#cw: cannula

[michellemisfit]

It’s that time again… 🤷🏽‍♂️🛌💤

[harveylikestoart]

It is an absolute crime that i am ill AND in hospittle. I wanna draw some TURTS!!!! And alsp a dum dum dndads THING!!!!

[adverbally]

Think of the Tender Things

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “‘Keep breathing, please.’” | wc: 773 | rated: T | cw: hospital, premature baby | tags: adoption, new parent anxiety, hopeful ending | title from “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” by Simple Minds

———

The NICU has its own window, far enough from the regular nursery to seem intentional. It makes sense to Eddie, theoretically speaking— keep the preemies and the sick babies away from the healthy ones so the comparison isn’t so startling. It just doesn’t work that well if they have to walk past the full-term nursery anyway.

They pause to observe the fat, happy newborns who will be going home in the next day or two. They’re all chubby cheeks and chunky limbs, round little tummies swaddled tightly with matching caps on their heads, just like the parenting books advertise.

Steve’s hand squeezes his, and Eddie knows he’s feeling the same thing: that’s how it should’ve been, and all of the guilt and fear and bitterness that goes along with that line of thinking.

They keep walking down the hall until they reach the door indicating the special care nursery. The glass there is smaller, since fewer babies fit in a room when they’re surrounded with incubators and ventilators and monitors galore.

The second bassinet from the right has a card with a stork that says “Baby Boy Munson” and wow, that’s going to take some time to get used to. Eddie gets closer, almost pressing his nose against the glass, to get a better look.

“He’s so small,” Steve says beside him. “I figured he would be, but…”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. It says right there on the little card: three pounds, thirteen ounces. Sixteen inches long. Not the smallest baby there but noticeably smaller than the ones they just walked past. “A lot of hair, too.”

“Yeah.”

They’re quiet after that. There’s not much they can comment on before they have to acknowledge the fact that they’ve just become adoptive parents a full two months ahead of schedule.

Their son (holy shit) seems even smaller with the tubes and wires obscuring him. Eddie identifies an oxygen cannula, a feeding tube, chest leads, an IV, and a blood pressure cuff, plus a few other lines he doesn’t know the purpose of. When you factor in a diaper that seems to dwarf half of his tiny body, there’s barely any skin visible. And from what Eddie understands, they’re lucky that more serious care isn’t necessary.

“Thirty-two weeks. That’s not… it could be worse,” Steve said after they got the call from the adoption agency that morning. The whole drive to the hospital, he rambled about lung maturity and the suck/swallow reflex and birth weight, going into one of Eddie’s ears and out the other as he tried to focus on the road.

Steve was the one who read all the books. Even the parts about premature births and what could go wrong throughout the pregnancy. “I’d just rather know and be prepared,” he explained. “Just to cover our bases.”

Eddie had skipped those chapters. It felt like bad luck, like tempting fate or something, as if avoiding it would prevent anything from happening. In retrospect, he wishes he had more of a clue about what’s going on, what their future will look like.

Any future seems far away when the present is so uncertain. Eddie watches his son squirm, with his too-long limbs and his too-big head, and he watches his chest rise and fall with each breath. His tiny lungs are working and he’s moving and none of his machines are beeping, and that has to be enough for now.

Just keep breathing, please, he thinks desperately. Keep growing and getting stronger and we’ll worry about the rest later.

When Steve breaks the silence, his voice is small. “Do you think we can hold him? Or, or touch him, at least?”

Eddie doesn’t want to. He knows it’s just his anxiety talking, but he’s terrified that he’ll pull some essential line or do something wrong. He was supposed to have another two months to prepare for this. How do people prepare for this?

“Ed, are you okay?” Steve’s voice startles him back into awareness.

“Yeah, just…” He pauses to think about how to say it without alarming Steve. He settles on, “I’m scared.”

Steve throws his arms around Eddie’s neck and pulls him into a tight hug. “I’m scared, too,” he confesses in a whisper. “I think we’re gonna keep being scared for the next eighteen years, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do it.”

Eddie tucks his nose just under Steve’s ear and breathes him in, sweet shampoo and hints of spicy cologne in the collar of his jacket. They stay like that for long moments before Eddie sighs and pulls away with a decisive nod. “Okay. Let’s go meet our son.”

[echoingalaxies]

cw: hospital/medical stuff mentions, unspecified illness or injury

“You wanna pick up some food on the way?” Caretaker asked, steering her car out of the parking garage and to the intersection.

Whumpee, sitting under a blanket on the passenger seat, watched the hospital disappear as they drove away on the mostly empty highway. He rubbed the pit of his elbow where a small bandage remained to stop the slight bleeding from a cannula.

It had been a long day. New bottles of medicine rattled in the pockets of his jacket when he shifted into a more comfortable position and leaned their head against the headrest. They had sat in the waiting room the whole evening before finally being admitted, and discharged only a couple of hours after. Caretaker hadn’t even tried to argue with the staff anymore. It always ended like this. Not enough beds and not enough people to take care of the ones lying on them.

Whumpee knew he was lucky. He knew he’d be safe going home with Caretaker. But it didn’t mean he didn’t keep dreaming about the day he’d be taken seriously. He’d receive proper care. Otherwise he’d just have to keep going back, over and over again. More pills, more bills, more wasted hours.

“Hello?”

“Oh, uh,” Whumpee blinked, realizing he hadn’t actually given Caretaker a response. “No, I… we should just head home. You’ve got work in the morning, and it’s already way past midnight.”

His stomach let out a loud rumbling sound just then, and Caretaker gave him a quiet look, which Whumpee pretended to not see. He could fix himself a bowl of yogurt at home. Caretaker needed sleep. She deserved it, after putting aside her own responsibilities just to stay with him again.

“What if I told you I already took tomorrow off?”

"What?" Whumpee turned to her, shaking his head. “Caretaker, no. You shouldn’t have.”

Caretaker shrugged. “It’s Friday, we get to have a head start for the weekend. Won’t that be fun?” Her smile faltered slightly and her voice shifted lower, to more serious. “The nurse said someone should keep an eye on you — and I wouldn’t want to leave you, anyway. You still need help.”

Whumpee knew that. He looked down, fidgeting with the hospital wristband. If he’d kept every one of those he’d got even during the past year, he could probably sew them together to make full sleeves for both arms. Money was already tight, as Caretaker worked to support the both of them, and Caretaker missing work because of Whumpee’s various appointments and frequent trips to the ER had had their effect on their income.

“Yes, but…” he said, the familiar tearing feeling of shame finding its place. “I thought we would call Friend or Sibling to stay with me while you’re at work. We have before.”

“Now we don’t have to.” Caretaker glanced at him, frowning. “Do you not… want me to stay?”

“Didn’t they say you can’t keep doing this anymore if you plan to keep your position?” Whumpee asked. “You like your job. I don’t want you to risk losing it because of me.”

“They will understand. I told them it is a family matter.”

Whumpee’s cheeks got hot and he moved his focus away from Caretaker again, watching out of the window instead. They were passing by shops, parks, and pubs, taking many turns in the little streets of their labyrinth of a hometown. Whumpee hadn’t even noticed they had left the main road, but he definitely recognised where Caretaker was heading.

“You didn’t have to lie because of me,” he mumbled, as Caretaker pulled into the parking lot of a local, 24-hour barbeque restaurant they both loved. “About it being a… a family thing.”

Caretaker turned to Whumpee, finally being able to give him her undivided attention as she turned off the engine, smiling softly.

“I didn’t.”

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Pretty Goddamn Metal

Day #11 - Prompt: Jeff | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: Piercings/Needles, Language | POV: Jeff | Pairing: None | Tags: Jeff & Goodie: Best Friends, Goodie's At Home Piercing Palace, No, No, No, Yes?, Don't Try This At Home Kids, Eddie Munson is a Bit of Freak, In Case Anyone's Forgotten

"Are you sure?" Goodie asks, and Jeff nods. He's sure. 

Well, ninety percent sure. 

Eight-five, maybe. 

He is sure about the piercing, but way less sure about Goodie being the one to do it. Maybe they should get Eddie to at least supervise.

But it's too late for that now. Goodie has the needle, a huge thing that looks like it's probably gonna hurt. 

"That's a big needle." 

"It's a cannula." 

Jeff doesn't know what the difference is. It still looks vicious. 

"Don't worry. I did my ear. And I was an apprentice under my uncle last summer," Goodie says, and Jeff's still gonna worry. 

Especially since he's pretty sure the only experience Goodie has is a two week vacation staying with his uncle in L.A., where he might have watched him work in his tattoo and piercing parlor, but where he definitely hadn't been allowed to help.

And a nipple isn't an ear. It's a hole being pressed through his skin, his very sensitive skin, by his best friend. Who is most definitely not a professional. Or an apprentice. 

Or, even an adult. 

His mom is gonna kill him. 

That's just a given. 

He won't be able to hide it for very long. Especially if Goodie gives him some sort of deadly infection and his nipple falls off. 

As if he can read his mind, Goodie wipes him, the needle, and the jewelry down with rubbing alcohol. 

He's even found sterile gloves. 

Which is all better than nothing, Jeff supposes, if they're gonna do this in the bathroom with no experience or good sense. 

Goodie moves to the ground, slotting between Jeff's knees, and even in the cramped bathroom, he's deceptively spry. Jeff's seen him move through tight spaces where it didn't look like even Gareth would fit. 

Jeff takes a deep breath. 

Goodie very assuredly grabs Jeff's nipple, and then says, "Okay. One. Two," and Goodie shoves it through, not giving him until three. 

It hurts less than he'd anticipated, and it's almost a disappointment that it wasn't somehow more. But, Goodie's already pulling out the cannula, and screwing on the other end of the jewelry. 

Fast, efficient, and with a confidence that Jeff finds alarming. Goodie's definitely a freak.

At least it's over and done with.

And now there's a bar through his nipple that looks like a screw. 

It's pretty goddamn metal. 

"Ready for the other one? Or are you a little bitch?" Goodie asks, already unwrapping the second bar. 

Okay. Apparently he's getting both done. 

And the second one? That motherfucker hurt. Goddamn adrenaline wearing off. 

They don't get infected. Somehow. It's a heavy metal miracle. They are fucking tender for a good week, but then, that's that. 

He's just a guy with pierced nipples now, and only Goodie knows. 

His mom doesn't find out, and neither does Eddie or Gareth. 

Well, not until he doesn't think about it during band practice and pulls his t-shirt up to wipe his face. It's hot as balls in the garage. They really need to upgrade and get the fuck out of this hot box. 

"Jeff's nipples are pierced!" Gareth yells, pointing a drumstick right at his chest. "Guys, Eddie, look! Did we know this?!" 

"I did," Goodie says, unphased by Gareth's over-excited outburst.

And then Eddie has his shirttail in his hand, yanking it back upwards, so he can look closer. 

They're healed, so when Eddie flicks one, it doesn't hurt. But it does feel kinda good, and that isn't something that he wants to associate with Eddie. 

"Stop it," Jeff says, batting Eddie's hand away. 

"Where'd you go to have this done?" Eddie asks, and Jeff gets it. Just like tattoos, piercings aren't exactly legal in Indiana. 

If you don't get them done at the kitchen table, you probably aren't getting them done, period. 

"I have a guy," Jeff says, cryptically. 

"You think he'd do mine?" Gareth asks, looking hopeful. 

