#cw: cannula | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are · 2 months ago

Text

Redwood Psychiatric Institute - Part 6

MASTERLIST - PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4 - PART 5

CWs: THIS IS A HEAVY ONE PLEASE READ THESE AND PROCEED WITH CAUTION - medical gaslighting, ECT mentions, disordered eating, forced NG tube (nasogastric) intubation, description of forced intubation, IV cannula, forced drugging

"I know you're lying to me." James ground out.

"James, you are ill. You are schizophrenic, and you have trouble telling reality from hallucination. I am your doctor, and I know what is best for you. And right now, what's best is for you to continue your treatments here."

"No, no, none of this is can be real, I'm - my name isn't James, it's- it's-" James stuttered. His hand trembled in the straight jacket he had been restrained in. "Why, why can't I remember?" His unruly dark hair obscured his wide eyes, pupils dilated from the medications.

"You're making things worse for yourself, James. Take a deep breath, and take some more medications. It'll make you feel much better." Doctor Wilson held out a wax paper cup filled with pills.

James shook his head as he backed into the padded wall of his room. "No, get them away from me. AWAY!" He began to scream, and realising he was trapped there rendered his flight instinct inert, he began to rock back and forth on his heels in a desperate attempt to soothe himself.

"James. Calm down. You are being dramatic. You need to take a deep breath."

James began to attempt to tear himself free from the straight jacket to no avail, letting out a frustrated animalistic cry.

"Why-"

"You can take a nice long nap and calm down." Doctor Wilson put the cup down, realising James wasn't going to let himself be soothed easily. The doctor instead pulled a hypodermic syringe out, and the boy began to scream.

"Can I have some assistance?" He called to the orderlies standing outside the cell. They rushed in, effortlessly pinning James to the floor. The orderlies pulled James' pants down to allow the Doctor access to his patient's bottom. Doctor Wilson swiftly jabbed the hypodermic into the muscle, earning him an indignant cry.

"No.. no.." James stuttered, as they pulled away from him. He attempted to pull himself to his feet, but tripped over himself, the drug already leaving him unsteady and out of it.

"Sh, my boy." Doctor Wilson soothed, helping his patient onto the bed. "You can rest now."

James eyelids, with his pupils blown wide, slowly drifted shut as he slumped over on the bed.

----

When James awoke, he decided to make a plan. He didn't trust Doctor Wilson anymore. There were gaps in his memory, and things that just didn't make sense.

And he was sure that his name wasn't really James - but what was it then?

He started by figuring out how to stop his meds. The nurses would check that he had taken them. He started crushing one or two in the side of his jaw, and swallowing the rest. The crushed pills were small enough that they weren't super noticeable, and as long as the nurses didn't see whole pills leftover. Once they left, he'd spit out the crushed tablets. Eliminating one or two of the medications certainly help to clear up his fatigue and drowsiness, but he had other symptoms instead - headaches, fevers, sore eyes. He just had to deal with it. He needed to stop the medication more.

Then, he stopped eating. Just in case the food was also drugged. But he also did it as a protest. He wanted to show Doctor Wilson that he was still in control. It started with a sausage here, some oatmeal there. He would just cut down gradually, and one one would notice until it was too late.

----

"For the last time James, eat up." The orderly, Dan, sighed as the boy pushed his tray away from him.

"'Mm not hungry." James muttered.

"You're being stubborn. You haven't eaten in 4 days. Eat up, or I'll have no choice but to call Doctor Wilson."

James didn't look up. "Don't care."

"Fine. I give up." The orderly picked up the walkie talkie hanging from his white scrubs. "Doctor Wilson, James is refusing to eat again and he's refusing meds."

"Take him to Treatment Room 2. I'll meet you there." The Doctor commanded.

The burly orderly bent down and scooped up James in one arm.

"Dan, please, please don't do this!" James began to sob.

He screamed and kicked, but he was a fairly scrawny young man, and with the lack of food, he was no match for the orderly, who dragged him down the hall with ease.

"Here." The orderly tapped his keycard on the door reader, and pushed the door open, revealing an exam table reminiscent of a dentist's chair. He place James onto the table, and began to strap him using the standard medical restraints, straps at his forehead, wrists, chest, hips, legs and ankles.

"Let me go!!" James screamed, fighting against the restraints with all the strength he had left. "You can't do this!!"

"I'm sorry buddy. It's for your own good." The orderly patted his forehead.

Doctor Wilson stepped into the room and locked eyes with James. Dan immediately backed away, planting himself in the corner of the room.

To the doctor, Jamess looked absolutely feral, his eyes red raw from crying and sleep deprivation, his hair greasy and unkempt, and his frame thin and wiry.

"Oh James, I was so hoping it wouldn't come to this." Doctor Wilson tutted, as he walked up the exam chair. He tilted James' chin, examining the boy's face closer. "You're sneaking off your meds, too." He said - a statement, not a question. "You had been doing so well.. All that progress we've achieved. Gone."

Doctor Wilson sighed, then nodded to the orderly, who began to set up a cart with medical tools and devices. Both men snapped on nitrile gloves and then pulled on medical masks.

"What are you doing?" James asked in a high-pitched tone, clearly frightened.

"Getting you back to health, my boy." Doctor Wilson smiled sadly behind the mask. "Clearly you can't be trusted to do the right thing for yourself."

Dan unpackaged a sterile butterfly needle, which he passed to the Doctor. The orderly wiped down James' elbow with an alcohol wipe, then tied a rubber band above the area. Doctor Wilson brought the needle to James' vein, and the boy whimpered.

"Relax James, you're in good hands." Doctor Wilson hushed, before sliding the needle into the vein.

