#tw terminal illness

[scarfacemarston]

Tuberculosis and the Wild West

Spoilers for RDR2 , but it’s been since 2018, y’all.  Trigger warnings for serious talk of severe terminal illness and severe stigma. As of 12/20 or 20/12, I have fixed some of the wording and added a few new things so please seriously head the warnings. Ok, first, some background: I've been studying TB since 2018; my father had a form of TB twice. I'm a historian, and one of my specialties is the history of medicine. Of course, you don't need to be a historian to write something like this. Also,  please "like" and reblog, this sort of content takes time. Tons of pics of buildings, and info below of the “lore” and IRL people.

Background info about TB that y’all need to know: TB is still horrifically deadly and still a leading cause of death. To give you all an idea about how recent genuine scientifically proven treatments were-  antibiotics targeting TB were not  discovered until the late 40s. However, sanatoriums (TB hospitals) and similar TB-related places didn't all close until 1970. My sister was born in 1977.  To give you all an idea of how treeified people were of this disease, think of the stigma with the AIDS/HIV crisis in the 1980s or the early fears surrounding Covid.

TB is one of the three oldest diseases dating back to Ancient Egypt with early evidence appearing through ancient mummies. Starting around the 18th century, western people believed TB was a disease of the elite granting someone ethereal beauty, writing prowess, and artistic talents. It was known as a "romantic disease" and a "beautiful death" - both of which we know aren’t true.  Some western beauty standards are influenced by TB including rouged lips, blush, pale skin and a thin figure accentuated with corsets. However, the appearance was due to the patient wasting away. Patients actually had bloodied lips, feverish cheeks, a pale complexion from the illness and losing a large amount of body weight. That's why TB was initially called consumption.(There have been many other names for TB including the White Plague and Captain of All These Men of Death and phthisis which is Greek in origin.) However, people eventually woke up and realized, "Oh wait, this isn't so sexy” The disease spread like wildfire, especially in the cities affecting whole families as was seen with Doc Holliday. Soon, society blamed anyone who wasn’t a white upperclass person AND those who were "immoral . They believed it was someone’s own fault if they had the disease. People held a very e*gen*c view of the disease believing their activities or who their families were caused this.  Immoral in this instance includes thieves, sex workers, bar workers, drunkards, violent people, women who had children out of wedlock, said child born out of wedlock, and homeless people. Obviously, this isn't true. It was overcrowded spaces, poor hygienic practices, but also animals, especially cows and deer. Ironically, the deer/stag plays a huge role in RDR 2. A few aspects from RDR 2 were inspired by Doc Holiday, one of the greatest gunslingers and outlaws in American history. His talents with the gun were considered by some as otherworldly. He and Wyatt Earp are most famous for the shoot-out at the OK Corral. Doc was dying of TB and headed west in order to potentially receive some medical attention, but found out that being an outlaw was great fun. Watch Tombstone for a fictionalized version of him. He had a very colorful life, but died of TB in Glenwood Springs, Colorado, at the age of 36. The same age as you know who.

This leads us to RDR 2 itself. The short answer about  survival is potentially yes, but with some major stipulations. I have traveled across the country studying TB and visiting TB sites and have seen these locations firsthand. Read further to read how survival was possible and for pictures of key locations.

IF Arthur had rested, maintained a proper fat rich diet, rested in especially clean air and partook in light exercise, he MIGHT have had a chance. I would estimate a 60-70 percent chance based on my readings of TB survivors. The chance of survival  could be more if he he headed West immediately after diagnosis. The wealthy traveled to newly built luxury resorts, but most people lived in tent colonies, so Arthur would be very familiar with the site. Hell, if the gang moved West, and followed the conditions I mentioned above, he MIGHT have been able to recover without heading to a TB colony. The the gang wasn't stable, and they were being hunted down, etc. However, people were pissed about the TB patients heading west to settle on "their land" (which is, of course, Native American land that was stolen). This pushed people to the outskirts of town and eventually, the establishment of sanatoriums which were tuberculosis treatment centers. 

Both the picture above and below would be an example of the tents used by TB patients to camp out. The top picture was probably taken around the 1890s which is Arthur’s lifetime while the picture blow is probably from a later era like the 20′s based on the clothing. City people in big cities sometimes camped out on the roofs of their flats and apartments hence the setting of the second picture. 

Due to the extreme fear, people were literally dropped off by families/friends or even government officials far outside of town. You did not want society to know that you had loved one with TB or else the stigma would affect you as well.  Later, TB patients were forcibly institutionalized. Many of these patients were ashamed of their affliction, but also felt further shame that their loved ones could be ostracized by society. I cannot stress enough how horrific this disease was and how tb psychologically affected the sufferer and its loved ones. Many tb sufferers never saw their loved ones again due to their families shunning them. I interviewed the elderly who remembered family members suffering from the disease and it still haunts their lives today. We see some of the shunning and stigma in the game, not just from the townspeople but from the gang. It's actually one of the reasons why I truly dislike a few unexpected gang members, for example.

At least Abigail, Charles, Tilly, John, and Sadie still treated him as a  human. Hell, Even Molly was kinder to him and she was really suffering in chapter 6.

I will tell you right now, realistically speaking, in no way could Arthur have done anything at all in chapter six. I’m not only talking missions, but any sort of work.  I won't go into graphic details, but one of the less graphic ones is that his hands would struggle to grasp objects, especially a gun. His joints would be too swollen. I know because I've seen it firsthand with my father and read plenty of accounts about it. Other than that, the game does a pretty great job of representing TB - however, Arthur could have been arrested or fined for spitting blood on the street which he did quite often in the game. Link goes to an academic article, but here is a more accessible link.

By 1899, people had been heading west for TB treatment for decades. People of all races headed west to Colorado, California, New Mexico, and Arizona being the prime locations. Dry air and or mountainous air were your best bets. Colorado was quite literally known as THE place for TB tourism as it was called. It was one of the first major waves of health tourism in the history of the USA. 