"Absolutely not," Goodie answers. 

"Nobody asked you, Goods," Gareth snaps. "I want both done, too," Gareth says. Lifting his layers of shirts, looking at his own nipples. "Maybe barbells. So we don't match."

"Why would you need pierced nipples? Nobody will ever see them," Goodie asks, taunting Gareth. 

"You don't know what my sex life looks like!" Gareth yells, bristling, dropping his shirts and balling up his fists. 

"Uh, yeah, I do. You're still a virgin."

"So are you!" Gareth shouts back. 

This is gonna devolve into name calling and hair pulling sooner rather than later, if Jeff doesn't cool them both down. 

"Easy, both of you," Jeff says. "None of us are drowning in pussy." 

Eddie clears his throat. 

"Or cock," Jeff amends. 

"That's more like it," Eddie says, still eyeing the screw through his left nipple. 

Jeff looks at him, not sure what's going through Eddie's mind, "What?" 

"Can I bite it?" Eddie asks, pantomiming tugging on it with his teeth. 

"No!" Jeff says, "You can't bite my nipple. But thanks for asking first." 

Eddie usually bites without warning, so this is definitely some personal growth. Jeff's proud of him. 

Still not gonna let him, or his teeth, anywhere near it. But at least he asked, and didn't just go for it. That definitely wouldn't have been out of the realm of possibility.

"I'd let you bite mine," Gareth says, petulant, like this is an unreasonable stance for Jeff to take. 

Eddie whips around, hair flying, "Thanks, Gare."

"If Jeff would just tell us who did it. We could all get them done." 

"Mama Jones would have your ass," Goodie says, and Jeff isn't even sure that's true. Gareth is a mama's boy and can do no wrong. His mom might let him do it.

But still. 

They can't all get them done, and become the pierced nipple band. 

"You get something else."

"What're the odds your guy would pierce my dick?" Eddie asks.

"I'd say slim to none, just like the size of your dick," Goodie sasses, and Eddie launches at him, laughing.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

Notes: A quick google search led me to believe that body piercings (outside of ears) was also illegal in Indiana until the late 90s. So that's what I went with here. If that's not true, well, just go with it, lol.

[fairyniceyeah]

⌛🐶⛰️Day 12: "I can't stand seeing you like this"

Dehydration/Grief/Coma

@juneofdoom

Part One: Day 9: "I made a mistake."

Day 11: "We're out of time."

Summary: Yunho watches San destroy himself over the accident.

CW: below text to avoid spoilers

Whumpee: Yunho + San Caretaker: /

San hadn’t moved from Wooyoung’s bedside in days. None of the members had been able to drag him away - none of them really had the heart for it. They were just as worried as he was.

Yunho remembered the wild fear in Hongjoong’s face when he got the call. He had been with the oldest hyungs in the living room of the dorm Hongjoong shared with Wooyoung and Jongho, watching a movie. He had listened as Hongjoong talked first with San and then with the nurse, his face getting whiter with every word, clutching Seonghwa’s hand so tightly the older’s hand had been slightly bruised afterwards.

It had been Yunho’s responsibility then, after Hongjoong and Seonghwa had called a manager to drive them to the hospital, to tell the other members. He had hated it, seeing their joy and happiness turn into worry when they saw Yunho’s face and then into defeat and sadness as he spoke.

He had gone to Yeosang first. It had felt right. He was so close with the two and he was, after all, Wooyoung’s oldest friend. Yeosang had been making himself some coffee, reading over his script for the next episode of The Show when Yunho had walked in. The younger had been whistling, singing some song under his breath but when he saw Yunho in the dormway, he had frozen.

“Yunho, what’s wrong?”, he had asked, putting his coffee down with a worried frown on his face.

At first, Yunho hadn’t been sure what to say but then he had just whispered: “There’s been a car accident. San-ah is okay, mostly. Wooyoung-ah … he’s in surgery. The nurse couldn’t say more.”

Yeosang hadn’t even cried, just forced Yunho with him to tell Mingi and Jongho, so they too could go to the hospital.

Mingi had burst into sobs the moment they told him. They had interrupted Jongho’s vocal lesson and they had never seen the maknae look so worried and scared.

Now - three days later - Seonghwa and Hongjoong had been forced home by Yunho. The two hadn’t left, neither wanting Wooyoung nor San to be alone. Yeosang, Mingi, Jongho and Yunho himself had gone to the hospital in shifts - dropping in and out but due to visitor restriction not allowed to be there all the time. Not even Yeosang’s puppy eyes had made the hyungs or San budge.

San, no matter how much Yeosang had begged and Hongjoong had pleaded and cried, had refused to leave Wooyoung’s bedside. The second youngest had come out of surgery five hours after the accident - with a list of diagnoses that Yunho couldn’t all remember. Concussion. Whiplash. Broken femur. Spleen that had to be removed. Something like that. 

Wooyoung looked so small on that hospital bed, wrapped in bandages everywhere. Parts of his hair had been shaved away for surgery, leaving bald spots behind - visible due to lack of hair outside the bandages in that area. A neck brace swallowing him whole. Leg stretched out in a brace. More scars and injuries below the blankets, hidden from sight. And so many different lines and cannulas running into his body. An artificial coma so he could heal and the swelling in his brain go down. No, the doctors didn’t know how long it would take for him to be taken out of anesthesia. Yes, it was a good sign he was mostly able to breathe and his own.

San, with scratches over his face and whole body, had not let go of Woyooung’s tiny hand other than for going to the bathroom or being sick. Shock and guilt, mostly. The nurses were worried about his mental state, they did not do a good job of hiding their worry.

Woyooung’s and San’s parents had been informed of their sons’ accident and had been staying at a hotel close by. Yet, San’s parents had to leave for work soon again and Wooyoung’s parents - hurting to see their energetic son so still but having to take care of his siblings - had left the day after. Instead, Hongjoong’s eomma had come to Seoul, looking over the members at the dorms.

“San-ah”, Yunho tried.

No reaction.

“San-ah.”

Yunho sighed and stepped closer into the room. He hated seeing the two like this - like Jongho who hadn’t been able to really stomach the sight of his injured hyungs - he had not been at the hospital as often as he had expected of himself. He had chosen to worry about getting Yeosang to sleep, keeping Mingi from spiraling into panic attacks and forcing Jongho to eat - all while trying to keep in contact with Hongjoong and Seonghwa and trying to make them come home.

Now, only San was left.

San with his vacant stare as if seeing right through everybody but Wooyoung.

San who had not left his best friend’s side.

San who was injured himself.

San who had neither eaten and drank much or slept at all since the accident.

San who was killing himself with guilt.

It had been the last thing he’d said before he refused to speak to any of them. “If he dies, it’s all my fault. If he never wakes up again, it’s my fault. If he can never be an idol again, it’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

Yunho wasn’t proud of it - but he was getting angry at San. He wasn’t the only one who was suffering. He wasn’t the one who received the phone call, scared his younger brother was dead. He didn’t get to act like he was the only one suffering from this. 

Seonghwa had cried so much for him but Yunho was angry. 

“Choi San”, he yelled and for the first time in days, San moved. Well, he jumped in his seat, scared. His eyes wide he turned around to stare right through Yunho.

“Eat”, Yunho begged him, “San-ah, eat. Drink something. Sleep. Please.”

There was no further reaction.

“Just eat a bit, please. Aren’t you hungry? Or at least drink a bit of water. Your head must be hurting from lack of fluids, doesn’t it? Try to rest, just a bit. You can do that here even, please.”

San just stared, blinked, and turned around again, looking at Wooyoung.

“Choi San”, Yunho called, voice loud and angry, “San. Anything please. Just react to us. We’re so worried about you. Just react to us. Don’t shut yourself off like this!” Wetness hit his lips and, oh, Yunho hadn’t even realized he was crying.

His knees buckled and he fell to the ground.

“San-ah. I can’t stand seeing you like this”, Yunho sobbed, “please, just react to anything. Please. I can’t lose you too. Please.”

San bowed his head but there was no further reaction.

“Yunho-ssi”, a female voice called and a nurse entered, a hand coming to rest on his shoulders, “I know, it’s hard seeing your friend like this. But please keep your voice down for the sake of other patients.”

Yunho nodded, wiping at his eyes and more and more tears flowed down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I just … San-ah, I can’t keep watching you grieve Wooyoung-ah like he is already dead.”

CW: mentions of death, guilt

Part Three: Day 29: "I'm so cold."

Day 13: "Wait!"  

Masterlist link: Fairy's Full Masterlist Fairy's June of Doom 2024

Notes: People, I am so sorry ....

[only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are]

Redwood Pyschiatric Institute - Part 5

MASTERLIST - PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4

CWs: pyschiatric whump, mental hospital whump, nasogastric tube whump, IV mentioned, force-feeding

"Doctor Wilson, James is continuing to refuse food." The orderly informed his boss.

"Thank you." Doctor Wilson acknowledged from behind his desk. He stood, sighing. "Time to resort to our last option."

-----

James was sitting on the floor, back against the wall with his arms clutched to his chest. He was silent as the nurses spoke to him, trying to coax him into eating his food.

"Good afternoon, James." Doctor Wilson greeted his patient as he entered the padded cell. "I hear you're continuing to refuse food. Is that correct?"

James nodded weakly, not meeting Wilson's gaze.

"Is he drinking any water?" Doctor Wilson asked the nurses, who shook their heads.

"Won't touch anything. We've had to resort to giving his medication by injection again."

"Oh James, progress with you is never easy, is it?" Doctor Wilson sighed as he got to his knees in front of James. "Let's get some food in you, alright?"

James began to shake as Doctor Wilson picked him up by his arm. "No, nonono-" he began to mumble.

The orderlies helped drag James over to the bed, placing him down on his back. They propped a pillow behind his back to keep him upright. The orderlies pulled out leather cuffs which they attached to each of James wrists and ankles, tying him to the bed. Doctor Wilson pulled over a metal trolley filled with supplies.

"I'm going to insert a nasogastric tube, so that we can feed you since you refuse to eat or drink anything on your own. It's a tube that goes in your nostril and down into your stomach. It's painless, and if you behave we can get this over with quickly." He informed his patient.

James' heart fell, fear crawling up into his throat as he watched Doctor Wilson snap on a pair of nitrile gloves.

The doctor unwrapped a long, sterile tube and moved towards James, who paled.

"Relax. The more relaxed you are, the less this will hurt." Doctor Wilson said.

And then, he was forcing the long thin tube up James' right nostril. It burned as Doctor Wilson slid it further and further. James could feel the tube go down his throat. He gagged against it, feeling the tube scrape inside his throat.

"Swallow." Doctor Wilson instructed flatly.

James involuntarily obeyed, tears smarting in his eyes at the rawness and discomfort.

The doctor taped the other end of the tube down on James' cheek. He attached excess tubing, which led to a small container of nutrients hanging from an IV stand.

"Alright. Now that the tube is in, you'll be fed regularly at meal times through the tube until you can demonstrate that you can eat properly on your own. I'll insert an IV as well, since you haven't been drinking any water."

Doctor Wilson picked up a small butterfly needle and an alcohol wipe, the latter of which he used to wipe the skin of James' elbow. He then slid the needle into the vein, and then he pulled the needle out, leaving the cannula in place in James' arm. The Doctor taped the cannula in place also then connected the tubing to the IV stand so it began to dispense the fluid.