It smarted, and James winced, looking away as a drop of blood bubbled up from the wound. The Doctor removed the needle and replaced it with tubing, setting up an IV which he hooked to a bag of solution on a stand. James looked to the bag as the solution began to drip through the tubing into his vein.

"What's in there?" He asked weakly.

The Doctor ignored him, and instead began to pull more tubing out from packaging. He held it up and measured it in front of James' face, who squirmed uncomfortably against the strap across his forehead. The Doctor then covered the tip in some kind of gel, held the tube under James' left nostril, and before he could react, the tube was being shoved up his nostril.

Shocked, James began to try to wrest his head away, but the restraints held tight, even as the tube slid further and further up his nose, down the back of his throat, and further, further down. James couldn't help but cough and gag on the tubing, the foreign sensation awfully unwelcome in his system. Even when he thought it couldn't possibly go any further, it did. Finally, finally, it was over. He drew in choked, panicked breaths through his mouth as his body was wracked with silent gasping sobs.

"All done." Doctor Wilson said, his voice void of any care or emotion for his patient. The orderly stepped up and helped the doctor tape the other end of the tube against James' cheek, then attached the tubing to a container sitting on the IV pole, which was filled with an odd liquid. Before long, the liquid began to trickle through the tube and down his nostril. He shuddered at the horrible sensation of the cold liquid sliding down the tube, straight into his stomach.

Doctor Wilson then adjusted the settings on the IV. "Get some sleep. You'll need it."

The Doctor left. Dan stayed for a moment, making sure the Doctor was out of sight before he bent down to whisper in James' ear. "I'm sorry it had to come to that. But you left me with no choice.." He wiped a tear from James' cheek. "Get your rest while you can."

Dan stood, and with a sad sigh, shut the door behind him as he left the room.

James was left in silence. He stared up at the cieling, the odd tear slipping down his cheek, James felt his head becoming cloudy. His limbs felt light, as though they weren't tethered to his body anymore. He was floating. His eyelids however, were heavy as lead. The longer he stared, the harder it was to stay awake, and before long, his consciousness faded and he slipped into darkness.

----

"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.

Taglist:

"Iambetter..." James slurred.

"Good."

------

Taglist:

@jazatronasmr @onthishamsterwheel @bumpthumpwhump @bloodsweatandpotato @whatiswhump @jancameforthewhump @dream-whump @ratking-whump @inkstainsonmyhands12 @halsteadshaw13 @sparrowsage @sowhumpful @whatwhumpcomments @caspersdelusion @everythingsscary

#whump community #whumpblr #medical whump #noncon drugging #whump fics #pyschiatric hospital whump #asylum whump #medcore #forced psychiatric treatment whump #forced medical care #forced drugging #forced sedation whump #redwood psychiatric #forced intubation whump #eating disoder trigger warning #disordered eating mention #nasogastric tube whump #whump

58 notes · View notes

thisapplepielife · 6 months ago

Text

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Pretty Goddamn Metal

"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.

#corrodedcoffinfest #prompt eleven: jeff #jeff stranger things #goodie (unnamed freak) stranger things #eddie munson #gareth stranger things #freak stranger things #corroded coffin fic #ccf day eleven: jeff #thisapplepielife: corrodedcoffinfest #thisapplepielife: short fic

123 notes · View notes

edutainer2022 · 1 year ago

Text

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.

#thunderbirds are go #scott tracy #scott tracy needs a hug #thunderbirds 2015 #my fic #virgil tracy #virgil tracy needs a hug #john tracy needs a hug #methinks i have astronomy #scott tracy is skirting the empty nest syndrome #scott tracy needs his dad #earth and sky

40 notes · View notes

orange-lover · 1 year ago

Text

hi, im davepeta, i use any pronouns!

current interests: music, theology, overwatch, transformers, homestuck, jojos, league, valorant, mouthwashing, basically the most loser shit you can imagine

i ask that mutuals could tag birds (minus pidgeons and corvids) and medical cannulas (both out and in the body) with either the topic, #dp dont look or words to that effect

im not new to tumblr but this blog is new (i wanted a fresh start cuz my old one was terrible lmao)

byf bare in mind i occasionally talk about eating disorders cuz theyre an important part of my life but i always tag those posts with #cw ed and #tw ed. i also sometimes post nsfw stuff which will be tagged with #nsft. also i sometimes just start fuckign yelling a song into the post box so if you dont wanna see that i tag it w #lyricposting. if you dont want to here me say things that remind you of the uk's existence block #britposting

also im the host of a DID system and i let my stupid headmates post on here occassionally. itll usually be medic tf2 saying something insufferable. hes always here

dni is just the usual (racists, transphobes/terfs, etc etc) other than that ill just block as i see fit

my tags are:

#davepetas favorites, my tag for my fav posts

#davepeta talks, my op and rambling posts

#davepetas doodles, my tag for drawings i make

#recovery wins, for my wins in recovery of all kinds (ed, mental health and addiction)

#rb-lifeweaver, my tag for my beautiful wife niran who i miss dearly

fandomwise i tag sporadically/when i remember

my sideblogs are:

@orange-poems my poetry blog

@olaapi my homestuck rp blog (dont use it much tbh)

other sites to reach me if im not active on tumblr (rare lol) are discord at @/d4vepeta and everskies at @/davepetaspritee. feel free to dm me on here or those!

#pinned post #davepetas favorites #davepeta talks #davepetas doodles

31 notes · View notes

syncopein3d · 14 days ago

Text

Broken World II

CW for this entire story: non-lethal but serious injuries, personal betrayal, angst, medical restraint, drugging. I've been seeing more from @whumperofworlds lately and it got me thinking about how the Used As Bait trope would play out with a couple of my OCs in this little superhero/supervillain universe, so I've decided to be mean to Ripper and Bloodless again. : ) Part I here is a bit of setup.

