was not going to abandon him like what had happened to me. He was a wreck for about a year. He didn’t feel like it was okay to be happy. Slowly, after many unwarranted fights, and moodiness, he began to see light again. We stuck together through it and at that point we knew we would be able to get through anything.

Fast forward, we got married in June of this year. The day after our wedding, his mother came to our hotel room to tell us that she has extremely aggressive uterine cancer. She had a full hysterectomy but still needs highly aggressive chemo and four radiation treatments. Our current goal is making her laugh and keeping things light. I bought some fun colored wigs and brought them to her before she lost her hair. We both put them on and went to the store to be silly. It made the though of losing her hair less scary. We spend every third Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday together as she gets her 6 hours of chemo.

I am not even sure if anyone will read this. But if you do, know that life is scary. There is just about nothing someone can do to make you feel happy when someone you love is sick. You just have to take things day by day. And if you are like me, when things get rough you internalize your feelings, have some sort of outlet. Mine has always been listening to music. Soon you’ll get better inspired me to write this novel to release my pain.

If you are ever in pain, feel free to reach out to me. <3

Taylor, thank you for writing a song that hits so close to home.<3 And I am so sorry for all that you have been through. @taylorswift​  @taylornation​

You’ll get better soon,

‘Cause you have to

<3

[babygirlstm]

was that safiye demirci seen walking around the garden ?  the 25 year old, escort started working here december 2019, and has gained the reputation of being kind + reserved. they are heteroflexible and are into bondage + d/s, but not scat play.   here at the garden they have been matched with daniel sharman, milo ventimiglia, stephen amell, david gandy, douglas booth, ben barnes, paul wesley, ask mun for other fcs for pairs  — ayça ayşin turan, cisfemale, she/her 

BASICS

full name: safiye demirci

nickname(s): saf, safi, safiye

age: twenty-five

date of birth: november 15, 1994

gender: cis-female

orientation: heteroromantic heteroflexible

education: high school graduate

occupation: escort

positive traits: kind, organized, nurturing, versatile

negative traits: reserved, self-destructive, insecure, subservient

HEADCANONS

safiye was born to a single mom who was also a turkish immigrant in new york. her father was from the navy, but he never came back for them. or at least, that’s what her mother told her. she has only ever seen him in pictures but has never really met him in person.

the brunette led a pretty normal life. they lived in a small apartment in brooklyn and her mother worked to make ends meet. she studied hard in hopes of getting a scholarship for college and providing a better life for her mom. it was all she dreamed of. however, those dreams were shattered when her mother was diagnosed with a stage 3 breast cancer just before she graduates high school. there was no way she could take the scholarship she was granted with and leave her mother all alone. instead, she started working to pay for her mother’s medical bills.

working as the secretary of a powerful man didn’t come easy at first. she had to keep up with him and she did make a few mistakes here and there. he has been strict, but he also gave her another chance whenever she does something wrong. he was also kind and even affectionate at times. when her mother passed away after a year of working for him, he offered a shoulder to cry on. they say to never mix business with pleasure and that was her first mistake.

he was the one who introduced her to the world of d/s when she caught him in one of his sessions in the office. she’s been more than eager to learn even if she’s been nervous then since she’s never slept with anyone before. he was all of her firsts, including the first one who broke her heart. she was his submissive for around four years and she worked for him for five years. but after he got married, she made the decision to resign.

leaving that job, she didn’t know what to do and ended up doing a few different jobs before finding out about the garden. none of the people she dated were able to give her what she desired, so she has hopes for this place. besides, it’s not like she has anywhere else to go anyway.

due to caring for her mother, safiye has a very nurturing side and she could act like a mother hen sometimes. pretty much a sweetheart though she could be a little shy at first. however, she’s definitely a freak when it comes to her sexual taste. she’s very much into giving up complete control, marking, choking, collaring, bondage, toys, dirty talk, exhibitionism and a lot more that she’s always open to being introduced to. 

as for some wanted connections, she’s been here for around five months so i’d love for her to have some friends.

as well as regulars. she has an innocent face, so it’ll probably be a surprise sometimes as to how experienced she actually is. 

maybe even some new clients and stuff.

i’d also love her previous boss tbh

even an ex from before, those who dated while she was trying to get over her previous boss

as always if anyone wants to plot with my bby, just hmu or give this a like and ill come to you. xx

[laylasantcs]

Name: Layla Santos ( Jeanine Mason ) Age: 28 Years Old Pronouns: She/Her Hometown: Phoenix,  Arizona Time lived in Atlanta: 6 Months Occupation: Waitress ( Cartel Fighter ) Character Quote: “ I thought I saw the devil, This morning, Looking in the mirror, drop of rum on my tongue.”

