#existing instead of living is... unwell

[nmoroder]

painful experience

[bunnyboy-juice]

awawawawawawa

[onlyswan]

summary: in which for you, jungkook would commit crimes and his mother would peel oranges.

idol!jk x reader | fluff, angst | word count: 9.5k

warnings/content: oc passes out in the shower / jk does something crazy i’m literally insane about this / baby bam cameo 🥺 / stitches >:( / blood draw / mention of speeding / jealous not but rlly jealous oc is pissed owfffff at the nurse who has a crush on jk lmao / jk and his mom loves them to death tho so obv who wins / love is beautiful let’s all cry <3

> in which masterlist!

note: *sitcom sound effect of crowd cheering* I’M BACK 🥰 hope u enjoy the product of my madness during finals season hehehe. and special thanks to my cutieful proofreader rio!! you’re one of my most favorite people i’ve ever met 🥺💕 + my beloveds who came to the rescue when i had medical questions !! i didn’t expect to receive help from soooo many and i’m so freaking grateful i could cri :")

—

“i ordered it the other day. how did it arrive so early?”

jungkook walks back inside the apartment, arms occupied by a stack of boxes that arrived in the mail yesterday.

he arrives at the living room, head tilting to the side in confusion when he realizes that the netflix show he was watching on the television is no longer playing. instead, there is the news channel.

he gasps.

“baby, you’re alive!”

your swollen eyes flicker up to him.

you’re lying on the sofa with your legs lazily dangling on the edge. there’s a toothbrush in your mouth, foam of bubbles between your lips, but your arm barely exerts the energy to make it do its job.

“you were asleep from afternoon to morning. do you know that? you’ve never done that before!” he exclaims, carelessly tossing the boxes on the floor. “i was getting scared!”

you only hum to acknowledge his existence, pushing yourself up from the sofa and unknowingly dodging the hug your boyfriend wanted to greet you with.

he ends up collapsing face first on the empty space you left, hurt and offended.

the bathroom door opens and closes.

he flips over, whining. “yah, we didn’t see each other for a day. didn’t you miss me?!”

still not a single word from you. sleeping that long must not have cured your exhaustion, jungkook surmises. you tend to be glum and cranky when you’re feeling unwell, as is usually the case when you wake up as unrested as before.

he doesn’t always know how to make you feel better, but he always tries anyway.

“our new bedsheets arrived!” he announces from the other side of the bathroom door, making himself loud so that you can hear him despite the shower running. “do you want to unbox them with me?!”

he allows the seconds to pass, but with his hands on his hips, he eventually begins to tap his foot on the floor.

“baby? may i go in?”

he turns the knob, just to be prepared incase the answer is a yes, but it doesn’t turn. a sad pout forms on his face.

huh? why is it locked?

you must genuinely don’t want to be bothered today.

“guess that’s a no.” he mutters to himself before calling out to you. “okay, i’ll wait for you!”

with a crestfallen sigh, he begins to walk back to the living room.

he doesn’t go far, however.

only several steps later, a series of loud crashes is heard from the bathroom and his heart thunders in his chest with a combination of numbing shock and fear.

“____, what was that?! did you fall?!”

he aggressively pounds at the door, extremely desperate this time around. he has no plans on leaving until he knows that you’re safe and sound.

“baby! open this! are you alright…? are you hurt? you’re scaring me. please, answer!”

he pauses, catching his breath as his mind runs a thousand miles per hour.

“____!”

he strikes the door with an open palm one more time, more so to express his frustration that is only growing worse with every tick of the clock. he only ends up hurting himself in the process.

“that’s it! i’m opening the door!”

he frantically whips his head around, racking his brain for the location of the key. there are two copies of it somewhere in the apartment, but in his panicked state, he is unable to pinpoint either of their specific spots. and he can’t fucking afford to waste any more time.

“ah, fuck!” he curses, left with no other choice but to give in to the instinct of breaking down the door with the strength and durability of his body alone.

he would most definitely break his shoulder first before the door.

only after the first try, that much is clear.

and so, with madness inconsiderate of his agony, he resorts to kicking it over and over again.

the repeated loud collisions rattles poor bam from his slumber. not long after, the dog’s barking creates a booming dissonance with his grunts and kicks at the door.

when it finally swings open, the force of his own body sends him stumbling on the bathroom floor, but he doesn’t waste time in bouncing back to his feet.

the twisting of his stomach is instantaneous.

there lies your naked, unconscious figure behind the glass— surrounded by bottles of hair and body products that must have fallen when your hands were searching for something to hold on to.

his voice cracks, breathless.

“baby, no… no, no, no.”

he kneels on the floor, and despite the strong urge to carry you out of there, he tries to calm down. it’s the first rule in every emergency case; professionals reiterate in seminars and news channel segments.

keep calm. keep calm. keep calm.

he won’t be able to forgive himself if he ends up causing more harm than good.

“____, can you hear me?!”

his instinct tells him to inspect every inch of you for any sign of injury, but then his vision becomes too blurry. he curses at the hindrance and forces himself to turn off the showerhead that was left running.

he harshly wipes his face, rushing back to you.

“please, please, please. wake up.” he begs.

he has a feeling that it’s futile. you can’t hear him and he’s wasting his breath. the thing is he doesn’t know what else to do.

“baby…”

he carefully turns your head over, almost relieved because he hasn’t seen blood so far.

almost.

at last, he gets a full view of your face, and he finds blood dripping. this has always been one of his most paralyzing fears— seeing you get hurt. now that it’s become a reality, there’s a part of him that wants to believe this is some kind of twisted dream.

“how- how did this even happen…?” he cries out, his own blood running cold.

for everything that happens after, his body acts on its own. bam is a constant presence in his peripheral, but he is barely in his right mind to acknowledge the presence aside from, “bam, move. daddy might step on you.”

he carries you out of the bathroom, kicking aside the beaten up door. he has made up his mind about bringing you to the hospital, but he can’t bring you like… this.

he lays you down on the bed, all that gentleness switched off in a split second so he can sprint to the walk-in closet. he hastily grabs whatever is on top of your neatly folded stacks of shirts and pants; and then a fresh towel on the way out. the gentleness returns as he pats your face dry, the pure white stained with dark red. he flips the towel and uses the other side to wipe the rest of your body, in a race against time but mindful of treating you like fragile glass.

once that is over, he dresses you in a pair of gray sweatpants, and with some difficulty, an orange t-shirt.

any person with functioning eyes will be able to tell that the shades don’t go together.

if you were conscious, you’d definitely berate him for making you wear this outfit.

but you’re not.

jungkook effortlessly swoops you in his arms— dripping wet hair, his and yours, leaving behind a trail of raindrops from your apartment floor to the cemented parking lot.

—

your body feels like it’s floating.

are you dreaming…?

you must be dreaming.

you hear an uncoordinated symphony of voices, but you can’t comprehend a word. in pursuit of clarity, you force yourself to open your eyes.

the voices grow a little louder. faceless figures hover you; a bright light shines over your face.

your senses must be playing cruel tricks. now it feels like you’re drowning, sinking into the unknown, and your body has succumbed into numbing defeat.

you want to sleep a little more.

you must truly be exhausted. it’s okay.

you’ve fought hard until now. you’ve done enough… has anyone tried in life as much as you did?

just as your eyes flutter shut, you regain sensation of your hand; a soft squeeze and a call of your name.

—

jungkook gently strokes your hair, sighing for the nth time since you got transferred to a private room. he’s relieved that all the scans came back clean so serious head and brain injuries have been ruled out. the doctor also asked him questions and ran some other tests before concluding that electrolyte imbalance caused you to pass out; the culmination of stress and fatigue from work, as well as your strong period, most likely being the main reasons. he didn’t even know about the latter until you stained the white sheets with blood.

it was fucking frightening being in the sidelines as they rushed to check on your vitals and to administer oxygen. even now, it’s unbearable to see you with a needle in your hand and a few stitches above your eyebrow. he already anticipated you not being pleased with having to get stitches specifically either; gasping and sitting up as soon as you heard the word come from his lips post-consciousness. consequently, the dizziness hits you. the doctor wasn’t happy about that.

“this is so annoying. i don’t want a scar.” you whine as you study your face on the camera of jungkook’s phone. “did i have to fall on my prettier side?”

“what are you saying? you’re pretty from any angle.” he interjects. “be careful. the wound might open up.”

you jut out your bottom lip, looking up at him with glassy eyes. the sight instantly tugs at his heartstrings, and he pulls you in for a hug. maybe he’s a little sad that you don’t appear concerned about the fact that you passed out, but god is he relieved to finally hear your voice again.

“ah, i should call the doctor.”

but his face remains buried in your hair.

“they told me to do so.”

“you should-”

“why?!” he abruptly reacts, drawing back. “does anything hurt?”

“chill. you said that they told you to.”

“oh, that’s right.” he sheepishly smiles. he can’t help but to overreact; he hasn’t turned off the alarms in his head. “i’ll go tell the nurse to get her.”

he starts to walk towards the door, but a tug at his shirt holds him back.

you shyly look at him with a scrunch of your nose. “i’m nervous. hug me for five more seconds.”

fuck, he would move heaven and earth to protect you from everything that can cause you harm.

“why would you be nervous? i’m right here.” he scolds you lightheartedly, not hesitating to seize the chance to hug you again. “i love you.”

“i love you more.”

you pull away after five seconds, and he’d be disappointed about you being too true to your words if you didn’t kiss him on the cheek so ardently.

his heart almost jumps out of his chest when you gasp out of nowhere as if you just realized that you left the gas tank open at home. your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.

“bam!”

oh, right. your child.

“my brother’s house!” he eases your mind.

you breathe out in relief, the heel of your palm pressing against the left side of your chest where your heart lives. “good… i was worried. he was probably more scared because he didn’t understand what was going on. i feel bad.”

you love bam so much; it makes him so happy. you’re so concerned about him even when you’re the one on the hospital bed. you make pretty good parents, huh?

“that’s right. he was worried about you, too. that’s why you need to recover quickly so he won’t be sad!”

—

the doctor kindly asked jungkook to give the two of you some time alone, so he’s been idly sitting at the lobby after buying a bottle of water. he’s pretty much used to visiting the hospital for routine checkups considering the nature of his job, but it always feels strange to be here for the other different purposes of the place.

is there any other building sadder than this?

if you heard him utter this question, he could easily predict what you’d say: but is there any other building with more love?

if he tries hard enough, he could listen to your voice and paint you in his mind.

you see love in every place that you step foot into.

his curious eyes continue to wander around. he spots people carrying flowers, baskets, and containers of food. there’s also a teenage boy in his high school uniform, carrying a teddy bear larger than him.

not that he wants you to stay longer, but if you have to, he writes down a mental note to bring one of your favorite plushies.

he eventually gets tired; considers scrolling on his phone again, but he decides against it when his gaze lands on a little boy sleeping soundly on his mother’s lap. suddenly, he is reminded of his childhood before he moved to seoul.

how simple life can be when you’re innocently sleeping on your mother’s lap, trusting that everything will be alright.

“ah, i miss my mom…” he utters absentmindedly. “i miss my mom so much. i should call her.”

his reminiscing is interrupted when a wheelchair rolls by infront of him. it is leisurely being pushed by an old man who wants to bring his wife outside for some fresh air.

in a parallel universe somewhere, jungkook can imagine them as you and him.

he sits up straight, looking back at the clock on the wall.

how long has it been? he wants to be by your side again.

—

“jungkook!” your face lights up as soon as your boyfriend steps into the room. “what took you so long?”

“i know. sorry, baby. i got a little distracted outside.”

“i’ve been waiting.” you pout. “why? were people bothering you?”

“not at all. don’t worry.”

you pat the empty space beside you. “here.”