"You will be monitored regularly, and all your medications will be injected via IV." Doctor Wilson said.

And then, he left.

---------

"How are you feeling, James?" Doctor Wilson greeted as he stepped into the room.

James lifted his head slowly to look up. His limbs felt less sluggish than they had several days ago, but the feeding tube had begun to disperse the liquid down his throat and his stomach churned at the uncomfortable sensation.

James mumbled incoherently, a single tear slid down his cheek.

Doctor Wilson ran a hand through James's hair, sighing softly. "Oh, James. This is what happens when you don't behave. We are doing what is best for you. The sooner you accept that, the easier it will be for you."

----

James sat in Doctor Wilson's office, his eyes spaced out and staring distantly into the wall.

"James."

Everything was fuzzy, blurry. His head pounded. And something was slipping down his chin. Was that-

"Wipe that off his face, please."

An orderly bent into his face, and wiped his chin, then stood up. James didn't even twitch.

"James. Are you with us?"

"Huh?" James finally responded, though there was no physical response.

"You're feeling better, aren't you? No delusions?" Doctor Wilson asked.

"Iambetter..." James slurred.

"Good."

@jazatronasmr @onthishamsterwheel @bumpthumpwhump @bloodsweatandpotato @whatiswhump @jancameforthewhump @ratking-whump @dream-whump @inkstainsonmyhands12 @halstead-shaw13 @sparrowsage @sowhumpful

[i-eat-worlds]

Whumpcember Day 15-Hallucinating

@whumpcember

cw: noncon drug use, lab whump, gore-esque imagery in a hallucination, needles

From its place on the table, B127 watched as Dr. Glassener prepared the medication. It wasn’t nervous, because it wasn’t allowed to be. Whatever she was going to inject it with, it didn’t matter. It didn’t get a choice.

She’d already sunk the cannula into its arm. Everytime it was a little harder, because of all the scar tissue. Every time she needed to to inject something into a vein, she talked about getting a central line in, but she hadn’t done it yet. B127 was nervous about that. Something about her needle near its heart made it scared, even though it wasn’t supposed to be.

“This one I’m rather excited about,” she said as she flicked the syringe. “It’s supposed to be a sedative, but I’ve heard rather interesting things about its hallucinogenic properties.” It remained quiet and still as she placed the syringe in the port. “Do try to remain cognizant of your experiences. You’ll be quizzed after the drug has left your system.”

With her instructions complete, she pushed the plunger down, then turned away.

It felt cold rush up his arm as the drug spread through its system. An articial calm overtook it, brain lling with fog as it detached from its body. Reality was weird and shimmery, sterile white walls of the lab glittering just a little bit too much to be real.

A gloved hand hovered over its face. It didn’t belong to Dr. Glassener. Instead, it revealed the surgical masked face of B127’s facility handler.

The hand moved towards its face, reaching out to caress its chin and cradle its cheeks. A brief second before it made contact, the world glitched, and the hand danced away.

There was a piercing laugh in the distance, echoing even though the lab was too small for that. B127 could feel its skin becoming slick with blood. Old wounds fell open, gushing out blood in massive volumes.

Copper burned its nose as its vision blurred, blood still pouring out of its body. It was absolutely horrible. The world splintered and shattered, then went black.

“B127…”

There was the painful feeling of latex covered knuckles digging into its sternum, and B127 pulled its eyes open.

Dr. Glassener was standing over it, clipboard in her other arm. “Are you awake?” “Yes, doctor,” it said, suppressing a sniffle.

“Good,” she said, clicking on a pen light. “Let’s begin with the post medication exam.”

B127 laid there numbly, letting her flash a light in its eyes. If it was lucky, she’d grow bored and only do it once. Judging from the smile on her face, though, there was no luck left for it.

Taglist: @stabby-nunchucks@wolfeyedwitch @pigeonwhumps @suffering-and-misery@rainbowsandwhumperflies@octopus-reactivated

[xelasrecords]

All That Is Lost

Han Jumin x MC

Jumin is dying from cancer and there is nothing else you can do but wait. Featuring a minor appearance from Jihyun.

CW: Anticipatory grief

Words: 5.5k

Masterlist Read on AO3

When she was young, she used to think grief was reserved for death. And in the period of mourning, joy would not exist. Sorrow would engulf her whole and she would waste away alone in eternal darkness and nothing else would matter. However, time had revealed to her that nothing was ever as simple.

She was grieving for her living husband. Living, but dying. Jumin was behind the hospital door that she teetered in front of. It would lead her to a private patient room surrounded by beige walls and ivory curtains, and she would see Jumin putting on his best smile even as the lung cancer drained his strength. More often now, his best was a single tight smile that took him a lot of effort to manage.

She was always gripped by fear when she came here, wondering how much Jumin's health had deteriorated in the brief absence Jihyun switched with her to stay over. They had tried everything they could to treat him, but there was never any good news.

Time was not on their side.

Clutching her overnight bag, she straightened her posture and pushed the door open—and found that Jumin had been waiting for her. He was propped up on the bed and outstretched his hand when she crossed the threshold, reaching for her as he always did. In the warm hospital glow, she caught the weak smile on his pallid face and picked up her pace to clasp his free hand, one without an IV line attached. His slender fingers were always stiff and cold now, but a tiny relief fluttered in her chest when they finally touched.

She set her bag down beside the couch and kissed his cheek, careful not to knock the nasal cannula strung beneath his nose askew. "Jihyun isn't here? I thought he was with you when I called."

Jumin lifted his brows, but the humour in his sharp grey eyes betrayed his serious expression. "I see you care more about another man when I am right here."

"Only because you're here and he's not," she said lovingly. Though there were deep crevices around his eyes and his sunken cheeks had left a sharp edge to his jaw and cheekbones, he was still handsome to her, his thinning black hair falling just past his ears.

"As it should be," Jumin declared. There was a permanent rasp in his voice that appeared as his illness worsened. "He would have passed out from starvation if I didn't send him away. I never expected him to be so adamant about staying by my side. I was always the one who worried about him, not the other way around."

"He is stubborn," she reminded. She slid her fingers down to the inside of his wrist to feel his pulse. It confirmed what she sometimes feared her sight was fooling her—that he was already gone. "He's so much like you in that regard."

"Perhaps I should have let him stay. Having a roommate would not be so bad. We could even recreate the sleepovers we had as children." There was a certain melancholy in Jumin's eyes, one that often appeared when he talked about his friendship with Jihyun. "I don't know why we ever stopped. We used to stay over at each other's houses all the time."

"You grew up," she said, and squeezed his hand. It felt more brittle than she remembered. "But that change isn't permanent. You've been recreating it these days. Look at how he sleeps here when I can't. Thanks to me, of course," she added. "I graciously spared my precious time with you for him. You're welcome."

Jumin smiled and stared at her with deep, tender attention as if he wished to preserve and immortalise this exact moment before he left. She was familiar with that look. She watched him the same way when he was not looking. She knew all memories faded eventually, but perhaps she could keep some for herself if she tried hard enough. "What a noble sacrifice," he said. "I shall make sure he shows gratitude for your kindness."

She smiled back, trying to keep exhaustion from showing. "It's nothing. I just want to make you happy."

But nothing slipped past Jumin. He grazed her cheek with his knuckles and frowned. "Did you not sleep well?" he asked, unable to keep distraught from his voice. He studied her with the same intensity that never dimmed despite the illness. All these years, those eyes like dark storms that had been nothing but loving to her, were still loving her now. How safe and grounded she always felt looking into them.

"You think I look rubbish," she joked. It twisted her heart that Jumin still put her well-being before his.

"I think you look like someone who did not have a good night's sleep," he stated, and then it dawned on him. "You had been crying."

She nodded. It was not a question and she would not lie. After the first diagnosis, she had anticipated an intense, unstoppable streak of wallowing, but her reality was quite different. In the first few days when she was caught up in the whirlwind of trips to the emergency room and doctor appointments and looking after mundane matters, her emotions had taken a back seat. Only after Jihyun swept in to help that she could find the space to cry.

Even the tears came on intermittently. She was fine on some days, perfectly capable of executing her daily routine with a strength that stunned her. But in the moments she least expected, she would break down and find herself bargaining for more months, weeks, days with Jumin, begging on her knees while knowing there was no one out there who could, that there was no magical cure. She had put Jumin's spell book away and learned to tuck herself into a bed that was too empty for one.

Last night, she noticed that their housekeeper Sunja had placed one of Jumin's ties at a ten-degree angle in the drawer. She straightened it because surely it would irritate him and then it hit her that there was no point, he would never come home and open this drawer again, she would never get another chance to tie his tie before work and soon she would have to refer to this house as hers instead of theirs. He would go. He would go first. She slid down the glass cupboard and crumpled into herself, unable to stop the chest-heaving sobs breaking out of her.

In the morning, Sunja found her asleep on the cold granite floor clutching the blue-striped tie. It was Jumin's favourite tie from her for his first birthday that they celebrated together. It matched his eyes, she had told him. He loved to recount this story to anyone who would listen.

Sunja then guided her to the dining room while she followed in a dazed state. She brewed her a cup of tea and cooked her a light meal, which promptly brought forth another wave of tears. It was not Sunja's job to cook for her, she knew. Altruistic kindness from people who did not want anything from her was rare, yet here it was, served to her when she had not done anything to deserve it.

But she was not in the mood to tell Jumin the long tale of her breakdown, so she sat on the couch beside his bed and wiggled her eyebrows. "My sleeping problem could be solved if someone wants to sleep with me. Right now. I might even cry from ecstasy instead."

Jumin's stare lingered on her. She was aware he could see through her, but he only let out a defeated sigh. "Believe me, I want to," he played along. "I would bed you properly if I could, but my doctor has barred me from doing rigorous activities."

"Well, I can only imagine the horror if your heart stopped mid-act," she said. "Like, what would your tombstone say? 'He came so hard he literally saw heaven'?"

Jumin laughed. She took in his quirked brows, the impish glint in his eyes, and the rasp in his laughter and committed them to memory. "He might not find heaven to his liking and decide to come back down," he said.

"The press would have a field day during your burial. Your reputation would be ruined. Legacy, over."

"It's fortunate—"

But Jumin doubled over with violent coughs that rattled his frail frame before he could finish his sentence. She jumped on her feet and rubbed his back repeatedly, feeling powerless to do anything else. His shoulder blades were sharp through the thin hospital gown, and his arms and calves had barely any muscle left, skin clinging to limbs desperately. She thought she had more time. His change had seemed slow and gradual, but now she saw how much the illness had taken away from him.

Jumin brought his hand away from his mouth, revealing an alarming amount of blood. He tensed and she willed herself to swallow her panic. Quickly, she snatched a handful of tissues from the nightstand and wiped his trembling hand. Though Jumin was silent, she could feel his helplessness rolling off him as he watched her clean his blood-stained mouth. It was not the first time he had coughed up blood, but it had never been this much.

Jumin attempted a weak smile. "It's fortunate I won't be here to see my downfall."

"No, not fortunate." She closed her eyes and steadied her breath. "Because your downfall would be mine."

"My love." His fingers encircled her wrist, but his hold was so fragile. "I am sorry to have brought so much pain upon you. I wish I could ease it somehow."