@atlanta-rpgstarters​ 

Okay so, Layla has a tortured past and has triggers including, death, cancer, military, PTSD and cartel? She’s broken I’m sorry.

Layla grew up an orphan after her parents were lost in a car crash. Born to two Mexican citizens who had taken up home in America, when they were suddenly gone it meant that Layla was left with no one to care what happened to her and sure enough she was placed in the system. For whatever reason nothing stuck. It wasn’t that she had a terrible time in the homes, there was never any of the abuse or the horror stories that you sometimes heart of, but she didn’t find a home. With each new home came a new school and the blonde soon learnt to look after herself because there was no one else that she could lean on. Layla continued to bounce around the system until she was around 14 years old, and she actually managed to find a pretty decent older couple she didn’t hate - and even better they didn’t mind her. Four four years Layla stayed with the De Rosa couple, who had never been able to have children of their own and Layla had ended up being their unofficial daughter. Though she was never adopted the two of them became like her parents, and she let herself feel connected to two people for the first time in her life

It seemed however that Layla’s happy ever after was to be short lived. It was the winter of 08 when her pop’s feel sick. Though she had been in her first year of college she immediately moved home to help her mom take care of him. No matter how much they tried though they lost Pops a few months later. Layla had been so wrapped up in making sure that her Pop was okay that she failed to notice that her mom had been deteriorating before her too. Just two weeks after the funeral of her Pop’s Liliana came home to find her mom collapsed on the floor and the two women were rushed to the ER. Layla ’s mom was diagnosed with stage four brain tumor and much to Layla protests she declined treatment, there wasn’t anything that could be done to save her, it was only going to delay the whole process. Day’s later 19 year old Layla held her moms hand as she passed in the early morning of the hours and Liliana lost the only family that she had ever known. It didn’t take long for Layla to begin to spiral, drinking, sleeping all day, arguing with strangers who wanted nothing more than to help - it was safe to say that she had hit rock bottom. She knew that she had to change though, she just didn’t know how. On her way to top up on wine and snacks with her fake ID  Layla eye was caught by a gathering of people at the front of a store. It was a recruitment stall for the army. Hovering in the background Layla listened in to what the woman was saying before she scooted off to do her own research. It was perfect, it was everything she needed, a purpose, structure, something that was going to give her guidance and set her on the right path. Spending the weekend at the welcome event  Layla was sold and signed up for the United States Army.

With Layla out of the house though, and with her never officially adopted she didn’t have any hold on the house that had been home for the past 5 years and whilst she was away at basic training the home was sold - and there was nothing left to show for it except a few boxes that were sent to base. Though she loved the army all sense of home was well and truly lost for her. She loved the new name she had made for herself, and she fit in well, but the constant moving that mirrored her child hood rooted her sense of wondering even further. It seemed, for a short while at least the world was going to be kind to Layla and she found a new family, they might not have been blood, but they had their flag on their shoulder and that was enough for them. Her switch to medic wasn’t a planned one but when she was required to patch up her pal or let him bleed she got a taste for it. Though she was already trained  Layla headed back to base where she trained and she was great at it. Good at keeping her emotions close to her chest, and her breathing steady she was the perfect medic, she could get in and get out without letting anyone know just how much trouble they may have been in.

At 25, the inevitable fall she had been expecting came when she was involved in an explosion whilst on tour, whilst she made it out, along with a few of the other’s that had been in her vehicle most of her unit was lost. The bumps and bruises heeled, but she never did, not a standard where they were happy to let her serve and she was medically discharged with PTSD.  Though she would deny it if you asked her - this was her turning point. Layla had always had hope but she was tired of loosing and picking herself up, the world had done nothing for her, and she was angry, she was angry for all of the time she had put in and that her happiness could never last for more than a few years. She was done with America, and decided to make her way home to Mexico, she had never been there, but maybe she would find something, just maybe.

As it turned out, something found her. She had been mid bar fight and winning when she was hauled into a van by two beefy looking individuals and before she knew it she was in the front of the Castillo Cartel, she was informed at that point she’d taken on two of their top members, and she was going to have to pay for the hospital bills she had run up. What was supposed to be a few jobs turned into a few more, and the next thing she knew - she was in. It didn’t take anyone long to figure out that people would pay to watch a mere girl of 5′3 beat the crap out of grown men, and it beat becoming a mule like most of the other girls like her. Fights with accidental death as a result became next to nothing, and for years now she’s been known for her fights, bruised knuckles and her pretty face has taken several hits.

