#lung cancer stages life expectancy

[strangespector]

Breathless

Summary: A bad habit that has consequences

Words: 1046

The flashing lights of paparazzi cameras illuminated the night, capturing Jenna Ortega in a moment that would soon be plastered all over social media. The young actress, beloved by millions, was caught with a cigarette in hand, the smoke curling up into the night sky. The pictures went viral almost instantly, eliciting reactions from fans, critics, and, most notably, her family. Jenna's mother was especially vocal about her disapproval, a sentiment echoed by the rest of her family. They knew Jenna had started smoking on set, a habit picked up in the chaotic world of Hollywood, but seeing it publicly displayed ignited a firestorm of concern and frustration.

Despite their pleas, Jenna continued smoking, a habit that became a part of her daily routine. She would often light up at home, the scent of tobacco lingering in the air. I, on the other hand, had never touched a cigarette in my life. The smoke bothered me at first, the acrid scent clinging to the furniture, my clothes, and even my hair. But I loved Jenna. She was my world, and though I disliked her smoking, I endured it because I knew how much stress she was under. I figured it was her way of coping, a temporary crutch in the high-pressure world she navigated every day.

Years passed, and Jenna's star only continued to rise. She became a household name, and with every new role, her fanbase grew. But alongside her success, her smoking habit persisted. By now, it had become second nature to her, a part of her routine as much as brushing her teeth or making coffee in the morning. I often found myself coughing, my chest tightening uncomfortably whenever the smoke hung too thick in the air. There were days when I felt short of breath, but I chalked it up to a cold or allergies. The thought that something could be seriously wrong never crossed my mind.

It wasn’t until I started losing weight rapidly, my energy levels plummeting, that I decided to see a doctor. The cough that had lingered for months turned into something more sinister, a persistent ache that gnawed at my insides. After a series of tests and a tense waiting period, the diagnosis came: lung cancer, stage three. The words hung in the air like a death sentence. The doctor explained that the cause was likely secondhand smoke, a byproduct of living with a smoker for so many years.

When I told Jenna, she was devastated. The color drained from her face as she realized the implications of what the doctor had said. This wasn't just any illness—this was a direct consequence of her habit. A habit she had nurtured and indulged, not realizing the price I would eventually pay. She cried for days, apologizing over and over, but I reassured her that I didn’t blame her. After all, it had been my choice to stay, my choice to love her despite her flaws. But deep down, I knew she carried the weight of this guilt, a burden she would never fully shake off.

The chemotherapy was brutal. Each session left me weaker than the last, my body battered and bruised by the relentless assault of drugs meant to kill the cancer. Jenna was by my side through it all, her eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep and constant worry. She quit smoking immediately, the sight of a cigarette now repulsive to her. She did everything she could to make me comfortable, but the cancer had spread too far, too fast. The doctors were honest with us—it was only a matter of time.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, I grew weaker. My once-strong body was now frail, a shadow of the person I used to be. Breathing became difficult, each inhale a struggle, each exhale a sigh of resignation. I knew my time was running out, and I accepted it with a calmness I hadn’t expected. I had lived a good life, a happy life, despite the challenges. And Jenna, for all her faults, had made me happier than I ever thought possible.

When the end was near, I made one final request: I wanted to go home. The hospital was cold, sterile, a place where people went to fight for their lives. But I wasn’t fighting anymore. I just wanted to be in a place that felt familiar, surrounded by the memories of a life well-lived. Jenna arranged everything, bringing me home and setting up a bed in the living room where the sunlight streamed in through the windows.

The last few days were a blur of pain and medication. I could feel myself slipping away, my consciousness fading in and out like a weak radio signal. But Jenna was always there, holding my hand, her presence a steady anchor in the storm of my fading life. I remember the last time I opened my eyes, her face blurry but unmistakable, framed by the soft afternoon light. She was crying, her tears falling silently onto our clasped hands.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I'm so sorry for everything."

I mustered what little strength I had left and smiled at her, a weak but genuine smile. "I forgive you," I said, my voice barely a breath. "You gave me a happy life, Jenna. That's all that matters."

And in that moment, as I looked into her tear-filled eyes, I felt a deep sense of peace. I had no regrets, no anger, only love for the woman who had been my everything. I closed my eyes, holding onto that final image of her, my heart full even as my body failed. And then, with one last breath, I let go, slipping away into the quiet darkness, leaving Jenna with the memories of our life together and the lesson learned from a habit that had cost us both so dearly.

Jenna would go on to live her life, forever changed by the experience. She would tell our story to others, a cautionary tale of love, loss, and the heavy price of a moment’s indulgence. And though I was gone, I knew she would carry me with her, in her heart, every step of the way.

[ky-yk]

delicate (hyj x f!reader)

genre: fluff || word count: 2.1k

author’s note: this is me trying (no pun intended) to manage my expectations and also stop my delusions in their wake, hope y’all enjoy ✊😔

war was over.

after fighting valiantly and shedding blood, sweat, tears, and your cold hard cash, you finally got to reap the fruits of your labor as you settled into your seat for taylor swift's concert in singapore.

you took it all in: the sea of seats slowly filling up, the excited chatter of swifties and casual fans alike, and just the entire scale of the production.

that didn't mean you weren't logical, though.

"goddamn, i'm far," you muttered to yourself in disbelief as you shook your head and took your phone out to pass the time. even while you were focused on your phone, you could vaguely make out the people settling into the seats around you out of the corner of your eye.

as time drew closer to 7 pm, you felt someone plop into the seat beside you, chest heaving and clearly exhausted from the rush. you turned to give her a once over: bucket hat pulled so far down her face you wonder how she even made to her seat, masked up to add to the air of mystery, but dressing to the nines yet so effortlessly. they're a swiftie, what'd i expect, you thought to yourself.

striking brown eyes, that's what.

your seat mate must've noticed your gaze on her as she looks up at you like a puppy, her eyes barely peeking out from under her hat. it's when she raises her hat up a little bit that you see her big brown doe eyes staring straight into yours, and you start questioning if you cured cancer in your past life because what do you mean i sit next to this beauty for a whole concert??

you notice that she’s trying to tell you something, but she might as well have said nothing because there was no way she could overpower the blasting speakers and the ruckus of the crowd. you raised your eyebrows as if to ask her to repeat herself. she shook her head with a smile as she leaned forward, which you took as a sign to do the same.

“i’m sorry for disturbing you, by the way,” your seatmate says sheepishly. but all you could do was stare dumbly at her as you try to process what the hell was happening.

okay what the hell not only does she dress well but she’s pretty AND she has a raspy voice?! lord god if you took me right here right now i wouldn’t be complaining, this is a lovely way to die.

“um, you alright there?”

“huh?”

you know maybe i should just die right here.

“oh! oh yeah, i’m alright,” you chuckled, trying to shake off the awkwardness. as she laughs along with you easily, you hope her pillow is always cold at night for choosing to ignore the awkwardness of being stared at.

“anyways, you get here safe?” she asks, trying to make small talk.

as you opened your mouth to reply, you both notice the crowd go wild as the lights go down and a video plays on screen. you look back at your seatmate with an apologetic look as she just shakes her head in amusement.

“looks like the show’s about to begin, huh?” she shouts at you while leaning forward to stand like everyone else in your section to get a better view of the stage. you followed her lead, but only after staring up in awe at your enigma of a seatmate.

you stood on your tippy toes to try to see what was happening on stage. your timing couldn't be more perfect since it just so happened that, at that moment, taylor finally came on stage, prompting everyone to holler and further blocking your view.

how'd you know?

your seatmate's screeches, that's how.

"OH MY GOD IT'S TAYLOR, TAYLOR'S ON STAGE!" she screamed at the top of her lungs as she jumped along with the rest of the crowd.

screamed at you, that is.

she repeatedly slapped your shoulder in excitement as your face morphed from surprise to exaggerated discomfort in a second and you doubled over.

"OW!" you yelled half-jokingly.

she looked at you with wide eyes as she ran her mouth off, held you close, and rubbed your shoulders while apologizing, but those went in one ear and out the other as you turned your head to get a better look at the girl.

her hat must've fallen off while she was jumping around, but you wonder why she was even wearing one in the first place because no one this pretty should be hiding themselves.

no one with long, black, and wavy hair that flowed well past her shoulders and framed her face perfectly should cover that up.

no one with big, brown, and expressive eyes that you could just drown in should have to shield them. they deserve to be put into a museum.

they deserve to be admired.

you snap back to reality when she drops her arms and moves to make some space between you two, and she realizes that you're staring at her, suddenly frantically looking for her hat. you try to stop her in her tracks.

"hey hey, it's alright," you reassure her. "you look really pretty, by the way." she seemed to be taken aback.

"wait do you..." she starts to question before catching herself and instead choosing to say, "oh, um, thank you! you do too, by the way."

"i'm just saying you don't need the hat. i mean, how would you even be able to see taylor?"

she picks her hat off the floor and stares at it long and hard, as if deep in thought.

"you know what? you're right."

she then puts her hat on her chair before turning her attention back to the stage with a smile -- right on time for cruel summer.

as soon as the telltale intro started, she grabbed you by the shoulders again and started jumping around while screaming the lyrics. your eyes widened and your shoulders stiffened at the sudden proximity before you relaxed and just enjoyed the moment, screaming at the top of your lungs with the rest of the crowd.

"I'M DRUNK IN THE BACK OF THE CAR, AND I'M CRYING LIKE A BABY COMING HOME FROM THE BAR, OH!" you both screamed at each other, pointing to each other while using your phones as mics at the same time.

"SAID I'M FINE BUT IT WASN'T TRUE, I DON'T WANNA KEEP SECRETS JUST TO KEEP YOU, AND I," you aggressively pointed at each other at every syllable. you were both stuck in your own little world -- as if you'd known each other your whole lives.

as the show went on, you'd sometimes sneak glances at the girl beside you and smile to yourself as you enjoyed the sight of her just letting loose.

on one occasion, though, she must've felt your gaze on her as she turns to meet yours. you didn't even bother covering it up; there was no saving yourself. you just mirror her bright smile that makes her eyes disappear, hoping this moment would last forever.

then again, all good things must come to an end.

the concert flies by, and the next thing you know, you and your seatmate are seated once again, trying to catch your breath.

you didn't even get to take many pictures because of how much fun you were having.

"wow," she said as she looked up at the ceiling. she then went quiet, as if replaying the events of the night in her head. she shook her head with a smile and turned to look at you before a phone notification soon caught her attention.

a whole slew of them.

you just looked on as she sighed, replying to only one of them before shutting her phone off and giving you her fullest attention with a smile.