She tossed the tissues aside and fixed her gaze on him. "And what of yours?" she demanded. "You just coughed blood, Jumin."

"My suffering will not last long, but yours will. It is my most desperate hope that it won't last forever." He shook his head when she started to refute. "You're shouldering this unfair burden of taking care of me while I am simply lying here, useless to be of any help. I feel myself tearing apart from the inside knowing that I am the cause of your tears."

"Let me cry for you. It's the evidence of my love, nothing unfair or burdensome in that."

"Do you remember my vow at our wedding? I promised to be there with you every step of the way, to never leave you when you are struggling." His face twisted in agony that sent a sharp pang into her heart. "But it appears that I have become your problem."

"I'd rather you be my problem than cease to be my anything," she said fiercely. "But as it happens, you're not. I worry because I care. I stay here because sleeping on this couch and waking up with a stiff back is better than losing sleep alone in our bedroom. That's our home, Jumin. You should be there with me to make it feel like one, and if you can't, then I'll go wherever you are. Don't be sorry that I love you. I chose you too, way back then, and I still choose you now."

The look Jumin gave her was haunted and unseeing. She had the sensation that he was peering into the years that stretched out behind them. "I never thought there would be a day where I'm completely reliant on you without the ability to give you anything in return. I never thought it would be so soon."

"You can do nothing and I will still love you." She sat on the bed and tucked a thin strand of hair behind his ear. "Tell me you wouldn't do the same for me."

"I can't." Jumin groaned in despair. "God, I can't. Even as my life is coming to a close, you still show me how wonderful you are." He buried his face into the dip between her neck and collarbone and held her tightly, as tight as his weakening body could muster. She put her arms carefully around him and laid her chin on the side of his head. This was her love, her love that she was losing. He no longer smelled like the expensive cedar cologne he sprayed on every morning before work. This Jumin was covered with a stinging antiseptic scent and it was terrifying. He was changing at a rate that she could not keep up. "How can I ever leave you?" he whispered, his voice caught.

Jumin sounded so broken it almost broke her. "I don't want you to leave either," she murmured. "I wish I could follow you instead of being here alone."

Jumin withdrew and held her at arm's length. "Don't you dare entertain that thought. You have a life here." His face grew stricken when she was silent. "You will not throw it away for me. I will not ever forgive you if you do."

She made a choking sound. "My life has no meaning without you, Jumin." She knew she was speaking out of hysterical delusion, that her real life was more than a single love, but he was the love she lived with, that lived in her. She knew the pattern of his breathing like her own, knew what cunning retorts would come out of him before he could speak them. How would she live without him? What would there be to live for once the person who put sense into her life was gone? "You've changed my life with your presence alone," she said. "I've always looked to you for peace and comfort. My highest happiness is amplified because you're here to share my joy, and my deepest sadness is pacified because you sit with me through it all. I hear your voice every day. I see your face every day. How do you expect me to lose all that? I don't want to learn to be alone, not yet."

Jumin held her face in the palm of his hand. "You won't be alone. Jihyun is still here. He will accompany you—"

"But he's not you!" she shouted. "Every day I'm grateful that he's here and I know how much he means to you, but he is not you. I love him in an entirely different way from how I love you. He's my friend, but you're my husband. You're irreplaceable, you hear me?"

To her surprise, there were tears in Jumin's eyes. "But you will survive. I know you. You have a tenacious soul that persists in the face of adversity, and you will have a good friend to lean on. I can think of no one better suited for emotional support than Jihyun. You will not be alone. That fact itself placates my heart more than anything."

She rested her forehead against his. His skin was so cold. "You always say you'll give me anything I ask from you. I have one now: stay a little longer. Your birthday is only a few months away. Stay until then." Her voice cracked. "Please."

Jumin looked at her with great sadness. "That is the one thing I cannot control."

At that, her emotions broke through. She wept and wept and wept and it was Jumin's turn to reach for the tissue and dabbed it across her face. She had not wanted to cry in front of him for the guilt it would induce in him. It felt cruel to seek comfort from him when he was in the most pain, but it was Jumin she thought of telling whenever she was hurt. It was Jumin she went to for everything good and bad. Years of habit could not be unravelled in an instance, but beyond that was the familiarity and trust that she could find in nobody else. He knew her so well and so intuitively that she knew that when he left, he would carve out something crucial of herself and take her with him.

Jumin laid her head on his chest and pulled her into the bed with him. In the haze of her crying, she was aware that she should not put her entire weight on him, that he already had enough difficulty breathing as he was, and she cried harder. She tightened her arm around his waist, relishing in the realness of him, dreading the day she could no longer feel the warmth of his embrace. But when she felt his tears falling on the top of her head, she knew that whatever illness that would separate them would not truly sever their bond. Together they mourned for the loss of their planned future, for the life Jumin would never have, for the loneliness that would come for her in the days without him.

"Do you know what my worst fear is?" Jumin asked hoarsely.

She lifted her head and wiped the tears from his face. She imagined her eyes were as red as his. "That I'm only pretending to be sad when I actually can't wait to inherit your wealth after you go?"

A small smile played on his lips. "Now don't you instil more fears in me." Jumin poked her nose without any real offence. If he noticed that she had been avoiding the word "die", he didn't let on. "I fear losing my possessions and everything I deem important. I know nothing is absolute in this world, but I harbour an irrational hope that I could protect them with the power I have accumulated." He gazed at her with adoration so deep that her heart could have cracked in half. "You are on top of that list."

She caressed his face, and he leaned into her touch. "You're not losing me now."

"I know, and I'm grateful for it. I can see with clarity that my worst fear will not come true, for you have never left me." Jumin took her hand and splayed it against his heart. She could barely feel it beating beneath her palm, but it was there. It had not stopped beating. That was enough. "You stand by me through my endless treatments. You don't recoil from me after witnessing me in my worst state. I know you love me. You don't have to say it to make it true. But..." He sounded constricted as he tried to get the words out. "I'm sorry you are going to lose me."

"You're still thinking about me. You still worry how I will fare without you." She bit back fresh tears that threatened to fall, hearing Jumin's concern beneath his words. She could not yet bring herself to imagine a life without him, preferring to hold on to the slightest hope that he might get better no matter how impossible, but it hurt her more to see him fearing for her. "I can't promise I'd cope well, but I'm never really going to lose you," she said. "I keep you close in my heart. You are my heart. You will always be alive in me."

A sad chuckle escaped from Jumin. "I laugh the most with you, did you know that?"

She blinked. "I know I'm moderately funny, but I don't see the connection with what I just said."

"You make me happy. You have made me so happy this whole time, love," said Jumin softly. "I can see myself through your eyes. I see how much I am loved. Thank you for loving me."

The memories from the past pierced through her like an arrow. She remembered the first time she came to Jumin's penthouse and he was quiet for a beat too long before saying, Sorry, I just stared into your eyes. Even then he had seen the truth she held for him. She remembered the day she was seasick on Jumin's private yacht so he sat with her in the cabin for the rest of the journey, holding her while she curled in his arms instead of enjoying the breeze. She remembered the park under the rain where they were salvaging their ruined picnic and a kid came over and told her she was very pretty and Jumin had flashed him a proud smile and praised him for being an excellent judge of beauty while suggesting him to find his own match in the same breath. Jumin had been very pleased for the rest of the day. He was the only person she wanted and would ever want. If she could not have him forever, then she would have no one at all.

"You deserve it, my darling. Loving you is the easiest thing I've ever done." She pressed a gentle kiss on his lips. They might be chapped, but they were more familiar to her than her own.

Jumin smiled against her mouth. His eyelids were fluttering close, but his fingers were tracing over her brows, her cheekbones, her ears as if he was trying to remember her. He mumbled a quiet I love you and she said it back, silently begging this would not be the last time they proclaimed it to each other. She was beginning to learn how resilient a heart was. How it could break and break yet never really shatter. How hers had been made invincible by the love she had for him and the love he returned tenfold.

Before she looked up, she already knew that Jumin had fallen asleep. His breathing was slowing to a steady but harsh, heavy rhythm. It frightened her. What should be effortless was painful to him, yet he never complained. She untangled herself from his arms, covered him with his blanket, walked towards the door, and paused. She turned around and gave him one last glance, in case it was the last time she could see him. It was a habit she had adopted since Jumin was admitted to the hospital.

Jumin's quiet presence used to have a strong, charismatic quality that pulled everyone's attention to him. Now her husband was a ghost of someone he used to be, a copy made by a printer running out of ink. The essence of what made him Jumin had not disappeared, but his defining marks had blurred. His calming confidence and childlike excitement felt out of reach. She could see them in her periphery, but she could not quite reconcile those traits and shape Jumin into the person he was, back when the fear of losing him was merely conceptual.

She also knew she would see Jihyun sitting outside the room because that was what he did. What they all did. They gave each other time with one another because there was never enough time.

Jihyun turned to her as she slid into the seat next to him and offered her a smile, but she did not miss the dark crescents under his dulled green eyes. Even his teal hair seemed unattended.

"Jumin's taking a nap," she informed.

Jihyun nodded and laced his fingers together on his lap. "He sleeps a lot now."

"That's good, right?" she said. "He should get as much rest as he can."

Jihyun stayed quiet and looked down at his hands.

She averted her gaze. There was not much time left. She was not so deep in denial as not to see it. "I know the signs of someone going away. I know."

She felt they were hurtling down the dark unknown faster than they were ready for. No matter how hard they resisted, they could not win. There were times when Jumin would seem better and a tiny hope flared between her and Jihyun, that perhaps they might not lose him after all. A chance of recovery was all they needed, but it never lasted long. By next week he would be worse than they ever imagined, and they would sit in fear and silence after discussing possible solutions with the doctors and among themselves and hitting another dead end. What else was there to do except to hope that he would not go so soon?

"I admire your strength and faith in his health," Jihyun finally said. "I feel as if we have switched roles. I used to do whatever I could to save the people I care about, but now that we have tried everything and will still lose him..." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I feel lost. I'd like to be more like you if I could."

She put her arms around herself. She was not sure if it was the cold hospital air or more likely, how much she needed to feel less alone in her own acute helplessness. "It's cowardice. I can't bear to accept the reality," she said. "If I stay hopeful, I don't have to move on to the next phase. I don't have to picture a life without him. I feel like vomiting every time I receive an update from the doctors. We've never got any good news since the first diagnosis."

Jihyun nodded slowly with the lethargy that always seemed to hang above him. What enthusiasm he used to have had faded. With a renewed cold dread she realised that in denying herself the acceptance of losing Jumin, she had failed to see that she was losing her friend as well.

"I regret not being more present for him," Jihyun said. "I travelled the world to search for my reasons to live, but it was right here all along. I lost count of the times Jumin had asked me to catch up with him over wine and I foolishly postponed them. I thought there would be a next time. He's the steady fixture in my ever-changing life, so I thought…" He shook his head. "I wasted so much time, and what was it all for?"

"You live for a lot of things," she said, making her voice as gentle as she could. "Your friendship is only one part of it. Jumin is glad that you found yourself through those travels. You know him. He doesn't think physically being there for him is the most important thing. You care about him even when you're not here, and now you've been trying to stay by his side every day. He notices that. There is nothing but gratitude and admiration whenever he speaks of you."

"Jumin is such a good person." Jihyun looked over at her, ocean-green eyes glazed with tears. "I cannot believe someone like him exists, and I'm even more amazed he chose me to be his best friend all those years ago."