“i think the bed is meant for only one person- damn, okay, okay-”

he swiftly gives in upon seeing the hurt on your face, occupying the space you reserved for him. “i love you. don’t be sad.”

you’re aching too much to wait for him to get settled. you wrap your arms around his waist like you’re a magnet attracted to steel, clinging to him for comfort.

if you’re being honest, you don’t know how you feel about being in this situation. overwhelmed? maybe a tiny bit relieved. in the past, it didn’t matter whether you were sick or not. you needed to work or else it was guaranteed that you wouldn’t survive. life is easier now. you have the luxury to use this as a reason to take a break. you have someone who takes care of you as naturally as he breathes.

“how was the doctor?”

“she’s nice… she just asked me about the things i remember before i passed out. then about my work, diet, sleeping schedule… stuff like that.”

you pull away a little, just enough so you can see each other’s face. you squint at him suspiciously. “did you have to get an expensive room?”

he chuckles. “how did you know? they didn’t tell you that, did they?”

“i literally have the perfect view of the fountain from here!” you point at the large window behind you. “i just passed out. i would’ve been fine downstairs.”

“don’t say it like that. it could’ve been so much worse.” he says with knitted eyebrows, palm cupping the back of your head and caressing softly.

he heaves a sigh.

“i was so scared that you injured your head. seriously, i thought i’d go insane if i lost you! i went past the speed limit driving you here!”

the distress he was under is apparent. you can’t help but to be racked with the guilt. you always do this, making him worry himself to death. you don’t usually do it purpose, and that only makes you feel shittier.

“you’re right. i’m sorry.”

“well, i…” he sighs. “it’s okay. i know you didn’t want this either. it’s not your fault.”

you press your lips into a thin line. “it kind of is.”

your lost eyes meet, and a connection is established like it’s a constellation sending a secret message. your heart flutters when he giggles, dimples and starry eyes and crinkled corners.

“stop it. it’s impossible to scold you when you’re so cute and self-aware.”

“then don’t scold me.” you sniffle sadly to kindle pity in him. “i’ve had enough of it from the doctor.”

your brain still works well enough to help you escape from trouble. that’s a good sign, right?

“my poor baby.” he coos, cradling your cheeks.

his hands are warm. you put yours over them; a wordless signal telling him you don’t want him to go away.

“let’s not get hurt again, please. we need to stay healthy and take good care of ourselves so this won’t happen again, alright?”

you nod in obedience. your eyes are fixed on him but you’re not certain if you’re registering what he’s telling you in your pitiful, shaken brain.

“the hospital already did me many favors. if we go back, i might have to build them another fountain as a gift.”

and knowing jungkook, with his golden heart and his black card, jokes become half-meant.

“what do they need that for?!”

he bursts out laughing, yet again, after you chide at him for his ridiculous and unnecessary expenses.

“nothing, i’m just grateful! i was really so scared but i’m relieved now thanks to them. i can’t remember the last time i felt that way.”

“you’re not scared of a lot of things.” you point out.

“that’s right.” he agrees. “only you scare me these days.”

you grimace. “am i scary?”

“you are, sometimes.” he laughs, squishing your cheeks together. “but i mean the things that could hurt you.”

as if on cue, your stomach grumbles and bellows like a monster stuck in an empty cave. your eyes grow twice its size in bewilderment, which then morphs into embarrassment.

“my stomach hurts.” you say quietly.

your nostrils flare as jungkook miserably fails to hold back his laughter. one of his hands leave your face, rubbing your tummy over the thin hospital gown.

“oh no, what are we going to do? where does it hurt? here?” he pouts. “should we go feed you now to make it go away?”

“what is wrong with you?” you slap his shoulder in annoyance. “i’m not a baby!”

“yah, be careful!” he yells, wincing as if he is the one in pain. “be gentle with the one with the iv!”

—

“you know one good thing that came out of this?” you gush out of nowhere.

you’re mixing up the ingredients of your bibimbap bowl with a spoon and a pair of chopsticks.

jungkook noisily drinks the final sips of his banana milk. afterwards, he makes a game out of shooting the box in the trash bin.

“what could that be?” he asks, doubtful.

he sits on the chair beside your bed. you greet him with a delighted grin, licking your thumb stained with gochujang.

“you proved your love. you committed a crime for me.”

he gasps to humor you, body freezing as if he’s currently processing the newly-learned information in his brain.

“oh? you’re right- i did! and you know what? i’d do it again!”

with a mouthful of rice, you shake your head in disagreement furiously. “you’re cute. but that’s the first and last.”

“but how are you sure that it’s the first?” he raises an eyebrow quizically.

silly enough, you envy him for being able to do so.

you hum in thought. “i guess you’ve stolen a few things for me, too.”

“few? you mean a loooot?”

“you’re the one who brings home food and random things.” you roll your eyes. “i never ask you to.”

“you told me you wanted the service bell!”

you feel yourself become flushed with sheepishness. he’s not lying. you’ve always found the object fascinating as a child, so you couldn’t help but to tell him to sneakily take one home after filming a competitive run bts episode.

did you have a silly phase where you and jungkook used it to summon each other just to laugh together about it?

perhaps.

“well, you’re rich. you could’ve bought me one instead.”

“but it was already there.” he reasons with a wide grin, gesturing infront of him. “i wanted to give it to my lover right away.”

his lover?

jungkook has successfully replaced your frown with an enamored smile.

“i made your heart flutter just now, didn’t i?”

a hospital stay has never felt this comfortable— not terrifying. you have stitches on your face and to add to that, this hospital gown feels super unflattering. somehow, your boyfriend’s loving gaze remains steady and you are melting.

“shut up,” you mutter, flustered, handing him the pair of chopsticks. “please eat with me. i can’t finish this on my own.”

—

“why would you let them put the needle in my dominant hand?”

you stomp your feet on the ground as jungkook squeezes some toothpaste onto a newly-bought toothbrush.

“i’m sorry! i was too stressed out so i just pointed! i think i got confused with- with left and right.”

you didn’t realize this while you were eating; that you were unconsciously holding the spoon with your non-dominant hand because the other felt uncomfortable. maybe because it was a simple task, scooping food and bringing it to your mouth. brushing your teeth, on the other hand… can be quite an arm workout.

“eeeee!”

he shows his complete set of teeth, urging you to do the same. you stare at him blankly.

“eeeee!” he repeats with heightened enthusiasm.

left with no other choice— you copy his awkward smile.

“there we go!” he praises you with an over-enthusiastic beam.

he carries on to brush your teeth, gingerly holding your chin to keep you steady as he does his job.

this is the first time jungkook is doing this for you. today is definitely not one of your finest moments. it feels a bit silly to be in this situation, and you feel bad for putting your boyfriend in this position in the first place. you can see that he’s trying his best—unnecessarily focused—and that he loves you, but you just hate giving him a hard time.

with a soft smile, he wipes the bubbles that overflowed past your lips.

“okay, spit.”

you spit out more of the bubbles on the sink. you assume that he’s finished, except he’s making another vowel sound for you to mimic the mouth shape of.

“ahhhh-”

“this is embarrassing!”

“baby, really? this is where you draw the line?” he playfully squeezes your cheeks together. “it’s almost over! ahhhh!”

and you let him do this thing, but not without a glare that is masking the embarrassing truth: you might be enjoying this more than you care to admit.

“see? was that so bad?”

as he tenderly pats your face dry in the aftermath, he says: “i’m sorry. bear with it a little more. let me take care of you so you’ll be healthy again.” and you feel every ounce of his sincerity pierce through the barriers surrounding your soul.

“stop it…” your voice suddenly comes out broken.

you want to put all the blame on your period for the tears that are now brimming your eyes, but jungkook is your biggest weakness of all and that is an explanation enough.

“why are you crying?” he panics. “what did i say?”

“it’s your fault.”

you break down into loud sobs, incapable of even keeping your eyes open. you never understood why we close our eyes when we cry, but right now, you know that you can’t bear to witness his reaction.

“you’re so sweet.”

the towel that was wiping the water from your mouth is now drying the tears from your stained cheeks.

“am i making you sad?”

you furiously shake your head. how could he say such a thing? he is the greatest joy of your life.

“no?”

“no!”

“okay, come here then.”

he wraps his arms around your trembling figure, caging you in the solace of his entire existence. a sense of calmness washes over your system, especially as he runs his hand across your back in gentle strokes. this isn’t his goal though, it seems. you hear none of his quiet shushes beseeching you to stop breaking his heart. he hopes you let go of everything that has been weighing on you, but he has already eased all your pains by loving you.

“ugh, i probably look horrible right now.” you force a chuckle to lighten up the mood, wiping your face with the back of your free hand. “i feel gross.”

“that’s not true.” he gazes at you fondly, brushing your hair with his fingers. “it’s actually infuriating how you look so beautiful still.”

“i know. i’m nice to look at; that’s why you tolerate my attitude.” you conclude in jest.

“yeah, sometimes.” he rides on the joke.

“what…?”

“i’m joking!” he rushes to take it back with a laugh. “of course i’m joking!”

you pout. “are you really?”

“oh, come onnnn.”

he coaxes you with a kiss on the lips— a good morning kiss long overdue. you’ve been spoiled rotten with affection; he knows you need more than one. he interrupts himself several times to kiss you.

“you know i’ll love you until our hair turns white and our skin all wrinkly.”

to be brutally honest, you’re not fond of imagining that far ahead. it’s daunting. you doubt your capability to age with grace. you’re horrified by the thought of having the majority of your life behind you. nostalgia has always been more bitter than sweet. but maybe this memory could be the sweetest of all, if jungkook truly stays by your side until then. in a cottage at the countryside like he said once, or a cabin by the ocean.

you’re both so young; so arrogant when it comes to making promises that are a shot in the dark. so fucking in love.

“me too.” you half-smile, scrunching your nose— a telltale sign of your joy. “now, get out. i really need to pee.”

his face becomes drained of blood. “but you’re st-”

“i won’t lock the door this time.” you cup his cheek, looking at his eyes reassuringly. “we don’t need property damage added to the bill.”

—

“did you not hurt yourself?”

“me?”

“you broke down the door. that’s not easy to do.”

you and jungkook make the best out of a bad deal. you’re squeezed together on the bed, browsing through television channels that seem to never end.

“it was easy because you were on the other side of it.”

that is what he claims confidently, but you are not fully convinced.

“wow, why do they have more channels than we do at home?”

“you didn’t answer my question.” you pout. “did you hurt yourself?”

“i didn’t hurt myself. i’m totally okay. i promise.”

he maintains eye-contact as he speaks. given the assurance, your tight chest unrestricts. jungkook is not a good liar. it’s a trait that causes him inconvenience every now and then, but it helps you to sleep soundly at night.

“should we just watch funny animal videos on youtube?”

“i guess that’s fine.”

it doesn’t show but you feel excitement run in your veins aside from the iv fluids that feel peculiarly cold.

from under your cheek, his chest vibrates with a giggle. “okay, hold on.”

as he pulls up the application, you tangle your legs together beneath the thin blanket. you hear the rapid tap tap tap of the remote control navigating the keypad while he types on the search bar, but your attention is someplace else. you’ve found the crook of his neck to sneak into, lazily kissing every inch of his exposed skin. your lips eventually trail up to his jaw. he smells so nice. you’re addicted.

“baby, someone can enter any minute.”

“i’m not doing anything.” you mumble.

you smile against his lips when he gives you a kiss as sweet as honey anyway.

“i’m curious about another thing.”

“what’s that?”

“did you cry?”

he comes to a still. the answer to that question requires a little time and thought.

“almost…”

“why almost?”

“no time. i had to bring you here, of course.” he replies.

you huff a laugh, exhaling a twinge of melancholia. “don’t cry.”