"you're quite famous, huh?" you joked. her eyes went wide as the color seemingly drained from her face. "oh no, i just meant that because you had a lot of notifs," you said, trying to save face and reassure her. i wonder why she clams up randomly, you thought to yourself.

you then realize that you may never get the answer to your question. and the thought disappoints you.

what have i got to lose?

you got your phone and switched on your camera, pointing it towards the stage.

"hey," you say, trying to get her attention. you held your hand out in front of the camera in a peace sign, hoping she catches your drift. soon enough, you see another peace sign in front of your camera, and you start to snap away.

afterwards, you turn your peace sign into half a heart, and she does the same.

"let's take a pic together, you and me," you tell her. before she even got the chance to reply, you immediately followed it up. "only if you want to! i don't want to make you uncomfortable, seeing as we're strangers and all--"

she cut off your rambling by plucking your phone out of your hands and switching it to selfie mode. "it's fine..."

"y/n."

"y/n. lovely name for a lovely person,” she remarked. “anyways, you're good. now, come on! my arm's getting tired."

you got into the frame, posing with her and making funny faces before she chuckled and proceeded to airdrop the pictures to herself.

"let's get going?" she asks as she gets up from her seat. you nod and follow her lead out of the stadium.

conversation flows easily between the both of you as you slowly make your way outside, not wanting the moment to end.

soon enough, you made it outside. you turn to face her, bouncing on your heels as you spoke.

"um, i guess this is it."

"yeah, i guess it is."

you open your mouth to take a leap, to make the moment last, but of course it had to be cut short by the honk of a black van that pulled up close to you both.

she looks towards the van. "well, i guess this is me."

you knew you'd regret it if you didn't make a move, so you took your chances.

"wait!"

"hm?" she looks at you expectantly -- and maybe a little hopefully, unless you were deluding yourself.

"i...had a lot of fun tonight, and i'd hate if this were just a one night thing, you know?"

she chuckles in response. "i did too, y/n."

"so...would you want to meet up again soon?"

"i'm not from here, you know."

"neither am i, but who knows what'll happen?" you tried to reason out.

"you make a good point," she resigns.

"how about this: if you can find me after tonight, then we can go out."

"deal!" you replied a little too excitedly.

"alright, well, i'll see you around, y/n," she says as she moves to get inside her car.

"wait!"

"yes, y/n?"

"i don't even know your name."

"i guess you're right," she says.

she steps into your personal space, close enough that you could get a whiff of her perfume, as she holds your shoulders and leans in to whisper, as if only for you to hear.

"it's jen."

she then pulls away, but not after placing a peck on your cheek. she then steps back.

"have a good night, y/n. get home safe!" she says before ducking to get inside her car.

"bye," you whisper into the night as you watch the car speed off.

you turn around to make your way towards the subway. you check your twitter, going through your timeline before you decided to check the trends. one trend caught your eye, though. "JENJEN," it read. enticed, you clicked on it.

LE SSERAFIM's Huh Yunjin spotted at Taylor Swift's The Eras Tour in Singapore. attached to the tweet were pictures of your seatmate waiting in line and standing around in her bucket hat.

you stopped in your tracks, eyes wide, as you continued to scroll down, seeing tweets from what appeared to be kpop stan accounts.

so glad to see our resident swiftie enjoying her life AS SHE SHOULD

is she a ninja or smth bc how did none of us notice she was gone

why do u need to know where she is all the time smh 🙄

she looks like she had a lot of fun, thank u sg fearnots for not crowding her!

huh yunjin, huh?

you jumped over to instagram as you kept walking to the subway station to search her name up. clicking on the first account you saw, you realized that your seatmate was a celebrity.

you clicked on the big blue follow button and watched it turn into two separate buttons: following and message. you clicked on the latter button.

itsy/n: found you

itsy/n: 1 image attached.

[tatsumessy]

marriage is a commitment. sae knew that. he married you because he was ready to commit to whatever came his way. he was ready for whatever challenge, obstacle that came his way. he was ready to start a family ready to grow old with the one person who truly makes him happy.

what he didn’t expect were the downfalls. he didn’t expect to find out that his wife of five years had stage 4 lung cancer. he was so oblivious to the obvious signs. the way you cut all your hair off because you wanted to try something new, they way you’d wake up hours later than you usually would and still complain about being tired. they way your daily glow disappeared in the time span of two months.

one thing sae didn’t commit to was learning to commit to living without the love of his life not there. sae didn’t commit to sleeping alone at night not being able to call you because he knows you won’t answer. sae knows he won’t be able to see your smile anymore, he won’t be able to hear you laugh at the most stupidest shit anymore, he won’t be able to smell you, and worst of all he won’t be able to see you anymore.

sae did commit to a lot of things for you but one thing he refuses to commit to is moving on, trying to find someone who could fill even a quarter of the mark you left. sae will forever and alway commit to loving you.

a/n: I really wanted to cry right now but I refuse to do it alone so enjoy this suffering with me

[ahlis-xiv]

Well it's been about two months so I suppose I need to post an update about why I fell off tumblr and pretty much all socmed.

(warning: family member death, terminal illness, animal illness)

On August 1st my husband, Travis, went to see his PCP about these odd hearing issues he'd been having with certain sounds. The dr., after hearing his symptoms and learning about other issues that had happened earlier on decided to do a CT scan to see if it would turn up anything.

And it did: the scan revealed a tumor had begun to grow in his left occipital lobe. After that everything was a series of revelations one worse after the other. We went to the ER, had more scans done, and that tumor in his brain was a result of metastatic colon cancer. He has lesions in his lungs, liver, and a significant primary tumor in his sigmoid colon.

I'm not going to go into the terrible nitty gritty of what all that entailed except overnight our lives came crashing down. Since then he has had surgery + gamma knife radiation treatment to deal with the brain tumors (he also a much smaller other lesion too besides the bigger one, but it did not need physical removal) and has recovered very well from it. We have been running between doctor visits, doing blood work, chemo, having home health visits and trying to keep our wits while letting the relevant people know what has been happening.

Right now I am his primary caregiver and staying busy looking over him as he follows through on his current chemo regimen of infusions every 2 weeks plus an infusion pump he takes home with him for 48 hrs post-infusion day. He's about to have his 3rd infusion and so far he's handling it as well as expected for a 1st line treatment plan. Further surgery is not planned but it's not off the table, we just need to see how these drugs are handling his cancer and go from there.

And as if this wasn't awful enough between all of this happening my mother had to go to the hospital for similar gallbladder issues that I had a few years ago, and then my uncle (my father's twin brother) suddenly passed away and none of us could go to the funeral in Greece. Toasty Marshmallow, our wonderful and precious cat, has also started to have some balance issues with his back legs and we're still trying to find out why; he has a vet appointment for some more labs and x-rays later this week. ALL of this happened within the span of a month. Needless to say, I have been having A Time of It. Travis was not given a great prognosis, as is typical of stage IV cancer, but we are trying to remain optimistic yet realistic. We will do what we can and what we must to keep him happy and as healthy as possible, for as long as we can.

Now that we've gotten into some semblance of a routine with what has happened I think I can finally breathe a little and get back into something to get my mind off the impending everything that is my life now. I might even play XIV again and pick up where I left off lol.

Guys, life as you know it can end in an instant. Go hug your fam, your pet, and if not that take a moment to breath and be thankful. Nothing is forever, but enjoy it while it's there.

[defectivevillain]

this winding labyrinth, ch8

chapter eight: excarnation

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader is not gendered, race-ambiguous, and no physical descriptors are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is chapter 8, act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read act 1 or chapters 1-7, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: mentions of cancer (stage 4 lung), chronic illness, self-deprecating thoughts; typical blood/violence. Gore!!! A LOT of gore. This cannot be overstated. Please take caution!!!!

Nothing haunts Jack Crawford. The criminals he places behind bars (with the assistance of his team) fade from his mind’s eye the moment they’re confined. He doesn’t have time to dwell on memories. His attention moves from one threat to the next to the next; he is purpose-driven and rarely distracted. The few nightmares he does have hit far closer to home—with Bella’s Stage 4 lung cancer suddenly spiking and causing her immense, unlivable pain. Jack’s deepest, darkest fear isn’t a serial killer ripping him apart—it’s the thought of looking into Bella’s eyes, hazy with pain, and feeling completely helpless as she suffers. 

Even so, there is one exception: one killer who will break through Jack’s barriers in the quietest of moments, when he least expects it. Yes, Jack supposes, Hannibal Lecter is a special case. He isn’t an average psychopath—he is charismatic and incredibly composed. And what eludes Jack most is the undeniable fact that the only reason they caught Lecter… was because he allowed them to. His surrender was tactical, pointed—and grounded in his conviction that he would be able to escape whenever he desired. Jack can only hope that Lecter was incorrect; can only hope that the man will rot in a cell for the rest of his life. (But he knows, deep down, that Hannibal Lecter is rarely wrong. And that troubles Jack far more than he’s willing to admit.)

In the time following Lecter’s “surrender,” Jack does not think of him. For several months, his mind palace is thoroughly guarded against any unwelcome intrusions. His attention is devoted to: 1) Bella, whose condition is slowly but surely worsening; and 2) his work with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Admittedly, there is something else that occasionally crosses his mind—but it isn’t necessarily related to Lecter’s seemingly countless murders. Instead, it is the nature of Lecter’s affections for you that consistently bothers him. 

The look on Hannibal’s face that fateful night often flickers before Jack’s eyes, and he feels a strange sense of guilt at the memory. Because Jack was the reason Hannibal met you—he was the one to introduce you both, all those years ago. He needed you to pass a psychiatric evaluation and Hannibal seemed intelligent enough to understand that—to understand how essential it was for you to return to the field. Jack hadn’t thought that he had made a misstep until he saw the two of you together at the crime scene the Minnesota Shrike left behind—until he saw Hannibal practically latched to your side, looming over you like a menacing, all-encompassing shadow. 

Now, as Jack stands before Hannibal Lecter in his cage at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, he feels as if he’s drowning in déjà vu. Those brown-crimson eyes pin him in place before the glass enclosure. Frederick Chilton’s interest in Hannibal is abundantly clear, Jack realizes, as his eyes wander across bookshelves, a writing desk, and other amenities that the other prisoners certainly do not have. Chilton has always been annoyingly self-serving, and Jack isn’t even sure if a conversation with him would change his behavior. It is clear that the administrator is painfully aware of the kind of opportunity Lecter’s captivity presents: a once-in-a-lifetime chance to study someone who defies all existing research. Jack personally can’t see the appeal; he is instead concerned with the lives the man has taken and the families he has torn apart in the process. He is instead concerned with the inexplicable feeling burrowed deep in his chest—the one that suggests that, despite their positioning, Jack is the one trapped in walls of glass (the pawn) while Hannibal looks on (forever the chessmaster). 