"He's always had faith in you a great deal." She smiled. "That's one of the best things about him. He believes in the good of the people he loves."

"He believes in me when I cannot believe in myself. When I forget how to," he said in wonderment. "He has always done it for me and I didn't even know it."

When she thought about Jumin and Jihyun, she saw two men whose lives were so deeply entangled since they were boys that to be separated meant losing half a story that defined them as who they were. There was no part of their history that did not include one another in some way. When Jumin recounted their childhood stories and brought Jihyun up in conversations, he always spoke with a fondness that she had never heard for anyone else except her. Jihyun, she noticed, spoke with the same gentleness.

They were fortunate in a way that most people were not. She had seen one's whole face light up when the other visited, had noticed how Jumin sometimes would have something on his mind and relaxed after he talked to Jihyun. They never had enough time together. She hurt for them, for the time they had lost and could never get back, but was also relieved that Jumin was not as alone as he might think. He had someone who worried about him as much as he would if it was the other way around.

"Jumin made a request to me," Jihyun began.

"Awfully demanding even when sick, isn't he?" she interrupted with a laugh, but it sounded miserable coming out of her mouth.

"It's for you," he said. "He made me promise to be there for you after—after he's gone. I think he's trying to help by creating worst-case scenarios and backup plans. He is afraid you won't handle the loss well." He stared at the wall. "And that I would run off the cliff from madness if I don't do anything of help."

She locked the love in Jumin's plea away in her chest, a precious memory to recall when she missed him, and nudged Jihyun playfully. "'Run off the cliff'? Sometimes I can't tell whether you are repeating his dramatics or if it comes out right out of your head."

A flicker of amusement passed across his face. For one second, the past livelier Jihyun resurfaced. "It might have been both."

"I shouldn't have expected any less." She chuckled and sighed. "It sounds like he was tying up loose ends before he goes. I wish he wouldn't. He's in enough pain as it is. When was the last time he could walk more than a few steps without assistance? He can't visit his vineyard anymore. He can't hold the stitching needle without his fingers trembling. He hasn't met Elizabeth the Third for a while. She misses him." Her voice shook. "I'd bear all his suffering for him if I could."

Jihyun's arms came around her, and she let herself sink into them. "I'm sorry. Your misery must be greater than mine. Your life was upended when his was. It can't have been easy to get used to these extreme changes. You have built a life together, but now you lost everything that's been your normal for years."

"I wish I could go back to the person I was," she admitted, tears spilling over. "I miss loving him without the threat of death looming over us, when I could sleep and not think about how today might be the last time I see him. We were so happy—we are still happy, but this happiness is tainted with anxiety. We feel it even if we pretend not to notice."

"You can be sad for yourself," Jihyun said. "You lost that innocence, that peaceful ignorance of simply living when the thought of either of you dying is far-fetched. It didn't seem like it could catch up to Jumin when he's probably the most health-conscious person on earth. No one could have expected this."

Time did not heal all wounds. Every second of it pricked at her skin, a reminder that she could not save the person she loved the most. No matter how hard she steeled herself against the loss yet to come, nothing could prepare her for it. Last night she had a dream where she and Jumin sat side by side at a secluded beach on a quiet morning and they looked at each other's wrinkled faces and smiled, amazed that time had never worn out their love as their bodies had been. But Jumin's hair would always be black while hers would turn grey now.

"I will miss him so much," she whispered, and pulled back to wipe her tears. She used to wonder how people could cry and make a scene in hospitals without shame. She understood now. Shame did not matter in the face of loss. She would gladly make a fool out of herself if it meant she could save Jumin.

"So will I," said Jihyun quietly.

She thought of her nightly strolls with Jumin along their city that lit up in the dark, his arm around her waist and her head on his shoulder, steady bright lights guiding them home. Of the wine they spilt on their white carpet because Elizabeth the Third had jumped on them and Jumin chuckled because she must be jealous of his undivided attention for his wife. Of Jumin's pure, undistilled laughter that carried her through her darkest days. She would have to live with these memories alone.

She did not want the torturous waiting to end, no matter how exhausting it was. The pain was a reminder that she loved him, that he was real and still here. She was not a child anymore. She had grown into a capable adult, a loving and grieving woman, a wife soon to be without a husband.

This was grief, she thought. This. They wouldn't go back to how they used to be and Jumin wouldn't get to live out the rest of his life. This was it. The rest of his life was so short.

She held fast to Jihyun's hand and listened to the clock ticking.

-

Footnotes:

-I've seen a lot of fics about Jumin receiving the news that MC is rushed to the hospital or diagnosed with a terminal illness or his reaction to MC's death, so I wanted to focus on the aftermath of the panic. What happens when the drama dies down and the hopelessness of knowing someone you love won't be alive for long rises, and the things you do and feel when you're forced to sit in the quiet.

-I didn't plan to include Jihyun since I thought it'd be sadder if MC had no one left after Jumin died, but it didn't feel right for this story. Jumin's character has a best friend who has greatly influenced his life, and I wanted to show how grief is handled outside the dying person and the main loved one. I think it's important to have a support system when you're grieving. It's even better if you can talk to someone who understands how you feel because you're both losing the same person, even if the form of that love isn't exactly the same.

-And yet the loneliness is still there because, at the end of the day, you still go back to an empty home.

-I noticed that all my fics so far have the inherent optimism of everything may be shit but there is love and you've done your best so that's good enough including my breakup fics, so I gave this a twist of what if there is love and everyone has done everything right but it's still not enough?

-Mentioned Sunja Kim the housekeeper guest from the game because realistically if they could afford to hire one, Jumin definitely would. It would lessen MC's burden who's going through a hard time and still has to hold down the fort. It's also my personal experience that when I'm going through something horrible, the glimmers of hope that I get that perhaps life isn't all bad are when strangers randomly show me kindness. This is for them.

-But really I could only write this story because of my best friends' encouragement. One who inspired Jumin and Jihyun's friendship in The Love We Live For and one who inspired MC's friendship with Jihyun here. Mostly, I think of the latter when writing the waiting room scene. If you're reading this (and you will because I will force you and point it out if you skip this), thank you.

-MC saying "I love him in an entirely different way from how I love you." about Jihyun is probably the most unrelatable line that I've ever written btw. I love him in a very un-platonic way.

-I added the canon line by Jumin "Sorry, I just stared into your eyes" in later edits so it was a fun surprise when it connected with the previous line "I can see myself through your eyes. I see how much I am loved. Thank you for loving me." Then I quickly reworked the paragraphs to make them flow.

-Considered including a scene between Jumin and Jihyun but scrapped it due to length and POV constraints.

-The feeling of drowning in grief is what I went for in the header. The ocean-to-sky ratio is slightly off from the traditional rule of thirds to evoke an overwhelming feeling while also making it seem like it's about to engulf the "this was her love" line, the love being the sky.

-For the longest time, I didn't want to understand grief.

Buy me a glass of something that's definitely not coffee because I can't stand it but it is the website's name if my story touches you in some way? No worries if you don't. I'm still grateful you've read all the way through here.

[edutainer2022]

This turned out sadder, than I expected. Oh well... Virgil gets to contemplate Renaissance art as Scott finds a baby in the earthquake debris. John makes a brief, bit meaningful appearance. There be angst and melancholy, and lots of Earth and Sky love.

CW: mention of earthquake and destruction; mention of a minor character death in an earthquake

BABY BLUES

Their tech would undoubtedly blur the image for security purposes, but Virgil made a point to commit the sight to memory. It didn't get more awe-inspiring or symbolic than a figure in blue, ascending into the air from the smoking pile of rubble and ashes, a small bundle cradled in a sure arm, against the backdrop of a cloudless sky, the blazing sun providing a natural halo around the stunning visage. It made Virgil think back to the stained glass windows and frescoes he got see for the first time in Rome, dragging his grumpy brothers around and pulling every favor and blackmail chip to see more of what Renaissance had to offer to an aspiring artist.

Scott landed next to Virgil, killing the jetpack, and the bundle in his arms made its presence known with a wail, breaking the spell. A baby! The sole survivor, apparently, of that building collapse in an earthquake. A baby boy, to be precise. He made it, thanks to his mother throwing herself over the crib. The crashed ceiling didn't leave her any chance. Rendered quiet in the face of an abject tragedy, that hit them all close to home, Virgil concentrated on assessing the baby for possible injuries and smoke inhalation. That was a bit of a problem as Scott was yet to relinquish the hold of the child. Parallel to Virgil's ministrations he knew John or Eos would be already running the database checks for any relatives, hopefully a father or grandparents. The first sweep came up empty fairly quickly - the owner of the demolished house was never married nor had any close relatives listed. The baby boy's birth certificate registered no information on the father, but did give them a name - Jeffrey. Jeff. Talk about symbolism.

Miraculously, the medscan flashed nothing more aggravating than yellow - baby Jeffrey escaped the ordeal relatively unscathed. Still, they had to get the child to Two's infirmary and then to a nearest hospital STAT. Babies were extremely fragile, especially in a danger zone like this. Virgil reached to transfer the now somewhat quietened baby to his hold, but, to his surprise Scott wouldn't let go. He shifted the small weight to one arm and with a flick of one hand slaved One to TB2 controls to fly in formation, turning on his heel and marching to the green bird, a baffled Virgil in tow.

Virgil busied himself with fixing a tiniest oxygen cannula on the fussing boy, as Scott materialized once again with a blanket and a bottle of formula, picking the baby up. They kept all kinds of supplies in Two, for all kinds of rescuees, of course, still Virgil found himself pausing in surprise again. Scott waved him away to pilot, his focus completely on the now happily munching little Jeffrey. Virgil turned one more time before leaving for the cockpit, catching Scott features soften and glow the way he only remembered the biggest brother look at a much younger Alan.

Virgil's heart constricted at the weight of everything their brother gave up, was still giving up every minute of every day, to be what they all and the whole world around needed of him. Part of his mind wandered into the forbidden territory of calculating if they could successfully baby-proof the villa. Or maybe not so forbidden? They had the resources and the manpower of responsible adults (well, almost) at home now, right? It takes a village, they say. Well, they did have a small taskforce of people completely dedicated to making sure Scott got every ounce of happiness and fulfillment he deserved, regardless of his take on the matter. It could work. Safely in the cockpit, Virgil pinged John over an isolated channel.

Baby Jeffrey was placed in the pediatric ward for an overnight quarantine and observation. Virgil hung out nearby, as Scott stayed, transfixed, by the huge bay window, overlooking the rows of tiny beds. Two would need to leave soon to pick up Gordon and Alan in their pods - the earthquake mission was almost wrapped up - but there was still time. He certainly didn't want to startle or hurry Scott away. Not now.

A cry down the hospital hallway disrupted the quiet reverie. Both Virgil and Scott turned their heads in the direction of the sound as a young man, not much older than Scott, practically flung himself at the IR Commander and sobbed. Virgil's first instinct was to regroup for danger, but there was no menace in the stranger's fierce hug - only relief, gratitude and sadness. The man couldn't seem to stop weeping on Scott's shoulder, a jumble of frantic thankyous and I'msorries muffled by the IR uniform. The man was baby Jeffrey's father. John was exceptionally good at data analytics and cross-reference. A part of Virgil, he wasn't particularly proud of in that moment, wished he weren't. But it was just as well. They had a huge spat with a then fiancée and broke up - she never got to tell him they were expecting. John examined the data through the late mother's social media and financial records, ran the numbers and identified the man in the neighborhood, thankfully, unaffected by the earthquake. The guy was shaken by the grave news, but extatic to meet his son and adamant to step up. Which he did immediately, rushing to the hospital and pouring out all the emotional turmoil to the leader of IR who saved his baby. Virgil nudged Scott away by the elbow, gently, as Jeffrey's Dad took over the vigil by the ward. Where he belonged.