Around six months ago, one of her fights went wrong, and a very important man ended up in a comma  - she never got told who she was fighting or who to go easy on but the son of a police chief had taken her on. He lost. To keep his prize possession of out the reach of the police the leader of the Castillo Cartel shipped her off to the Georgia to stay with one of his cousins, he likes to know she is safe, and being watched, far enough away no one would really think to look for her but close enough he can send for her in the higher paying fights.

[hogbullpup]

Ruminations-life, love, relationships

For the past nine months I haven’t been pursuing a boyfriend or boyfriends until either 1, my mental health improves, 2, I can move on from being a part-time caregiver for my mom and let my brother take over, 3, I can find a better job/career, or all of the above, but I’ve been feeling so lonely lately that I’m wondering if I should just say “fuck it” and get back on both growlr and twitter. Still, I feel like I haven’t gotten out a lot of my own thoughts about my personal shortcomings in my last relationship and other concerns before pursuing another one, and this is as good a place as any as no one’s really here anymore, so long story incoming...

About 6 years ago, after coming out as a proud lover of large, hefty men I started exploring chub/gainer communities around in the area and after a while found a big fella who ended up becoming my best friend, whom I’ll call C. We bonded very quickly; after a while we were hanging out once a week consistently and I soon developed feelings for him.

Around the time C and I were hanging out and bonding, my dad was diagnosed with stage four bladder cancer and 3.5 years ago passed away. 6 or so months after that C asked if I wanted us to be more than just friends, but I put him off because I was in a bad mental state, partly from my dad's brutal battle with cancer and partly from my own insecurities. This hurt C far more than I knew at the time, and I still don’t forgive myself for causing him that much pain.

Early 2018

Some time later, March 2018, I told C I was being dumb and that I loved him deeply, and we started dating, but he told me that in that time he had discovered the pup community and found a sir/handler, S, who was moving to the area soon with his other 2 pups. I on the other hand in that time had been looking for community with the Seattle bears and chubs, however I felt their scene was kind of cliquey, financially discriminatory, and on occasion racist (despite how physically attractive I found a lot of them--this was really frustrating for someone who is only attracted to bigger, fluffier men).

So in the first couple months of C and my relationship I started exploring the pup scene/fetish online and in a couple of gatherings, and enjoyed a lot of what I saw, but it also left me with more questions than answers (turns out I'm far more switch than dom) and C certainly couldn't answer all of them given the fact that he was still a very new puppy. He specifically admitted that the details of our relationship became harder because I wanted to explore pup play, but at the same time wasn't at all sympathetic because I was partly exploring pup play just because he was into it, which he really didn't like (I also lied about this which still makes me feel sick, and danced around the issue instead of just being honest and saying "babe I just wanted to explore and be involved in the things you like"). This became even harder for me because C was being quickly welcomed into S's family, and got his collar soon after they moved to the area. I didn't want at all to intrude on their family because it would be psycho rude and I didn't even know any of them, but I was also deeply protective of C at the same time, and didn’t know how to handle my insecurities. I wish I had the emotional knowledge then that I do now. Starting to date C was a big change for me going from open-but-committed to my first poly relationship, so I was upset that I couldn't explore poly WITH C. It didn't seem fair.

Jealousy took over and I started telling C that I might want to pursue a family like S had, because if he was able to build a family exclusively of cute, chub pups than so could I. C cautioned me that S got very lucky compared to most, and that the likelihood of me being able to find a few gay partners all of the chubby variety and all of whom are compatible was very unlikely, and even if possible would take years (but, to my frustration, he would never give me a clear NO). While this sat heavy with me and I knew he was most likely right, it didn't help with my feelings of complete helplessness and isolation in my situation. I continued to ruminate. A big part of it that I fully regret and admit to is jealousy, and I had no idea before this whole situation that I was such a jealous person. But there was also massive anxiety--the feeling that there was nothing I could do, a feeling I don't handle that feeling very well, and I think it made my jealousy worse.

So instead of being patient, exploring pup play, enjoying the chub/chaser relationship I had with C, and just seeing how things went, I BADGERED C for some 7-8 weeks with impossible questions like...