Another famous person and case study is Dr. Edward Livingston Trudeau. He himself suffered from tuberculosis who sent up tuberculosis huts in Saranac Lake, NY. For further study, other key locations include Asheville, North Carolina and in the mountainous regions of Pennsylvania. They huts looked like this:

These were also in Colorado Springs, Colorado Springs was full of them and they are still occasionally found in people’s yards today. 

I visited one in the Pioneer museum in Colorado Springs. I can post my pictures later, but this is one found in an outdoor museum.

The TB patients had a very strict regimen of never leaving the bed and used bed pans. Healthier patients had access to their own private toilet. Stronger patients could work on doctor approved exercises, while even healthier TB patients who weren't ready to leave facilities yet could spend the rest of their time working around the camp or sanatorium.  Below is how Arthur would have looked getting treatment if he wasn’t in a hut or tent:

Above: Women receiving treatment. Below: An 1899 TB facility. Most tuberculosis sanitoriums were built from 1905 onwards so John’s era was FULL of them. The peak of the sanitarium era though was 1920-1940ish.

The problem is TB patients had a very chance of suffering from pneumonia once TB went into remission. It's happened in tons of my case studies. If Arthur could have survived both TB AND pneumonia, then he would have been considered "Ok". Not good, but “Ok”. However, I can't predict how long he would have lived afterwards. Some TB patients had tuberculosis come in a second wave. This is, unfortunately, very common. Some people lived a few months, a few years and some lived decades after surviving the second wave.

 Fortunately, survival after two waves include people who lived hard, like Arthur. Trudeau lived till 68, and that is after 2 bouts of TB and pneumonia, with the third wave of TB being his cause of death.

This is very likely a reason why Arthur would have been in New Austin if they had kept him in the epilogue and continued the TB storyline. I personally do NOT think John was ever going to kill him. MISC NOTES: Related to RDR:  Important side note: Sex workers were especially blamed for spreading TB which makes sense because of the contact with multiple people, but it's not that different than someone who works at a factory every day, runs a shop or works at the docks, or in similar situations. Anyone could spread it. This is why it is actually technically very offensive to ask someone like Abigail if she had TB because it would be a way to imply she is unclean as a person. (Which people in the game already believe with some of the fandom similarly treating her poorly.) The history of sex work is my other specialty, so I am very familiar with their history. I will say, from what I gathered, sex workers did NOT seem to be that much more affected than others, but at the same time, we don't have a lot of records of people who weren't white upper-class Christian men. So we have these records if these people were arrested, but remember that all of the examples of people I mentioned were viewed as second-class citizens. Therefore, we have hardly any records of sex workers as actual people and historians have to be creative to find other ways to research them properly.  Modern day: TB is also becoming antibiotic-resistant at a frightening pace. This will become a massive problem. Treatment  requires at least two antibiotics - streptomycin being the main choice for the primary antibiotic. This treatment lasts months, and these antibiotics are insanely strong. They can really mess with the body's system. I've seen it. My father was one of the lucky ones only having to take the pills for 8 months. Many others take it from a year to even 18 months. Other people take the pills and undergo radiation therapy to treat TB. Modern science can't produce enough new antibiotics to outpace it, but alternative treatments do appear to be promising.  If you want me to write more about TB or for any other history questions, feel free to send me an anon/message.  Additional pics: Below: Sanitarium built around 1905.

Below: An example of a finished Sanatorium in 1911ish:

[bloodpen-to-paper]

After watching Jaiden's reaction to Bobby dying, I kind of see the whole thing as an accidental metaphor for terminal illness.

Bobby died and an appeal was sent, but until the verdict was made Roier and Jaiden were made to wait in this limbo state of not knowing whether or not Bobby was actually dead. Jaiden already started grieving, saying everything reminded her of Bobby and she didn't even know if he was dead or not.

Its very similar to being a parent of a terminally ill child isn't it? Your kid is on the verge of death, and you have no idea if things will get better. Especially if doctors and medical staff tell you that your kid doesn't have much time left. You're left to grieve and mourn them in the event that they are to die soon, while also having that spare bit of hope because they're not actually gone yet. Its all very confusing and painful, because you're not able to properly let go.

Then there's the after. The true death. Bobby was given those final ten minutes with his parents after the Federation confirmed that he was dead for real. Everyone who was on the server at that time came to say goodbye. They gave final words, reminisced, but most importantly, they celebrated. They celebrated Bobby. Because they knew he was dead for a while, even if it wasn't confirmed. They had prepared for the worst, and when the news finally hit they were ready to make one last event to finally send him off.

Something I learned about when I was looking into terminal illness was this area in the grieving process that I'm calling The Relief. Because again, as a parent in this situation, you've already prepared for the worst, you've already grieved, and the longer your sick child is alive and in pain the longer the grieving process goes on. When they die, there is much sadness, but many parents also feel this sort of relief because its finally over. The pain, the sadness, the being in the mindset of a parent whose child died without fully being able to let go because they're not actually dead yet. It all sort of washes away. There's a sense of peace that comes with the end to it all. And I think that's what we saw for Bobby.

Bobby was a celebration, because he lived a life to the fullest he could, and died as a sign of closure. He brought life everywhere he went, and died giving peace. And when its said and done, we live, and we remember him.

[loaflovesdoodling]

Part Four:

Pulchritudo vitae

He had waited in the hospital for two nights in a row. Sleep was the very last of his worries, all he wanted... no, all he NEEDED was to see her one more time.

He was praying to every higher power he could think of, impatiently tapping his foot up and down, so rapidly he couldn't even feel his body from the waist down anymore.

Finally, medics opened the door to the Emergency Room. His eyes lit up with hope,

however,

that spark immediately faded, as the doctor approached him, looked down at his seat and shook his head:

"There's nothing more we can do. You may speak to her one last time, she doesn't have much left. I'm sorry."

Ades stood up from his seat and looked back at the doc in utter disgust. Before closing the door behind him he heard;

"...we did all we could."

entering the room and taking off his mask, he was eerily greeted by the heart-shattering noise of a heart monitor and a respirator. There was a chair right next to her bed, to its left, under the monitor; he took a seat.

staring at her delicate face was like plunging a crystal dagger deep into his heart: she looked so calm and oblivious.