1. Changed

The Ripper was aware of some things before others. There were sounds: something humming, something beeping, a low bone-deep vibration coming from somewhere around and below it. There were sensations: a deep persistent ache inside, everywhere, and a cold prickling sensation outside on its skin. They tried to shift position and were stopped at wrists, at ankles, at the waist, but no cloth intervened between them and the air. Whatever was under them gave a little, but it was also cold and rubbery. Whatever held them down was rougher, rugged – canvas?

Now it had come back enough to think of words. Something hurt in the corner of their elbow, but not badly compared to the rest of its body, more noticeable as pressure and pull. Bright light seared into its eyelids, hinting at worse revelations. It didn’t try to open them.

“The ceretol is wearing off,” said a heavily accented voice from somewhere above and to their right. “Try not to move yet. The infusion is complete, but you’re still changing.”

“I know you,” they said.

“Yes, I am Doctor Hale. Do you remember why you’re here?” She sounded chilly, slightly distant, only a little interested. Another day at the office. Not someone working for an insurance company that was going to be sending a patient survey later.

Ripper hunted through the fog and finally managed to trap some loose memory before it could lope away into the comfortable darkness. “Carnite,” they said. “You said you could fix me.”

“I think you will find that I agreed to try. ‘Fixed’ is an extremely relative term,” Hale said.

“Where’s my mask?”

“I need to monitor the changes. So far it seems to be more at the level of cellular reorganization, as intended with the compound I made. You became intractable after the infusion began and I was forced to sedate you to prevent you from pulling the line out.”

Intractable. Now it remembered sitting on the edge of the padded table as she – very dark, very tall, hair twisted into a million little braids that were then twisted into a huge bun – thumped at its elbows to look for a vein for the IV. That had only hurt a little, and then she hooked the IV bag up to the cannula and it tasted something sour and the pain started. It was like a separate needle found every single cell in its body at once, and stabbed, and twisted. For what felt like an hour it had hurt so bad its vision went white and black, strobing in between views of the room, and they were almost sure they’d been screaming. They might have pissed themselves, they still weren’t sure.

It must’ve only been a minute or so in real time before she was able to get hold of the IV port and inject it with something milky and light blue, and shortly after that a feeling of giddy euphoria washed through them that swirled around into – now. The time in between was just gone. They still felt that slightly weird floaty feeling in their head. It wasn’t the only time they’d experienced ceretol, the chimeric miracle drug that adapted to every body size so everybody went down and nobody OD’d. It was just the only time it had been medical. It wasn’t something that was normally used for surgery. Which this hadn’t been, it supposed.

“Still hurts,” the Ripper said.

“Yes, it will likely continue to be painful for some time yet. I will give you more ceretol.” Rustling noises: she was moving now as she spoke.

“Wait,” the Ripper said. “How long has it been?”

“Fifteen hours.”

“Is that norhhhhhmmmm,” they were hardly aware of the syllable stretching out to slushy nonsense as every feeling became fast, wonderful flight, every nerve became a pleasure nerve for a startling endless second, and then –

It could hear things again. Quieter this time. Just a distant hiss of HVAC somewhere. They were more surprised to realize that nothing hurt. The Ripper squinted their eyes open carefully on much dimmer light than before. Now it was lying on its side on a narrow bed with a blanket over it, and – it peered under the blanket. They were still naked, but they could feel the pressure of the N95 on their face now, where it belonged. They exhaled slowly as they sat up.

The recovery room was mostly empty except for the narrow bed in the middle of it and a counter off to one side with a sink. The clothes they’d brought to change into – boxers, gray sweats, navy blue tank top. Their white sneakers were lined up on the floor facing the counter. There was no mirror. The Ripper looked itself over as thoroughly as it could, but found nothing unexpected: brown skin, shaved head, couple of scars from old injuries and a T-shaped one under each nipple, piece of cotton taped in the bend of the elbow.

It held its hands clasped and pulled them apart, tearing a hole in reality. The opening into the Other Place showed a roiling mess of uncolor and then another hole, which showed a view of the Ripper from above because it had opened into the ceiling. But nothing hurt. Nothing HURT. It breathed faster as they realized that, but their chest felt fine. Their lungs filled and emptied without scratching, gurgling, coughing. They let go and the holes snapped shut. Still no pain.

It got up and padded over to the counter to start getting dressed, moving carefully at first, still a little giddy. Right, it wouldn’t be sure it had really worked until the drugs wore all the way off. But they didn’t believe Hale had deceived them. This wasn’t the first time they’d come to her, and she was never subtle. Their phone was there on the counter, still locked. They poked awkwardly at it one-handed as they pulled their pants up with the other hand.

They had a text. That happened occasionally. They hadn’t done a job for anyone but themselves for a while now, but people would still ask. The Rat turned up every few months, and he was always after stealing something, not murder, so once in a while they humored him. The Ripper half-expected it to be from Rat, so when it was an unknown number, they assumed it would be spam.

They read over it twice before they understood it.

Hey, this is Robert. I got this burner number from Tocsin last week and you don’t wanna know what I had to do to get this phone in here. I got arraignment in Tacoma on Thursday the 12th. They move me tomorrow. I know you don’t need money now but whatever you want to come get me, I’ll pay it.

Hope to God you’re still using this phone. I can’t go to jail, Thing. The lab will get me. Please, you got to do me this favor.

Please

The Ripper stood there, one hand holding its pants around its hips, for a long few seconds. He’d called them Thing again. He’d remembered.

Then it sent back:

What time leave Weds?