Gordon reported they were ready for the pick-up, and generally ready to leave that particular disaster behind them, but Virgil still lingered where Two and One were parked in the field. Scott was yet to say anything after they left the hospital and was staring up at the sky. It was the kind of wistful gaze that usually filled Virgil with dread - as if Scott was not all there, missing something up, amidst the endless blue, as opposed to staying on sturdy earth with them. Virgil summoned all the courage he could and ventured to speak first:

- You can have that, you know? - he nodded in the general direction of the hospital, the baby they left behind. Virgil found his conviction strengthen, as he spoke. - You CAN. If you want to, you can start a family. We'll all help!

Any adoption agency would fall over themselves if Scott Tracy as much as blinked their way. And any child could not be luckier to have Scott Tracy for a father. If Virgil ever believed in anything, that was their biggest brother was born to be a Dad. He only wished the biggest brother in question shared that faith.

Scott shook his head slightly, in cadence with some unvoiced thoughts, his eyes not leaving the skies:

- I shouldn't. I should've known better.

Virgil took a sharp breath for a vehement contradiction, but the wrist-com blinked blue - John was inquiring their ETA to the original danger zone.

Scott looked back down on him with a rueful smile, that threw all Virgil's panic stations into red alert:

- Go, pick up the Tinies, Virgie. Go!

For the second time that day he was reminded of the art in Rome, when looking at his brother - the serene bliss and detachment of martyrs and saints, captured in marble.

- Aren't you coming, Scotty? Let's go home. Please! Please!

Virgil found his voice cracking into a plea, small and scared, as his hands moved to clasp, almost spasm, around his brother's. He wasn't above adding the biggest, teary puppy eyes to a litany of begging, in an irrational hope of compelling Scott to follow the cue. If they could just go home now, it would be alright. It will all be alright from there.

Scott returned the gentle squeeze of the hands and shifted his eyes back to the sky:

- It's okay, Virgil. I'll stay at Gran Roca tonight. I need to talk to Mom.

***

Fifty two thousand miles above John mused, not for the first time, that Open Comms was, by far, the best of their protocols - that, and the compatibility of all their crafts with all their properties - as he gave Eos instructions to reposition Five over the family estate and to prepare the space elevator for a trip down. Noone was wallowing and mourning a self-professed lost chance at fatherhood alone tonight.

[yuichi-ro]

◈ 𝘔𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘪 𝘚𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘬𝘪 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

◈ 𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you ask your husband to use his superpower on you for the first and last time

cw: fem!Reader, established marriage, hurt/comfort, canon divergent word count: 1.8k inspiration

◈ ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ/ʙʟᴀɴᴋ/ᴀɢᴇʟᴇꜱꜱ ʙʟᴏɢꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ʙʟᴏᴄᴋᴇᴅ ◈

You could see him better with just the nasal cannula now. Mask or cannula, neither were your favorite but the step down from the oxygen mask was a step in the right direction. One you took very seriously as Mirai laid there undisturbed by your return to his bedside. 

Wrong of you of course to assume he couldn’t guess you arrived. Not after over a decade together of course he didn’t need his foresight to know you’d be back so soon. Even if he was unable to see you fully without his glasses Mirrai still turned his cheek to the cold side of his pillow when you drug your chair back to the very edge of his hospital bed.

“Hey you.” A croak from your voice even after all the tears had been shed, the persistence of them still stuck in your throat. Leaning over to cup his face gently with a swipe of your thumb over his cheek, “You need anything? Did I wake you?”

A shift in the white linens but he still couldn’t bring himself to sit up too much. So all he could offer was resting the weight of his head into your palm with his yellow eyes shut again, “No. I was waiting for you.”

“The doctor said you should be resting,” You wiped your thumb over his cheek, staring with a heavy heart down at him still bed ridden for the fourth week in a row, “Not waiting for me.”

“Wasn’t waiting,” Mirai mumbled with a shake of his head and eyes closed, “Just- Knew you’d be back.”

“What did the doctor tell you about using your power,” You faux scolding with a bleak smile on your lips as you continued to rub his cheek and just enjoy the warmth of closeness from your husband as he remained bed ridden.

A brief little smile that curled up on the sides of his lips, Mirai tilted his head a little more and brought himself to open his eyes in your direction as the smile lingered, “I don’t need foresight when it compares to over a decade of knowing you.”

Seeing him able to at least look at you made your heart thud harder in your chest that before. Those tears that dried weeks ago still threatened to fall past your lashes at the moment when you looked down at him, “Then you should know I expect you to get out of this bed eventually. And come home.”

Mirai let out an exhausted sigh. One that let his body sink into the bed that cradled him and soon his eyes followed as he closed them again, “Let us be realistic love I-”

“You’ve been on the mend since the last surgery.” You stopped him in his tracks certainly not needing foresight after you’d both had this conversation a dozen times since the raid and the sub sequential harm that had befallen him and a few others. But your husband taking the worst of it in the fight against the League and the Shie Hassaikai, “You’re no longer on a ventilator. Your blood pressure is evened out. White blood cell count normal and no more bleeds. Mirai...you are on the mend. You just- You need to trust the process. Even if-”

“Even if I can never be a hero again.” Mirai spoke softly with his turned back up towards the ceiling. Eyes still closed and he laid there still as stone in bed, “...You can say it.” He broke the touch on his cheek even as you leaned in to try and hold his cheek again. Mirai simply refused it as he tilted his head away to face the wall, “All these futures...I didn’t check mine. And now- I’ve done this to you. Left you without a hero. Left you without-”

“Mirai Sasaki,” His name came so sternly from your mouth that in his moment of mourning he was forced to look around and see you staring at him with such intensity. But he could not ignore the way your bottom lip trembled as you proceeded to puff out your chest and speak louder than his thoughts, “The only way I’d ever be mad at you, is if you left me in this world. Heroes, work, I don’t care.” Your hand came back to his cheek and he didn’t attempt to move away as your presence filled the tiny hospital room as it did so many times before in the past, “I didn’t marry you because you were All Might’s sidekick. I married you because-” Your voice softened and the stray tears dribbling down your cheeks couldn’t be helped even as a big grin spread over your lips, “Because you’re my best friend. I married you. Not a hero. So...please, don’t leave me just yet.” Your smile made his heart monitor beep just a little faster and that in itself made you laugh even as the tears rolled down your cheek in the process, “I have a lot more things I wanna do with you first before I ever let you go.”

Heart too heavy with the words you spoke, Mirai’s yellow eyes searched your face like he was looking for something. Perhaps a lie to your words, which he knew wouldn’t be there. Or a falsity to your stubborn hope, that he couldn’t help but love as much as he did the first time you two argued. Mirai couldn’t find anything but your beautiful face above him like so many times he’d seen in the last decade. Rendering the organized man speechless in admiration of your gaze being set on him of all people.

“Mirai...” You grazed your thumb over his cheek when his eyes closed contentedly after your words.

“Hmm?” 

“...If you really think you won’t make it through this.” You couldn’t help shifting your touch upwards to comb your fingers through his abnormally unkempt hair, “I want you to use foresight on me.” No surprise he was about to open his mouth to object but you stopped him from uttering a single syllable, “If you are going to die then I want you to look as far into my future as you can so you can rest easy. So that you know where I’ll be when you’re gone.”

Eyes open but lips set in a stern line Mirai waited to back you down with a stare. Something he never had success with previously but as you sat there hunched over his bed carding your fingers through his unbrushed hair, the stare was all he had aside from his words to dissuade you, “No. I said I would never use foresight on you. I will not-”

“You can’t use it on yourself.” You firmly said, “So I can’t convince you that way. If you’re really going to...” The words sat on your tongue like a wad of cotton. Only making you shake your head and refuse to say it so you took a deep breath and did the impossible of staring Sir Nighteye himself down, “You give yourself closure. Then- I’ll accept it.” You watched him under you unable to persuade you with that stoic stare everyone else broke under. Meaning you’d rightfully won as your tone softened and you combed your fingers through his hair to a more neat manner like how he’d normally wear it, “You don’t have to tell me. Just- Do it for you.”

Short of hitting the nurses call button to have you removed, there was no getting out of this. On opposite ends not ready to settle. Mirai understood the conditions laid upon him for his passing. He couldn’t see anything for himself outside this hospital bed. And you were right, seeing you happy one last time would mean he could rest peacefully.

Meeting those yellow like you had the first time you’d both stumbled upon each other. You held his gaze. Never intimated like others were. Just as warm as his eyes were, they filled you with a comforted warmth like looking at the sun. Your free hand reached out to squeeze his wrist and before you knew it Mirai had taken the furthest out memory he could before it became fuzzy. Not once had he ever used his quirk on you out of respect. As you sat there letting him process what was vividly rolling for him and him alone in his mind. You saw as tears began to well up in the corners of his eyes. Mirai was unable to break eye contact as he leaned into your touch still holding his face. And his own hand coming up to touch your cheek lightly. 

“...well,” You said smiling as you tilted your head into his larger hand, “Gonna take that to your grave or spill the beans?”

Your way with words. Here he was fighting the tears as words escaped him. Just a constant loop of what he saw. It wasn’t long before Mirai was smiling and tiny droplets rolled off his cheek onto his pillow, “I...I saw it all. I-” His tongue darted out over his lip as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat, “-I saw you holding a little boy.”

“And?”

Mirai couldn’t believe the grand out grin that broke out on his face because even though you didn’t have his quirk you still somehow always seemed to know where to push him in the right direction, “He looked- Just like me.”

Turning your head to kiss his palm you reached up and laced your fingers up with his to give him a squeeze, “I ruined your plans again.”

A tired laugh pasted his lips. Mirai took in a big breath before relaxing back into the bed in a much more content manner than before, “You’ve never ruined my plans. Not once since I met you.”

“Plans change.” You rubbed your thumb over his knuckle as he gave your hand a squeeze out of reflex, “Even for the hero that can see the future.”

Mirai looked over at you smiling softly to himself, “I see you. That’s all the future I’ve ever needed.”

You stood up from your hard plastic hospital chair. Letting go of his hand gently just to hold his cheeks between your palms so you could kiss the center of his forehead before moving your face down and brushing your nose ever so lightly against his, “You’ll always be my hero no matter what and...you’ll be his hero too.”

No need to lean up to you. Mirai closed his eyes when you came closer to kiss him gingerly with the cannula only slightly in the way of the exchange, “Here you are, changing my future again.”

“Nothing is written in stone,” You smiled against his lips before pressing your forehead to his and cradling his face ever so gently in your palms, “At least, not if I can help it. So you’ll get better. And you’ll come home, you know why?”

Mirai looked up at you, his one weakness it seemed, and asked softly, “Why?”

“Because,” You grinned and kissed the tip of his nose, “I know you’re as excited to meet that little boy as I am.”