“i won’t. i’m happy now because you’re awake and fighting with me.”

“ow-”

your cry of pain is silenced when he squeezes you in an embrace that makes it nearly impossible to breathe.

“red panda!”

a squeal assaults both of your hearing as soon as your eyes land on the wide screen infront of the bed.

“i want one so fucking bad.”

the enunciated curse makes your boyfriend crack up in amusement. “that much?!”

—

jungkook opens his eyes to a nurse lightly nudging him awake.

“i’m sorry, i had to wake you up. i need to check vitals and draw blood.”

“shit, i’m sorry.” he panics.

his brain is foggy from the nap, but he still carefully sits up on the bed, wary of the iv line connected to your hand.

“i… was tired and i fell asleep.”

“it’s no problem; don’t worry.”

she smiles at him, but he doesn’t see it.

“you look adorable sleeping.”

“ah, really?” he awkwardly responds, absentminded. “it’s embarrassing.”

he stands on your side, about to disturb your peaceful rest much as it makes his heart ache with guilt, but you’re already stirring due to the absence of his warmth.

your heavy eyelids blink at the nurse in curiosity. “oh… do you need my blood?”

“yes, but i’ll take your blood pressure and temperature first.”

“okay,” you mumble, offering your arm. “it might be higher now because i’m scared.”

she chuckles at your joke. jungkook tries to share an endeared look with her and non-verbally communicate adorable, right?

“i promise i’ll be quick. although we definitely want it to be higher than earlier’s.”

you wince as the cuff around your upper arm goes as tight as it could, and you sigh at the same time that it begins to deflate.

“good, good, good,” she chants with a mumble. “it’s back in the normal range again…”

she brings out a digital thermometer from her pocket.

“you know where this goes.”

she hands it over to you, and you awkwardly place it in your armpit, holding it in place. it’s quiet as you wait for the device to make the beeping sound, except for her pen creating friction with your chart as she takes down notes.

“how’s your stitches? do you feel any discomfort?”

“it’s fine. thank you.”

not long after, you hear the beep. you return the thermometer to her, but not before taking a peak at the numbers displayed on the tiny screen. 36.8°C. you think you’ll live.

“i’ll draw your blood now.”

the nurse’s voice is sweet and reassuring, but it doesn’t quite ease the nervousness evident on your expression. your pupils shake as you watch her disinfect the area, and then comes out the long needle.

another one, jungkook laments inside.

“____, i’m right here.”

you crane your head, whimpering out his name. “jungkook,”

“it will be just a pinch. i’m inserting the needle now, alright?”

you take a sharp inhale.

if only he could switch positions with you, he would do it in a heartbeat. unfortunately, all he can do is caress your hair and whisper that it will be over soon.

“it hurts.” your damp eyelashes flutter, face twisting in discomfort. “i don’t like it.”

really, just a pinch? obviously a lie.

“hey, baby. look at the tv.”

the autoplay was left turned on after you fell asleep together. inside the screen is a puppy rolling around a snow-covered lawn. the wagging of its tail, the wide smile, and the pupils as big as boba balls: they all scream the happiness of an innocent.

“it’s so cute… i miss bam already. can we go to a dog park again?”

“of course!”

that promise sparks your smile. you turn to your side, and jungkook also catches a glimpse of the cotton taped to where you were poked.

“all done. you can go back to resting.”

“thank you. will you need to take blood again?” you inquire at the nurse.

“hm, probably. it depends on the doctor based on the results we get from this one.”

“can’t you just do it while i’m asleep? or is that not allowed?”

“baby…” jungkook snorts, hiding his face behind the palm of his hands.

the nurse laughs at your desperate suggestion. “that is honestly not a rare request, but the thing is… you might wake up in the middle of it and injure yourself. we can’t do that.”

“that won’t be a problem!” you passionately argue your case. “i’m a deep sleeper. seriously!”

“ah, thank you so much for your hard work!”jungkook intervenes, bowing to the nurse out of respect and gratitude. “i’m sure you’re busy. i will handle this!”

“oh yes, yes- thank you. please don’t forget the medicine for after dinner.”

“i won’t!”

“if you need anything, you know where to find me again.”

“yes,” he nods, chuckling. “thank you.”

“then i should leave…? but you’ll see me again later! bye!”

the door shuts, and his attention lands on your unimpressed form: a blank stare and arms folded infront of your chest.

uh-oh.

“did she seriously wink while saying that?”

“what?” he freezes, genuinely clueless. “i don’t know. i didn’t see anything. i was looking at you.”

“i’m right here- i’m the patient. why would you need anything from her? huh? why is she so excited to see you again?” you ramble angrily.

“right?!”

he climbs on the bed, reclaiming his spot next to you.

“that was weird.”

“what if she made it hurt on purpose? that…” you frown, glancing at your arm. “that didn’t really feel like a pinch to me.”

“ey, calm down. she wouldn’t.” he makes a doubtful face, laughing off the accusation. “…i don’t think so?”

you blink, exhaling in disbelief. “are you taking her side now?”

“of course not! baby, i’m just saying… a professional won’t do that.”

“why not? she’s still human. humans do stupid things when they like someone. she obviously likes you.”

“and so what?”

he grins with a spark of mischief, leaving an inch of a distance between your lips.

“i’m obviously yours.”

but you turn your cheek and your eyes fall on your lap, a pout highlighting your downcast mood.

“it’s so annoying.”

the regret sinks in after. he should’ve stuck to the golden rule: agree with everything that you say. there’s no point in having an argument no one will win. does it matter who’s right and wrong if each other’s sadness is contagious in addition to their own? your gut has almost always been right, and he’s old enough to be conscious of not allowing a stranger to put a dent on your relationship.

“are you serious? are you uncomfortable?” he tilts his head to try and get a better look at your face. “should i request for a different nurse?”

it’s quiet for a beat and he feels inclined to fill the silence with whatever enters his mind.

“i love you.”

almost immediately, your features soften and he knows your heart is also melting. the two of you bite the inside of your cheeks to hide a smile.

“no, there’s no need for that.”

but he still can’t help but to be worried. your peace of mind is his top priority. he doesn’t want you to be more stressed out, especially by things that he has the power to solve.

“are you sure?”

“she pissed me off. i need to piss her off too.”

of course, his ever stubborn and competitive lover. he sits up properly, amused and curious.

“and how will you do that?”

“i don’t know,” you nonchalantly shrug. “i’ll come up with something.”

—

“come up with what?”

to your surprise, a voice you haven’t heard in weeks echoes from the door.

“mom…?”

you’re stunned after only hearing yourself react to jungkook’s mother’s unexpected entrance. your head whips to his direction; your eyes wordlessly interrogating him.

“i need to go to work so i called her to watch over you.” he explains.

“why would you do that?” you argue with him as quietly as possible, lips barely moving as you try to hide your face from your mother-in-law. again, not one of your finest moments. “you didn’t have to. i can take care of myself.”

“but you don’t have to because you have us.”

jungkook marks the conversation finished with a kiss pressed to your temple, leaving you dumbfounded. he jumps off the bed and for a split second, you make eye-contact with his mother before he towered over her for a quick hug.

her kind smile is embroidered in your memory; a memory that wraps your heart in a type of warmth only a mother can provide.

“mom! i’m sorry. i really, really, really need to leave now. but! i’ll try to come back early so you can go home early too.”

“aigoo, stop stressing yourself out.”

jungkook receives a slap on the back, somehow more loving can scolding.

“i can stay the night so do what you need to do. you don’t have to worry.”

“it’s not only because i’m worried!”

she sassily puts a hand over her waist. it takes everything in you not to laugh out loud.

“then what else?”

“mom! what else?” he cheekily smiles. “of course i’ll miss ____ too much.”

did your boyfriend just…? to his mother? your jaw becomes slack from the shame.

“i missed ____ too!” she contests. “go to work and give us our alone time.”

you shyly smile when she transfers her attention from her son to you.

“hello, my baby. are you hungry?”

—

“does my son feed you well?”

“he does! but it’s funny- other mothers ask the opposite. are you feeding my son well? do you make sure he’s comfortable?”

you think out loud, transfixed on how she peels oranges with ease. your hands would always be stained by the juices, (and eyes red and teary from accidental splashes) (it’s too embarrassing to even think about) but hers are still magically clean.

“is that so?”

you graciously accept the slice she feeds you. she laughs when your face lights up like a christmas tree one more time. it’s way sweeter than you anticipated. you can’t get over how delicious it is.

“mhmm!”

perhaps you relied too much on dramas when it came to your expectations of what a relationship with your in-laws would look like. you imagined yourself running around like a dog trying to prove yourself worthy of their son, yet for some reason, it looks like they adore you for simply existing. it makes you feel extremely grateful, but you don’t understand.

“mom, i have a question… i know it’s probably too late to ask this now, but…”

“what could that be?”

“are you really not against me and jungkook living together?” you swallow your fear of the possibility of an unpleasant truth. “are you not… worried… that i’m receiving too much from him?”

because you would understand the apprehension. as a parent, one’s main concern would be their child. to outside eyes, it’s easy to come to the conclusion that jungkook is being taken advantage of and he’d be better off dating someone with the same status. sometimes you wish you were that someone too.

she utters your name sadly.

“he receives happiness and love from you. those are the most valuable things you could give to a person.”

she caresses your hair like she wants to erase the anxiety poisoning your mind.

“my dear, how come you’re worried about that until now? haven’t we told you? you’re part of the family. forget about my sister! i don’t welcome her negativity in our house!”

“living together is different. it’s a big deal. it normally happens in a relationship after…” the following words feel foreign in your mouth; they come out quieter than the rest of your sentence. “getting married.”

“then tell me. why did you agree to live with him?”

because you’re selfish. because you want more time that you can have him all to yourself. because you want to be accessible— the first person he runs to when he’s seeking comfort and stability. because you want goodnight and good morning kisses. because you were afraid of the risks but you’ve grown addicted to the thrill of love.

“he said… no matter how hard i push him away, he will stay within my reach.”

you hear your own shaky breathing. that moment— it’s still burned into your memory. you’re still holding on to it. it’s a promise he is yet to break and you pray that he never, ever does.

“i don’t want to push him away. i want to be within his reach too.”

you’re two people loving each other with everything within your means. after the endless pains and the deafening noise, you like to think that’s what makes this relationship worth fighting for.

“does my opinion still matter knowing that? will you let me stop you?”

“no, i won’t. i’d make you change your mind.”

if you had a machine connected to you, she would see how your heart rate has gone off the charts. but you’re known to say whatever’s on your mind and that, much to your dismay, isn’t switched off despite sitting infront of the woman who birthed and raised the love of your life.

you sniffle, pursing your lips nervously. “but i feel like there might be a right answer to that one.”

what you didn’t expect was her to laugh until her belly hurts; placing a hand over her mouth in an effort to calm herself down and keep grace.

“mom! stop, i’m so embarrassed!”

“no, ____, don’t get me wrong!”

she is teary-eyed as she gathers herself together.

“the more time i spend with you, the more i realize why jungkook loves you so much. i’ve seen him show incredible commitment twice. do you know that? first, when he went to seoul to become a singer. second, when he told us he got an apartment because he wants to be with you… of course, as his mother, i’ll admit that he’s young when he made those decisions, but he always proves to me that he’s smart and responsible.”

the urge to cry returns and strengthens as she speaks. you feel your eyelashes become damp with unshed tears. you don’t know how to act. you fiddle with your fingers. you stare at the strings and peels of the oranges you can still taste.

“i believe we both know jungkook’s personality well. he wouldn’t have let me stop him either. i’m happy to know that you’ll fight for him too.”