“Hello, Jack.” Hannibal greets him, looking up from his book. His eyes are twinkling, Jack notes with distaste. 

“Lecter,” Jack responds carefully, unable to keep the disdain out of his voice. Hannibal notices this and a slight smile rises on his lips. “You requested to speak with me.” And while Jack’s instincts screamed at him to ignore the request, he knew he really had no choice. If there’s a chance, no matter how small, that Lecter has information on the Tooth Fairy… Well, Jack will endure the man’s mind games. 

“I did,” Hannibal acquiesces, clasping his hands and crossing one leg over the other. Even in a nondescript white jumpsuit, he makes the gesture look elegant. “How are you, Jack?” Immediately, Jack is annoyed. He doesn’t have the patience for this. As the Head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, he has never had much time for meaningless conversation. Every second wasted is another second for a knife to be lodged between someone’s ribs—another chance for innocent lives to be taken. 

“I struggle to believe you summoned me to engage in casual conversation,” Jack says, not bothering to hide his irritation anymore. 

“Perhaps not,” Hannibal admits with that infuriating smile. Jack has never been a particularly violent or confrontational person, yet he can now see the appeal of wrapping hands around someone’s neck and choking the life out of them. He shakes his head to clear himself of the uncharacteristically violent thought. This place—this façade of a hospital—has always brought out the worst in him. “How are you, Jack?” Hannibal asks persistently. He isn’t dissuaded by his nonexistent answer. “How is Bella?”

White-hot fury rises in Jack’s chest. He is immediately thrown back into the past, into a time when Bella felt as if she couldn’t burden him with her condition (as if it was somehow her choice, as if Jack was so selfish as to prefer ignorance over assisting his partner). He has never fully recovered from Bella’s lie of omission—and the worst part is that he understands her decision. There have been times, across the course of his career, where he concealed his own injuries so that he didn’t cause her unnecessary stress. And while their situations are entirely different, Jack still can find the commonalities in them—can still understand the need to keep your partner from experiencing any undue stress.

Jack isn’t sure how long he stands there, lost in thought, until he remembers that Hannibal asked him a question. He takes a slow measured breath. “She’s fine,” he settles for saying. 

Hannibal arches a brow. “And I suppose you’re fine , too?” He asks, his voice devoid of emotion. Yet there’s a fraction of a second where Jack sees the man’s shoulders tighten in irritation. 

Jack makes a point to take another slow, measured breath, before clenching his fists at his sides. He will have to play into Hannibal’s hand, if he wants to learn anything about why he’s been called here today. And while he wants nothing more than to lie, he knows the man in front of him will discern the truth in an instant. 

“Bella is… not well.” Jack admits. Her health is getting worse—to the point where she is mostly bedridden. Jack hates that his work keeps him from her during the day, hates that he returns to find her with a smile on her face—as if he’s not letting her down. He feels his jaw clench at the thought. 

“I am very sorry to hear that, Jack, truly,” Hannibal says. Jack suspects the sentiment is genuine—Hannibal shared dinner with the two of them, after all. Bella then reached out to him and had several meetings with him regarding her disease. And while Jack is grateful that Bella felt empowered to speak to someone about her situation, he selfishly wishes that she had just sat down and spoken to him instead. After all, her meetings with Hannibal created an awkward gap in their relationship—as Jack was forced to come to terms with the fact that the psychiatrist knew more about his wife’s condition than he did. “How are you faring?” Hannibal asks, drawing him out of his thoughts. 

“I don’t see how this is relevant,” Jack says, gritting his teeth. This idle small talk is making him more and more restless with every passing moment. 

“It is painfully relevant,” Hannibal asserts. 

“Fine,” Jack repeats angrily. He feels like a broken record. “Very well. I’ve been better.” That’s the under exaggeration of the century—he feels as if he’s falling apart, as he is forced to stand by and watch as Bella’s health deteriorates. Jack wants nothing more than to help her, but he doesn’t know how. Bella maintains that his presence is enough, but Jack still feels the visceral need to do something more than sitting silently at her side .  

“How much longer does she have?” Hannibal asks. 

“A few weeks, she’s told,” Jack answers habitually. Everything about the disease is horribly cruel. Jack wishes he could share some of Bella’s pain—or, even better, take it away entirely. But he’s not a miracle worker—he is only her husband. Jack is not a religious man—someone like him, who has chased criminals for decades, will lose faith as they see fresh horrors that question their very mortality. Yet recently he has found himself close to praying for Bella’s recovery. 

“It must be difficult to make time for her,” Hannibal says. “The FBI isn’t an accommodating employer. Not that I would know.” He says coyly. Jack feels any of his remaining patience promptly disintegrate into nothingness. 

“Enough with the small talk,” Jack demands. This is taking much longer than he would like it to. “Why did you ask for me?”

“As I said, I have information for you,” Hannibal states. 

“On the Tooth Fairy?” Jack presses.

“No.” The man responds. Jack nearly loses it right then and there. He turns around and is about to make his departure when Hannibal continues. “I have information on someone close to you.” Someone close to you. If it were Bella, then he would’ve said so. Who could this be about? 

“How did you come to possess this information?” Jack asks guardedly. He still doesn’t necessarily believe the other man. Hannibal could be deceiving him. But Jack’s already here now, so he might as well at least hear him out. At worst, the information will be useless and Jack will storm out of the building in annoyance.

“Observation,” Hannibal answers ambiguously. 

“Who might this person be?” Jack asks, despite being fairly confident that there’s only one reasonable answer. He hopes his suspicions are incorrect.

“Your best agent,” Hannibal responds, confirming his suspicions. Unease prickles along Jack’s skin. “Don’t distract my best agent,” Jack had said to Hannibal all those years ago. If only he had known how much of a distraction the man would prove to be… 

“I don’t believe you,” Jack immediately remarks. The words crawl up his throat and wrench themselves out of his lips, clinging to the tense air like a vice. 

“I think we both know that baseless conjecture would not benefit me.” Jack just remains silent. Eventually, Hannibal continues. “I have a defined sense of smell, as you know,” he says. He’s dragging this out on purpose. Jack has to resist the growing urge to snap at him.  The man must sense his quickly declining patience, because he continues. “During our first conversation, I smelled smoke.” 

“Must’ve been a fluke,” Jack interjects. If Hannibal is bothered by the interruption, he doesn’t show it. But Jack is certain that he’s annoyed—after all, he abhors rudeness. 

“That’s what I thought,” Hannibal agrees. “Then we spoke again—and I recognized the scent as the same one I smelled before. I assume there is no significant other in the picture, therefore… your best agent is a smoker.” That last remark almost sounds like a question. Jack tries to dispel it from his memory, but he finds that Hannibal has ensnared him in a verbal trap. In order to get the truth, he must divulge information that Hannibal does not deserve to know. But, when it comes to your safety… 

He decides not to answer, despite knowing deep down that his silence is enough of an answer. Instead, Jack asks the man to recount what happened in detail and Hannibal obliges. As he claims, he first smelled smoke when you approached him and asked for information on the Tooth Fairy. He wanted to inquire about it, but he wasn’t convinced of his theory. After all, the odor could’ve come from a visit to a friend’s house or a windy day downtown. The next time you visited, however, Hannibal smelled it again. He confronted you about it and you didn’t deny his accusations. Apparently, he also expressed his concerns—citing that smoking can cause lung cancer and other adverse effects. You didn’t seem to care. 

Jack isn’t sure he believes Hannibal wholeheartedly, but he also knows that the man has no incentive to lie. That begs the question, however: why would Hannibal say something in the first place? “I don’t understand how telling me this benefits you.” Jack confesses, watching him warily. 

Hannibal smiles knowingly. The gesture is fleeting. “I find myself worried,” he admits. “Smoking is terrible for a person’s health and can cause lifelong, irreparable damage.”

“You want me to intervene,” Jack realizes aloud, immediately discerning the real reason Hannibal summoned him. 

“I believe you are in a unique position—one that gives you the authority to curb such a habit,” Hannibal proposes. A dark expression flickers across his face as he stares ahead. “I pray it hasn’t become an addiction just yet.” He supplements, appearing vaguely troubled.

Jack knows the danger of making a promise to the man standing in front of him, to the Chesapeake Ripper. But he feels it is necessary. After all, if he can manage to follow through, then he’ll likely receive some good karma and cement Hannibal’s trust in him. Jack could then exploit that trust later on. Knowing that, he decides to go for it. “I’ll see what I can do,” Jack guarantees. 

“Thank you, Jack,” Hannibal responds sincerely. “You are unfailingly reliable, as always.”

“...Thank you,” Jack responds. The compliment doesn’t mean very much to him, considering the entire situation. He takes a deep breath and tries to settle the sudden onset of his nerves. Jack anticipates that you will bristle and withdraw if he tries to intervene. But Jack doesn’t really have any other option—you’re a vital component of the Behavioral Analysis Unit and he won’t see your physical or cognitive abilities impaired by anything, let alone something as harmful as smoking.  “I’ll be departing now.” Jack announces. 

“Very well,” Hannibal nods, regarding him one last time. The smile on his face sends a shiver down Jack’s spine. “It was good to see you, Jack.”

Jack doesn’t bother echoing the sentiment, instead turning on his heel and walking away. He got what he needed and will leave entirely unscathed. So why is his heart racing so thunderously in his chest? 

Jack soon understands when he finds himself standing before you, attempting to decide how to best confront you. Because this is, ultimately, a confrontation—an intervention that you will likely not appreciate. But it’s a necessary evil, Jack tells himself. 

Eventually, he just decides to cut to the chase. He’s never been one to sugarcoat things. “You’ve been smoking.” Jack says cavalierly. 

You stare at him, eyes widening for the briefest of moments before the emotion is being reigned in and suppressed. Jack can’t help but think of that emotional control written on someone else’s face—in the brown eyes gleaming with crimson and the wry turn of lips. “No, I haven’t,” you respond smoothly. 

Jack is not fooled. He has considered everything he’s seen—has digested the evidence (or, in this case, the utter lack of it). “Don’t lie to me, Agent,” Jack sighs, exasperation and irritation battling for prominence in his voice. He’s a bit disappointed that you think you still have the ability to lie to him—that you can hide such things from him. 