9:30 from FDC SeaTac’s meta wing, Robert replied immediately.

Break the phone now. See you soon.

The Ripper opened a microtear between two of its fingers, snapping the burner phone in half, then in quarters. They tossed it into the trash by the counter and scrambled into their clothes, swearing quietly. It was Tuesday night. Had they - ? No, it was half on delivery. It tore the world again to push their head and shoulders into the stale air of a buried coffin to get the prepared plastic bag. Each inch-long shard of carnite looked red and streaky, like an ugly jasper with veins of garnet, but it was warm to the touch even through the ziploc. Ripper fumbled around for a stack of thousands held together with a rubber band as well.

They went to the door and jerked it open. There was a sterile white hallway there, much brighter than the recovery room. A couple of steel carts stood against the walls.

“Hale!” Their voice wasn’t hoarse any more. They couldn’t remember the last time they’d heard themselves in their own ambiguous middle-pitch without it being scratchy.

A door opened and shut somewhere, and then the smoky glass double doors at the end of the hall hissed open to spit out Dr. Hale in her lab coat.

“There is a call button,” she said.

“Lift the field. I have to go; I’ve got a job.”

“Vigorous activity is contraindicated,” Hale said flatly, as she accepted the bag. She eyed the bills suspiciously. “What’s this?”

“A tip. They’re not marked. What’s contraindicated?”

The physician grunted as she turned back toward the doors, holding the little bag in the fingers of one hand as she flipped bills with her thumb. “Come. I will verify. If you raise your heart rate too early and too frequently, there is risk of cellular instability. You could mutate. Lose your abilities or develop changes to your physical form.”

“But tearing isn’t bad?”

“I would not speculate. You interact with another dimension. This is outside my area of expertise,” Hale said. Ripper followed her back through into a larger laboratory space. Benches full of gleaming equipment whose purpose it mostly couldn’t identify lined the walls. It knew the autoclave and a microscope, and it guessed that the carts squatting beside a restraint table were a cauterizing scalpel station and an anesthesiologist’s cart with a ventilator. The rest might have been a meth lab or a cupcake bakery for all Ripper knew.

Hale went to one of the scopes and used tweezers to dig out a chunk of carnite from about halfway down the bag. Her back was never completely to the Ripper as she tucked the stone onto a little viewing platform and bent to look into the twin eyepieces. Then she poked it with the tweezers from a couple of angles, turned it over, and poked it again.

“The carnite is good. As your physician, I still suggest you stay for observation for another ten to twelve hours.”

“I can’t,” Ripper said. “Lift the field.”

Dr. Hale lifted one shoulder minutely, lips pursed. “I have my fee. You assume all risks of ignoring my recommendation.”

“As always,” the Ripper said.

“You haven’t asked for testosterone.”

“I’m not taking it any more,” the Ripper said.

“Why?” Hale asked. “Will you be wanting breast replacement? I have been experimenting with a new growth process for - ”

“No. I like not having tits. I just don’t like being that hairy,” the Ripper said. “I’m not a man, either.”

“Very well. If you require additional treatment or modifications, you know how to contact me. I am lifting the field now.” Dr. Hale straightened, one hand on the bag of carnite, and snapped her fingers.

“Thank you,” the Ripper said.

“Go quickly.”

Part II: Bait

#whump #whumpblr #cometverse #oc ripper #oc bloodless #syncopein3d future reference #whump loss of consciousness #loss of consciousness whump #the used as bait part is coming up next

3 notes · View notes

whumpsmith-participates · 2 months ago

Text

AI-less Whumptober 2024

Day 30 - Poison, Delirium, "You're not making sense."

Tags/CW: female whumper, gaslight gatekeep girlboss, medwhump

Ryan was eager to learn. He'd always been, but right now he was neck-deep in nursing school, and he was allowed to shadow a more experienced nurse.

She introduced herself as Wendy Miller, though her name tag suggested a different first name, but she told Ryan she'd throw him out with the trash if he used it, sooo Wendy it was.

Wendy was a temp nurse, called in from a different hospital to provide an extra set of hands while the clinic was swamped with patients and operating at only half capacity after an attack. And Ryan helped Wendy however he could, hoping to learn from her without getting in her way.

Until he learned a little too much, and saw something he was never supposed to see...

When he regained consciousness, Ryan honestly first thought he just had a terrible hangover. But then he heard the familiar rhythmic beep of hospital equipment, and he remembered he hadn't even been out drinking at all — never mind him technically being too young to even be allowed to drink.

He blinked his eyes open, trying to adjust to the bright lights in the room. Why was he in a bed, and not standing next to it? Gently reassuring the patient for whatever scary procedure they were facing?

He tried to sit up, but that just made the room spin, as well as his stomach. He quickly dropped his head back onto his pillow, coughing as he nearly choked on the bile he desperately swallowed down.

Help. He needed help.

He blindly groped for the button to call a nurse, when the door already opened and a woman in pink scrubs walked in. The pink really stuck out to Ryan. It wasn't uncommon for staff to wear whatever colour of personal scrubs they liked, since the clinic had no rules against doing so. No, the pink stuck out because it jogged Ryan's memory.

"W-Wendy...."

He frowned at how weak and muted his voice sounded, reaching for his face, only to smack his hand against the oxygen mask that covered his mouth and nose. He pulled it away, barely having the strength to fight the resistance from the elastic band that was supposed to hold it in place.

"W-Wendy..."

"Oh." the nurse just replied, "Not only are you awake, you also remember me."

Why doesn't that sound reassuring?

She gently grabbed a hold of his wrist and pulled the mask from his hand and put it back on his face, not letting go just yet. In fact, her grip tightened, painfully so. Ryan's breath fogged up the mask as it picked up, and one of the machines let out a gentle beep as his heart-rate suddenly spiked.