He took her right hand in his, rubbing circles on its back, letting her know he's there for her right up until the very end.

she lightly opened her eyes and turned her head torwards him, smiling sweetly.

"Ades..."

"yes..?"

"...I'm sorry I made you..--"

"shh.... please, don't. I told you I'd always be there for you, remember..?" his voice was breathy, almost as if he whined instead of speaking.

"one thing..."

"yes..?"

"..when they bury me... I want to sleep under the maple tree.." she politely requested

"...sure.." he smiled softly; even in her final hours she was still the Dulciana he knew.

"....and... take my ring.... I want you to have it... so I can be with you at all times.." 

he nodded, still holding her hand tightly.

"so.. could you... promise me.. one more thing..?"

"..anything for you, flower bud."

"...Will you take care of and love yourself just like how you did for me..?"

she gazed into his eyes.

"....I will... I will, Dulciana...."

"that's more like it, hehe..."

Ades was about to say something, but he was alerted by the sudden change of rhythm coming from her heart monitor. It went fast, then too fast, then it slowed down once again...

...but it wouldn't stop slowing down.

"remember I'll always love you dearly..."

"!!--"

she moved her hand over to his cheek, he held it up with his:

"....goodnight, Pleiades..."

and then,

silence.

he looked up at the monitor in terror, his eyes wider than ever.

a flatline, and then, a black screen.

he looked down, her eyes were still open, but her skin was otherworldly pale, almost greenish.

she was gone.

Pleiades raised his head, now using both his hands to hold up the one she once used to fondle his cheek, as he looked down in horror, feeling endless tears form in his eyes, and, eventually, he gave in.

he buried his face in her stomach, covered by the sheets,

the only sound that came from that room were now sonorous gasps, quiet sobs, whimpers.

[meadow-hearthfire]

Sentimental Veneer AU

What if Velvet and Veneer have a late father who was a lot like Floyd in terms of personality?

TRIGGER WARNING: DOMESTIC ABUSE, IMPLIED/REFERENCED TERMINAL ILLNESS/CANCER, IMPLIED/REFERENCED DEATH

Veneer would be more melancholy compared to his canon counterpart, and he handles Floyd much more gently.

At first, Veneer views Floyd similarly to how Velvet views him. That attitude starts to falter when Veneer notices similarities between his dad and Floyd.

What actually kick-starts Veneer's change of heart is when Floyd chides him and Velvet for mistreating Crimp and asked them if their parents raised them to behave that way.

While Velvet brushes Floyd off with a "you're not our dad", what Floyd said and the gentle yet firm way he chided Velvet and Veneer makes Veneer think about their father, whom he misses dearly, and the things his dad taught him and tried to teach Velvet.

Veneer also thinks about how he's been treating Crimp, so he apologizes to her and starts treating her nicer.

Out of guilt and shame, Veneer tries to help Floyd escape.

Veneer gets caught by Velvet who grabs Floyd, slaps Veneer, grabs him by the hair, slams him this way and that, and shouts him into submission.

Floyd, who just witnessed what Velvet put Veneer through, realizes the severity of the situation Veneer is in.

Floyd decides to stay to comfort and emotionally support Veneer, and get him to leave the abusive situation.

Floyd is not leaving until Veneer does.

When Veneer takes note of Floyd going pale and his hair turning white, and realizes he and Velvet are sucking the life out of him, Veneer is reminded of the times he visited his dad in the hospital. Veneer remembers seeing him going pale and his hair turning white from all the treatment he underwent.

As soon as Velvet leaves the room and is out of earshot, Veneer breaks down crying, uncorking the bottle and begging Floyd to leave this hell.

Floyd doesn't budge, insisting he's not leaving without Veneer.

Floyd is not leaving another kid behind.

Also, Veneer can sing really well in this AU without relying on Floyd's talent. He only spritzes himself to please Velvet.

[remindingpersephone]

The Toll It Takes

Putting this under the cut, for those who would rather not read my rambling

I want to write, but I can’t hold onto the inspiration, or the drive.  I get an idea and it sounds good in theory, but I cannot hold onto it long enough to write it.  The discipline and energy to do the work, even though it’s a labor of love, is still labor. 

Writing has been getting harder and harder for me over the last 10 years or so.  It started as just jumping from story to story.  Then it became not writing for a few days or weeks.  Now it’s more like months and months without writing.

Obviously the upheaval in my life has an effect as well.  I cannot go through all of this – my mom’s need for constant care, the emotional impact of her medical condition and the demands on my time, the stress and anxiety that is a byproduct of all of it – and it not have a profound impact on my creative output.  Hell, it’s having a profound impact on damn near every aspect of my life.

Because this isn’t just my mom getting sick and dying.  This is my life being put on hold to care for her; to put her needs before mine.  And it’s not for just a few weeks or months like we thought at first.  She’s more than 7 months post diagnosis – when the doctor’s gave her less than 6 months to live.  This is a very good thing because it’s given all of us time to spend with her.  But if I am completely honest – and I can only be so here – I want this to be over.  Wanting that floods me with guilt because it’s not like this being “over” means she recovers and life will go back to the way it was.  This only ends with my mother’s death.  Please know that I am grateful that I had the time to care for her in a way that makes her comfortable; so that whatever time she has left she is not miserable, in a horrible place, surrounded by strangers.  I am blessed with support both financially and emotionally from the people in my life.  But there is no break.  I don’t get even one day off.  I haven’t had a day off from the physical and emotional burden of caring for my mother since her diagnosis.  So, I am making due with an hour here, an hour there, and I can only hope that is enough.  But I cannot pretend that this isn’t taking a toll. 

But life always takes a toll, doesn’t it?  Life is never all fun and sunshine and rainbows.  There are difficulties and tiny damages right alongside the parties and celebrations, no matter how successful and wonderful the stage of life.  I know there will come a day when she will be gone and I will have more time.  Will I utilize that time to do all the things I wish I could do right now?  Who knows?  I am a champion at wasting time on “research” or “preparation”.  I think there is a part of me that is mad at myself for not taking advantage of the time I had when I had it, before my mom needed so much more from me.  Is there a lesson to be learned here about not wasting time when we have it?  Probably.  But will I learn it?