“How did you know?” You then ask suspiciously, shoving your hands in your pockets. “I haven’t been smoking at work.” And somehow, Jack knows you’ve been taking meticulous showers—and ensuring that the smell doesn’t reach your work clothes. That’s the only explanation for the complete lack of sensory input. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Jack eventually settles for saying. How he became privy to that information isn’t important. What is important is the truth of the matter: that you’ve been putting yourself at risk. 

“Who told you?” You demand, ascertaining what Jack fails to utter. He locks eyes with you and, somehow, you seem to find the answer in his gaze. “It was Hannibal, wasn’t it?”

Jack is still quiet. It’s cowardly, but he doesn’t want to utter the words—that will usher in a whole new horrifying sense of finality. He knows you’ll get an answer from his silence anyway; indeed, you study him for a moment before nodding resolutely and walking away. He watches you depart with a tight feeling in his chest, inexplicably convinced that he just crossed a line he can’t come back from. 

Standing before Hannibal Lecter’s cell, you’re overcome with the knowledge that you shouldn’t have visited. Irritation, anger, and (unjustified) betrayal prickle along your skin and pull your hands into clenched fists. You can cope with the former emotions, but the latter? You should not feel betrayed—because betrayal implies that, to some degree, you trust Hannibal. Even after everything he’s done to you. 

You shake your head and take a deep breath. It’s too late to go back now. You’re already standing in front of his enclosure. He has already seen you, even if he gives no indication that he has noticed you. 

“You told Jack.” The accusation crawls from your lips before you can attempt to stifle it. It’s raw, pained, emotional—in all the worst ways. You’re wounded prey before a hungry predator—tempting it with what it desires. Hannibal wants to see you affected by his actions, and you’re fulfilling that desire. After all, you’re not so foolish as to think that Hannibal genuinely cares for your physical wellbeing. You’ve made that mistake—assuming the best of him—far too many times in the past. Even behind this glass wall, Hannibal is the puppetmaster. But you refuse to be his puppet. 

“Hello,” Hannibal responds. He closes the book he’s holding and looks up at you. You’re not convinced that he just now focused his attention on you; no, the moment you stepped into the hall, he sank his teeth into you. “You must know it’s polite to start a conversation with a greeting. And I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“Hello, Dr. Lecter,” you seethe. You’re not feeling very charitable today, so you don’t bother to pretend that you’re composed. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“Yes,” you remark, finding it increasingly difficult to be patient. He’s drawing this conversation out on purpose. He senses that it irritates you, so he keeps doing it. You try to stay focused. “You told Jack that I was smoking.” Your teeth grit at the memory of your conversation with Jack, at the disappointment hidden in his words. Lately, you can’t shake the feeling that you are nothing more than a problem to Jack. 

“You presume Jack didn’t know before,” Hannibal assesses. 

“I was doing a rather good job of keeping it hidden from him,” you argue, crossing your arms over your chest. Indeed, you went to extraordinary lengths to ensure Jack didn’t notice your new habit. You only smoked outside your home, in casual clothing that Jack wouldn’t see you wear. Not to mention, you always kept your lighter and cigarettes concealed in your pockets discreetly. No, you made sure that Jack wouldn’t notice. 

“Were you?” Hannibal questions. 

“Stop doing that,” you snap, abandoning pretense. He’s parroting your words back to you—asking questions that don’t advance the conversation. “It’s annoying.”

“Very well,” Hannibal says with an amicable shrug. Something about the nonchalance dripping off of him is both non-threatening and sharpened to a fine point. Everything about the man before you is a contradiction. He is nothing but a twisted, tangled mess of paradoxes. Hannibal Lecter is companionable but lonely; compassionate but cruel; deceptively ordinary but horribly, dangerously different. He is only noticeable when he wishes to be. Nothing about him is as it seems.

You stare at the man before you: the Chesapeake Ripper. He is a killer who has upturned your entire life—ripping the rug from beneath your feet and ensuring that you will never know stable footing again. Rage bubbles and froths beneath your skin, compelling you to itch at your forearms in a futile attempt to rid yourself of the overwhelming feeling. This match’s players were decided long before the game even began. Are you forever doomed to be his victim? Do you stand a chance against fate? 

“Do you remember?” Clark Ingram croons. “Ripping apart the skin, digging your hands into the matter that gives an organism life? Do you remember that your hands didn’t shake? Do you remember washing away the blood? Is it still on your hands?” 

Spots float across your vision. You blink them away; when you open your eyes again, you see Abel Gideon standing behind the glass wall in front of you. His eyes are hazy and unseeing, yet he seems to stare into your very soul. He reaches a hand out, then another, and you instinctively bring your hands to your neck, if only to wrench his grip away- 

“You.” Garret Jacob Hobbs whispers. “You’re just like me.” 

And suddenly Gideon is reeling back, a bullet carving a neat path through his temple. Blood slips down his face in crimson rivulets; his eyeballs slip and roll in their sockets, before falling out—leaving them to dangle ominously, with only the optic nerves to keep them anchored. Gideon opens his mouth and his teeth crumble and rot, blackening and decaying to dust in his mouth. 

Suddenly his visage shifts, and you’re staring at Miggs—who is staring back with wild eyes. He lets out a truly bone-chilling laugh, his jaw extending further and further until it’s snapping off and ripping through his skin. His tongue slithers down his chin, traveling down his body and resting in a scarlet puddle on the floor. His eyes are bloodshot and frozen as they spin faster and faster-

A blur of motion draws your attention to the left, and you watch in muted horror and shock as a pale hand reaches towards you, beckoning you closer. You lock eyes with Franklyn Froidevaux; a pained noise leaves your lips as you watch his hand snap and break, bending and curling backwards in a manner that is not physically possible. With clawed fingers, Franklyn brings a hand to rest in the air near his chest and you hear ringing in your ears. In a fluid motion, he impales himself. His free hand mimics the motion and your stomach stews as you see him grasp adjacent ribs in each hand, before brutally ripping them apart to bare his chest cavity and free his heart. The organ pulsates in the open air, and past the disgusting squelches of blood, tissue, and biological matter fleeing further down his chest and hitting the ground, all you can hear is his heart pounding in your own ears-

There is a hand on your shoulder. You inhale sharply and immediately turn around, prepared to fight off another criminal—another one of your victims—when you lock eyes with Frederick Chilton. It takes you several moments to come back to your body and ground yourself in the present moment. Your breaths are arriving and leaving far too fast; there’s sweat collecting at the back of your neck; your hands are trembling; your throat is extremely dry. 

When you can finally move past these physical sensations, you realize that Dr. Chilton is staring at you with glittering eyes. The concern on his face almost seems genuine, which is all the more concerning. 

“Time’s up.” He says, a modicum of sympathy in his voice.  

You cough to clear your throat, wincing at how tight and scratchy it feels. “I just got here.” You answer raspily, trying to shrug his hand off of your shoulder. Chilton’s grip only strengthens.

“I gave you an extra ten minutes,” He says softly, looking at you worriedly. His grip on your shoulder is tight and you quickly shake it off. This time, he lets you. “It’s been an hour.”

An hour? Surely that’s not right. You glance at your watch, only to find that it has indeed been an hour. Sensing a gaze boring into you, you remember Hannibal’s presence. Glancing at him, you find that he has a blank expression on his face. Have you really been standing here, rooted to this very spot for an hour, with the Ripper right in front of you? What did he do, while you were lost in phantom worlds? Did he observe you with a sick fascination, reading through research in his head? Your stomach churns at the thought of being so vulnerable in front of Hannibal for such an extended period of time. The security in this place is not nearly enough to make you feel safe in front of him. Hannibal can overcome any obstacle, if he desires. 

You take a shuddering breath in and nod at Chilton, turning towards the door. Hannibal utters a goodbye, but you’re too lost in your thoughts to hear it. This meeting was an entire waste of time, but, then again, what were you expecting? Did you hope to have a reasonable conversation with the Ripper? You’re not sure why you bothered showing up in the first place. A small part of you wonders if this is all an act of elaborate self-sabotage—if you’re setting yourself up for further pain with every new conversation with Hannibal. 

Regardless, the events of today serve as a reminder: Hannibal is confined within these halls, but he still has enough power to manipulate the outside world—enough to manipulate your life. You dig your nails into your palms and walk down the hall, your footsteps echoing throughout the space. You’re so rattled that you don’t notice Chilton’s grip remaining on your shoulder, nor do you notice the malicious glare Hannibal sends him in response.

next chapter

endnotes: Avoiding pronouns here was very difficult, so apologies if the conversation between Jack and Hannibal is a bit awkward. But I’m still committed to ensuring the reader’s gender is ambiguous, so… awkward phrasing it is.

Here was the original dialogue I was going to use for the conversation between Hannibal and the reader. I ended up scrapping it, but I still think it’s a fun idea:

“You’re a bastard. You know that?” “I’m afraid that’s a new one,” Hannibal says, a small mirthful smile slipping onto his face.

Jack takes a bit more of a *proactive* approach to combating your addiction in the next chapter.

I am proud of myself for the gore. Heehee.

thx for reading! hope you enjoyed :3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!

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[ryanstillwrites-if]

“Love is how you stay alive, even after you are gone.” - Mitch Albom

On a Wednesday morning, you leave your doctor's office with the diagnosis of an inoperable brain tumour and the knowledge of an estimated four months left to live.

Suddenly left without any direction in your life, you find yourself in a support group for the terminally ill. Where you expected to find sadness, melancholy and a looming sense of dread at thought of a fast approaching death - all the same feelings you harbour - you find smiles and laughter instead.

You're drawn in by the people you meet there, curious and confused by their carefree attitudes. They're kind to you, they take you in, they turn your frown upside down - literally and figuratively. And just when you think you might be beginning to accept your fate; they decide to throw all caution to the wind and whisk you away on the adventure of a lifetime.

You don't know what will come of the next four months but with your new friends at your side, you're excited to find out. After all, this is the only life you've been given, and though it may be ending soon; you might as well live it to the fullest.

More Than Me is a story about love, friendship, found family and acceptance. It will deal with heavy topics such as death and illness, and may be uncomfortable for some readers. Viewer discretion is advised.