"That dose was supposed to kill you before anyone would find you." Wendy hissed, "But unfortunately someone walked in on us, so I had to resuscitate you. Not to worry, though. I brought an extra dose~"

She finally let go of him, stepping back so she could pull a syringe from her pocket. Ryan weakly shook his head, groping around for the help button again, but it wasn't where it was supposed to be. Meanwhile Wendy casually checked the IV bags that Ryan hadn't even noticed before, before injecting whatever was in that syringe into the valve where all the tubes connected and ran straight into his arm.

Ryan reached over to disconnect the tube from the cannula, but Wendy grabbed his wrist again, trying to pin him down.

"Not so fast!" she said, "Just give in and maybe you'll die before it starts hurting."

"N-no..."

Ryan couldn't believe what was happening, yet at the same time he vividly remembered the struggle they had previously. The substance she forced him to ingest. He never did find out what it was exactly, but he had a very strong hunch now.

Something lethal.

And now she'd given him more of it. Even if he did manage to disconnect the cannula, it was probably already too late. And yet, when the door suddenly opened, Wendy suddenly changed strategies and tore it out herself.

"Ow—"

"Oh! Dr Slade, thank goodness!" Wendy exclaimed, "H-he tore out his cannula, he's beside himself!"

"W-what? N-no! D-doctor!"

"It's arite, Ryan," Dr Slade gently said, "you're safe. I'll explain what's going on, but I need you to calm down, for me. You've had a cardiac episode and I'd rather not agitate the organ until we get the test results back. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Ryan looked at the doctor in disbelieve. Did he...did he not know? Did he not see the warning glare on Wendy's face as she continued to hold him down?

"H-help me..." he wheezed desperately. "G-get her off. S-she...she did this. S-she...W-Wendy.....D-drugs..."

"See?" Wendy simply replied, faking a worried expression as she looked back at Slade, "Completely off his rocker."

She turned back to Ryan, her worried look changing back to that warning glare.

"Look at me, honey." she said, "You're not making any sense, dear. Just stop talking and breathe with me, okay?"

Ryan shook his head, each breath becoming an increasing struggle, just before some of the equipment started beeping in alarm.

"Oxygen sats just plummeted, doctor!" Wendy reported.

"Put him down, let me check his airway," Dr Slade said, moving the bed forward a bit so he could fit behind it, while Wendy finally let go of Ryan to lower the back of the bed until he was lying flat on his back.

Ryan tried to use this opportunity to pull his oxygen mask away, but Wendy stopped him as she returned to take his pillow away. Then Slade appeared above him, removing the mask entirely. Ryan knew what could happen next. He knew he could pass out, and he knew if he couldn't breathe properly they would shove a tube down his throat next. So this was his last chance.

"W....Wendy...." he choked out.

"Wendy's right here, lad. We'll take good care of you," Slade gently said.

No! She caused this!

But the sound he managed to produce didn't even sound like any existing word, and the brief flash of shock on Dr Slade's face was the last thing Ryan saw before his eyes rolled back as he lost consciousness.

And the last thing he heard?

Fucking Wendy.

"I-is he going to be alright, doctor?"

@ailesswhumptober

Masterlist Main account

If you're curious: Yes, he's going to be alright. They discovered that Wendy was up to no good and had already been flushing Ryan's system clean from any possible toxins instead of awaiting test results.

#AIlesswhumptober2024 #day 30 #poison #delirium #“You're not making sense.”#oc #fic #female whumper #medwhump #medical whump #whump writing #whump event #oc whump

4 notes · View notes

xelasrecords · 1 year ago

Text

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.

Youtube | Goodreads | Letterboxd | Pinterest

#my footnotes are getting longer each time i post #xela writes #jumin x mc #jumin han #jihyun kim #mystic messenger #mystic messenger fanfic #jumin han angst #mysme #jihyun kim platonic #mystic messenger v #jumin han fic

49 notes · View notes

honorary-fool · 2 years ago

Text

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

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin headcanons #genshin impact headcanons #disability hcs #genshin hcs #genshin impact hcs #type 1 diabetes #t1d #needles cw #needles tw #blood cw #disability #disability pride #disability pride month #📝 | my writing #🎭 | og posts

23 notes · View notes

tomtenadia · 2 years ago

Text

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.

TAGS:

@rowaelinismyotp @swankii-art-teacher @whimsicallyreading @elentiyawhitethorn @aelin-bitch-queen @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity @mis-lil-red @thegreyj @sailorsassley @leiawritesstories @clairec79 @morganofthewildfire @sv0430 @heartless--aromantic @autumnbabylon @rowanaelinn @backtobl4ck @susumaus98 @gracie-rosee @mybloodrunsblue @tanvee1231 @avenrebekah @whoever-you-choose-to-love @theywillnotsingforme @universallytreepost @black-daisy-water @goddess-aelin @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart @lovely-dove-zee @athena127

#rowan whitethorn #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin #aelin galathynius #aelin x rowan #rowan x aelin #vampires

25 notes · View notes

shion-yu · 1 year ago

Text

Day 19 - "Why Wasn't I Enough?"

If he could go back in time and change it all, would he? Whumptober 2023! I’m using the @ailesswhumptober's prompt list. This story is about my OC Al - here’s his profile if you’re so inclined: https://toyhou.se/23743193.albert

CW/TWs: Suicide (character death), self harm, chronic illness

"I think we should break up."

The words lingered in the air, heavy and devastating for both of them. Al watched as Ollie's face turned from one of excitement to heartbreak in seconds. Al hated he had caused it; had taken that smile away. But he needed to tell Ollie now so his boyfriend - soon to be ex-boyfriend - could prepare. It wouldn't be fair to wait until the last moment to tell Ollie that their carefully laid plans would no longer be possible.