I can only hope that once I have the thing I want now – time to myself – I won’t be overwhelmed by the grief and guilt of what it will cost to have it.

[hollowwish]

I love how nagito has a terminal disease with at most a year life expectancy and he's just. Still fuckin there. Like he should be dead. He shouldn't have even made it to the tradegy let alone living to the second game. God literally tried his hardest to kill this guy and it straight up failed everytime. He literally survived terminal cancer and his brain basically deteriorating r u kidding me

[weenwrites]

Can you do Predaking Skylynx and Darksteel with S/O with terminal cancer (sorry if this theme makes tou uncomfortable)

Cancer

Summary - When your time is finite, how do your lovers spend their time with you? Characters - Predaking, Skylynx, Darksteel Content - Angst, Hurt & Comfort Category - Headcanons Trigger Warnings - Terminal Illness Mention, Cancer Mention

✎ A/N: It's fine! I'm sorry this came rather late but, I hope you enjoy what I wrote.

[ Please do not repost, plagiarize, or use my writing for AI! Translating my work with proper credit is acceptable, but please ask first! ]

Predaking

He understands well that your time is limited, so he tries his hardest in order to see every wish of yours come to fruition, no matter what he has to do in order to make it come true. If you've ever wished to see a certain part of the world, he'll bring you there in a heart-beat. Or if you just want to be in the company of your loved ones he'll bring them to you or you to them, whichever is easier and faster. He'd rip the stars down from the sky and serve you the moon on a silver platter even if you did so little as mention the notion in passing.

He's tried to learn as much as he could about your condition, whether it be from asking you or doing research of his own, so he's somewhat familiar with the side-effects that come with terminal cancer and he's always on the lookout for them. He encourages you to take care of yourself and drink plenty of water, and if you ever begin mentioning signs of pain, he's quick to ask where to take you. If it's to the hospital, he couldn't care less about being seen if it means you'll be alright. Or when you get cold he tries his best to warm you up, whether it's by curling up around you, or setting up a little fire.

If you do any activities outdoors or away from your home, he'll personally be there to accompany you whenever he can.

Whenever there are difficult nights where you're brought down by the gravity of the situation, Predaking has made it clear that you could come to him for support whenever you experience times like these.

Skylynx

And when he already thought your life was short enough, it had to be cut even shorter... As opposed to the other two, he opts to take a—for lack of a better word—more "mental health-centered" take to this. That is to say, he doesn't try to make you feel happy all the time or he doesn't try to make every day better than the last, but that doesn't mean he just lets you be sad either.

He'll be there to listen to you talk about how you feel about this whole thing, and if you have nothing to say well he'll do whatever he can to comfort you if you come to tears. And whether you just want to sit with your emotions for a while, or distract yourself from them, he'll go with whatever you want to do.

And as per usual, he does try to keep you company whenever he can. Even if it's doing something very simple and mundane, he's willing to sit there and be with you for as long as he can.

Darksteel

He's upset that something like this is going to take you from him, and there's nothing he can do about it, but he tries not to linger on it for too long. He doesn't want your final moments together to bring nothing but tears when he looks back on them in the future, and besides... Things are already depressing enough as they are, he's not gonna rub any more salt in the wound.

He goes out of his way to make you laugh or smile however he can and as much as possible, even if it warrants Skylynx hitting him over the head for being annoying. And especially if you start to feel depressed, he's completely ready to bend over backwards just to hear your laughter.

If there's anything you're unsure about doing while you still can, he'll try to urge you to do it, especially if you think you might come to regret it. But if you tell him that your decision is final or that you really aren't sure, he won't try to push it anymore.

He tries to see to it that you get to do whatever you want to do no matter what that may be. Even if you want to do something simple that you enjoy, he wouldn't hesitate to crush anyone who tried to interrupt you.

[yonemurishiroku]

I’d like to argue that this did not turn out the way I wanted it to be, but anyway i have a headcanon that Will Solace, as a true healer he is, isn’t afraid of death because he has Nico, who is practically the embodiment of death and is still as gentle as they come.

He makes death painless and beautiful.

the Angel of Bereavement is a kind one

[rainbow-flavoured-skittles]

Hey Mom, Dead Mom

Chapter 1: I’m a bunch of broken pieces, it was you who made me whole

it is here! I know I said there would be a sneak peek but there was less editing to be done than I expected ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

the title is from the Beetlejuice musical’s song ‘Dead Mom’ because it just fits Cole so perfectly. the chapter titles are from that song as well. this one is pretty heavy, since it’s about Lilly dying and Cole being neglected. so tw for hospitals, terminal illness, child neglect, alcohol use, and major character death. this fic is not the happiest thing I’ve written. cross posted on ao3, everything is under the cut to be safe

~

Mom had been very sick lately. 

Cole looked up at his dad. “Is she gonna be okay?” He asked. Mom had just gone to the hospital again — she’d started coughing, and the ambulance had taken her when she collapsed. It was the second time this month it’d happened. 

Dad pursed his lips. “Yes, Cole,” he said. “She’ll be fine after some rest,”

“Can we see her?”

“Not right now, she’s sleeping. Maybe later,”

Cole tried not to frown. Mom had been doing that a lot lately — sleeping, going to the doctor, ending up in hospital. Both her and Dad said she was just sick, and that she’d be better soon, but it didn’t seem to be true. In fact, Cole was pretty sure she’d gotten worse. 

“Okay,” he finally responded. “I’m gonna go walk around,”

Dad nodded and went back to the newspaper.

The hospital was very cold and smelled like antiseptic. All the hallways were identical, and Cole got dizzy trying to navigate. The fluorescent lights seemed unnecessarily harsh. Cole hated everything about it. A couple people gave him strange looks as he passed by, but Cole couldn’t be bothered to care. He missed his mom. He hated this place and wanted to go home, wanted to go back to before this had happened. Before Mom had gotten sick and Dad had started being so distant.

One of the nurses stopped him when he tried to get on the lift. “Where are your parents?” She asked. 