"how would dom (me) and sub (him) pup interactions work given the fact he already has a handler?" 

or "how can we ever belong to a larger family unit together (this was a big one for me) if your family is full,"  (I wasn’t his handler’s type anyway. He likes big chubs like I do so deep down I knew this was putting pressure on C to expand our relationship without asking if that was ok first),

or "what if in my explorations I discover I want want to be a handler or just part of a larger family, and somehow want you to be a part of that with me together without stepping on your handler's toes? How will that be possible?" (I knew C was an introvert and probably wouldn’t really have the energy/time to put into another complex relationship like that with me).

I knew that these questions were impossible to answer but still I continued to harass him, even though C told me on multiple occasions I was stressing him out and needed to back off and handle my jealousy and insecurities ("jealousy is poison in poly relationships", he said, and wasn't wrong). And in Fall, after a heated argument, he requested we take a 1 month break, which I spent learning to meditate and mitigate my anxiety and insecurities, while also begging fate for us to be able to stay together. When we met back up, I made my case that I was working hard to overcome anxiety and jealousy, but he told me the damage had been done. I was crushed.

Late 2018

After we broke up I continued to pursue meditation, but to be completely honest it barely kept the anxiety at bay and eventually I just gave up. I lost sleep over losing C for some 5 months, unable to clear my head of all those unanswerable questions for at least 2 hours most nights before falling asleep. I had lost both my best friend and lover, and at the time he was still rooming with my gaming friends and it was awkward for me to hang out, so I just felt alone, which is, without doubt, my one driving fear and what I wanted to avoid at all possible costs.

I remember thinking over and over again that I wished I had never put C off in the first place and had admitted my feelings to him sooner, but at the same time wouldn't have wanted anything to change as far as him meeting S and family. I just wanted things to somehow work between us as I explored what it meant for me to be poly.

Nov-Feb

In the months following our breakup I fought to recover from these feelings of loneliness by STILL continuing to attending pup social events and even a mosh (though I didn't participate in the mosh). It was hard when I would see S and his three pups show up, and I had to fight off nagging bad thoughts every time it happened. Still, I met a couple of very nice chubby pups who I bonded with and became friends. Sadly, despite liking both of them, one couldn't afford to live in Seattle anymore and moved back to Wisconsin, and the other (whom I really liked but was too damaged from my breakup to pursue) got adopted by a couple of husbands and moved just outside of Milwaukee with them. It felt like the universe was picking on me for my fear of being left out or rejected. I was alone again.

Somehow I persisted and survived, but my memories of the few months after that are such a dull blur I'm not sure I was even alive at the time. C and I are good friends again and I have a core group of friends (including him) who I feel close to and game with about once every 2 weeks. I still love him a lot but he's not looking for anything and I need to moderate my attraction to him. Also, time I spend hanging out with him is time I'm not spending looking for a big partner to call my own so I feel weird sometimes when I play around with him and my feelings are so fucking strong. I would like to find a guy I have that connection with who also wants to live together. It's depressing how hard something that simple is to find.

Anyways this has gone on for far too long, but I needed to write down my ruminations somewhere and also double down on goals and reminders for future relationships so I don't make the same mistakes I did before:

-If I'm attracted to a guy as much as I was attracted to C, I need to remember and understand that there probably will be major consequences to putting them off, even if it's for my own comfort.

-If a guy asks me to give him space, legitimately do it, and don't be actively looking for the next opportunity to talk about difficult things.

-If I date a man and he has a master or another family, I need to be happy for him, and not try to follow in his path, unless that's something he would enjoy/welcome (C didn’t, and I didn’t want to accept that). But also emphasize that a family like that is what I’m looking for and ask him to be gentle/supportive with me while I pursue it.

-If I date a man with a master, I need to be patient, respectful, and willing to communicate with him at his pace. After a while I can hopefully ask if I can work to earn the handler/master’s trust to not have to ask permission to do most things with my partner. If that option isn’t available, then it’s probably not the relationship for me.

-Accept that large men who are happy being large and soft are few and far between, and finding one into me is going to take significantly longer than a typical gay relationship, and that if I'm not out there looking, the few opportunities that are there are going to come and go.

-Learn to balance being flexible with knowing my limits, and knowing when to put my foot down. I honestly should have been the first to cut my relationship off with C because he didn't want his partners to cross or for sexual experiences in one bedroom to be shared in the other's bedroom. And right away that should have been a huge warning sign for me because that's something that's very important to me in a poly relationship (though at the time I was very new to poly so that was the first time I discovered what I wanted). I think I partly held on to him so hard because, other than my emotional feelings for him (which built up over some 3+years), there just aren't that many 300+lb non-judgmental guys who are going to find me as attractive as I find them. Regardless, no matter how many boxes a guy ticks for me, if something bugs me that much then I need to not settle.