[eoieopda]

Jade unnie, don’t kill me, but can you do “What Sarah Said” by Death Cab for Cutie with darksided!Yoongi? (I know, I know, I’m a monster but I feel like you can make something so haunting and beautiful with this!)

oh my gooooooood. how could you? ☠️ i love this song but FUCK. okay okay okay. this one may be shorter than others given the whole thing??

Darksided AU Masterlist

listen here

cw: ANGST, hospital, OC is terminally ill (brief reference but no detailed description or specific illness mentioned), discussion of death, just the saddest shit (but nobody dies in this story fwiw)

but i’m thinking about what sarah said / that love is watching someone die / so who’s gonna watch you die?

Nobody says the quiet part out loud.

When you stand in front of all your friends and promise to be with someone in sickness and in health, you don’t comprehend the former. It’s a hypothetical, statistically inevitable but impossible to fathom; and you’ll turn a blind eye to it for as long as you can. A promise you can’t feel the weight of until it’s sitting heavy on your shoulders, forcing you to your knees.

How fitting that his very first promise to you came the same way.

When Yoongi made his vows, he meant them. And when he said til death do us part, he said it with his eyes locked on yours; with his entire chest. All he ever wanted was to spend the rest of his life tied to you, loving you, growing with you.

It all seemed so simple back then, looking at you in that white dress.

It didn’t dawn on him until now that, sooner or later, the bill comes due. When you reach the last stop, one person has to get off first. Someone has to live a life built jointly, alone.

Yoongi didn’t know how to do that.

Sitting now at your bedside, your cold hand rested in his. You were smiling, though it burned up all your energy to do so. It was blinding and all-consuming, even under harsh fluorescents. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep his eyes off the cannula resting just above the curve of your lips.

This was the first time Yoongi had ever wanted to avert his eyes from you, and the realization made him feel sick. You had no business in a place like this and he couldn’t accept your presence here.

Effervescent. Magnetic, though that pull was steadily getting weaker.

He knew, of course, that the version of you in front of him was the same person he’d slept next to every single night for years. You were every perfect memory, locked in his heart forever. Laughing, crying, cooking, dancing, sitting quietly on the couch.

You, laying there now at half your weight, were the same person who loved him completely - even in his worst condition. The one who unknowingly helped him repair every cracked and dented piece of himself. Who had never once dropped him, scuffed him, shattered him.

He knew all of this - really, he did - but as he searched your face now, he couldn’t find you.

You were lightning in a bottle; and these sterile walls and muted, linoleum tiles didn’t reflect the way you inherently glowed. To the contrary, they absorbed it, took it hostage. They swallowed it whole and now Yoongi was sitting cold in the dark.

But he wore a black suit; slid that ring on your trembling, once-warm finger; and vowed to hold your hand for as long as you both shall live. Yoongi bore witness to your life. Now, he was going to have to watch you die.

And when it was his turn at the end of the line, he’d follow you into the dark.

[aria-ashryver]

It's a totally random ask, I just checked the time and thought you're probably in the hospital rn, and then I realised it's been a while since you updated us on pretty nurses situation 💅🏼

(anyone cuter than Vidya perhaps? 👀)

🩺Aria's Top Ten Nurses 🏥

because sitting in the hospital for hours on end is boring so we make dumb little lists to pass the time which you absolutely do not have to read lol

(cw: theres a photo of an IV line in my arm under the cut)

#10 - Gary (vascular access technician)

ultimate gruff old dad. excellent banter. always tells me to keep out of trouble when he's done setting my lines. finger guns for days. he's only coming in 10th bc he tried to convince me to get a permanent line fitted and the concept of that terrifies me (hence why i have instead opted for over a hundred individual injections to date)

#9 - Cincy (chemo ward nurse)

incredibly soft spoken. shy to the point of painful. apologises for everything. she was there on the day of the pincushion tally high score, and even though my veins have recovered a lot since then, she always has a look of fear in her eyes when she goes to set my lines. I'm sorry Cincy, please stop being so scared of me.

#8 - Olivia (chemo ward nurse)

peak tsundere ice queen. super pretty. magically long black hair. has never smiled in her life. pretty sure she secretly enjoys inflicting pain on people, because she always sets the cannula in my cephalic vein (beneath the thumb on the side of the wrist) to "give my dorsal arch veins some time to recover" and HOLY FUCK THEY HURT. one time she laughed* at one of my jokes and it was the best day of my life.

*it was a begrudging huff of air through her nose and then she rolled her eyes, but it counts dammit.

#7 - Claire (clinic nurse)

tiny Irish lady. always got too much on her plate. why does she run everywhere. always makes me giggle when she does my obs and pre-checks bc my meds sound funny when you say them with an Irish accent. Claire please sit down for like 10 minutes, i beg, you're making me tired.

#6 - Kelly (chemo ward nurse)

only been my nurse once or twice, but i do remember that one time she laughed so hard at one of my jokes that she started choking and had to excuse herself, and the resultant ego boost has shot her up to place #6 on this list

#5 - Warren (vascular access technician)

OMFG Warren you pretty motherfucker. why are so many of these nurses in their late twenties/early thirties and ludicrously hot? this guy looked at me with his big brown eyes and soothing voice, held my hand while he applied some anaesthetic and told me "that's it, good, you're doing so well love". Warren how do you expect me not to fall in love with you??? that is EXACTLY how Vidya got me

#4 - Jax (chemo ward nurse)

i met them on their first day in the chemo ward. they were just supposed to be observing that day -- unfortunately what they observed was the pincushion tally high score. Sorry Jax.

(i.e. they witnessed Cincy and Farah puncturing the ever loving fuck out of my every available vein, failing to set line after line, apologising to me profusely over the course of like half an hour, and then the vascular access team coming in to rescue us all and set my line via ultrasound instead.)

that was a fun one lol.

#3 - Vidya (chemo ward nurse)

the one, the only, my actual wife!!!! 💖🌈 im half convinced she was the product of a fever dream, because one: how is this woman both fucking gorgeous and SO sweet and caring? and two: her shifts have changed and i barely see her these days. Come back Vidya i miss you 😭😭😭

#2 - Farah (chemo ward nurse)

another super pretty nurse! was delighted when i told her tumblr was still a thing. unironically says "slay" and "omg yass!". compliments my outfits without fail every time i go in for treatments. got extremely excited the first time she set a canula in one go after the pincushion tally high score debacle, and then told me "damn girl, you traumatised me that day" lol. Sorry Farah

#1 - Tori (chemo ward nurse)

Tori is my BRO. our banter game is excellent. (she's also super pretty lol). always tells me when there is good shit in the fridge. been my nurse so often that she just feels like a pal. sneaks into the admin office to make sure my appointments are at lunchtime or later (instead of like 8am) whenever she can. once told me it was her opinion as a medical professional that i should treat myself to bubble tea and ice cream.

Congrats Tori, you win the nurse rankings and my entire heart forever!! 💖💖💖

(but so does Vidya bc I am a fucking simp for that woman lbr)

[honorary-fool]

How I'd Imagine Type 1 Diabetes to be Handled in Teyvat

if anyone has any questions, comments, other ideas, etc, that they'd like to share, by all means go ahead!

possible cws/tws: mentions/non-gorey imagery of needles & cannulas, brief mentions of blood

insulin is made through [bio]alchemy ; I'm not specifically sure which branch would be most likely to take the genetic engineering approach (inspired by how it's made here, typically through genetic engineering or something called Recombinant DNA)

since Fontaine seems to be invention-creation central & the nation that comes out with new creations like the Kamera, they would be responsible for creation of the tech side of having t1d, such as insulin pumps

prior to them creating insulin pumps, insulin was only administered through manual injections (needle tw: 1 / 2)

Fontaine has created the Teyvat equivalents of the following diabetic supplies:

insulin pumps with tubing (1 / 2 / diagram)

lancet devices (which are used to prick yourself and draw blood in order to test your blood sugar) (1 / 2)

meters + testings strips to actually test your blood sugar (meter: 1 / 2 ; strips ; 1)

I doubt they'd be able to create all of the tech we use today, since they don't seem to have the wireless technology & bluetooth to make tubless pumps (1 ; the only tubeless one that exists at the moment is the Omnipod) or continuous glucose monitors (CGMS) (1 / 2- the sensor is on the left)

however, I'd like to think that if/when they do figure out the technology to actually make those, they'd be made around the same time

Misc. HCs

Lively Orlean is type 1 diabetic (to me) (she mentions her blood sugar being low and while non-diabetics can get hypoglycemic episodes/symptoms [which are caused by a low blood sugar],, come on /lh) (I'd say it's canon but I fear getting yelled at even if I'm right /lh)

Baizhu, being a pharmacist who most definitely sells insulin, is very knowledgeable on diabetes- 1, 2, and the sub-categories-that-idk-much-abt-and-therefore-won't-list

going off vibes alone I'd like to think Verr Goldett also is very familiar with it

maybe either a family member/friend of hers has it, or she herself has it

I think Barbara knows the basics at best but is learning quite a bit about it, primarily how to help treat hypoglycemic / hyperglycemic episodes, Ketoacidosis, and how to administer glucagon

[tomtenadia]

Thicker Than Blood - 28

Good evening/day.

So, this chapter is a bit less gory but well, it will be satisfactory too as we get rid of another unpleasant character. Rowan is in a funk but towards the end, our bird boy has a new resolve.

CW: language, death.

While Hamel died tied to a chair, in the main deviation centre things were stirring up too.

Ansel had left the group at the mayor’s house and ran to the centre. She wanted to be there when Perrington was finally deposed. She had worked in that place for two decades and had witnessed the cruelty of the man and of some of the guards. It was payback time. Another group of rebels had gathered to attack the centre and evacuated in advance all the innocent personnel. Her initial plan had been to create a riot, but alas after the mayor’s order they had to change plan since all the inmates had been killed. 

Fen texted her that Hamel had been taken care of and she had promised him a special prize that night at home. Ansel knew he had been hurting for his brother and was happy to let him lead the plan against Hamel. The mayor was, after all, the person who had asked and signed Connall’s execution.

She was waiting in one of the rooms on a lower level. She had prepared the treatment room and was waiting for her men to bring Perrington to her.

It was twenty minutes later when the man’s screams and threats of heavy punishments reached her ears.

Ansel smiled and checked the IV one last time. Oh yes, he was going to get a taste of his own medicine.

The tall man called Ilias brought in the director.

“Welcome sir.”

“You.” He spat, as soon as he recognised the red-haired woman.

Ansel smiled “it warms my heart to know you recognised me.” She nodded at Ilias and the man lifted the director to strap him to the table, then lifted his sleeve and exposed the arm “All yours.”

Ansel started working on his arm “I hope your throat is ready for some screaming.”

“Let me go, bitch.”

“Such nasty words,” she patted the inside of his arms trying to locate a nice juicy vein “You have been a murderous bastard. Your friend Hamel is dying as we speak and you will be next.”

“You vampires are all monsters.”

Ansel stabbed him with a needle then attached the cannula that was connected to the IV and opened the flow of the liquid. She then moved to his neck and inserted another needle at his jugular.

Once satisfied, she sat on the stool and waited. 

The first scream came pretty quickly and then another and one more. The man was now trashing wildly in his restraints. Ansel yawned and increased the fluid’s flow making it faster, then grabbed a book from her back pocket and started reading. Ilias chuckled “I am going to see how the rest of the operation is going, boss.”