Cole did his best to look the part of a kid who had just gotten lost, which was not wrong. “My dad’s waiting for Mom to wake up, and I’m looking for the washroom,” he said. 

The nurse gave him a pitying look. “Is your mom sick?” 

“Yes,”

“I’m very sorry about that,” she said. “But you can’t wander around on your own. I’ll help you get back to your dad,”

Cole did not respond.

“Where were you earlier?” The nurse looked at him. 

Cole shrugged. He didn’t really know where they had been waiting for Mom to wake up, just that it was on this floor. 

“Was it the waiting room?”

“Maybe,” Cole mumbled. 

The nurse sighed a little. “We’ll check there first,”

She grabbed Cole’s wrist and lead him to the waiting room, where sure enough, Cole’s dad was sitting and reading the papers. 

“He’s over there,” Cole pointed at his dad. “I can go now,”

“Alright then,” the nurse said. “Hope your mom gets better,” She patted him on the shoulder and walked off. 

Mildly annoyed that he’d been brought back to his father, Cole plopped down on the seat next to him. He swung his legs and hummed until his dad snapped and turned to him. “What is it, Cole?” He frowned.

“Will Mom be out soon?” Cole looked up at his dad. 

“No,” Dad said in a firm voice, like there was no room for argument. “The doctors will tell us when she can come home.”

“But when will that be?”

Dad sighed wearily. “I don’t know, Cole,”

Cole stared down at the floor. It was white, speckled with grey and red. Or maybe it was green. Those two colours were very similar. 

Either way, it was both easier to look at and more interesting than his dad’s frowning face. Maybe he could count the little flecks on it, though that seemed like a lot. And it wasn’t particularly fun.

Cole would ask if he could play with his dad’s phone, but Dad was in such a bad mood the that he didn’t want to try. Cole could understand why he wasn’t happy, though. He didn’t want Mom to be sick any more than Dad did.

All too soon and yet still not soon enough, they were told to leave. “I’m sorry, sir, but visiting hours are over. You’ll have to come back tomorrow,” the nurse had said as she shooed them out the door. Cole and his dad walked out and got into the car in silence. It was already dark out, and the streetlights were on. Cole counted them as they drove past — one, two, three, four…

Dad parked the car and they walked into the house. Cole didn’t dare talk, instead going upstairs to brush his teeth and go to bed. Dad probably wouldn’t have made dinner anyways. He was too busy and stressed for that. If Cole got hungry, he’d just eat some chips or something. 

Cole jumped onto the bed and turned off the lights. His yellow sunflower nightlight glowed in the corner, bathing the room in a dim light. He could hear Dad downstairs talking on the phone. It was pretty loud, but Cole closed his eyes and tried to sleep. 

~

The next morning brought rain and clouds, like even the weather was unhappy about Mom’s hospitalisation. Cole woke up well into the morning and dragged himself out of bed. He ate breakfast and went back upstairs, expecting to be alone in the house, but when he passed Dad’s office he could hear faint crying. 

Cole frowned. That was weird, there shouldn’t be anyone else in the house right now. 

Cole knocked on the door. “Dad?” He said.

The door swung open and Dad stepped out looking dishevelled and tired. He looked down at his son and sighed. “Hello, Cole,”

“What’s going on? Why are you sad?” The answer to the latter question was obvious — Moon was sick, after all, but Cole wanted to make sure. 

Dad put a hand to his forehead and gestured for Cole to come in. “Cole, son, we need to talk,”

That didn’t bode well. It was never good if an adult told you ‘we need to talk.’ It meant getting in trouble and screaming and lots of crying. “Talk about what?” Cole’s throat felt dry and scratchy. 

“Y— you know your mother is sick, right?” Dad said. 

A sense of cold dread crept up Cole’s spine. “Yeah?”

“She’s not getting better,” Dad said softly. Tears streamed down his face. “She’ll be staying at the hospital permanently now,”

Cole knew a lot of big words. ‘Permanently’ was one of them. It didn’t mean anything good in this situation. “She’s not coming home?”

Dad nodded his head grimly. “Yes, that’s right,”

“No!” Cole screamed. “Why can’t she stay?”

“She’s too sick to come back, and the hospital is able to take care of her,” Dad tried to explain, but Cole shut it out. Mom wasn’t coming home. She’d be stuck at the hospital forever. They’d never again go hiking or have picnics or read stories together, because she was sick and they couldn’t do anything about it. 

“It’s not fair,” Cole cried into his dad’s arms.

“It isn’t,” Dad hugged him tightly, but it wasn’t a happy hug. It was the kind of hug you give people when they’re sad and there’s nothing you can do.

~

Weeks passed and Mom got worse. The doctors hooked her up to a bunch of machines, ones that made beeping noises and scared Cole. She didn’t talk much, not anymore. Most of the time she just laid there and slept. Dad spent most of his time away from the house visiting Mom and crying. On the days that Cole was able to come along, he sat on the bed and read to Mom until they had to leave. She couldn’t always hear him, but on the days she was awake she’d listen to him and smile. There weren’t nearly enough of those days. 

Today was one of those days, thankfully. But it still wasn’t a good day. Cole had gotten into trouble at school — there was a bully hurting the other kids, and Cole had gotten so angry. He’d pushed the bully and they had gotten into a fight. It ended with both of them on the floor and bleeding, and the principal was yelling at them and Dad was so disappointed and now Cole was suspended for a week.

“Hi, honey,” Mom smiled. She opened her arms for a hug. 

“Mom!” Cole jumped onto the bed and hugged his mother. He wasn’t allowed to do that, but he didn’t care right now because Mom was awake and even though she was probably disappointed in him he just needed a hug. “I don’t want you to be sick anymore,”

“I know, Pumpkin,” Mom said, and how had Cole ever been embarrassed by that nickname? He’d give anything to hear Mom call him that more often now. “But we don’t always get what we want, do we?”

Mom pulled away from the hug and looked Cole in the eyes. “Your father said you got into trouble at school,”

Cole blinked back the tears from his eyes. “Yeah, but it wasn’t my fault!”