-Patience. Patience. Patience. I need to learn to relax. It's possible that everything between C and I would have worked out if I'd just been patient. Perhaps not, but I'll never know how much I can accomplish with patience unless I try.

Well, I guess it's time to get back on growlr, dig up my old twitter, and hope for the best.

[lilsherlockian1975]

I need to unleash about my family and, unfortunately, I must do it here. Else I explode!

Feel free to ignore me but I could really use some love and support. It’s under the cut...

Backstory: About two years ago, I got into a HUGE fight with my oldest sister regarding my mother and her finances. I will admit, I’d made some mistakes. Let me be clear: I wasn’t spending her money - far from it - I had neglected to pay her property taxes at the house she all but abandoned when she moved in with us 7 years ago. Honestly, I lied to my sisters the handful of times they bothered to ask about it (they were more than happy to just ignore most of what was going with her and let me ‘deal’ with everything). I was overwhelmed and refused to admit that I needed help. 

**I hate to fail. Hate it!! Especially in the eyes of my family.**

So, I blew them off, “Yeah, all taken care of” when frankly, I had no idea what was going on with it. I didn’t have access to mom’s checking account was not (am still not!) on it, even though she has asked me to do so several times. It’s too much. I have enough on my plate to take on her money as well. 

I take care of her entirely alone. Not just a bit, I literally do everything for her except feed her and light her cigarettes (although on bad days or if it’s windy, I sometimes do). At our old house, she could at least get around, somewhat on her own, but not here. Someone (90% of the time me) has to wheel her from room to room and outside to smoke. 

Since moving, she seems to be in the beginning stages of dementia (I have a Speech Therapist coming over this week for an assessment). She has good days and bad. Sometimes, on bad days, she forgets how to walk - and when I say walk, I mean transfer from chair to wheelchair or wheelchair to toilet and so on. Last night, for instance, after her bath, she suddenly forgot how to stand and pull up her diaper at the same time. I was forced to hold her full weight of 200lbs and pull up the diaper at the same time. She put all her weight on my left shoulder, dead weight. I managed to keep her from falling, but because she’s so short (about 5′1″ and I’m 5′11″) I had to drop to my knees and brace her like I was changing a toddler. I thought she’d dislocated my shoulder but in now I think it’s probably just a pulled muscle. We’ll not talk about my knees, which aren’t in good shape from years of abuse, playing sports.  My point is: this is fucking hard. I quit my job to do this and it affects every aspect of my life, my marriage, my family. My typical day starts at 7.30am. If I’m lucky, Mom’s still asleep when I take H to school, but she’s always awake when I get home, yelling my name: Liiiiilllliiiiaaaan! In a sing-song voice. I HATE my name. Please never call me Lillian. Ever! I help her out of bed and into her wheelchair - about half the time she’s either soaked the bed (thankfully, my brilliant husband bought her a water-proof hospital mattress and it can be cleaned easily with bleach - but the laundry is another story), peeing through her diaper or crapped herself - no matter what time I get her up. We wheel into the bathroom and I clean her. If it’s bad (a nasty poo): Bathtime! If not, I still have to clean my mother’s bottom and girl-bits (repeat that about 4 to 5 times a day). She wants her meds next (my mother LOVES taking medicine) then wants to smoke, so it’s off to the porch. While she’s out there, I prepare her breakfast (usually an Ensure, some fruit and something sweet - old people love sweet things because those are the last tastebuds to ‘die’, or so I’m told). I’ve also been giving her some tea to replace the craptastic Diet Rite that I now refuse to let her have (she’s still mad at me about that one!). She’s usually good for about an hour or so, then it’s back outside for more cancer sticks. In between her smoking trips, I’m cleaning, doing laundry and P’s homeschooling (which is basically at an end, but he’ll be doing a smaller summer program too). Sometimes she naps, sometimes, when her bipolar is flaring, she calls me over and over, just for attention. I understand, it’s part of her and there’s nothing she can do about it. Then lunch (and clean up, because she always drops food) smoking, bathroom, smoking, bathroom. Dinner - clean up. Smoking, bathroom, smoking, bathroom. She’s suddenly refused to read - the only thing I remember actually doing from my youth - and now obsessively watches CNN. I feel responsible for this; I’ve turned my conservative, fundamental Christian mother into (and I’ll quote my beloved father on this one) a Pinko! She’s a liberal all of a sudden. Whatever. Every other day, she gets a bath. Once a week I wash and set her hair. I have to apply eye treatments, help her with her nebulizer, and administer her meds (if not, she overtakes them). I also try to keep her mind engaged, hoping it will stave off any deterioration that’s happening, talking about current events, reading my (not smutty) stories, asking any questions I can think of to make her brain ‘work’. She goes to bed at 10 on the dot every night and FINALLY, I can be alone with my husband if we manage to get the boys to leave alone, that is. 