“thank you…”

“tsk, tsk, tsk- what is there to cry about? jungkook will get angry at me if he discovers that i made you cry.”

she wipes away your tears; however, the unmistakable scent of oranges that has clung to her hands and the affection in her tone bring forth a waterfall.

“seeing this makes me sadder.” she laments, referring to the stitches on your face.

“me too,” you babble in the midst of quiet sobs. “it makes me sad. it’s so ugly.”

—

you can’t remember the last time you felt this alone. perhaps it’s the effect of staying in an unfamiliar building of complete strangers. without your mobile phone, may you add. you managed to persuade jungkook’s mother to leave an hour ago because you didn’t want her to sleep on the uncomfortable couch.

the lights are turned off except for the lamp beside your bed, and with the television muted, you could hear a hairpin drop.

you’re alone and you can do whatever you want.

you dragged the visitor’s chair infront of the window to admire the garden like it’s a painting in motion. you watched people converse, stroll, and drink coffee. you watched them run for shelter when the clouds became too heavy and the sky began to fall. oh, so that’s why you couldn’t see the stars.

at this moment, there’s nothing left to amuse yourself with but the trembling of the leaves and the raindrops forming temporary rings when they fall in the water fountain.

your senses crave for more. you reach over and crack open the window, just enough to allow the sound of the rain and the scent of it permeating the earth to enter your room.

“this is kind of peaceful.” you whisper, amazed by the new lightness carried by your heart.

you close your eyes and you breathe in the petrichor deeply. you want nature in your lungs as a reminder that you’re alive. you welcome the cold wind kissing your face. you can feel your hair touching your neck. you always do, but for once, you’re choosing to acknowledge it. your thumb slowly brushes across the palm of your hand, perceiving the texture of your skin, the softness, and the lines. and your feet, they’re in the clouds, the fluffy slippers jungkook’s mother bought outside because she knows they’re your favorite to wear.

you’ve loved and despised this body for a million different reasons. your mind and heart have accepted defeat countless times, but your body wakes up to every brand new day without fail. your body implores you to live. did it finally give up on you today?

“baby!”

you look behind to search for the source of the sound.

you get your answer from the kiss planted on your lips.

you only saw his face for a split second, but even if you had your eyes closed, you’d know it has to be jungkook kissing you.

you can smell him. you’ve memorized the way the shape of his lips fits with yours.

oh, the sounds of his kisses too. you like to call them the butterfly call because they make butterflies appear in your stomach.

you could trace the scar on his cheek with your finger if you want to.

god, what a privilege it is to experience life in this vessel.

a knock on the door forces you to part too early. the same nurse from earlier enters and you internally scream all the curse words in your dictionary. jungkook acknowledges her with a bow and a quick ‘hello’ before squatting down infront of you.

“i committed another crime for you today.”

“huh?”

your wide, confused eyes take a glimpse at the nurse who is doing something with the controls of your iv line.

hahaha… she knows he’s not serious, right?

“what did you do?”

his smile is so big that his eyes have turned into little crescent moons. you’d make a guess but there is an infinite amount of things jungkook could possibly be this excited about.

…apparently, one of them would be strawberry cake.

you gape at the transparent box he was hiding behind his back all along.

“did you steal somebody’s birthday cake?!”

“it’s a producer’s birthday and he received lots of cakes, so he told me i can take one home.”

“how is it stealing if he allowed you to take it?”

he tosses his backpack on the couch as he sets down the box on the table. he rummages through the bag his mother left behind, successfully bringing out a spoon. meanwhile, you get your blood pressure taken again.

as he opens the box, he sends a smirk your way.

“no. i hid the strawberry cake because there’s so many who wanted to eat it.”

“are you crazy?!”

the nurse clicks her tongue. “don’t talk and stay still, please.”

“oh,” your hand flies to your mouth on instinct. “i’m sorry.”

“i’m sorry.” jungkook also apologizes.

you and your boyfriend secretly share a look, exchanging a smile that is stifled laughter inside. your lips remain zipped as the nurse restarts the process of taking your blood pressure. on the other hand, jungkook eats a spoonful of cake, teasingly wiggling his eyebrows at you. you roll your eyes and he tries harder to laugh without a sound.

seconds later, he grumbles about the room being too warm. he wipes the beads of sweat on his forehead using the back of his hand, and he does the worst thing he could possibly do at this moment. he reaches for his back, pulling his sweater over his head. naturally, his inner shirt rides up and allows wandering eyes a peak at his glorious toned abdomen.

passed out in the shower. busted your eyebrow open. front-row seat for a woman flirting and ogling at your boyfriend.

how fucking great.

“hello? i think it’s done.” you snap.

“a-ah, yes.”

you hear her swallow as she removes the cuff from your arm. she may be wearing a mask but she’s hot and red all the way to her ears. you’ve only read about it in books. you didn’t even believe this could happen in real life until now.

“i will check your temperature too.”

“go on.”

you repeat the same process from hours earlier, drumming your fingers on your thigh as you wait for the beep.

“yah, why is the window open? you’ll catch a cold.”

jungkook, yet again, steals the attention of every person in the room when he rises to his feet. his shadow casts over you as he closes the window.

“i wanted to smell the rain.”

“is the room getting too stuffy for you?”

you shrug. “i just wanted to smell the rain.”

you feel the nurse’s stare. you offer her a smile and her nameplate briefly gets caught by your vision. kang ji-woo.

“ji-woo; that’s a pretty name.” you pay her a sincere compliment. “it’s healing, don’t you think?”

“yes? uh-uhm, y-yes…” she replies, unsure and confused by the sudden small talk. “actually, it’s been linked to a reduction in stress and anxiety levels.”

“thank you! babe, did you hear that?”

“uhuh, think about my stress and anxiety levels.” he leans against the window with his arms crossed, raising an eyebrow at you.

so now he’s flexing his arm muscles. cool, cool, cool. you know he’s not doing it on purpose and his entire existence is just naturally hot and it’s infuriating.

“i’ve been worried sick about you all day.”

his statement makes you frown for a new reason. at the same moment, the thermometer beeps.

“could you please tell him that i’m fine?”

“37.3, uhhh- that’s slightly above normal. how do you feel? does your head hurt? are you cold?”

“i feel fine though?”

“okay. please take a lot of rest and stay warm…” her gaze lingers at jungkook who is blocking the window. “keep the window closed. hopefully it won’t be higher when i check again later.”

seriously?! you could cry. you want to go home where it’s comfortable. where it’s only you and jungkook and bam.

but you bet somebody would be happy if you had to stay longer.

“i’ll look after ____.” your boyfriend sighs, pulling out a jacket from his backpack.

“you shouldn’t have kissed me. what if you get sick?”

your blatantness causes the nurse to pause in updating your chart. she awkwardly clears her throat. “yeah… that… that isn’t currently advisable.”

“i’m sorry. i’ll control myself.”

you earn a glare from jungkook, then he fakes a smile which you gladly return.

“before you go, may i request for a new blanket? sorry, i spilled something earlier.”

“sure thing! i’ll come back with that right away.”

—

“she seemed happy to leave.” jungkook remarks. “i can’t tell if you were actually being nice or being passive aggressive.”

you smile innocently, taking a bite off the strawberry you stole from the top of the cake. “i’m a fucking angel.”

damn it, why is he suddenly turned on?

were you serious about the no kiss rule?

“would you rather i be the type to pull their hair?”

he shakes his head with a laugh. “but you did slap someone once.”

“you want to see me that furious again?”

“never in my wildest dreams.”

he kisses the top of your head, producing an exaggerated ‘mmmwah!’ sound that makes you giggle happily.

“here, have some more cake.”

he offers you a spoonful of cake.

no, it’s bigger.

as a matter of fact, the piece could probably pass off as a cupcake.

you gawk at it as if you’re figuring out the logistics of putting it in your mouth. his heart does a flip when you tilt your head and do your best to take in the whole thing. however, in the middle of it, you decide that you can’t, and you end up biting it off a little more than halfway.

oh my god, he loves you. he loves you. you’re so fucking cute.

your cheeks are full as you struggle to chew. you cover your mouth with your hand but they don’t touch. you’re so elegant in your ways and sometimes he wonders how you’re still attracted to him after he acts stupid.

also, plain white nails? that’s new. you always want colors.

“your nails look pretty.”

he is so focused on you that he fails to take notice of another presence occupying the room.

“your mom did them for me.”

“i figured. she wants to do mother-daughter things with you.”

the short break of silence speaks volumes. you look at him, blinking with eyes hinting at a type of joy you’re lost on how to express.

“did you choose white?”

“no. we were watching a drama and it was the couple’s wedding.”

oh, that makes total sense.

“let me guess,” he trails off with a half-embarrassed, half-entertained smile. “she asked when we will get married?”

“why would she ask me that? how would i know?” you scoff.

his heart starts at a thousand miles per hour. fuck, are you hinting at him? are you messing with his feelings again? with you, he always needs to remind himself to be rational.

“i need more time to prove to you that i’m husband material.”

“what? stop it. i don’t care. i don’t need a ring.”

your unpredictableness pushes him to the edge of his seat.

“don’t pressure yourself. you already treat me way better than most husbands do their wives.”

the pride painted on your face is unmistakable. he feels his heart swelling in his chest. has he been doing a better job than he originally thought? after what happened today, he was terrified that he hasn’t been paying enough attention to you.

“i’m so happy with what we have.”

you offer him a delicate smile before eating the rest of the cake that was left on the spoon. he swears there’s a glowing halo above your head.

could your temperature have magically dropped in the past five minutes? would you kill him if he kissed you right now?

“is there anything else i could assist you with?”

and then he is rudely snapped out of his hopeless adoration and daydreaming.

“that’s all! thank you for your hard work!” you chirp.

he turns to the nurse with a lovesick grin.

“please come to our wedding.”

the unforeseen wedding invitation earns him a slap on the chest. he clutches the affected area, wincing in pain.

he hears you mutter. “don’t invite strangers to our wedding.”

the irritated glare he predicted to face isn’t there. rather, you’re wearing the flustered smile he only sees when he knows that he did something to make you fall for him all over again.

before ji-woo left, she tried to subtly reject the invitation by jokingly saying that she’d die to go, but most probably, she’d have to work that day. you know… being an overworked hospital employee and all. you caught her glancing at you with bitterness failed to be guised as indifference. you get it. you’d hate it if another person was in your place. frankly speaking, you could be miles pettier.

your boyfriend wipes the corner of your lips, thoughtless as he licks off the cake frosting from his thumb.

damn it, you wish she was also here for that.

“you haven’t stopped smiling.”

“you love me and you never let me forget that.”

you give an answer despite the lack of a question mark.

you just made his world stop spinning on its axis and you’re not even aware.

jungkook knows the heavenly feeling of knowing that he is loved, but he has never deeply considered the joy and relief when the person he loves believes that he loves them.

“i’m so lucky. i love you.”

you push yourself up to plant a kiss on his forehead. it’s a rarity he treasures and keeps.

“i love you too.”

he cries infront of you.

almost.

he excuses himself to the bathroom and cries in there a little.

you’re so easy to love— that’s why it makes him want to do difficult things for you. like commit more crimes?

[heavenbarnes]

Hello I’m ruminating on olderbf!Simon and how down bad I am for him. I have so many thoughts that do not relate to each other but I would love to just braindump on ya if I may!

-olderbf!Simon and reader obviously into voyeurism/exhibitionism with the other 141 and hearing all of their dirty thoughts, but I get the sense that Simon would NOT like to hear literally anyone else talking that way about his girl. Like if a recruit or lower rank soldier saw reader and said something gross in earshot of Simon we might actually have a murder on our hands. What do you think?