Demo: Chapter One, Part Two • Character Descriptions

Customise the main character in appearance, gender and personality

Meet and befriend a cast of characters, four of which you'll be able to pursue a romance with

Experience a new world as you road trip cross country with your new friends

Live your live to the fullest while you still can

Adelaide Scholz - 29 • F • RO

A bit rough around the edges, Adelaide is a personality that takes some getting used to. Sharp tongued, self deprecating and blunt as baseball bat, Adelaide always has something to say - most times at the annoyance of others. But a stage 4 lung cancer patient such as herself doesn't have the time nor patience to care what anyone thinks of her. With her leather jacket and a carton of cigarettes in her back pocket, doomed to forever be unlit, she's ready to see the sights and if need be, kick some ass. She'll try, at least.

Hayden Della Rocca - 31 • F/M • RO

Hayden is probably the happiest person you'll ever meet, despite their failing heart. Diagnosed with cardiomyopathy just shy of graduating university, they've been on the transplant waitlist ever since but they haven't let that stop them. Having been cooped up in their studio working as a freelance artist, they're now ready to take on the world, pacemaker and all; and heaven help you if you try slow them down.

Gabriel Torres - 30 • M • RO

There's not much to say about Gabriel, mostly because no one knows anything about him besides his chronic liver failure. He's silent and mysterious but he's always happy to spare a smile if he catches you staring. Though preferring to keep to himself, he's more than willing to share his secrets as long as you're willing to listen.

Jordan Michaels - 32 • F/M/NB • Non-RO

Your support group's therapist, somewhat unwillingly dragged along on your adventure. Very straight-laced and a stickler for rules, Jordan fears the worst the second they agree to join you. Now the designated driver and parent of the group, Jordan tries their hardest to keep everyone in line. But despite their initial reluctance, they'll learn to let loose and finally have fun; so long as everyone takes their meds.

Mavis/Maverick Chen - 31 • F/M • RO

A quirky and eccentric bartender you meet on your journey. Longing for a change of scenery, they jump at the offer to join you. Beyond their eccentricities - somehow both charming and strange - they fit in surprisingly well among your group, bringing new life to the party; pun intended. They help open your eyes to new experiences and hey, if all else fails, they can at least make you a mean drink.

Kade Weston - 22 • M • Non-RO

After being in remission for almost four years, Kade is forced to step back from medical school when his leukemia relapses and hits him hard. Unwilling to endure chemo for the second time, he is all too happy to pack his bags and hit the road. It’s clear he’s running from his problems, in spite of all Jordan’s hardwork, but maybe this trip is exactly what he needs. But whether he finds acceptance or continues running to the very end, he knows all of you will stand by his side.

Margaret Evans - 84 • F • Non-RO

A sweet old lady who’s always willing to lend an ear, share a story or offer one of the many caramel sweets she keeps in her purse. You’re shocked to discover the secret wild side she keeps beneath those wool cardigans and breast cancer diagnosis. She’s the ultimate wing woman and, though you hate to admit it, a better dancer than all of you combined.

[book-place]

In a Heartbeat

Warnings: cancer, slight cursing, let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Peter Parker x sister reader, Tony Stark x reader platonic

Request: hi! i loved your last fic, and i was wondering if you could do one where the reader is peter’s sister and is diagnosed with an aggressive cancer. tony finds out and they move into the compound for treatment. he helps his sister through the chemotherapy & side affects, when her hair starts falling, she asks him to shave it & he shaves his off too after seeing how upset she is about it?

Request by: Anon

*not my gif*

Summary: You should have known that you would never have to go through anything alone with Peter as your brother

A/N: First fic of 2023!!

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

You bit down on your bottom lip, hoping that if you did it hard enough then your tears would somehow disappear.

Though it pained you to look at it, you somehow couldn’t tear your eyes away from the limp strands of hair that lay gingerly in your open palm.

Of course you had known it was coming, that’s what happened to everybody who partook in chemotherapy, their hair starts falling out. But even with that knowledge in mind, nothing could have prepared you for the sinking feeling you felt as you looked at the once beautiful locks.

After being diagnosed with stage three aggressive lung cancer, you knew that every aspect of your life would be changing, and you knew it would be hard. But nobody told you just how hard.

You knew you would have to give up being an Avenger, hang up the suit and mask in your closet one last time and close the door, never to be opened again. No matter how much you wanted to throw that door open, rip it off its hinges, you knew it wasn’t for the best.

The second the news reached his ears, Tony Stark had moved you and your entire family into the compound to take care of your treatment.

At first, you had protested- even if you had been the only one to do so- his generosity, but your brother and aunt soon calmed you down, promising you that they would pay him back every cent.

But you didn’t want that either. You didn’t want to force anyone to look after you. To pay for things that you couldn’t afford on your own.

Tony, of course, waved off every complaint you threw his way. Always shooting back nonsense about how you and your twin brother, Peter, were his responsibility since he was both of your mentors and he would be damned if he stood by without doing anything to help you.

A shaky sigh left your lips as you stared down at your hair before you jumped slightly at the sound of knocking.

“Y/n?” Peter's voice called softly through the door, coming out slightly muffled, “Can I come in?”

Hastily wiping your eyes and disposing of your hair into a nearby waste basket, you straightened yourself up before replying that he could.

Your twin brother peaked his head through the door before entering, walking over to where you sat on your bed with a small smile, “It’s almost time for treatment.” He told you, sitting down by your feet.

Unlike everyone else that you knew and loved, Peter was the only one who didn’t change how he acted around you after the diagnosis. He had always been the kind, loving brother that you still saw before you today. Perhaps it had amplified a bit, but you couldn’t hold that against him, it was to be expected.

You made the mistake of letting your eyes flicker over to the trash can and Peter immediately followed your gaze, furrowing his brows at what he saw.

“I was just going to get ready to go,” You hurriedly said, hoping to steer his attention away from what he just saw.

“Oh, n/n,” He breathed out, staring at the strands of your once beautiful hair that lay loosely in the bottom of a waste basket, “Why didn’t you tell me your hair was starting to fall out?” He asked softly.

You shrugged, averting your eyes so he wouldn’t see them begin to pool with tears.

He sighed a bit before standing up and offering you a hand, “Come on,” He smiled a little to try and make you feel better, “We can go shave it off if you want? I read that it makes it less painful then slowly watching it fall out.”

You blinked up at him in surprise, “You’ve been reading up on this?”

Peter shrugged, shaking his hand a bit, “Are you coming?”

After biting down on your bottom lip for a minute in contemplation, you nodded your head and allowed your brother to pull you to your feet before following him into the bathroom.

You sat on a stool with a towel over your shoulders and watched sadly in the mirror as Peter brought out the razor from a drawer.

The moment he locked eyes with you, he knew what he had to do.

Without so much as a second of hesitation, he brought the razor up to his head and shaved off an uneven chunk of his hair.

You gasped, jumping up and spinning around in horror, “What are you-“

“I’m not letting you go through this alone,” He told you confidently, already moving to shave off another piece.

Quickly, you grabbed his wrist and stopped him, “You don’t have to do this, Pete, I’m not expecting you to.”

“I know,” He whispered gently, “But I want to.”

And so, after finishing up on his own head, he moved to shave yours, watching as each and every strand fell to the ground softly.

When it was all done, you stood up tearfully and pulled your brother in for a hug, “Thank you,” You choked out, “Thank you,”

He wrapped his arms around you tightly, “There's no need to thank me,” He told you sincerely, “I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

We Are Groot 🤎- @lovanitu @jvdethirlwall @ineedmorefanfics2 @sambucky8 @spidyyparker @irethepotato @femalemarvelself @mukbee @its-hell @ip747 @i-writes-things @popfishjr @mitsuki-murakami @mythixmagic @ladyagagaslefttoe @etanordoesbullsh1t

[aria-ashryver]

yooooo im SO tired, have a health update 💞

(which was going to be another video update but then a bird came and i got distracted and now im too tired to speak lol. also WOW imagine being so pale you create your own god rays slkdjf)

so, ive been feeling like hot garbage for some time, which is perhaps not surprising with the whole "was poisoned via chemo for a year, is still recovering" thing. Recently my heart has been feeling Not Good TM, and the fatigue waves are getting pretty extreme at times.

So, I followed this up with my doctor, very much expecting it to be a case of "no you're just out of shape / your asthma is playing up / you're just being super lazy, try harder, etc". He booked me a specialised heart test which I had last week.

Uhhh apparently I wasn't just being pathetic! (Which is somewhat gratifying to know that there is a reason things have been so hard lately and it's not just in my head)

There is a thing called your Ejection Fraction, which is essentially a measure of how much oxygenated blood your heart is pumping around your body -- its the factor that keeps you feeling energised.

Mine has dropped. Fairly significantly. When I had the same heart scan in October, mid-way through chemo, I was still retaining a lot of my heart health and muscle mass from when i was pre-chemo, so my EF was sitting at about 80. Which is a sign I was initially quite physically fit (or, to quote my oncologist: "giiiiirl, you a Boston Marathon runner or what?)

Since my last scan, my EF has dropped to 58. Which is still actually higher than average, most people sit at about 55, so I've dropped to an average range lol.

My heart is working, but such a significant jump is still cause for concern. My oncologist said that if I had been less young and fit, it would have been a case of dropping from 55 to somewhere in the 30s, to which he said "you'd struggle to even walk down that corridor at that point."

At this stage, I have a (hopefully reversible!) cardiomyopathy. Unfortunately, reduced heart and lung function can be complications of the two immune therapy drugs I am taking to prevent my cancer from coming back. So the current course of action is to put my immune therapy treatments on hold for 9 weeks to let my heart recover.

Yes, that is a tad spooky, but the drugs have a very long half-life, so I should be okay not taking them for that short period. On the plus side, this should hopefully improve my overall quality of life while my heart heals, and a break from immune therapy will be really nice anyway, because that shit hurts lmao.

Otherwise, the metastatic cancer in my spine and my hips remains stable and is still showing signs of healing because I am AWESOME AND COOL. Oh, and I also had a massive internal lesion (a chemo complication I never mentioned here bc like... if I told you guys every little thing that's wrong with me, we'd be here all day lmao) but that is now healing on its own too!! Woo!

So... ye. Gonna have a nap, knowing that medically my heart is broken and I have yet another reason to take it easy now haha.

Send me lots of "oi don't get cancer again in the next 9 weeks you absolute nugget" type vibes. I don't think I will, I'm not worried, but yk yk vibes are nice 🥰💝💖💓💕🩷💞 if you are still reading, I hope you have a wonderful day!!!

[coochiequeens]

While world leaders wring their hands the mothers and children of Palestine suffer.