She nodded and went back to watching Perrington scream and trash. It was very satisfying.

And when half an hour later he finally stopped screaming she just stood and closed the door behind her.

*

Rowan met Gavriel down the corridor in the government building. The paranormal unit had been called in and he wanted to talk to his friend before Lorcan could start arresting them all.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was just passing by and decided to join in and watch Hamel die. It was rather interesting and satisfying.”

“Rowan…” a hint of warning in the older man’s voice.

“What? Are you telling me that Lorcan is going to start jailing all the people who were here? Hamel got the death he deserved, and even that, was not painful enough.”

“There are channels for these things, you are a cop you should know.”

Rowan snarled “are you going to arrest me?”

“No Rowan, it might have been a little unorthodox but the mob wanted his head. I saw that room and what was happening,” his voice low and pained “I would have gladly ripped out his heart myself.”

Rowan relaxed. He knew he could trust Gavriel. The man was a good cop but first of all a great friend.

“So you are not telling Lorcan that Fen and I were here and that it was Fen who, well, played surgeon.”

Gavriel shook his head “no one is giving names. Everyone says that the pig got the death he deserved. We have no proof nor suspects and I honestly I will not be investigating any further.”

“Thank you.”

“Where’s Fen?”

“He ran to plan b.”

Gavriel looked at his friend with a quizzical expression.

“You will read it on the papers tomorrow.”

Rowan was about to walk away when an irated voice reached him “I should arrest you.”

He ignored his boss and kept walking.

“Whitethorn.”

Rowan turned and stopped right in front of Lorcan “Go ahead,” he placed his hands in front of him in challenge.

Lorcan grabbed his handcuffs and placed them on his wrists “Rowan Whitethorn, you are under arrest for hiding and helping a junkie, thus breaking your oath. You are also under arrest for participating in a mob that lead to the death of the mayor.”

“Lorcan, what the fuck?” The shout had come from Gavriel who stood and watched his boss drag his best friend away in a police cruiser.

*

Rowan hated the beds in the cells, they were pure nightmare. He lay down and tried to close his eyes and relax but all he felt was pure anger. He knew Lorcan had a job to do, but his boss has gone too far and he was really on the verge of resigning. 

Once at the police station, he had managed to make a phone call and call Rhoe. He had a feeling that his father in law was the only person who could help him.

Eyes closed, he took a deep breath and tried to feel Aelin and at the same time, through their bond reach her and assure her that he will find her.

“Rowan…” at the sound of the familiar voice, his eyes popped open.

Rhoe was standing outside the cell, staring at him “Let me go and speak with the chief.”

Rowan shrugged and turned on the cot, his back to the cell door.

Rhoe walked to the temporary office at the police station where Lorcan was still working on the reports for the night. With little ceremony he walked into the room “Chief, we need to talk about Mr Whitethorn.”

Lorcan looked up in annoyance “He broke the rules, he stays in jail. He is a cop and should know the law.”

“As far as I am aware he just joined the protests but did nothing. That is not a crime, we are still a democratic country where protesting is a civil right.”

“Hamel had his heart ripped out of his chest and was used as a blood bag.”

Rhoe sat on a chair with a bored expression “The people had enough. And what he did to all those humans was the last straw.”

Lorcan ran a hand through his long hair “fine, he was just watching. I understand. But he helped a junkie. He hid her and not happy he went and married her to fool the law. That is illegal and I cannot overlook it.”

Rhoe glared at the chief  “He helped my daughter. She had no choice, she was made a junkie.”

“Yes, I heard this excuse already. It still remains that she was a junkie and he knew.”

Rhoe was almost ready to strangle the man “My daughter was tortured and experimented on for two years. When she came back she was broken. It’s not her fault.” He roared.

“Rowan is still suspended.”

Rhoe stood and towered over a sitting Lorcan “if things are going the way they are shaping up, I will soon be in power enough to kick you down to beat cop.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No, chief, but you will not kick him out of the force.”

Lorcan huffed “Fine. You can take him out of the cell and he can come back.”

Rhoe just walked out and went back to the cell where Rowan was staring at the ceiling “Come, we are going home.” Rhoe entered the cell a guard had just opened for him, and Rowan rose.

“I spoke with Lorcan and he accepted to take you back as agent.”

“I am not sure I want to go back.”

“Why?”

“I don’t think I can serve this government any more.”

Rhoe sat at his side “What if things are going to change?”

Rowan sighed “I have no hopes.”

“There is a high possibility of me running with Darrow, and we both intend on making some changes.”

“Can we go?”

Rhoe stood and walked out, once at the car, Rowan jumped in.

“Could you take me to my house?”

Rhoe paused “I’d prefer to have you with us.”

“I don’t want to.” 

“Please.”

“Take me home,” he growled.

Rhoe fell silent and made a u-turn driving to the outskirts.

“I am working on a new lead for Aelin.”

Rowan’s hand fisted on his leg in anger.

“I am working hard, but Maeve is crafty.”

“It’s been ten days,” he shouted “Aelin has been held prisoner for ten days now. And she is in pain, do you have an idea how it feels? Because I fucking do.”

They eventually arrived at the house and Rowan jumped out of the car without adding a word.

Rhoe watched the man walk to the house and disappear. He felt a sense of dread rise in him. Rowan was dealing with a lot and was not the most rational of men.

A deep sigh and then started his long drive to the mountains.

*

Aedion had been cooped up in his lab. Lysandra his only source of information on the mayhem happening in town. At the news of Hamel and Perrington demise he allowed himself a moment of elation. Two monsters down, one bitch to go. Aelin had been gone for twelve days now. Rhoe had launched a full scale search but kept having no luck. Maeve seemed gone and he was afraid what would happen to Aelin as the days piled up. He hadn’t spoken to Rowan. Rhoe had told him that he had a standoff with his chief, spent a few hours in jail and got suspended too, although Rhoe fixed it. There had been nothing but radio silence and he was worrying just as the Galathynius. He had sent a few texts but had no reply. Elide and Lysandra had the same results. 

He sighed and went back to his project. Aedion was trying to come up with a version of synthetic blood that Aelin would tolerate, but so far he had little luck. He still had samples of her blood but every batch he tried caused extreme reactions. His desk was covered in piles of haematology books, genetics and anything that would help him crack the problem. 

He watched another small sample fail when a set of hands brushed his tense shoulders.

He turned and saw Lysandra in a gorgeous short green dress.

“Hi you,”

Aedion kissed her gently “I missed you.”

Lysandra giggled and sat on his lap, her hands twining in his hair “You are so busy…”

“I am sorry.”

His fiancee kissed his head “I know. Any progress?”

He shook his blonde hair.

“Ae, I think we need to postpone the wedding,” she whispered “Aelin is…” deep pain in her voice “I don’t want to get married without her and we don’t know how she will feel.”

Aedion kissed her “Not yet. Let’s see day by day. And if closer to the day is still not the time we can rearrange.” They were going to have very small and private ceremony, something that could be easily moved and reorganised.

“Ok,” she kissed his nose “We’ll wait.”

Another kiss “Love you.”

Aedion grinned and lifted Lys in his arms and started walking to the bedroom “show me just how much…”

*

Rowan’s living room was a place of chaos. On the coffee table lay numerous abandoned coffee mugs and a few empty blood bags. The floor was carpeted with maps. Rowan had fished out all of his hiking maps and had started searching for hints or places where a mansion might hide. He then would verify the location on the computer with satellite images but so far he had no luck. He had to do something. No one seemed to be bothered by Aelin’s disappearance apart from himself, the Galathynius, Aedion, Lys and Elide. He had asked Gavriel for help but his friend had confessed that the police was still dealing with the aftermath of the riots and the city was still plagued by Maeve’s newborns. Apparently, the woman had taken Hamel’s death as an excuse to let her minions run rampant causing chaos and attacking random targets. The last tragedy had been a high school. Ten kids had been killed. The humans had protested and some even called for stricter rules. PD and his friends were far too busy.

Rhoe had started working with Darrow on a proposal for a way to move forward. Darrow was the deputy mayor now and was probably going to take over Hamel. Then once in office he was going to propose a mayor for the vampires too. One of the biggest problems was that vampires had no representation, all the rules that were passed were made with humans in mind. The main government had achieved it in Terrasen. In Orynth, the local authorities had gone astray and ruined all the work done in the past. 

But Rowan could not care less about politics. Getting Aelin out was his only priority. Yes, Lorcan had reinstated him but he had no interest going back until his mission was over and his mate back to him safely. His phone buzzed again and he ignored it. Then after days of staring and studying at maps he finally spotted a location that was a good candidate for a secret hideout. Rowan grabbed his laptop and used the satellite maps to study a way to get there. There was no vehicle access. A hike then. The location was so deep in the mountains that it would take him a long time to get there, but he did not care. He just hoped he was on the right track. The idea that he was wasting precious days for a fool’s errand pained him.

He abandoned the maps on the floor and ran in his room and started packing his hiking gear, stashed a few knives away for good measure and added some bags of blood. The good thing of the woods was that he could feed on animals if needed. He wasn’t too keen on the practice, but in case of real need it was an option. He decided to leave his phone at home. In the woods was useless anyway. Once satisfied he picked up his backpack and went for the door. One last look at his house and closed the door behind him.

I am coming.

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[whumpy-daydreams]

Burning Veins

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CW: lab whump, torture

While Rudy didn't escort her to lab, he was certainly waiting there with a big grin.

"Here she is, the little love bird."

Rowena's blood ran cold. Of course someone would have told him. Now he has another piece of leverage against her. She didn't resist as she was strapped down the table, figuring it was safest for Dani if she just complied.

As usual they hooked her up to monitoring and placed a cannula in her arm, but the now familiar feeling of her abilities being stripped away was unexpected.

"I thought you needed me to use my abilities while you torture me?"

"Not today." Dr Mason didn't usually talk but today she peered down at her subject. "And it's not torture, it's science. We test more than that here. And this particular drug is intended to induce pain." Well that sounded like fun.

She heard her heartbeat increase slightly. Preparing herself for the worst Rowena tried to relax by closing her eyes and taking deep breaths, but nothing could prepare for the burning sensation as Dr Mason's new drug entered her veins.

It was like fire. No - not like fire - it was fire. Fire that burnt up her arm, fire that she couldn't control.

As it crept into her chest tears began to form and Rowena bit her lip. Were they still injecting it? The burning didn't stop in her arm. Opening her eyes just a crack she glanced over. No. It was a drip, continuously pumping her full of lava.

Arching her back and twisting in the restraints, Rowena sobbed. Somewhere distant she heard Rudy laugh.

"Increase the dose."

The drug spread quicker, and soon it had infiltrated every inch of her body. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Every sound felt like nails in her ears and the smooth metals restraints were barbed wire.

It lasted an age. Rowena couldn't tell how much time had passed, all she knew was that it hurt. By the time it began to wear off she couldn't scream any more.

After three hours the pain had worn off enough for her to notice her surroundings. What remained was a deep sharp ache. Every movement felt like her bones were grating against sandpaper.

They left her there all day and suddenly she was glad she hadn't eaten breakfast. And although she was sore there was no longer constant pain.

Dr Mason appeared again above her. "How did the drug affect you?"

"Fu-" her throat was so sore and dry speaking was hard. "Fuck. You."

Drug trial notes