“What happened?”

“There’s this kid, and he’s always picking on the other kids, and—“

“And you got in a fight,” Mom finished for him. 

Cole didn’t make eye contact with his mom. He looked at the wall instead as he said, “I’m sorry, Mom. It won’t happen again, I promise. I’ll make you proud,”

“Oh, Cole,” Mom said, and Cole braced himself for the inevitable ‘I’m so disappointed,’ but it never came. “Don’t you see? I’m already proud of you,”

Mom took his hand. “I want you to promise me, Cole, that you will always stand up to those who are cruel and unjust. Always,” she hugged him as tightly as she could while being bed bound.

“I promise, Mom. Always,” Cole said as he hugged her back. That was a promise he intended to keep. 

~

Half a year went by before they got the news. Cole was at school when it happened — he hadn’t been able to say goodbye. Mom had flatlined. She was gone forever. Cole had known it was coming for months by then, had known their time was limited, but that didn’t stop the hurt. The funeral was in two weeks, two weeks to pull himself together and say his final goodbyes. It seemed like too short of a time.

Cole went home early, picked up by his dad. They were silent for the entire time, up until they reached home and Cole broke down. He sobbed into his dad’s arms until night fell, Dad crying along with him. They fell asleep on the couch that night.

Two weeks passed by in a blur, all the days blending together. Cole didn’t go to school for those weeks; he wouldn’t have been able to handle it. Dad let him help with some of the funeral preparations. It made Cole feel better to help, to show Mom he cared even if he hadn’t been there during her final moments. When Dad asked him what flowers they should have, he said sunflowers. Mom’s name may have been Lilly, but her favourite plant had always been sunflowers. “Because they’re all bright and cheerful, like you,” she used to say to Cole. Cole didn’t feel very cheerful these days. More miserable and depressed. 

On the day of the funeral, it was bright and sunny. Cole loathed that. How dare the weather be so happy when Mom was dead? She was the most amazing person in the realm, and now she was gone.

“— was an incredible person. She was a wife, a mother, a daughter. She touched the lives of everyone here, and it is a tragedy that she was taken so soon.” Someone was speaking up on the podium. The funeral officiant, giving a generic speech that didn’t show how caring and generous and simply wonderful Mom was.

Dad had already spoken. He’d talked about how he met Mom, how he loved her so much and missed her. There had been a few others who spoke, friends or distant relatives that Cole didn’t really know. They all offered their condolences and gave Cole hugs he didn’t want.

Dad squeezed his hand. Are you sure you don’t want to go? He seemed to be asking. Dad had asked Cole a week ago if he wanted to speak at the funeral. Cole had declined. He didn’t want to give a speech in front of people he’d never met before, and he couldn’t fit everything he wanted to say in a few minutes. Dad had seemed to understand, gave him a piece of paper and told him to write on that instead. They would leave the paper with the flowers. Cole thought it was much better than the speech. 

The officiant said it was time to say their goodbyes, but Cole didn’t hear. He just followed Dad and waited until their turn. He didn’t say anything, unlike the others who attended. Dad helped him put the flower and letter onto the casket.

 Cole watched as the line dwindled and everyone was done saying their final words. The casket was lowered into the ground. The hole was covered and then smoothed over. In less than an hour, Mom had been buried underground with all the dirt and bugs. There really was no more foolishly hoping this was a mistake. Mom was not coming back.

Cole spent the next few weeks out of school as well, staying at home in his room. Dad spent a lot of time at the gravesite and didn’t come home until night. They spent only dinners together, and those were dreary and lifeless. Mom’s death had left a gaping hole in their lives. Cole didn’t know how to fill it, as much as he wished he could. 

Jay called a few times asking if Cole needed a friend. Cole said no. Jay ended every call with a “you know where to find me if you need it.” Cole didn’t think he deserved Jay, honestly.

One evening Dad didn’t show up for dinner. He was always back by eight, always, but that day he wasn’t. Cole spent the entire night waiting and fell asleep at the table.

The next few days were exactly like that night. Dad went out before Cole was even awake and didn’t come back until after midnight. Every time he came back he was drunk and collapsed on the couch, leaving Cole to take care of himself. Cole hated that. Even during the worst parts of Mom’s illness, he hadn’t been completely alone. Now there was no one else to rely on. How was it possible that things had gotten worse?

When school started again Cole made a schedule. He’d spent almost an entire month away and needed to do a lot of catching up, so it was very tight. Wake up at six in the morning and eat breakfast. Walk to school because Dad can’t drive you anymore, and make sure to pack your own lunch. Once school is over walk back and do homework. Vacuum the house every Wednesday and do laundry twice a week. Dishes have to be done after every meal. Grocery shopping once a week on Sundays and dusting on Saturday. 

The schedule was broken one day when Dad came home early. Cole had just gotten home from school and was doing his homework when he heard the front door unlock. That was strange, he thought. Nobody was visiting today. Nobody ever visited.

“COLE!” Dad’s voice yelled, and he sounded ridiculously angry. Cole flinched and wondered if he should hide. “GET DOWN HERE NOW!”

No use hiding, then. Cole crept down the stairs and faced his dad. Dad’s face was red and blotchy, but he wasn’t swaying. That was good. He wasn’t drunk, hadn’t spent the entire night partying. 

“Do you care to explain why you haven’t been attending dance lessons?” Dad growled. 

Dance lessons? Cole hadn’t gone to those since before Mom’s death. “I didn’t realise I was supposed to,” he said. 

“You are a Brookstone. Dancing is in your blood. Why wouldn’t you have lessons?”

“I haven’t gone to them since Mom…”

Dad’s frown deepened. “You will be going to lessons from now on, five days a week.”

Cole didn’t have the energy to argue. “Okay,” he mumbled.

“Good. Have you done your homework?”

“I was doing it just now.”

“Alright, then. I have a meeting with the other Blacksmiths. You can take care of dinner?”

I’ve been taking care of everything for months! Cole wanted to scream. But he didn’t. He just nodded and stood there like the good son he was supposed to be. 