A premature Palestinian baby at the maternity ward of al-Shifa Hospital [Mohammed Al-Masri/Reuters]

By Federica Marsi and Ruwaida Amer

Published On 2 Nov 20232 Nov 2023

Fukhari, Gaza Strip – A rhythmic beep accompanies the mechanical ventilator as it breathes oxygen into a premature baby’s lungs. The thin tube stretching from an oxygen tank pumps life into her fragile body, as a monitor tracks the feeble thump of her heart.

Talia was born on October 6, one day before the outbreak of Israel’s latest war on the Gaza Strip, following a Hamas attack on southern Israel. Her skin has since lost the bluish tinge that had raised alarm among medics at the Nasser Medical Hospital in Khan Younis, in the southern Gaza Strip, but her lungs are not strong enough yet to function on their own.

Hospitals across the Palestinian enclave warn that fuel supplies are running dry amid Israel’s total blockade. Once the generators stop, newborn babies dependent on electric incubators for survival could die within minutes. Already, the fuel shortage has forced Gaza’s only cancer hospital to shut down.

“There is great fear and anxiety for the lives that would be lost,” Asaad al-Nawajha, a paediatric and neonatal specialist at Nasser told Al Jazeera. “We continuously appeal to provide the necessary fuel to operate the hospital’s generators and ensure the safety of children, the sick and the injured in Gaza.”

The hospital’s neonatal emergency unit houses 10 children, some born up to four weeks earlier than their expected due date. The Gaza health ministry estimates that 130 newborn babies are currently dependent on incubators across the strip.

Samar Awad, Talia’s 25-year-old mother, said the baby girl was the child she “had dreamed of,” but that giving birth to her had been far from idyllic.

“The doctor told me that there was water in her lungs and that she needed to be monitored, so I’ve been sleeping with her in the nursery,” Awad said. She has not been able to take her daughter home.

The Gaza Strip has been under relentless bombardment since October 7, when Hamas staged a surprise attack on southern Israel, killing at least 1,400 people. Israel’s bombs have since killed more than 8,700 Palestinians in Gaza, including more than 3,000 children.

Since the Israeli government issued an order to evacuate the northern part of the enclave, the southern districts of Khan Younis and Rafah have been flooded with internally displaced families.

Air strikes have been continuing in the southern Strip despite Israel’s relocation order. Alongside the gut-wrenching fear that a bomb might kill her husband and three-year-old son as they huddle with relatives in Khan Younis, Awad is gripped by the anxiety that the machine that keeps her baby alive might go silent.

“I’m terrified the hospital will run out of fuel,” she said. “I want this war to end, and for my daughter to be home with her brother and her father, who miss her very much.”

A medical worker assists a premature baby who lies in an incubator at the maternity ward of al-Shifa Hospital in Gaza City [Mohammed Al-Masri/Reuters]

The United Nations’ sexual and reproductive health agency, UNFPA, estimated that 50,000 pregnant women have been caught up in the conflict in Gaza, with more than 160 deliveries every day.

About 15 percent of births are forecast to result in complications. “These women need to have access to emergency obstetric care, and that becomes even more challenging with trauma cases coming in and the health system being on its knees,” Dominic Allen, the UNFPA representative for the State of Palestine, told Al Jazeera.

As part of the UN, the UNFPA has been calling for an immediate humanitarian ceasefire. “There needs to be a space and time to ease the human suffering that we are witnessing in Gaza,” Allen said. “Humanitarian aid and supplies must be allowed through.”

At least one-third of hospitals in Gaza  — 12 out of 35 — and nearly two-thirds of primary healthcare clinics  — 46 out of 72 — have shut down since the start of hostilities due to damage or lack of fuel, increasing the pressure on the remaining health facilities that are still operational, the UN has found.

Israel has allowed a few aid trucks in via the Rafah land crossing with Egypt in recent days. But it has barred the entry of fuel. It classes diesel as a “dual use” good that can be used for military as well as civilian purposes — even though Israel closely monitors all fuel that enters the Gaza Strip, all the way to the final delivery point.

At al-Shifa Hospital in Gaza City, the largest medical compound in the Palestinian enclave, medical staff have described working conditions as “catastrophic”.

“We lack basic necessities for life and are struggling with a severe water shortage,” Nasser Fouad Bulbul, head of the premature and neonatal care departments, said.

As fuel runs out, desalination plants have also shut, leaving hospitals largely unable to ensure the most basic hygiene norms. The UN says that only three litres of water a day are currently available per person in Gaza for basic health requirements including drinking, washing, cooking and flushing the toilet – far lower than the recommended minimum daily amount of 50 litres.

According to the United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF), Gaza’s water facilities are currently pumping five percent of their pre-war daily output, with infant deaths to dehydration a growing threat.

As resources dwindle, the needs are greater than ever. Bulbul said he had noticed an increase in premature births in recent weeks, which he attributed to “fear and terror”.

“We do not know what to do as we are facing a severe shortage of medical supplies, ventilators and essential life-saving medicines,” he added.

Yasmine Ahmed, a midwife at al-Shifa, said most of the babies at the hospital were the only survivors from their families. “There is no one to take care of them and there is the threat that the electricity could cut out, so they would [also] lose their lives,” she said.

For parents who long to hold their newborns in their arms, every day is filled with nerve-racking uncertainty. Lina Rabie, a 27-year-old mother from Khan Younis, struggled for years to conceive a child. Her son was finally born a week before the war began.

“He was born on the first week of the eighth month [of gestation] and doctors told me his life was in danger,” Rabie told Al Jazeera. Marwan, who takes his name from his paternal grandfather, has since been placed in an incubator at the Nasser hospital.

 "Every second the war continues, my heart burns with fear for my child and for all children,” Rabie said. “I hope the war will end and my son will recover, then I’ll be able to hug him any time I want.”

(Ruwaida Amer reported from the Gaza Strip, and Federica Marsi from Milan, Italy)

[sunshineacd]

seven sentence sunday (but way too many sentences for that so we'll double it as a wip wednesday to make up for missing it the last few weeks)

tagged by @reyesstrand @alrightbuckaroo @rmd-writes thank you lovelies <3

back to this fic because I watched 13 going on 30 twice more this weekend annnddd yeah, I found some words!!

TK knows there’s only one other person in his life that would help this to all make sense, if that was even possible at this point. He dials the number off by heart, hoping that it hasn’t changed in all these years. It rings and rings, and by the third time, he begins to lose hope. Until, finally, he hears the call pick up.

“Hello, Gwyneth Strand.” His mother’s voice says, and immediately more confusion sets in. Strand? Why is his mother addressing herself by his father's name? “Hello, is anyone there? I don’t take too kindly to prank calls.”

TK swallows hard, and he tries to hold his emotion in, but he can hear his voice crack when he says, “Mom?”

“TK?” She says, and he can even hear the surprise in her voice. Like she hasn’t heard from him in a significant amount of time. Like she had forgotten, he even existed. Her voice instantly softens. “Is everything okay, sweetheart?”

The term of endearment instantly sends a wave of comfort over TK, like how Gwyn’s hugs used to do when he was younger and had come home from a bad day at school. He remembered how they always used to sit down and she would make her best homemade hot chocolate and they’d talk for hours. Obviously that’s something that hasn’t happened in a while.

“I don’t know,” TK admits because he truly has no idea what in the world is going on. He feels like he’s in some type of fever dream. But, his mother’s voice was alert and panicked, like she was worried something was very wrong. He wasn’t going to worry her further. “I just missed you is all, I wanted to make sure that you were okay, that —” Nothing bad happened to you. He doesn’t say it, but the worry had settled so deeply within him that he couldn’t help but think it.

“I’ve missed you, too, TK. I wasn’t expecting to hear your voice today, but I am so glad I did. It was a nice surprise.” Gwyn says.

TK wants to ask her how long. How long it’s been since she had heard his voice. But after the whole fiasco of it being six years since he had seen Carlos, he’s frankly scared of that answer.

But he decides to take a different route. “How is dad?”

“He’s okay,” Gwyn replies softly. “His treatments are as successful as they can be at this stage, and he’s keeping high hopes. I’m sure he would love a phone call from you.”

“Treatments?” TK asks.

“Yes, for his lung cancer. TK, are you sure you’re okay?”

TK’s whole world grinds to a halt, and he has to collapse into the chair at his desk at the revelation. His father has cancer, and he didn’t even know about it? But, he’s starting to realise he doesn’t know anything in this strange world he’s been thrust into.

“I’m fine,” He’s lying but he can’t and won’t make this phone call any more worrisome than it already is. “I will give him a call. I would like to catch up with him. I feel like I’ve missed so much, I’m sorry for that.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t need to be sorry. You’ve been busy, and your father and I have always been so proud of you. Even if that means getting well acquainted with your voicemail.”

It’s meant to be a joke, but it makes TK’s heart shatter all the same. How do all the most important people in his life barely know who he is anymore?

tagging (no pressure!!): @reyescarlos @tailoredshirt @marjansmarwani and anyone else who would like to!! <3

[aajjks]

finally finished my hw for the weekend!! yaaayyy!! 🥳

DHP!JK

these past months flew by.

just a few months ago you were at the hospital with jungkook by your side when the doctor broke the unexpected news to you. now, you’re expecting that un-expectancy in may. who would’ve that you would be reshaping your lost relationship with your sister? who would’ve thought you would be getting married? who would’ve thought you’d be a mother? it’s all so unexpected, but in a good way. each day leaves you feeling more thankful because you couldn’t have done any of this without your number one supporter, your soon-to-be husband, and lover jeon jungkook.

“Hm, yn how was your day with your sister? Tell me everything!” he says with a big smile on his face. he places the glass of water on the coffee table and sits close to you. as you’re running your mouth, jungkook looks at you with the most loving eye whilst caressing your big, round belly. you go on and on about your niece minji and share some sister tea about mi-cha’s deadbeat baby daddy.

you take jungkook’s hand in yours and look him in the eye before telling him the last thing you and mi-cha talked about. “so…” you take a deep breath. “my mom has stage 3 lung cancer. mi-cha said she’s been dealing with it for years, even before i left. i cried..a lot. it just kills me knowing she didn’t tell me all these years” and maybe, just maybe, you should see her again?