-when/if reader ever gets bratty, how might Simon punish her? Maybe instead of having punishment sex he would actually withhold his dick from her? But then ofc he’s also horny and depraved so it ends up being as much of a punishment for him

-how do you envision them sharing a bed? Are they big spooners or does Simon run so hot that reader can’t handle him being nearby?

Anyway I need to lie down now I’m unwell about him xoxo

read this in the carpark before work and had to ruminate on it all day until now 🫶🏼

there was an internal battle your older bf!simon was facing. there was a part of him, a filthy part of him, that damn near needed everyone to know how good you could be for him.

but there was a bigger part that’d rather die than have anyone think of you like that.

enter 141.

men that simon could literally trust with his life, knew him better than anyone (anyone other than you). he could trust them with his life and he could trust them with a group chat full of your most intimate moments.

however, anyone else tried to even think about you? intimately or not?

there wasn’t a place they could hide.

“jesus, L.T- the fuckin’ sight a’that”

“woah, the things i’d do to-“

one stone faced expression hidden behind a balaclava, another fighting a shit eating grin off his face.

“i’d start runnin’ if i wa’you”

not like they’d ever be able to run fast enough.

and your older bf!simon knows orders better than anyone. lives by them, loves by them.

so when you’ve acted out, he knows that you need an order- need something to get you back to sweet and pliant like he’s used to.

no use fucking it back into you, minute he sinks even the tip in- it’s him going dumb and forgetting what the mission even was.

he has to go to the next extreme.

“no touchin’, sweet’art”

your hands went back under your thighs, back pressed to the arm of the couch as you watched the man in front of you. fucking hell.

simon had one rough hand wrapped around his cock, wrist twisting as he tugged himself off. the sounds of his broken moans, the spit slick of his palm.

pure fucking torture.

“please, si”

that nearly did it, he nearly gave in with one little whimper from you.

“i’ll be good”

simon’s eyes flickered up the length of you, eyes locking with yours. he could see the well of tears on your lower lashes, he could see the way your lip was fixed between your teeth.

“what’ya say then?”

crawling, fucking crawling across the couch to him- you let him feed the tip into your mouth, muffling your words as you spoke.

“m’sorry si”

and when it’s you and your older bf!simon in your bed at the end of a long day, there’s nothing quite like it for him.

he has to be touching you.

up to him? he likes to be spooning you, curve of your back against his chest and your ass nestled nicely against his cock.

where you belong.

but the man’s big and that means that man’s warm so sometimes he has to settle for a hand against your stomach or a leg between yours.

just as long as he’s touching you.

he’s happiest, however, when your head is on his chest and he can see your peaceful little face rise and fall with his breathing. to him, he can almost imagine you exist as one.

when he can hear your little breaths, the tiny (or not so tiny) snores drifting out your lips as he traces the lines of your face with a long finger.

tactile guy is our simon, but only when it comes to you.

[windcarvedlyre]

Smile at Hope in the Name of Despair: on Komaeda and Nanami's deaths in chapter 5

Formalising the tags on this as their own thing because I'm going insane. Shoutout to @kaiokentimesten for letting me bounce ideas off them and looking over this before it was posted.

TL;DR:

DR2 Nanami is the person Komaeda desperately tried and failed to be over the entire killing game.

It makes their mutual destruction that was simultaneously a double suicide in chapter 5 even more meaningful.

Komaeda was someone who considered himself apart from the rest of the group, a supporter instead of an equal, and didn't see any future for himself with them due to circumstances beyond his control. Nanami was... someone who considered herself apart from the rest of the group, a supporter instead of an equal, and- based on how her FTEs ended- didn't see any future for herself with them due to circumstances beyond her control.

Both had strong ideologies around human worth that drove their actions over the game and led to them valuing other people's lives over their own. Chapter 5 culminated in both of them willingly sacrificing themselves for the greater good.

But their reception by the rest of the cast was very, very different for very obvious reasons. And the differences between them ultimately led to Nanami achieving everything Komaeda wanted, both on the surface and on a deeper, more emotional level, while he completely failed to.

On Komaeda

On the surface Komaeda strives for 'hope', right? He always acted for (what he believed was) the greater good by (in his perception) helping more talented people bring it about. Go slightly deeper and we see that he didn't actually just want to hang out in background, he wanted to be important, albeit in a vicarious way. He actively went against the will of everyone he tried to 'serve', engineering deadly conflicts behind their backs and manipulating the flow of information in trials, because he had his own ideas about what was best for them which coincidentally always had him pulling the strings. While initially unaware of his hypocrisy, his final message acknowledged this and took it to an extreme.

Go deeper still and it turned out that he truly wanted to be loved. For people to care about him and give a shit he existed. All of the above may have been, in my view, subconscious proxies for that: the only way he knew how to make people love him. Praise him. Raise statues to him. Remember him as the Ultimate Hope. Please.

But Komaeda didn't understand what hope is. His idea of it was too abstract, too utilitarian, too black-and-white. He reduced his classmates to interchangeable vessels of hope*, their individual value as living people dependent on their potential for it, and often callously discarded people that no longer met his standards. This ironically made him more of an agent of despair, especially after chapter 4 shattered a load-bearing part of his beliefs and destabilised him further.

He made the class despise him, died alone and afraid, and (if it had been real) would likely be remembered as an unwell person that tried to kill everyone. At most he garnered respect for his intellect, made the survivors take his luck seriously, and had Hinata torn about him posthumously; a lot of conversations during his investigation were more preoccupied with the end of the killing game than him no longer being with them. Had his plans ever succeeded, his final legacy would have been clearing the way for the creation of 5-15 new Junko Enoshimas and snuffing out what little hope humanity had regained. He took out someone who was virtually the Naegi of DR2 and her death ended up being the only one that stuck.

*There's nuance to that depending on the situation- and his views in general, especially considering DR2.5- but this is about his behaviour during/when planning murders and how it shaped his classmates' opinions of him. I have a post about it here!

Nanami, on the other hand...

...had a fundamentally different approach to morality, hope and what gives a person worth. She was built to have compassion for people that most of society would consider irredeemable: people whose net impact on humanity was extremely negative, who likely couldn't reverse that even if they aided humanity for the rest of their lives. She believed they had worth regardless and deserved a chance to be rehabilitated. Her death was only possible in chapter 5 because, even having seen Komaeda at his worst and knowing he was dangerous, she still believed in him and his right to second chances and tried to save him twice.

She was kind, level-headed, and had her own key moments in trials. People liked her and didn't reject her presence or tie her up in a draughty building for days. Hinata's heart raced when he did FTEs with her and he worked around the ways she was weird instead of storming out of conversations prematurely.

Faced with a choice between her life or everyone else's, forced by one of the very people she existed for, she willingly faced death and helped persuade everyone else to kill her (another thing Komaeda spent the entire game trying in vain to do). This wasn't easy, even after they reached consensus about Komaeda's luck, because she was their friend and they were distraught to see her die. By doing so- and again when she helped Hinata posthumously in chapter 6- she ultimately saved them, their 'dead' classmates (Komaeda included) and the rest of humanity, and her loved ones would never forget that.

Komaeda set out to dedicate himself to hope- to be remembered and loved as someone who heroically sacrificed himself for humanity. But Nanami was the person that actually achieved his dream.

-

As a final note, I love how the chapter's title- which I started this post with- can be applied to both of them. Komaeda idolised hope but his actions often brought about the opposite. Nanami sacrificed herself for Ultimate Despairs because she knew the real meaning of hope was believing in a better future.

[only-knives]

we are 8 billion people on a rock. a few things from that:

if there were no reason to live humanity would be extinct

you are not so especially different from the other 8 billion people on this planet that a) you do not also have a reason to live and b) none of the other 8 billion people on this rock would like you. i can assure you more people enjoy your existence than you know.

even if you were the last person on earth there would be god knows how many other living beings to interact with, some domesticated and would also like you.

at least you're not elon musk.

if you disagree with this post, please make your own expressing how you feel instead of exposing another very unwell person to negative thoughts they have also had as well. feel free to add your own (positive) extrapolations though.

[phleb0tomist]

it’s my 25th birthday on saturday n i’m trying to have a ‘que sera sera’ attitude about spending another major bday in bed. ten bedbound birthdays and countng?! and tbh the physical aspect of it is easy to accept at this point, i get that my bodily reality is non negotiable, but the social aspect is still so confusing because i keep feeling like i COULD be more socially part of the world if the infrastructure would bend toward me just a tiny bit. i don’t think that’s selfish. i think interdependence is a normal and reasonable thing to dream of. I reach further when I know someone else is struggling, i wish the world at large would do this for disabled ppl instead of excluding us further.

I wish there were more people in my life who knew about my existence. who had the chance to know! life could be a dream. i envy the fact that most ppl regularly get to casually cross paths with other human beings irl, like at work or school or even just taking the trash out. i don’t get to have those glimpses of miscellaneous humanity or really ever see strangers at all.

it’s hard to carve out a meaningful space in people’s minds when you’re too unwell be present in the outside world or do any of the the stuff that typically builds bonds. friendships are largely forged in third spaces. if you wanna hang out with me, it will just be me lying in bed while you sit next to me and a lot of the time i can’t speak or have the lights on. it takes a lot of trust for me to be present with someone in the shape that I live in, and i truly believe you can build whole universes lying in the dark with a friend, and i HAVE done, and i’m tremendously grateful for the amazing people who spend time with me in this way. I love it so much. but most visitors don’t seem to see any value in it. i guess for them it’s just an awkward hour.

i’m not sure where the line can be drawn between whats legit impossible bc of my health (i.e. daily texting is impossible for me so i wouldnt want that), what IS possible but what i have failed to foster and am responsible for the absence of, and what is maybe just the social architecture of the current world failing me. my great grandma had post-polio syndrome as a teen and the neighbourhood teens would actually come to her window and wave to her every day or come sit with her. I don’t know what anyone in my neighbourhood looks like???

anyway.

[not-poignant]

Hello! I apologise if you’ve already talked about this before and I just missed it, but if you don’t mind me asking, do you experience brainfog from your fibromyalgia (or other conditions), and if so, do you have any tips on dealing with it? I have FM as well and often find it impossible to focus on creative works when it’s bad—which is often due to the weather where I live 🫠 I feel like I can never finish anything, so I’m in awe of your output! Thank you in advance if you get the chance to answer; I hope you have a lovely day / night!

Hi anon,

I find brain fog is a pretty huge spectrum from 'can't do anything including watch TV / play video games' all the way to 'can't do executive function / editing but can probably still write a little.' So it's definitely different for everyone.

That being said, I don't try and write through brain fog. I don't think it's helpful and I don't really try and 'fix' it when it's there. Most of the time I take it as an indicator of a need to rest and/or a sign that I'm in a flare that will get worse if I push too hard. One of the reasons I took March off was because I typically am sunk energy-wise/health-wise during March-April (and October-November) due to the seasonal transitions from summer-winter and winter-summer.

The way I work accommodates this. For example, I don't have a daily wordcount, I have a monthly wordcount, so that if I need to take say 10-15 days of not writing because I'm too unwell, that's okay. I don't work full-time hours. Chapters don't actually take me that long to write (with the exceptions of sex and other action scenes), so I really only need 2-4 hours of alertness to get each one written.

I usually have a good idea in the morning of how foggy I'm going to be. And if that's the case I'm trying to get better at not fighting against it. Instead of thinking 'how do I deal with it' I think okay, it's here now, I'm going to get nothing really done today, I might go lie down again / play a mindless video game (if I can) / etc. I try and let my brain and body rest. It recovers from the brain fog fast that way.