"What do you mean?" Ollie asked him, his voice thin. "I don't understand. Don't say that."

Al sighed, adjusting the nasal cannula behind his ears and clearing his throat. He'd been listening to Ollie talk, once again, about how excited he was for the fall. How great moving into their own apartment in New York City would be. Al had let him exist in that dream for a long time - he hadn't wanted to ruin Ollie's finals, or graduation, or the high that had come afterwards. Plus, he'd hoped against hope that he'd miraculously be doing better by now. But it hadn't happened, and so he had to tell the truth no matter how much neither of them wanted to face it.

"You know I won't be well any time soon," Al said tiredly. He'd been in and out of the hospital all year with recurrent respiratory infections and had yet another one now. Although Al's CF had been relatively well controlled through most of his younger childhood, things had started to become a problem when he was in high school. He had missed so many days of classes that he'd had to repeat his freshman year. He met Ollie when he was a junior and Ollie was a sophomore. Ollie had no preconceived notions of Al and had just wanted a friend as he started at his new high school, having suffered terribly from bullying during his freshman year at public school. He'd managed to get a scholarship to Al's private school and Al had been drawn to his delicate but enthusiastic personality. They'd quickly become friends, and then much more. Al had always been the one to push their relationship farther, the gentleman of the couple if you would. He'd bring Ollie gifts and hold the door for him and pay for their meals out. He had been the first to initiate a kiss, then sex; the first to say I love you. He didn't regret it either, but now that he'd gotten sicker he worried that he was no longer the person Ollie had fallen in love with. The idea of holding Ollie back from the dreams he'd worked so hard for was one Al couldn't bear.

"You've worked so hard to get into FIT, with a freaking full scholarship," Al said slowly, looking down at his lap. "That's amazing. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity. But because of my health, I can't go with you anymore. I'm sorry."

Ollie shook his head quickly, his eyes immediately filled with angry tears. It hurt Al to see him cry, but it was unavoidable. He believed he was doing this for Ollie's sake, because Al knew Ollie would never do it himself even if he wanted to. "How can you say that? No way," Ollie insisted.

Al sighed, rubbing his temple. "You have to go, Ollie. You earned it. Maybe in another year I'll be healthy enough to join you... But this year, I need to stay here." He'd grown so weak it was even a struggle for him to walk; the apartment they'd found for themselves in New York was on the fourth floor in an old building without an elevator. The nearest subway stop was a good ten minute walk away. His doctors and parents - the people who took care of him - were all here in Ohio. It wouldn't be a good choice to leave now when he was already doing so poorly. "I can't stand the idea of holding you back," Al said, swallowing the pit in his throat back. "I wouldn't be able to forgive myself. Please, go to New York without me."

"Marry me."

Al was caught completely off guard by this question, although it was phrased much more like a statement than anything. Ollie's face looked frighteningly serious. "Wait... What?" Al asked him in shock. "Ollie, no, I can't do that. You know I love you. And I... I'd love to be married to you someday," he said, his voice wavering. "But right now you need to focus on building your career that you worked harder than anyone else to earn. You don't have time to drag me along and be my caretaker."

"Yes, I do," Ollie insisted with such conviction that it intimidated Al. "I love you, and I won't go to New York without you. It's not my dream, it's our dream. I'm sure I can defer my classes for at least one semester, right? That way we can wait until spring and hopefully you'll be all better by then."

Al shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know, Ollie. It sounds like you're sacrificing too much just for me. I can't hold you back."

"You wouldn't hold me back. I can take classes at the community college for a semester and it'll save me money overall," Ollie insisted. "It's my choice, and it's not a sacrifice if we're engaged right?"

"Ollie... Your whole life all you've ever wanted is to get out of this town," Al said sadly. "And what if I'm still not healthy enough by next semester? You can't know that."

"Then I'll stay longer. Yes my dream is to leave this town, but... I have another dream too. To spend the rest of my life married to you. So will you marry me, Al?"

Later, Al would think back to this moment many times. Sometimes fondly, but mostly with regret. If he could turn back time, take it all back, would he? If he'd said no, things surely would have turned out differently. Ollie never would've lost his scholarship. He never would've had a reason to try to kill himself the first time. He never would've been successful the second time after failing to ever make up for that lost opportunity. In Al's most understanding moments, he realized that there was no way of knowing if these statements were true. Everything might've played out the same no matter what. But when Al was feeling most vulnerable, he regretted his answer because it made him truly believe it was all his fault. He should've known better. He was older, the more rational one from the start.

But instead, he'd said, "Okay."

It was something he could never take back. They were married a month later, Al by proxy because he was too sick to leave the hospital. Their parents seemed reluctant to give their full blessing, but they did so anyway. They couldn't say no to Ollie's passion and Al, who at one point truly seemed like he might die. That was another maybe. If he'd never made it past twenty, what would have been different? Al felt such guilt related to his illness - both for being sick and for not being sick enough to die. If he had, Ollie would've been forced to move on without him.

It got worse when they moved to New York, trying to recapture that lost dream despite Ollie being unable to be re-accepted into the same program. Al was well enough to join him, but not well enough to work so he was always home. Ollie hated his day job answering complaints at the tabloid magazine and he hated his evening job of bussing tables at the diner. He hated their ugly and cramped apartment that was nothing like the brownstone he'd imagined living in. He hated himself for being so miserable, and he hated Al for being there for him to blame. Many times he lost his temper, usually when drunk, and told Al in no uncertain terms that he could be doing so much more if they weren't together. Al would cry, begging him not to go and Ollie's heart would melt every time. He'd feel guilty and play nice until his regrets overwhelmed him again. It was a vicious cycle.