•••

“YOU FUCKER!!!” sarang’s home is in ruins, especially the room where her child would have accompanied. god must really hate her, because why are you so lucky? when she received the text from mi-cha confirming your pregnancy, her mind spiraled. she remembers jungkook’s hint at your fruitful bearing back at alina and eunwoo’s wedding, but just like hers had perished, she expected yours to perish as well. who would have thought you’d be filled with 7 months of love and a diamond ring to cement that.

why in the fuck are you so fucking lucky? why is it always you? you. you. you. you.

should she blame the affair with ian? is that why she has yet to walk down the aisle with her beloved? should she blame her beloved for being so blind? or should she blame the deity itself? sarang takes a look in the mirror and turns to the side—her stomach is flat. its been flat and empty for months.

that should be her carrying his baby, not you.

that should be her with that engagement ring, not you.

that’s her baby, not yours.

everything you have, everything you are is her. you took her baby, robbed her womb; first her man and now her baby too? sarang grabs her phone and rereads mi-cha’s text: baby boy. jeon junseo. he’ll be due in may. i gave you what you wanted now do as you promised.

never mind the rest of the text, sarang begins to hatch an idea so cruel that even she’s disgusted at the thought, but that’s what happens when you take something that wasn’t yours. she has to get it back.

~🫧

Today is the greatest day of his life.

and even though the last week was really hard on the both of you emotionally because you’ve been so sad about your mother’s condition and it was hard for him to comfort you, you’ve finally come around and he wants you to hang out with your family spend some time with your sister and your mother..

But today is the day he finally gets to marry you.

He’s shaking from happiness, he’s so happy that his heart will burst at any second. You make him so happy.

Jungkook is already at the alter, standing, tapping his feet, looking around, desperately looking to get a glimpse of you as his bride

Last night, he could barely get enough sleep. He just cannot believe that his eight year long dream is about to come true in a few minutes.

“Relax, kookie. She’s not gonna run away I promise.” Eunwoo teases, standing beside his best friend who is too obsessed with you to wait any longer

It’s so sweet to witness both of yours love story and you have him wrapped around your finger and he’s never seen somebody be in love with someone this much like he’s with you.

This venue of your wedding, it’s beyond unrealistically beautiful

And it represents the both of you well. Yours and his favourite colors blended so equally well.

And it looks like a fairytale, the chandeliers dangling, and the flowers everywhere, the carpets, the tables and the seats, everything is so beautiful.

“OH MY GOSH WHEN IS THE WEDDING GOING TO START?” Jungkook loudly exclaims, and his friends by his side laugh out loud. He’s so impatient when it comes to you. It’s actually funny and a little embarrassing, but he’s not really embarrassed.

He’s in love. Can you blame him?

“Oh my goodness you obsessed bastard wait.” Mingyu rolls his eyes, Jaehyun and yugyeom are too immersed in laughing.

“I can’t believe you’re going to get married. Oh my God we lost another one.” Chan, his other friend fake cries.

Jungkook laughs at his remark, but his smile quickly fades as he sees Ian and crystal walk in, along with his father, seeing ahyeon in her pretty flower girl dress makes him happy.

Jungkook clenches his jaw. Seeing Ian makes his blood boil, but he will let it go today.

As long as his mother doesn’t enter the venue behind them.

“Where are you yn!!!” He mutters under his breath. The guests are starting to come and he’s only waiting for you.

He’s waited for this moment for so long.

[shunchitaro]

Karube x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst (TW: no comfort/fluff, reader's possible death) Romantic [In which Karube makes a mistake with a horrid consequence]

["Would we be better off by now If I'd have let my walls come down?"]

You know how people say that most high school sweethearts don't last, and will never work out?

Karube and Y/N were a different story. They'd been together since their third year of high school (grade 9 in my country) and have remained strong ever since. If there was a misunderstanding they talked it out rather than start a nonsense fight against each other. They graduated together and lived together in an apartment. Y/N became a journalist for the news and Karube was a bartender.

The both had barely enough to get by but they did just fine, supporting each other in any way they could. Because of that, Y/N worked over time and sometimes didn't even come home. She couldn't always have time for Karube but she tried her best to squeeze him into her schedules.

Then Emi.

Ever since Karube's boss brought his girlfriend along, things..changed. The both would sneak glances at each other during their shifts and would flirt time to time. At first Karube's guilty conscience told him to stop, but due to giving into Emi over and over again he couldn't stop himself. Casual dates after their shift at a nearby coffee shop turned into him going to her place, turned into them kissing, and now the two had a secret relationship.

Ever since he had gotten with Emi, Y/N noticed how he didn't have time for their dates, or how he mostly just stood her up and didn't text her to tell her that he wasn't coming for their date at all. She figured it was her fault for not spending time with him, so she decided to apologize. Y/N had cooked him his favorite dish and put it in a bento, visiting him at his workplace.

Only to be hit with a first class view of him and Emi kissing by the bar counter.

No, it wouldn't have hurt Y/N, but the way he kissed Emi was different. When Karube kissed Y/N, it was always just a quick peck and a murmured 'i love you'; yet here he was holding Emi's waist firmly pulling her into his chest as he murmured praises into her lips. "Dai" Y/N called out, and he pulled away from Emi.

"Oh, you're here" he said nonchalantly pointing at the bento "Is that for me-"

"Seriously? I catch you cheating on me and all you can say is 'oh, you're here'? What the heck Dai!" Y/N interrupted, snapping at him.

"So it's my fault? Really now?! If you failed to notice, my dear Y/N, you're always at work! We barely have time for each other, it's not my fault that I found someone that will actually be here for me no matter what!" He yelled back, pissed.

"I do everything in my ability to spend time with you. I take effort into leaving between my shifts just to be with you Dai! Last time I checked you didn't even have the initiative to visit me at work! You just work at this damn bar, surely you could've come to see me right?" Y/N countered as her hands were displayed in fists, then Karube dropped the final blow.

"You know, our old classmates were right. We'd never work out. I tried my best to love you after we graduated you know? I discovered how different we are from each other. We weren't meant to last, Y/N. Let's break up, you can pack your things and move out tomorrow."

And he let her go, just like that. 10 years of their relationship gone in a flash.

Y/N moved out the same day because she couldn't bare the sight of him and his new trophy, Emi. To cope, she drowned herself in her job, barely resting. She needed to get her mind off Karube, he wasn't worth her energy.

<><><><><>

"I'm sorry Miss L/N, but based on my observation you have Stage 3 lung cancer. I'm afraid there is no cure, and the life expectancy is maybe 4-5 years more."

Y/N clearly blamed herself for this, it was her fault for overworking. She thanked the doctor as she headed out. She wanted to enjoy the life she had left, so she unburdened herself from her work. She resigned the very next day, and with the money she saved she decided to travel the world. Now was her time to empty her bucket list.

<><><><><>

It had been a few years and Y/N was down to her last few months left. The last country she wanted to visit was France, she had tons of sketches of the places she'd been to, and now she was sketching Paris into her memory.

"Y/N?"

She glanced away from sketching the Eiffel Tower to see Karube staring at her in shock. "It's really you? Wow..you look different. I didn't expect to meet you here, small world huh?" He smiled at her softly, but Y/N didn't return it. "I didn't think I'd see you here either. Why isn't Emi with you?" She tried to ake clear with the tone of her voice that she didn't want to have this conversation with him, but he hadn't caught on. "Ah, we broke up. Turns out she was dating the owner of the club and I was just her affair. She broke it off around 3 months after you left." He explained, sitting on the bench beside her. "About well you know, I'm sorry I kicked you out. Turns out I was just infatuated-"

"Infatuated? Getting caught kissing a different girl by your own girlfriend and not even apologizing for it isn't infatuation, Karube. It's betrayal and a ton of trust lost." She replied coldly. Karube was taken aback at how she spoke his name with venom laced in her words, how she looked at him with hatred in her eyes.

"Look I know i destroyed that trust but please, at least let's not have a grudge on one another."

"I don't want to talk to you Karube-" she got up to leave only to double over in pain, coughing. Karube got up confused but went pale to see blood in her palm.

"Y/- Y/N!" he caught her as her knees buckled below herself, rushing her to the hospital.

<><><><><>

"I'm sorry sir, but she didn't make it. It was her time to be taken by her sickness."

"Sickness?"

"You didn't know sir? She had lung cancer."

Karube froze on the spot unmoving even after the doctor left him. He burst into her room hoping it was a foolish prank to get him back, only to see her laying still and peaceful, the life drained off her face. Tears slowly slid off Karube's cheeks as he cupped her face, his thumb caressing her cheek as he pulled her into a heart wrenching hug, apologizing to her over and over again.

Because of him and his stupid infatuation, rather than him spending time with her he was out with another girl. He realized Y/N's efforts of visiting him even during her shifts, and how he didn't visit her even once. He realized that she was supportive to him and how she was always there when he needed comfort, unlike Emi who never listened to him or comforted him. Emi only went to him when she had problems, while Y/N always made sure to check up on him.

If it wasn't for him getting attached to Emi, he would still be with Y/N. Because of his selfishness, rather than being in bed cuddling her, here he was holding her fragile lifeless figure in his arms.

So now, whenever he spots young high school couples holding hands or being affectionate in public, Karube Daikichi is now among the people that say high school sweethearts never last.

Note from Author: Hey guys! Sorry I haven't been updating. I've been so stressed with school :') We have a musical performance my class is rehearsing for in May, then we have our sportsfest and prom soon as well. This month i've been busy with projects and reviewing since our exams came, I even have a Science and English exam today so I'm sorry if this oneshot is rushed. I also sprained my foot a week back and hopefully I can take the cast off today. That's all! Thank you <33

[well-its-not-human-anymore]

Hello old friends

Yeah, hi, it’s me. And damn has it been a while. Contrary to what at least one of you might’ve thought, I am not dead. Some of you are probably curious as to what I’ve been doing where it’s prevented me from writing or updating for the last year and a half so let me fill you in. 

I graduated high school. Yes, I know that might come as a shock to a few people, for those of you who stuck around for my writing yes, those headcanons and stories you all loved so much and praised me for were written by a 17 year old. The internet is a fun place huh?

I’m 19 now, a full time college student after her masters degree with a part time job and a Jeep I fondly named Jolene. My grandfather was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer a month or so after my 18th birthday and he left us in August of last year, so that took a toll on me for several months, I miss him everyday. But on a more positive note, I’m now engaged to a wonderful man who just so happens to be my high school sweetheart. My life is in a very good place right now and I’m hopeful that it stays that way. 

As for this account, I’m not sure what possessed me to look back into my inbox and see all of your kind words and support. I actually hit 5,000 likes on December 30th, 2022. A very big shock for me. But, I’ve decided to try and give this whole writing thing another shot. So if any of you have actually hung around all this time I’ve been gone, welcome back. 

I have some old requests from a long while back that I’m sure those of you that submitted them thought they would never be completed, surprise surprise. expect those few works to be out within the week. 