There are also extremely basic things that are frequently overlooked re: helping with Fibromyalgia-based brain fog like: Looking into decent neuropathic or nerve-based pain medications like Amitriptyline or Lyrica (ymmv, but I know they help me). Making sure you're getting as much decent sleep as you can. Staying hydrated in a very genuine sense (sometimes my brain fog has literally disappeared after drinking enough water, though this is rare that it completely disappears). Eating well, and eating a balanced amount of protein, carbs, fat and fibre (and learning what this means for your body). And, though most of us hate it: Pacing. I.e. Making sure you stop before you're past you're limits, or not writing until you "can't write anymore." Stop when you still have a few paragraphs left in your head.

Writing is very fatiguing work, as is thinking about writing, and editing.

The reality is though, I have the privilege of being in a country where I'm on a disability pension and get disability support because of how disabled I am. Not everyone is fortunate enough to be in a country that takes care of their sick, elderly and vulnerable populations. And not everyone in those countries is lucky enough to have the "right illnesses" to access those supports. (Fibromyalgia doesn't count, for example, but I have enough other disabilities that I can still access support).

I could not live the way I live without those things, and without the support of folks on Patreon and Ream.

What I can say is that forcing myself to deal with / push through brain fog made me permanently sicker each time (my doctors and I think there's an element of ME/CFS in my diagnosis because of those, since FM shouldn't be degenerative in any way at all - literally differentials exist for this reason), so it is really important to make space for it. It took me a long time to learn this.

I schedule sleeps in the afternoon, I am honestly lying down for about 10-16 hours per day, every single day, to get the energy that I have. Yesterday I was in bed (though not sleeping the entire time) from midnight to around 11am. I was back in bed at 2pm until nearly 6pm. That's my life. I'm sure you're familiar, unfortunately. A lot is sacrificed to make sure that when I'm upright and functional, I can do things. If I'm lucky, maybe I'm in bed from 2pm until 4pm, maybe I get up at 9am, but I can't think of the last time I was awake through an entire day without collapsing (literally) as a consequence.

It can be worth sitting down and taking a proper look into pacing and your Energy Envelope. It's an ME concept that applies well to FMS and Long Covid.

Anyway hopefully there's something in this mess that helps, though my prevailing method these days is just...let the fog be there, and rest. Make sure you're taking basic care of your body. That sort of thing.

[herearedragons]

I keep referencing Deadfire Selene being extremely unwell on this blog so I should probably spell at least some things out about her tbh.

TL;DR Deadfire is the Selene Torment Nexus and this is a list of reasons why

point #1: going all in on the "the Watcher is technically dead" thing

my favorite take on this for her is actually in the two-Watcher au with @curiouslavellan's Helaine, where her and Selene are soul twins (fractured from the Inquisitor's soul), and at the beginning of Deadfire Helaine is the only one in Caed Nua. Selene is in Dyrford. she senses Helaine's soul being torn away and basically burns off a lot of her own soul essence trying to keep the fragment of Helaine that hasn't gone into Eothas from fading away. which, she succeeds, but also there's a hole in her own soul now that, unlike Helaine's, can't be repaired with a missing puzzle piece that Eothas stole. Berath fixes her with a chime that kind of fills that void, but basically it's unclear whether Selene can even exist without the chime at this point

in her solo verse I can't really do that, obviously, so instead I'm just focusing on how Selene doesn't really know if Berath is going to let her keep living once she gets the rest of her soul back or go "well you DID die, so thanks for the help, on the Wheel you go" and also like. in general, feeling like a shell of her former self because most of her soul is gone. she struggles to see herself as the same person Edér and the others are used to, and to believe that she's still capable

basically in either version this ends up with her knowing that she's a lesser version of what she used to be, and that she might be living on borrowed time. which she proceeds to talk to absolutely no one about until compelled by The Circumstances (the Neketaka Ghost Explosion Incident) to do so. in her mind, she doesn't want anyone to know how vulnerable she is because that's a Her Problem and morale is already low enough as it is

point #2: the telepathy

she loses her telepathy and most of her cipher powers with the chunk of her soul. she also loses the collected memories that have plagued her for the entirety of her adult life. cool, right?

in reality, losing access to other people's minds after relying on it for decades just leaves her feeling lonely and isolated and also struggling to believe at times that the people are actually there because she can't sense them. her ranger companion (the last creature she does have a psychic bond with, still) helps, though. everyone say thank you to Whiskers the therapy lion

point #3: Caed Nua

her house is gone and all the people that were there are dead and she's grieving it way more than the dialogue in Deadfire allows you to

point #4: Edér

so the dynamic is already weird at the beginning of Deadfire because the cumulative weight of everything I've discussed so far is causing Selene to withdraw into herself and relapse into her worst habits of "I'm just going to keep all of my suffering right here, and then I'll die". which. he can see she's not okay, but also she's not really letting him in, and he doesn't really know what he can do except give her space and hope that she gets better. which is a kind of helplessness he knows all too well

Xoti, who obviously can't possibly know their history or what's happening between them and is too busy crushing on Edér and praising Eothas to notice she's deaing psychic damage to both of them, does NOT help. especially because Edér is very obviously uncomfortable with her, while Selene ends up feeling weirdly sympathetic because she's been in a cult, she's been in Xoti's place, and she wants to believe that maybe she can snap Xoti out of it (she can't). so she wants to keep her around.

then there's the thing with Bearn, and like. him already being with a relationship with Selene (and also my general thoughts on him and Elafa) means that in this version Edér reacts to everything a little differently, but he's still both freaked out and excited at the prospect of potentially having a son, which does Selene in. because. he's never getting that with her. she's a godlike. she's a Watcher. she might be dead in a few weeks, and if not in a few weeks, then in a few months or years the gods will surely devise a new way to make her suffer, and Edér will get dragged along again, and he already has way less time on Eora than she does because he's folk, and is she just keeping him from the life he really wants to have?

the rest of it isn't really about Selene being unwell but just know it's a whole mess and they even break up about it at one point. they get back together later but it happens

point #5: Ondra

sailing.

I wrote a couple of posts about Selene and Tekēhu but basically his presence doesn't improve Selene's mental state either

point #6: welcome to being the Deadfire's errand girl

in my mind Selene has a closer relationship with Lady Webb than POE1 shows, studying under her during Act 2 as she investigates the Leaden Key's activities, and basically becomes an honorary member of Dunryd Row. after Thaos' death Selene puts her influence and wealth as the Roadwarden to use helping Dunryd Row to recover from the Hadret House massacre, and basically ends up being in charge of a lot of it as a "consultant". point being, she spends a lot of time in Defiance Bay during the timeskip, and becomes way more familiar with politics and espionage, and the powers that be notice

with the above in mind, honestly even if she wasn't a Watcher, upon arriving to the Deadfire every faction would try to get her to do stuff for them immediately purely as a political move

and yeah she's more shrewd than she used to be, she knows they're playing the game, but also this just makes her more aware of the humiliation of going from having the Dyrwood's most powerful spy network at her fingertips to agreeing to do a pirate's dirty work and take his weird cipher with you because his ship's guns are trained on you and your own cipher powers have barely started to recover and you did piss off a few pirates in Neketaka so if you refuse now, you'll pretty sure this guy might get them to declare war on you just to prove a point. she's out of her depth. she's still trying

[karin-gespenst]

mental health and maternity

Arlene Brewer has been left alone by the institutions that were supposed to help her. Someone else can math out how many days were between her discharge from Lynchmere until she gave birth. It can't have been more than two weeks. She managed well enough until the very doctors that were supposed to educate her scared her instead and she was afraid to keep taking the medication. Afraid to ask for help from the district midwives that tried to form a trusting relationship and failed because they lacked crucial information. Her relapse was preventable. With proper support she may have been able to go through labour and birth in a stable mental state and care for her baby. Instead she had no partner, no family, improvised living conditions and too little time to prepare. What is there to look forward to for her? With her child in foster care there is a small chance left that they can be reunited.

Other mothers didn't even have that. Remember Mary from s1e2? The poor girl who didn't even get a surname. We don't know how her mental state was before at age 15 she was raped, displaced, exploited, raped again and completely talked out of her own perception by adult men who knew very well that she had little in her defense. By the time she met Jenny, she was already somewhat detatched from reality. The church took away her baby, and triggered her mental breakdown that she never recovered from and she was left alone again, with no support from anyone.

Remember Shirley Redmond? depressed after losing her firstborn baby, finally better through the care of her family and the midwives during her second pregnancy, and then happy with her daughter, briefly. then faced with tragedy again when her baby was kidnapped, by the teenaged girl from two episodes ago. Agony for days, and very much understandable anger at the person who caused that. Shirley could find compassion for Mary and was well again after the return of her baby. But Mary only lost again and got no help.

Season 1 was dark like that sometimes. Season two had a mental health story that ended well. Ruby Roberts had a son, and her son had spina bifida, and she did not know how to cope. For weeks she was unable to care for him or her other children. Only when her husband got through to her with his reverse psychology and pretended to want to send their baby to a Home, she snapped out of it and found her old self again. Helpful husbands, they exist!

Sarita Gupta has one. Her traumatic experiences as a child during partition made her extremely anxious and she developed symptoms of obsessive behaviour. Over time she got better because the midwives learned how to help her, and they could try because her husband alarmed them.

Roseanne Dawley also has support in her family, she even has a cleaning lady helping in the home. But even the gentlest of husbands wasn't able to reassure Rosanne that she is capable of being a good mother, when the experience of trauma in childhood and violence as a young adult made her doubt her abilities. Giving birth alone unprepared was a massive shock for her, and I'm glad she went to stay at her friend's when she was overwhelmed. Phyllis was finally able to reassure her and she stabilized again.

Pamela Saint was not so lucky. She needed weeks in the hospital to help her get well from puerperal psychosis. Remember the shock treatment? Her getting unwell was portrayed in a way that haunts me until today, because nobody expected it and when people started to react they were almost too late. Many people have heard about postpartum depression but not about psychosis. We see Pamela getting better but her baby had to stay with a relative and her husband was thoroughly out of his depth.

Season 5 with the thalidomide storylines gives us Ruby Cottingham. Losing a child is I'd say the most horrifying event in a parent's life. We saw how happy she was expecting her baby. Then the difficult labour and cesarean and no baby. not even a chance to say goodbye. Depression, alcohol abuse and drug abuse are clearly shown when we see her next. it's unclear if she ever got any closure from learning why her baby died. if she got any help from a doctor or support group it is not shown.

Nadifa Ghedi Jama had an episode of triggered trauma during labour. Valerie was able to help her a bit, and the birth was traumatic anyway, as was the recovery. Her husband at sea, her sister sent away, I don't know who was there for her after her discharge from the hospital.

Call the midwife shows us the factors that help mothers with mental health problems: proper medical care including of course contraception, suitable housing, understanding family members, friends, education and the chance to make their own decisions. and that's not going into social factors like discrimination, displacement, war, organized violence and gendered violence. that's a whole other essay but someone's got to make dinner.

[cripplecharacters]

Hi, i’ve seen some disabled people say that you shouldnt be writing disabled POV characters if you are able bodied, as that would be speaking over the disabled experience. What are your thoughts on this? Im hearing some mixed opinions, I did have a POV character who is disabled (they are the protagonist) and Im not sure if i should scrap it

Hello lovely asker!

You can 100% write a disabled character and write the story from their POV. I believe a lot of the general descrepancies come from the the How in writing more so than the do or do not. Mentioning their disability, pain, symptoms, complications/adjusting from medical aids is good and shows the character and their disability. To steer away from the idea of disabled characters being written as a complete one view stance throughout the whole story is definitely what the goal is though. To bring more nuance and allow people to be seen as us with care rather than the perceived notion of "This person is disabled that must mean they're miserable" etc.