Was it all bad? No - not most of the time. To the rest of the world, their marriage seemed infallible. They were Ollie and Al, always together and a beautiful couple. Most days, they both believed it too. But the cracks in their foundation could only hold so much regret, and at the end things had really started to crumble. Ollie's patience had worn thin and he snapped at Al often. "Maybe I should just kill myself. That or let's get a divorce." It wasn't the first time he said those words. But it would be the last time, and it was the first time Al had reacted so angrily, truly broken down from years of begging Ollie not to say such terrible things.

"Fine, if you hate me that much then just pick one already, I don't care anymore!"

Al had regretted saying it even before it had fully left his mouth. He apologized quickly, his outburst leaving Ollie so shocked that it had completely diffused his anger. Eventually Ollie had nodded. Said he was okay. Kissed Al goodnight. They went to sleep side by side, the same as before: Ollie and Al. Together until the end, no matter what. Right?

Ollie didn't leave a note. They'd beaten everything they could have said to each other to death anyways, by the end. All the I love yous, the I'm sorrys, the thank yous. Any attempt at poetic justice would've seemed fake. But after so many threats, Al still didn't expect it to happen for real until he found Ollie's body, all signs of life long gone.

Would he have done it all differently if he could? Al hoped he would've. But he was also a child, and Ollie had been too. When they were sixteen and seventeen, so in love and not afraid to promise each other the world, it seemed like nothing bad could ever happen as long as they were together. Every declaration of love seemed like the greatest feeling in the world. How could he have given that up? Al still treasured the memory of those early years, marred as they were by what had happened in the end. Even now he didn't want to give them up. So if he could go back in time and change it all, would he? Perhaps selfishly, Al didn't know.

#ShionWrites #oc: Albert #ailesswhumptober2023 #ailesswhumptoberday29 #ailesswhumptober #day 19 #whump #tw: suicide #tw: self harm #tw: death #tw: character death #angst #emotional whump #chronic illness whump

1 note · View note

creator-of-calm-queer-chaos · 2 years ago

Text

With great pride and lots of pain do I bring to you... Febuwhump day 1: alt 6, Limp, with Coulson and team

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44655928/chapters/112344958 for master post, https://archiveofourown.org/works/44706922 for individual posts