Why would I do this? And, why am I bitching? I asked for it, right?

I’ve only mentioned this once before, and just recently broached it with my psychiatrist (because he figured it out, the sneaky bastard! “Lillian, did your father pointedly ask you to take care of your mother before he died?” - Internally: Of course he did, you sadist! Out loud: “Yes, he did. And I promised him I would.” - “What did he say? His exact words? I know you remember them.” - I really don’t want to do this... “Someone will have to take care of her, Lillian, she’s never taken care of herself. Never balanced a checkbook, never pumped her own gas. I can’t leave not knowing she’ll be okay. I love her too much...” I’ll never forget it. That man’s devotion is why I’m so fucked up! “And you feel like you can’t let him down?” Fuck me! Now I’m crying!)

I don’t know if he had similar conversations with the other kids (three of them, all much older and none of them with kids at home! Frankly, I don’t care. ALL of them make significantly more money than me and Mr Lil - we are practically destitute compared to all of them!) but I got her and she’s mine. I do this because it’s the right thing to do.

Now, to my current frustration, finally. Gin, my oldest sister, is selling mom’s house for $10,000. It may be worth more, but this is not my problem. Mom’s agreed to it and I don’t want to be involved. Her day to day care is my problem, not her money. I don’t touch it other than to reimburse us for what we spend on her, and nothing more. Mom, on one of her better days, told me she wants to pay me for caring for her, but I’m afraid about the backlash from the family. Mind you, she (alone!) makes more than we do as a family of 4. She also wanted to give us $2000 toward the house. I refused it for the same reason. She doesn’t know this, thinks I took it.  Gin has access to her account - she put herself on the account - she did this even though mom wasn’t really comfortable with it. Today, she texts me & our other sister in a group text, telling me to send a $3000 check to pay off the back property taxes (that she was supposed to be taking care of since I failed to... um, she failed as well, what do ya know?!). I text back, ‘can mom pay that much at once’ - she says, ‘yes’ - I still have to buy mom’s meds and a new walker this week and all her normal expenses, so I ask Gin how much mom has in her account. Her response? ‘Enough, Lillian. Just send the check.’. 

I ask you, how is that suppose to make me feel? It’s like she doesn’t trust me with the amount. Like I’m gonna go nuts and buy myself somethin’ French! But the idiot doesn’t realise that I have the account holder in my living room. I have mom call the bank and find out. She’s got well over $6000. How is that not enough to know that I’ve not been thieving from our mother?!  I’m so tired of being trusted to wipe her ass but not with anything else! I work my ass off for her - never going on vacation, never really taking much (or any) time for myself while the others take two, three, four trips a year. I can’t leave her alone and just go shopping or have a day out with my family. The other night, we wanted to go out to eat and try the new Mexican place in town. Mom didn’t want to go. We couldn't leave her, so... nope. Pizza again. When the four of us went to see End Game, my mother-in-law came to sit with her, not either of my sisters (and certainly not my worthless brother who, admittedly, lives 3 hours away but hasn’t phoned ONE TIME in the last 7 years to check on her... or me!). They couldn’t be arsed. Gin has promised over and over to ‘take her for the weekend, every two weeks’ to ‘give me a break’. It’s happened once, the weekend we moved. Never before, never again. She’s never really thanked me, even though she told our sister that she has. After returning mom after the move she told me that she told her husband, “Lillian deserves sainthood for doing this every day. Mom exhausted me and I only had her for two and a half days.” It was the only (I’m not even exaggerating) time she’s ever even mentioned how hard this is.  I don’t want anything from them. I don’t ask for their help because I know they won’t give it (my middle sister actually said, ‘don’t ask me to help with mom, I won’t do it’) but how about not making me feel like a dirtbag? How about, I don’t know, saying, “Hey, Lillian, Mom has plenty of money, you should pay yourself a bit every month. You work hard to make her quality of life really good and deserve it.” Or even a simple, “Thank you. Thank you for taking care of our mother, we appreciate that you do it and we don’t worry about her safety and wellbeing.” No one has EVER said this to me. Not once.