This isn't to say that a lot of disabled people don't in fact go through varying periods of time where we are unwell/generally feeling terrible from either various symptoms from our disabilities or treatment of others because of our disabilities. But I know a lot of us deal with this in real life and we constantly see this in media depictions that it's really nice when there are other depictions of disabled characters simply being and living. We are happy, we do go outside, and exist, and we have friends, and fall in love and are loved. We're not just the villains in media, angry—sad all the time, or that person who is treated as less than the rest of the cast.

Of course as you said, we all see things in a different way. If you're writing a disabled character I personally don't believe you should feel you have to scrap it and instead just make sure you're giving the character the same attention as you would your other characters.

I don't believe that we are only confined to write what we know from a first hand experience, but rather to venture out and to write more of what we don't know. It's the reason why it's good to back up and look at harmful cliches/tropes/things that are often gotten wrong and to look at what we write and think how we can improve and get better as writers. If we only wrote what we knew there would be so much less representation and complex and interesting characters in media as a whole.

~ Mod Virus 🌸

[thecertifiedboykisser]

I'm gonna give a hot take about Vivian that some of you aren't gonna like. She is not a Yandere. (Not in the way most people think about yanderes anyway)

LISTEN LISTEN LISTEN HEAR ME OUT

The definition of a yandere as stated on the Dere wiki (which I just learned existed) is this

And this is a lot so lemme explain. TLDR, a yandere is someone who is so lovestruck it makes them act mentally unwell. They act normal in the beginning but act mentally unwell, usually with a violent tendency. Another thing is, that this particular definition of yandere does not fit Vivian at all. She's obsessed yes, but we have a cutscene of her being jealous over the proxies talking to Kolada and Grace outside of random play.

Instead of lashing out at Grace and Kolada she sits and feels like she is not good enough for the proxies and feels secondary in their lives to all these important people

(since I have a feeling that Vivian knows who kolada is since she worked a lot before Hugo and shes yknow the president of a company.)

If anything it reads more like an inferiority complex mixed with jealousy since she was feeling down due to her not feeling like she was good enough to be around the proxies. (This all happens in her trust events that I did btw)

the dere wiki has a whole segment about sick yanderes and misuse of the term,

It says here that a yandere is meant to have the process of them going insane and it ends in some bad way. But we do not see that with Vivian, she is portrayed as a fan girl.

As for the 'she likely to express her feelings in overly passionate ways' when the mayor offers to marry her and Phaethon she declines, showing that she respects the proxies' consent and boundaries.

With the stalking, it only happened after we got hacked and deactivated, proof here

If anything Vivian fits under a diffrent. More wholesome definition of a yandere.

She is a phantom thief after all, she's not sick in the head due to the amount of love she holds for the proxies (which isn't all romantic btw it's confirmed that we saved her from suicide and that she idolizes the proxies) so she's more of a yandere in the yankii way

Yeah this entire thing isn't that serious but it still bothers me since Vivian is a genuinely really interesting if you look just a bit past her obsession with the proxies, or hell even why she is obsessed. And it sucks to see her be reduced to 'haha obsessed yandere that steals phaethons clothes.'

[Here's the link BTW to the dere wiki, im a nerd so I found it interesting but idk if anyone else will]

[theresstillgrowinghere]

Oh I am fucking angry.

Dr. Edwin Leap (yes, I will call you out by name because you published your bullshit online for the whole world to see), thank you for almost comedically illustrating why so many patients are afraid of doctors.

You do not ever get to think of your patients as other. They are your same flesh and blood; I don’t care how much you want to think of yourself as separate from those of us unwell. (I can tell how much disdain you hold for us just from this short article. We are failures, not good enough, not strong and morally pure like you are, hm?)

Healthcare can never, never, allow itself to other its patients. And yet, you publish an entire article calling sick people Homo infirmus and Homo fragilis? Your tone doesn’t come across very humorous, but even if it’s just supposed to be a silly little joke, explain to me why the fuck you think that would be okay.

Why the fuck would it be okay to say another person is not only not your same species but instead defined as other primarily by their illness?

And designated as such by you, a medical professional with direct influence on the lives and wellbeings of the very people you are dehumanizing?

Do you not see how terrifying that is? Do you not see why people would be afraid of you after just having read this piece?

And then you go on, boiling my blood:

“Homo fragilis, at least as a diagnostic category, begins earlier and earlier in life and often results not only in a tribe of people dependent on medications but also, ‘relying on the kindness of strangers.’ No, maybe better put, ‘demanding the kindness of strangers.’ These individuals require food, shelter, medication, affirmation, and often money from others because they cannot function in the wild. I’m not being mean; the causes are legion, from poor family structure to mental health challenges to social media.”

I cannot believe how many infuriating things you’ve said just in this paragraph alone, but I want to focus on the part that immediately washed me with deep shame. Unrightfully so. You have no right to make me feel ashamed, and yet, when you said “demanding” better captures my state of existence, it turned my stomach inside out.

Yes, I am disabled. I absolutely rely very heavily on other people. Yes, I require food, shelter, medication, affirmation, money. And so do you, christ. You aren’t better than us just because we need support from our communities. Getting support from those around us isn’t a crime, isn’t a wrongdoing, isn’t a moral failure.

You know what it is? Human.

Whether or not Margaret Mead actually said that a healed femur in recovered ancient remains was the earliest sign of civilization (we’re going to save the charged nature of this term for another time and for now just use it as a placeholder for consistent, steady, lasting community), there is a reason why people latch onto this story. There is a reason why it warms people’s hearts:

So many of us want to care* for people. So many of us want to have people care for us. So many people feel closer to others, to ourselves, to our own humanity when offering others care.

(*I am including all the vastly different ways we can show others care, love, support, respect, protection, encouragement, etc.)

And perhaps the most upsetting part is how close you are to understanding the problem while getting the most key pieces so, so wrong. You’re right, our current healthcare system cannot handle the amount of support patients need right now. But please, I beg you, could you consider for just one second that it is not the fault of the patients? Could you please not strip me of my humanity just because I need help to survive?

Fix the system. You’re right, there is a massive problem. But it’s not us. Next time you’re considering your “long-dormant zoology degree,” think twice and reflect a bit before publishing bullshit like this. Think about what it means to take care of those around you. Think about your own humanity.

[cressthebest]

Crimson Rivers thoughts pt. 40

chapter 60:

1. y’all, marlene surviving is like the jaws theme only getting louder each second

2. dorlene is so fucking tragic omg

3. okay yall, kinda curious why sirius was immune to the green mist

4. bingly, lily, and mary trio >>>>>>>>

5. MARYLILY FOR THE FUCKING WIN

6. …where the fuck did regulus run off to?

7. “Sirius feels fucking sick. He should have never touched him. He was so selfish to ever, ever, ever touch him.” going feral over him

8. 😭😭😭 sirius took a chunk out of riddle’s arm so now his has immunity. i love him so dearly

9. regulus the little shit has abeeforth climb a tree

10. “He's pretty sure he was just focused on getting outside, and killing would take a little more time and effort, which is likely the only thing that saved those people's lives.” LMAO

11. i am unwell over the sirius and effie/flea reunion

12. “Because he loves Sirius like a brother, a mother, a father, a friend, an enemy, a reflection, and like no other. He can't stop that any more than Sirius can stop loving him as a brother, a son, a daughter, a friend, an enemy, a reflection, and like no one else.”

13. “Before Regulus ever found the sun in James, Sirius was the brightest light he knew; his guiding star. Regulus would have followed him anywhere, to the ends of the earth and beyond, and he still will even now.

Maybe especially now.”

please, i’m so tired 😞😞 i’m so goddamn tired

14. this was such a good chapter for my ships omg

chapter 61:

1. james thinking regulus is an angel when high off his ass on meds >>>>>>>>

2. stop! don’t take his skin!!! 😭😭😭

3. “James smiles at the angel and risks being smited…smote?” smitten, i believe. (you’re being silly)

4. me blubbering: remudsd and jambes

5. hospital bed cuddles >>>>>>>>>>>>>> s tier

6. “"I love you, James. I loved you from the start, I love you now, and I'll love you for as long as love is something that exists—and, if it ever stops existing, I'll reinvent it just for you."” i- will i ever find a love like this?

7. im kinda loving this characterization of remus in which he feels no remorse for the times he’s murdered

8. “But it was muzzled like a dog and left to snarl and foam at the mouth, defiance building until he never misses a chance to bite. But they silenced it, and he has found his voice, and now, now they hear him scream.”

9. “i’m sat”

10. god, they can’t even break up without being so in love. they end up on a bed instead :/

11. “"I'll do it until we're old and grey," Remus murmurs.

"If we get there," Sirius whispers.

Remus strokes his hair. "We'll get there."”

they’re my model for how to love

[saints-who-never-existed]

Rereading The Terror

Two short chapters combined for you today, each more gut-wrenching than the last!

Chapter Fifty-Five: Goodsir

Goodsir's first few days in the Mutineer Camp have not been pleasant, needless to say. He begins describing Hickey as The Devil and the other men as an "Infernal Legion" celebrating with a "Feast of Human Flesh" after the confrontation with Crozier.

There are a few familiar and unexpected faces within that 'infernal legion' including Billy Orren, John Morfin, and Billy Gibson, all very much still living so far. Interestingly, several of the Mutineers are still actively resisting the descent into cannibalism - Morfin and Hodgson most notably - but Goodsir suspects they won't be able to hold out much longer - "the smell of Roasting Human Flesh is Horribly Enticing".

Just like the main party, the Mutineers also appear to have found leads in the ice. 17 men pile into a boat only meant for 8 and begin to paddle northward but it's clear quickly that they cannot continue to do so for long, and it's not because of the leads themselves: "I Heard Hickey and Aylmore whispering after we landed to pitch Tents this Evening - they made Little Effort to lower their Voices. Someone will have to go. ...now that they do not need Man-haulers, which Men will be Sacrificed to the Food stores so that the boat can be Lightened for tomorrow's Sailing?"

-

Chapter Fifty-Six: Jopson

Oh gang... I'm afraid this is it...!

Jopson doesn't understand. He doesn't fully understand what's happening to his body anymore - why his teeth and hair are falling out and he's bleeding from every orifice. And he doesn't understand why he's being left behind on this, his literal birthday: "...but he was not an old man. He was thirty-one years old today and they were leaving him behind to die on his birthday." :(((

He has just enough wherewithal to smell the roasting of the seal meat Des Voeux's men brought back to camp, and to note the stream of men visiting his tent, unwilling to show their faces but leaving behind a pile of mouldy ships biscuits for him "like so many white rocks in preparation for his burial."

Jopson can only really protest in his own head - against the men and their actions and, interestingly, against Crozier... "Hadn't he stayed by Captain Crozier's side a hundred times during the captain's illnesses and moody low points and outright bouts of drunkenness? Hadn't he quietly, uncomplainingly, like the good steward he was, hauled pails of vomit from the captain's cabin in the middle of the night and wiped the Irish drunkard's arse when he shat himself in his fever delirium? Perhaps that's why the bastard is leaving me to die." Good Christ if that thought doesn't actually fucking destroy me! It's not even the idea of doing all that for someone and it somehow not being good enough, it's almost as if it was too good instead. Like something about reaching that level of intimacy being too unbearable in some way and somehow being the thing that dooms him? Ooh lordy I'm unwell... :(((

Soon enough, Jopson's birthday becomes more surreal and yet more literal as his crawling from the tent is described almost like labour, like an actual birth - "He had grown used to the canvas-filtered dim light and stuffy air of his tent-womb that this openness and glare made his lungs labour and filled his squinted-shut eyes with tears."

Crawling over food - "brought to him as if he were some damned pagan idol or sacrificial offering to the gods" - Jopson exits the tent which all too quickly fades into the fog behind him so he can't go back, and tries to shout after the departing men.