Dad nodded stiffly and went back out the door. At least he didn’t seem as angry now, though Cole would have to adjust the schedule. Maybe laundry once a week instead of twice, and vacuuming would have to be on Saturdays. He sighed and went to go find his notebook. This would be a pain to figure out.

~

School and dance lessons were hell. Cole’s classmates ignored him as always and the teachers hated him. The dance instructors were no better, yelling when he couldn’t get a move right and saying he wasn’t good enough. Dad spent slightly more time at home — Cole was pretty sure that the Royal Blacksmiths had pulled him out of the alcohol bottles. He still ignored Cole, though, and got angry when he brought home a bad grade.

“Why can’t you at least try? You used to get such good grades!” Dad had ranted one night. “You were so smart, what happened?”

Those rants always hurt so much. Cole was trying, he really was. It was just so hard when he was juggling school and dance lessons and talking care of the whole house and his grief for Mom.

Of course, the fights didn’t help either. Cole got into a lot of them nowadays, sometimes because a classmate threw the first punch or because they were being a bully. They always ended with at least one black eye and a lecture from Dad. Sometimes he got suspended, or threatened with expulsion.

Dad finally gave up on him when the school called and said he was ‘impertinent, unable to focus, and a delinquent.’ Cole didn’t know what half those words meant, but he got the basic idea: he was a problem. A mistake that needed to be corrected. A good for nothing mess of a human being. All that was confirmed when five words fell from his dad’s lips, five words that brought the little stability he had crashing down. 

“You’re going to boarding school.”

“Boarding school?” Cole repeated dully. The words didn’t make sense to him, couldn’t seem to form a proper sentence.

“Boarding school,” Dad confirmed. “Marty Oppenheimer’s School of Performing Arts, to be exact. They will help you with performing, obviously, and hopefully correct some… recent issues.”

“You want to send me to prison, basically,” Cole muttered. 

“Don’t take that tone with me, Cole. MOSPA is a wonderful opportunity. I went there, as well as your mother.”

“Is it because this school wants me gone?”

Dad tapped his cane sharply. “This was always the plan, Cole. As soon as you got to middle school we’d send you there. Things just got a little delayed.”

“What kind of prestigious school like that would take me?” Cole snarked.

“I was one of their best students,” Dad said. He got a dreamy look in his eyes. “They couldn’t say no to teaching the next generation of Brookstones, not when you could be the next big hit.”

“Do I get a choice in this?”

“No,” Dad said, and that sealed Cole’s fate. 

[gallavichfanficlibrary]

Any fics where one of them has a terminal illness?

Hi! Check out our sick mickey/sick ian tags. Here are some recs for you:

Make Me Feel - A sheltered Ian Gallagher finds out he is terminally ill and the only person he wants to spend his final days with is the thug he meets on the South Side who offers him the chance to experience life.

10 steps to free - Post 5x12. Mickey hasn't seen his ex in over a year when he bumps into Ian at the supermarket. Expecting some bad news, Ian asks Mickey to come with him for a doctor's appointment. (unfinished)

Weightless - Mickey is in late stage kidney failure when he meets Ian - the bleeding heart who wants to save the world, including Mickey.

The Thing About Living - In which Ian Gallagher donates a kidney just to get a date with Mickey Milkovich. That’s it, that’s how it goes. Everyone gets a happy ending.

[melonbear51]

hmmmmm. do you have any extra-angsty/bittersweet fledgling concepts? any clan will do as long as it causes Sufficient Suffering {salute emoji}

Hello there Anon, and thank you for the ask! I love me an angsty fledgling concept, so this should interesting (and depressing)! So this is probably going to get dark, just as a warning. TW specifically for mentions of terminal illness, body dysmorphia and non-consensual body modification, miscarriage, and generally depressing themes. PLEASE DO NOT ENGAGE WITH THIS CONTENT IF YOU FEEL YOU CANNOT! I'm here to provide inspiration and ideas, and really don't want anyone to get hurt! 1. A young Salubri who witnessed their beloved sire get diablerized in front of them. They now seek the culprit in order to diablerize THEM so that they can be together with their sire once again, albeit in a tragic and twisted fashion. 2. A vampire of any bloodline who is working themselves to the undead bone in order to gain siring privileges from the prince in order to save their terminally-ill relative/friend/love interest. 3. A Malkavian painter who loved to paint portraits prior to their embrace. However, their madness is prosopagnosia, the inability to recognize or distinguish faces. Their work has grown more famous due to them having to get more creative with their portraits (Think "The Son of Man" by Magritte) but they are miserable and lonely from their inability to see others and have also grown incredibly paranoid as being unable to tell the difference between people sight-wise is incredibly dangerous. 5. A Thinblood who was embraced and then abandoned by their lover after they failed to manifest the traits of their bloodline. Desperate to regain their affection, they will do anything to catch their eye and gain enough power to be "worthy of their love." 6. A Tzimisce fledgling who served as a "canvas" for their abusive sire. Though they've managed to escape, their body has been changed without their consent and they no longer look or feel themselves as a result. Though they could theoretically be returned to their previous state, vicissitude brings back bad memories and even if they did go through with it, they still wouldn't feel like themselves. 7. ANYTHING involving a pregnant character getting turned, as the embrace doesn't allow for the carrying of children.

Hope these do the trick! And please make sure to take care of yourself mentally and physically 🤗

[bucket-of-nickels]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY VINEGAR!!!

Lyrics(ig?) stolen from this song

[loaflovesdoodling]

Part Three:

.....

"Sir, please calm down. Her condition seems to have stabilized, for now. However..."

Ades rushed into the hospital, before being stopped by a medic right in front of her room:

"WHAT??! WHAT'S WRONG?!!"

"After running a few tests, we have concluded she has contracted some sort of disease..."

"SO?! WHAT'S THE PROBLEM?!! She'll get better, right..?"

"I'm afraid to announce,"

"It's terminal."

Ades felt his heart drop; he stared blankly at the floor, eyes so wide they felt like they were going to fall out. He clenched his fists, shaking. Suddenly, every noise in that room was muffled, instead being replaced by an unsteady and loud heartbeat. It was as if the universe had slowed down.