I look forward to hearing from you all again. 

With much love

-Mars 

[plant-dad-sulu]

Back in April on a Tuesday morning I got a call from my dad

He asked me if I’d gotten an email from my aunt and when I said no he told me that my uncle was sick. He had gone into the hospital feeling unwell and on Monday they had diagnosed him with cancer and hospitalized him. It was liver cancer they said, he couldn’t tell me what stage just that it was terminal, had already spread by the time they found it. He had tumours in his kidneys and lungs.

I had to work that day so I thanked my dad for telling me and got on with my day. I told one person that my uncle was sick, no one else knew.

On Wednesday I drove to Hamilton for work, or maybe Catham I can’t remember which came first. We spent a week there setting up our show, rehearsing, performing, striking, something we’d been doing every week for 6 months, it was easy by then. I worked and tried not to think about it. I’d already lost family and friends to cancer, I knew what to expect. I told one more person. She told me about her grandparents who had died of brain cancer. I didn’t feel like I had any room to feel sorry for myself so I didn’t bring it up again.

On Monday night I got into my hotel room past midnight, it was Tuesday morning now, we’d just struck the show and I was sore and exhausted and ready to sleep. My coworker I was sharing a room with was already sleeping in the next bed over. I got changed and collapsed into bed and I checked my email before going to sleep. I had an email from my aunt saying my uncle had died.

It took one week.

Seven days from him getting diagnosed to him dying. I’d never known anyone who’d died that suddenly before, everyone else I’d known who had had cancer had had a slow decline, months or even years, sometimes with a remission or two just to give you hope first. I didn’t have time for hope with my uncle. I hadn’t even been home.

We drove back to Toronto the next day, unloaded the trucks, returned them, took the bus home. I didn’t tell anyone he was dead, I didn’t know how. When I got home that night I told my friends I had gotten bad news and needed to talk to someone. One person was free. I told him what had happened and I didn’t know what else to say about it. I just needed someone to know.

He asked if I was close with this uncle. I said no. He asked if I was sad. I said didn’t know. We hung up pretty quickly.

The next email was to tell us there wouldn’t be a funeral or memorial. We couldn’t because of covid. She told us they would hold a “Celebration of Life” once it was safe. We still haven’t done it. We’re doing Christmas this year though, it’s safe enough for that. I’m not going.

After he died, weeks or months, I started to learn about what happened after he’d died. My dad had been helping my aunt, his sister, clean up all my uncle’s stuff, and they found out he’d been hiding a spending problem. His office was full of stuff he’d bought for hobbies he’d lost interest in. Unopened boxes and unplayed guitars - lots and lots of guitars. They found extra credit cards too, ones my aunt didn’t know about. They found so much debt.

My uncle, when he was alive, was one of the only good people in my family. That side of my family isn’t happy. They’re all angry or depressed or tightly wound, they were all on edge around each other, none of them were ever happy when I saw them, not for long, but he was. I loved him for that, I thought he was one of the only people worth the miserable Christmases.

And then I learned that he wasn’t really that. He was someone who hid his spending from his wife and left her in deep debt with closets worth of junk to show for it. He didn’t consider her when he kept getting cards to hide the problem or tell her when things got bad. And I know that’s not his fault, I know it, but it also was.

And suddenly he wasn’t the person I remembered anymore. I remember his smile so clearly and his polo shirts and his little rectangular glasses and the way his whole body shook when he laughed. But now I also had this other understanding of him. And this resentment for how he left things. And resentment too that I never got the chance to say goodbye to the wonderful, lovely, happy man I saw every year at Christmas and Canada Day, who made it worth enduring the other relatives and the crappy turkey stuffing and the decorative nutcrackers that watched you in the bathroom. I didn’t say goodbye before he became a man I didn’t like.

And it’s not his fault. He was always that way and I just didn’t know, nobody did. But I hate him for it. And I miss my uncle. And I’ll think of him anytime I see that guitar in my dad’s office, the one my aunt gave to him because she was in too much pain to sell it. And I’ll think of him at Christmas when I’m not there because as long as I’m not there he is.

Just like I’ll always think of my other aunt whenever I see her daughter. Or my friend Ryan when it’s our birthday. Or Dana when I go to Niagara-on-the-Lake or wear sweatpants on the bus. Remembering them all, too, at the strangest times. Thinking sometimes, by mistake or even when I know it’s not true, that they’re alive.

And it’s almost Christmas and I won’t see that side of the family this year because I’m seeing my mother’s family instead on the west coast. And I don’t know if I’ll ever see that side of the family again at Christmas, those unhappy people. I don’t know if I could stomach seeing that he really isn’t there. If I’m not then maybe he is.

It took one week.

[maerinhearts]

I need a safe space to talk about something in my life.

TW: Death

In February 2015, my paternal grandmother passed away. A lot of my family assumed my grandfather would follow soon after, but he didn't. I was at college in Pennsylvania when it happened, and my older sister, along with my grandfather, got in the car the very next morning to come pick me up for the funeral. I was very close with my grandmother so that was really hard on me.

In May of 2015, on my 20th birthday, I went to visit my grandfather as I had just gotten home from college and wanted to spend time with him. My grandma always kept track of the birthdays for grandpa, so I didn't expect to get a "Happy Birthday" or anything like that. However, he told me on that day that if shooting himself in the head wasn't a one-way ticket to Hell, he would do it. But he can't, because my grandma is in Heaven and he wants to be with her.

I'm sure you can guess how much that hurt.

I distanced myself pretty far after that without really realizing it. Plus, I have an older brother that I have not spoken to since late 2015 for certain reasons and they always took his side, even though he was in the wrong. That's a story for another day though. I always felt ostracized and like I didn't matter much to that side of my family so I distanced myself even more.

In February of 2019, my paternal aunt revealed that she had Metastatic Breast Cancer, stage 4. It had spread to her lymph nodes, her joints and her lungs. We weren't sure how long she had, but I vowed to spend as much time as I could with her. Then COVID happened. She loved camping. So the summer of 2020, when things started opening back up, I started going camping again so that I could see her. And in October of 2020, she passed away when the cancer spread to her brain. Her death was hard for me, I was very close to her as a child.

In May of 2021, my older sister and i received a phone call that my father was dying. He had Multiple Sclerosis (MS) and had been in a nursing home for 10 years. The nursing home stopped caring for him and he was starving by the time he got to the hospital. He could barely talk anymore, and he was a choke risk. The doctor gave us two choices that my sister and I had to make as his next of kin: permanent feeding tube surgery that he had a 5% chance of surviving or moving him into hospice and letting him die peacefully. We chose hospice. I won't go into full detail about the whole thing as his death was very traumatic for me, but he passed in June of 2021.

My grandfather has disowned me god knows how many times for not talking to him while grieving. And I can't imagine how it must have felt to lose your wife and all your children. But we were grieving too. He said some hateful things to me over the years. But even then, when he got rushed to the hospital on the evening of January 14th, I was worried. And I rushed to the hospital on the 15th to see him. His kidneys were failing and he was actively starving due to a mass partially obstructing his esophagus. He had stopped eating completely because he started choking. But he didn't tell any of us. He was rushed to the ER because my baby cousin found him collapsed on the floor. He got out of the hospital later that week and into a nursing home for physical therapy. But he just kept getting worse and worse....

We rushed him to the ER last Tuesday morning, January 31st. We needed him to have emergency feeding tube surgery. Only to find out that he didn't have long left. It was rough... we didn't get moved to a room in the hospital until 4 AM on the 1st. My sister and I didnt get any sleep that night. And we moved him into Hospice at 3 PM later that day... where we spent the next 4 days with him.

He passed at 1:58 AM this morning, February 5th, and I feel fucking lost. So lost. My dad's entire family is gone, and I'm only 27. His last day of consciousness was spent yelling at me about anything because he wasn't sane anymore. I got yelled at about flowers on the floor (there were no flowers) and I got yelled at for not holding his hand.

I'm so exhausted. I'm tired. I'm tired of the people around me dying. I don't want to go plan his funeral tomorrow. I can't say goodbye to the last living link I had to my father. And it didn't help that the situations were similar and they looked the exact same laying unconscious in that bed...

And no one understands how I feel. My sister and two cousins might, but honestly, none of them have the same views on death as I do and none of them understand any of how I have felt for the last 8 years alone. This fucking sucks. I had to driving home at 3:00 this morning after getting all my stuff packed up. I cried the whole way home. I watched him take his last breath and yet it doesn't feel like any of it has happened at all.

I know that people have probably been through something similar, but I just can't help but wonder why me? I'm just fucking tired...

[fatedwithmbc]

Answers aren’t answers anymore- they are suggestions with trial and error built into the equation.

Today, I started round the clock Zofran and also need to premedicate with it 45 minutes prior to taking my cancer medication.

Trial Day One: Effectiveness still TBD

I have therapy tomorrow. I hope to be able to attend in person. This will be determined by the outcome of our experiment this evening.

There’s a girl who graduated high school in my class. We weren’t in the same social circles.

Around the same time I received my diagnosis- she received a Stage IV Ovarian Cancer diagnosis. From the few times I’ve looked at her social media, I can tell her experience is much harder than mine.

It makes me feel like a fraud.

Like I shouldn’t be upset about my treatment hiccups or even that I have cancer because her treatment is what you’d typically expect when you hear cancer- surgery, chemo, lost hair, port.

Yeah, I had surgery to ensure I didn’t get ovarian cancer (I am a carrier of the gene- surgery eliminated the possibility of a 2nd cancer), but other than that — I’ve not had chemotherapy. I take a CDK 4/6 inhibitor to block the stupid protein that creates my cancer. I take an AI (Aromatase Inhibitor) which blocks my hormones. I have been placed in medical menopause. I have tumors in my lungs, my liver, my breast and a lymph-node. But people can’t see that.

My point is morphing into two:

1. I don’t look sick

2. My treatment regiment is not as difficult

I struggle with both things, mentally.

I literally have the disease most likely to kill me, with the least aggressive treatments due to “quality of life” being the goal vs. curative treatment— but the empathy, the sadness, the support are shown to the individual who looks sick.

This is so fucked to even think or write about. 20 years ago it was probably the same thing- but you didn’t know because life wasn’t defined by “likes”, “concern”, etc. received on social media.

Anyway, I don’t want to diminish her journey, and I wish her the best. I hope she goes into remission and rings a bell.

I also wish I had a hug,

And I know my people are there- but I think they forget sometimes because I don’t look sick.