He's so weak but so utterly utterly desperate that he even tries to use his fucking chin to drag himself along the ground when his arms fail him. But of course it's not enough. Just like that, the departing men are gone. "It was as if they had never existed."

[letteredlettered]

arranged20??

This answer is also for @nanavn, who asked about the same thing!

This is a fic I really, really hope to finish writing. I wrote 44,293 already. I love it and I'm proud of it. But it's an MDZS/CQL fic, and my head is living in TGCF right now, and I also want to make time for original fic, so who knows when I will get to it?

This fic is wangxian. That's the only pairing, though I guess background LXC/NMJ.

In ancient China, marriage between men was a thing, the way it was in many ancient cultures, but I didn't really do a lot of research on that for the fic. One central premise of the fic, though, is that marriage between men is not unheard of and can be used for political alliances. Homophobia still exists in this world, because I actually think it's rather important to some of the premises of this book.

The fic is an AU after WWX dies at the burial mounds. Another basic premise is that JGS begins to realize JGY is a threat, so he watches closely and doesn't die in an orgy. In order to keep JGY in check, JGS recognizes Mo Xuanyu as Jin Xuanyu. Meanwhile, JGS is more careful about consolidation of power--for instance, JGY has not dared sabotage NMJ. Instead, the Jin Sect has slowly expanded such that the other sects can feel the heat, and everyone is waiting for things to boil over.

This is an arranged marriage fic. At the start of the fic, Jin Sect finally makes a move that will undermine and discredit the Lan Sect. Lan Xichen knows what JGS is looking for--to either chip away at Lan influence or gain Lan fealty. LXC feels that the only way to secure their position is to marry into the Jin Sect. LWJ refuses to let his brother throw himself away on a loveless marriage, because the man LXC loves is alive and also threatened (even without his qi being sabotaged, NMJ's qi is still unstable). Believing that WWX won't return, LWJ demands that he go through with the marriage himself, and because LWJ is super stubborn and LXC isn't great at standing up to him, LXC acquiesces.

The marriage is of course to Jin Xuanyu. LWJ doesn't really know Jin Xuanyu except for having met a few times in passing. On the day of their wedding, Jin Xuanyu excuses himself from the wedding feast, claiming to be ill.

Here is an excerpt, taking place when LWJ checks on Jin Xuanyu after the wedding banquet!

Lan Wangji nodded and entered the residence, where a strange odor assaulted his senses and Jin Xuanyu stood in the middle of the room, holding a thick sheaf of papers and a shocked expression. “Lan Zhan!” he exclaimed.

Lan Wangji looked at Jin Xuanyu’s arm, which was now behind Jin Xuanyu’s back, hiding the sheaf of papers. Deciding to prioritize, Lan Wangji didn’t ask about it. Jin Xuanyu was extremely pale. “Are you all right?”

“Me?” Jin Xuanyu said blankly. “Oh, I’m quite . . . oh, terrible.” He began to cough. “I’m terrible, Hanguang-jun.”

“I brought you food,” Lan Wangji said, moving farther into the room. The scent in the air was familiar, but Lan Wangji could not place it.

Jin Xuanyu had not moved. “Hanguang-jun,” he said. Then he said it again. “Hanguang-jun.”

Lan Wangji put the tray on the table and stood.

“I . . .” Jin Xuanyu seemed quite at a loss. Then he said, in a quiet voice, “Are we really married?”

Lan Wangji stared, at a loss as well.

“It’s just . . .” Jin Xuanyu made a helpless gesture with his hand.

Lan Wangji, speaking very carefully, said, “You were at the ceremony.”

Jin Xuanyu grimaced. “Right . . .” He made another face. “It’s just so . . .”

Jin Xuanyu stood there for so long, unspeaking, that Lan Wangji finally stepped toward him.

“Never mind, Hanguang-jun!” Speeding over to the table, keeping the papers behind his back, Jin Xuanyu looked down at the tray. “Is it from the wedding banquet?” he said quickly. “Is it something good?”

Lan Wangji eyed him warily, remembering the Jin plots he had considered earlier. “Plain soup.”

Jin Xuanyu’s face fell. “Really?”

“You were unwell,” Lan Wangji reminded him.

“Oh. Right.” Jin Xuanyu coughed a few times.

In spite of his pallor, the way Jin Xuanyu was coughing did not appear genuine, and he seemed otherwise well. Even if he was sick, his current condition did not seem poor enough to warrant desertion of his own wedding banquet, and no illness Lan Wangji could imagine would cause a person to post a guard outside the door.

Keeping the papers out of sight behind him, Jin Xuanyu leaned down, uncovering the bowl on the tray and taking a whiff. “Unf. It really is plain. There at least should be good food, considering what I’ve been through.”

Jin Xuanyu did not seem inclined to share what he had ‘been through,’ but the papers were obviously connected. “Shall I fetch something else?” Lan Wangji asked, keeping his tone polite.

Wincing, Jin Xuanyu straightened, then forced an uncomfortable little laugh. “No, Hanguang-jun, that’s . . . it’s fine.”

Unable to wait any longer for a reasonable explanation, Lan Wangji finally asked, “What are the papers?”

“Hm?”

Lan Wangji did not repeat himself. He thought that Jin Xuanyu had heard him very well.

“Oh.” Jin Xuanyu chuckled. “I suppose you mean these,” he said, whipping out the sheaf of paper from behind his back. “Well, let me tell you,” Jin Xuanyu went on, glancing at the papers himself. “These papers are . . . they’re . . . a diary,” he said suddenly. “Very private, Hanguang-jun. I’m going to burn them.”

The paper visible to Lan Wangji was covered in writing too small to read. Lan Wangji looked back to Jin Xuanyu. “I would not read your private writings.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t, Hanguang-jun,” Jin Xuanyu said, setting the sheaf of papers on the floor, then sitting down on it, before the soup. “You’ve always been so honorable. One can never be too careful, though. Prying eyes, you know.” Picking up the bowl, Jin Xuanyu began to eat, as though nothing in his behavior could be deemed at all suspicious or unusual.

Lan Wangji looked down at him, trying to decide what to do. That Jin Xuanyu was hiding things from him was obvious, and yet, Lan Wangji had rarely witnessed a guilty person seem so unconcerned with being caught. If Jin Xuanyu had in fact planned with other Jin Sect members to annihilate the Lan Clan from within, or if some other nefarious scheme were in play, surely a more subtle subterfuge would have been employed.

No, this behavior seemed a result of Jin Xuanyu’s own eccentricities, of which Lan Wangji was rapidly becoming aware that there were many. When Jin Xuanyu had first joined the Jin Clan at Golden Carp Tower, Lan Wangji had heard that the man was odd, but almost all the rumors had seemed to center around Jin Xuanyu’s sexual preferences, as far as Lan Wangji had been able to tell.

Perhaps he should have conducted more research into the nature of Jin Xuanyu’s character, not in the least because Jin Xuanyu was now slurping his soup in a most aggravating manner. He had handled himself with adequate decorum at the tea ceremony that afternoon. Perhaps within the privacy of the Jingshi, with his new husband, Jin Xuanyu felt it permissible to forgo etiquette.

“If you would like a private place for the papers,” Lan Wangji said, “I can provide a case and show you how to construct a locking talisman.”

“Ah, are we still talking about that?” Jin Xuanyu said, not looking up at him. “I told you, I’m burning them.”

Lan Wangji watched his husband eat for another moment or two. He really should sit with him, but to do so felt like a concession that Jin Xuanyu’s meal was normal and nothing at all strange was happening, when the fact was that Jin Xuanyu had been doing something in this room, something with the papers that he did not want Lan Wangji to know about. Perhaps it really was as innocent as updating his supposed ‘diary,’ but Lan Wangji doubted this.

The smell alone was cause for concern. When Lan Wangji focused on it, memories of the Sunshot Campaign surfaced—battlefields. Death. Corpses. But the room didn’t smell like death or rotting flesh. The odor was faintly metallic.

Lan Wangji spotted the smudge on the floor at the same time as he identified the scent.

Blood.

Walking a few steps, Lan Wangji bent down to inspect the floorboards he had only recently repaired. The stain was fresh, smudged as though hastily wiped away. The rest of the floor was clean, but such a small amount of blood would never cause the scent to be so noticeable. Straightening, Lan Wangji looked back at Jin Xuanyu, who was looking back at him, eyes wide as he lowered the bowl from his mouth.

“Were you cut?” Lan Wangji asked.

“No?” Jin Xuanyu did not sound certain about this.

“There is blood.”

“Ah, how strange.” Jin Xuanyu remained where he was.

“I smell it.”

“Ah, Hanguang-jun, so impressive, able to scent blood. You know, I would not share this fact,” Jin Xuanyu said brightly, wagging a finger at him. “They say that certain monsters are able to scent blood; it’s a nefarious talent.”

“Jin Xuanyu.”

“What? Oh. Yes?”

Lan Wangji looked at the floor, then back up at Jin Xuanyu. He was still pale, Lan Wangji saw. Blood loss.

“Well, what makes you think it’s mine, Hanguang-jun?” Jin Xuanyu asked, sounding petulant. “It could be anyone’s blood! You should keep your place cleaner. And more secure! Anyone could just come in here and bleed.”

Lan Wangji walked back to the table, took Jin Xuanyu by the arm, then pulled up. Jin Xuanyu squawked a loud protest, but Lan Wangji was stronger, forcing Jin Xuanyu from where he sat to reveal the papers that had been under him. Lan Wangji reached for them, and they abruptly caught fire.

Whirling, Lan Wangji turned back to look at Jin Xuanyu, who was lowering his hand, having just made a hand seal for fire—not a very effective one, Lan Wangji saw, turning back to the flames. The fire was feeble, already petering out. Lan Wangji waved his hand, expending very little spiritual power to extinguish it, but Jin Xuanyu was already rushing back, gathering the burnt papers to his chest. “I told you!” he exclaimed. “They’re my diary! You wouldn’t read another man’s diary, would you, Hanguang-jun? I thought you were honorable!”

“Tell me,” said Lan Wangji, through gritted teeth, “what is going on.”

“I’m . . .” Jin Xuanyu’s shoulders slumped. “Well, if you must know . . .”

Lan Wangji, waiting, abruptly realized he was furious. He had not had the time to process everything that had happened so far, all the ways that Jin Xuanyu was lying to him, setting actual fires in the Jingshi, cutting himself, hiding it—and they were married. Lan Wangji had married this man this morning, and Lan Wangji could not fully comprehend it. He could not recall feeling so blindly angry since he’d been a teenager; the mixture of hurt and absolute confusion felt exactly the same.

It felt exactly the same, and Lan Wangji suddenly, powerfully wished that Wei Ying was here, if only for Wei Ying to hurt him and confuse him that way again. At least that was a pain that Lan Wangji understood, and it had come from someone he loved. That this stranger could hold such power over Lan Wangji was only a result of the fact that they were married, and Lan Wangji had had his hopes, and now they were meant to live together, side by side, when Jin Xuanyu obviously had so little respect for him. It felt intolerable. It felt unfair.

Lan Wangji took a deep breath, then let it go.

“I was trying to cast a spell,” said Jin Xuanyu.

“With blood,” said Lan Wangji.

“Well, you see . . . it wasn’t exactly a polite spell.”

Lan Wangji put out his hand.

Jin Xuanyu looked down at it.

“The papers,” said Lan Wangji.

“No!” Jin Xuanyu clutched them closer. “These are my . . . notes. On how to do the spell, but it didn’t work. I’m . . . such a poor cultivator, you see.” Jin Xuanyu lit up suddenly. “That’s why I was casting the spell! It’s this body. It’s weak! And . . . small. The—my golden core is just . . . nothing to speak of. I could also be far better looking, don’t you agree?”

Lan Wangji did not know what he was talking about.