Characters: Coulson, Ward, Fitzsimmons, Skye

Prompt: Limp

CW: Snake/snake bites, minor surgery and IV

Everyone was panting, still in shock. The plane was still flying, the raft was blocking the hole in the side of the shift, and no one on their team was dead. A little beat up, sure, but not dead. Skye did a survey of the room: Ward was panting, leaning against the raft. He looked exhausted and a mess, but he was okay. Coulson was standing over a soldier he had just knocked out, his expression sad. But he was okay. The plane righted itself and stayed at a level altitude, meaning May was okay. Fitz and Simmons hefted themselves up over the hallway barrier, ruffled but also okay. Skye got up and walked over to Ward, offering him a hand up as the lights flickered. They looked about, but they steadied again. “I read the safety pamphlet,” Skye said dryly. “I think you might be the first,” Ward responded, wincing slightly. They gathered around the bar, all out of breath. “No other way in or out, huh,” Coulson remarked, picking up a glass and setting it on the counter. “I was just starting to warm up to this place.” Skye chuckled and grabbed a coaster, putting it down and deftly placing the glass on top of it. “The 084 is cooling and stable,” Fitz said, still hugging the post. “But we should call HQ and get it to the Slingshot as soon as possible.” Coulson nodded and stepped away, limping. “We should get everyone patched up,” Simmons said, nodding at Coulson. “I’ll go get things.” Coulson made his way to the Comandante. “Told you they were good,” he smiled. “You forgot something,” she whispered back. She looked at his foot, which he barely was resting on the ground. Skye leaned over, watching them. “Uh, guys? What’s up with Coulson’s foot?” “Nothing,” he called over his shoulder. “I’m fine. Go patch each other up, I’ll be there in a minute.” “You don’t want them to know,” Reyes smiled. “Fine. I’ll wait.” “Sir, she’s secure, let’s get you checked out,” Skye said, walking deftly over and taking him by the arm. She turned him away, hitting a button to close Reyes in the room. They started walking to the lab, but it became increasingly apparent that something was wrong. Coulson leaned heavily on Skye, barely putting weight on his left foot. His breathing became laboured. “Sir? Talk to me, what’s going on?” “My leg…” he mumbled. “Yeah, figured that much,” she muttered. “WARD! Help me get him down the stairs, please.” Ward stuck his head out from the lab, Simmons following him with a compression pack. He saw Skye basically holding Coulson up and ran up the stairs. “Don’t aggravate your wound!” Simmons scolded, but he immediately disregarded her and picked up Coulson like a baby. “Fitzsimmons, something’s really wrong, he’s not breathing right,” Ward said, carrying him back down the stairs and placing him on the table like a child. “Sir, what’s going on?” “He said something about his leg, he could barely walk on it,” Skye put in, close behind. Coulson looked around at them, squinting. He blinked hard. “I think I died in a past life,” he mumbled slowly. He proceeded to collapse onto the table. “Crap,” Simmons whispered, jumping to check his heart. “Fitz, get the oxygen tank and a nose cannula while I figure this- oh my god.” She had pulled up the pant leg to reveal two small holes on his leg, seeping yellow. The area around it was tender and swollen, but more than that, his foot was greying. “Snake bite,” Ward said gravely. “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock,” Skye said, moving around the table. “Simmons, tell us what we can do to help.” She had already grabbed a pair of scissors and was cutting away the leg of his pant. “Ward, get an oximeter on his finger, Skye, there’s a box in the shelf labelled ‘exercise equipment,’ grab an exercise band and a stick of a sort, we need to lessen the blood flow to his leg.” They did as she said, sweating. Fitz came back with a can of oxygen and placed the cannula under his nose. Simmons elevated his leg, and cleaned the immediate area, gently dabbing inside the snake bite with a q-tip. She handed it to Fitz, telling him to identify the poison. She told Skye to go tell May. As Fitz tried to identify the venom, Simmons walked Ward through putting in an IV while she dug around the medical draws. “Who flies the most well stocked plane to Peru without extensive supplies of snake antivenom?!” she cried, sifting through bags upon bags with different labels. “Ward, how’s the IV coming?” “It’s in, I put the fluids on it,” he remarked, stoic. “Good how’s his pulse?” “Uh… it says 30?” he said, reading off the display. “Shit,” she whispered again, abandoning the search for antivenom. “Fitz, any detections?” “No, it must not be updated with South American venoms,” he said, wringing his hands. “What sort of system doesn’t have the most poisonous snake venoms in it!” “Look for similar venoms, then,” she ordered. “Oh, I don’t want to have to cut off his foot.” May and Skye ran back down the stairs, May’s face showing some semblance of fear. “What happened?” May demanded. “Snake bite, see if we can get to a hospital nearby, and let HQ know,” Simmons ordered. “It says its similar to a ‘golden lancehead’ venom,” Fitz called to her. “Oh, of course, why didn’t I think of that earlier!” she muttered to herself. “Skye, go back through those antivenoms, there should be several labelled ‘bothrops insularis.’” Simmons walked over to Coulson’s other side, preparing to set in another tap. “May, go!” May looked at Coulson, almost fearfully, then angrily. “Save him.” She turned and ran back up the stairs. “What was that about?” Skye whispered as she dug through the bags, but nobody gave her question any thought. There were more important things at hand. “Here, found it! I think, whose handwriting is that?” “I didn’t think anyone else would have to read it,” Fitz groaned, taking it and hooking it up to another IV port. “Simmons, you ready?” “The ports in,” she responded, turning the pincher and letting the antivenom flow. She exhaled heavily. “There. That will prevent him from dying, but I don’t know about his leg…” They all breathed out a huge sigh. Simmons looked at his leg again, and took a small syringe and injected some local antibiotics. She probed it, grabbing her magnifying specs, and looked inside. “Dammit,” she whispered. “What? What is it?” Skye asked, looking up from the floor where she sat. “Simmons?” “There are fangs inside his leg. I need to get them out.” “What can we do?” Ward asked immediately. “I’ve never done venomous fangs, I’ve done plenty of bullets though.” “They’re very different, if you shatter the fangs he’ll lose his leg for sure,” she explained, pulling a tarp over the rest of his leg. “No, I’ll do this myself, but Ward, go update May, and Skye, in case this is too different from the insularis, I need you to try to code the computer to include the lesser known snakes of Peru. Fitz, help me get everything.” Ward sighed and ran back up the stairs while Skye sat down at the computer. She immediately started tapping away, staring at the screen intently. Fitz brought Simmons a kit labelled ‘removal surgery kit.’ She opened it, then washed her hands again. “Didn’t you just wash your hands?” Skye asked her. “You can never wash your hands enough,” Simmons responded. “Fair enough.” Simmons dried off her hands and checked Coulson’s vitals. He was steady. She covered more of his leg, and injected a local anaesthesia. “Fitz, keep an eye on his vitals. In the off chance he wakes up, you need to explain what’s happening or else he’ll move to violently,” she instructed, belting down his thigh. “He’s all set.” Simmons washed her hands again, pulled on a pair of gloves, put on a doctor’s mask, and picked up a scalpel. She took a deep breath, and began to operate.

An hour later, Coulson had eight more stitches in his leg, four for each hole. Simmons had placed the fangs in a small container, and it was sitting on the desk. They had moved Coulson to his bed, still on an IV and cannula. May was watching him, and had promised to let them know the moment there was any update. Skye had finished adding all known snakes to the programme, and had requested a data transfer from HQ with the extensive list of venom types. Ward was sitting in the living area, reading a novel, but he had been on the same page for almost half an hour. Simmons was reorganising the surgery equipment, and had filed a request for all known antibiotics for once they landed at HQ. Fitz was watching her, leaning back in the chair. “Simmons, that’s enough,” Fitz finalky said, standing up and walking over to her. “It’s plenty organised by now. You don’t need to keep working at it.” “No, Fitz, it’s not enough,” she cried, standing up and facing him, arms spread wide. “What if we hadn’t been able to find the right antivenom? What if we hadn’t been able to get the fangs out? The. Cookson could be dead and it would have been this bloody systems fault!” Fitz paused, looking at her. He sighed heavily, then closed the gap between them, hugging her. “But he didn’t. He’s fine. You saved him - because you’re amazing,” he whispered. “Oh, Fitz,” she sighed, leaning into his hug. A tear escaped. “I’m just so worried.” “Hey, don’t be,” he said, looking at her. “Look, we’ll be landing soon, let’s go get you some tea. I’ll make it just how you like it.” Fitz took her hand and lead her up the stairs, passing the room where Coulson slept and May kept guard, passing where Grant was doodling on a paper, passing where Skye had made her nest and she coded. And Simmons smiles. Because they were safe.

#febuwhump #febuwhump 2023 #febuwhump day 1 #alt 6: limp #aos #agents of shield #phil coulson #fitzsimmons #skye johnson #grant ward #melinda may

0 notes