"Sir!!"

"It must have been something of genetical origin, given the time of passing of the girl's legal guardians, and.... sir. Sir, are you okay?"

He snapped back to reality, trying so hard to push words out of his throat. Instead, muttering. You couldn't make out anything he said if you were there, either.

Eventually, he spat out:

"how long... does she have...?"

"About two years, if we keep her under constant surgery. The chances of survival are extremely low, but at least we can keep her alive for as long as possible."

"will she have to be bedridden for all this time...?"

"For the most part, yes, but we'll make sure she'll be able to have some days out of the structure."

"can I see her... please....?"

"You may."

He gently opened the door, and, surely enough, Dulciana was there, waiting, with a sad expression plastered on her face; her eyes slightly lit up upon seeing Pleiades:

"hiya, honey..."

"..."

He silently walked closer and closer, slowly lifting his mask over to his hair before falling to his knees right in front of her bed, trying hard not to sob or let out a single tear.

"hey, it's okay... I'm sorry for not knowing... maybe, if I did, I wouldn't have bothered to meet you that day, and now you didn't have to suffer so much..." she claimed, regretful.

Ades struggled to get up, but those words broke him. He couldn't hold back anymore.

He sat on the bed, right in front of her, tears now streaming down his face. He held his chest with his hands and used his paws, with claws now sticking out to grab her hands, and so he pulled her closer, before shouting:

please.... don't... leave me...

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU SAYING??!! I WOULD BE NOTHING WITHOUT YOU, SO WHY??!! WHY WOULD YOU EVER THINK THAT??!!! MAY I BE FUCKING DAMNED, YOU ARE THE BEST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO THIS MESS OF A MAN!!! SO, PLEASE...!!

not yet...."

his voice broke down, and he shook his head, turning to the ground, as he grasped for air, before exhaling out a painful cry, so desperate it would've shattered even the dullest heart in a million pieces.

"...it's going to be okay, Ades, I'll be here..."

[360degreesasthecrowflies]

Quite a sobering mood today, trigger warning death mention in this post.

===

My colleague who is to be fair a woman a little older lost her sibling today.

What gets me though is that this woman had a lot of holiday time saved up and DIDN'T use it to spend time with her sibling just in case. She didn't think about taking a leave of absence or quitting her job. She literally worked all over Christmas.

She isn't someone who needed the money, particularly. Most years she went on multiple international holidays including cruises etc. I guess it's possible she had some secret problem or debt she needed the money for, but...

It just strikes me that modern work ethic in Tory Britain did this to her. Shaped her into the kind of person who wouldn't take time off work EVEN WHEN IT WAS PARAMOUNT, it's there for you to use WHEN YOU NEED IT, WHENEVER THAT IS - whether it's to take a trip or to help yourself recover or for any reason, it's none of the employer's business! - and as a result now she has empty vacation days to take later this year, but is down a family member to spend them with.

Let's not leave the NHS out of this, how the Tories have left it a shadow of what it once was after the triple whammy of cutting recruitment of doctors and nurses, abusing the ones who stayed by underpaying and overworking them, and generally stopping a lot of regular services for no reason during covid instead of compartmentalising hospitals or reassigning certain tasks to medical centres so as to avoid a backlog building up of treatable issues which can then spiral out of control if not caught and zapped early.

An early scan might have saved this person's life. And at the very least, an environment where time off work wasn't looked down upon and frowned upon by some twisted Puritan ethic from centuries past when even then it was an instrument of social control, might have helped her maximise the time they had left together instead of spending her sibling's last few months on this earth doing busywork office admin that could easily have been deferred or delegated.

It's not only sobering, it's frightening. They don't just want us cowed, they want us to become compliant in our own oppression and to sign away our own freedoms.

[the-expatriate]

((An absolutely massive thank you to everyone who's been so kind and understanding regarding the passing of the lady I look after on the 13th of this month.

Things just don't feel real and I'm absolutely heartbroken still. But I know she's no longer in pain.

8 and a half years of supporting someone is a long time, and it was an absolute privilege to have been part of her life and to make hers better while I could.

I do apologise for the lack of everything, I'm absolutely mentally exhausted so I'm gonna be putting things in the queue to go out over the next few days.

I'll be able to get to things at some point, but please bear with me. I promise I'm not ignoring anyone on here or on discord I'm just not in the best of places mentally.

Much love - Nat x))

[bumblesimagines]

Before I go

Request: Yes or No

Based off this  

~~~

Fate had an interesting sense of humor. It listened to the whispers in the wind, watched the dreams that were created by children, saw the youth prepare for the future. And despite the happiness that flourished in the hearts of many, fate chose to destroy it. Many saw it as challenges or lessons for the future. A minor hiccup like a breakup or a bad grade. Things that could people could overcome with time. 

How desperately you wished you were simply going through a breakup, dealing with a shitty grade in class, or even being in the aftermath of an accident. Instead, you sat at your desk, letters dedicated to loved ones scattered around. Fate hadn’t broken a relationship or given you a hard earned lesson. It had put death in your future, and if there were a lesson to be learned then you were the subject. 

Fate had always been cruel to you, even when you smiled through the pain or spent birthdays alone. It had always looked down at you; the sickly child with hopes for the future. You could only watch as your life was set in stone, powerless against fate and its destructive tendencies. No amount of prayers, pleas, or cries could change its mind. 

Four months. The doctors had estimated it. Four months, and if you were lucky? A possibility at five or six that you’d spend confined to a hospital bed wishing you had left at the four month mark. Twenty-five years would be gone in four months. Twenty-five meaningless years. Twenty-five painful years yearning for good health and happiness. Twenty-five years of a whole lot of nothing. 

Reaching forward, you collected the papers and set them in a neat stack, hearing the front door open and the familiar grumbling of the man who lived next door. With a sigh, you left the bedroom and smiled, greeting him with a soft good morning. 

“Have you eaten yet?”

“No.”

“(Y/N), you have to eat breakfast. You need the energy for the day or else you’ll feel tired. You’ll only feel worse on an empty stomach.” You could only smile at his light scolding, following him into the kitchen and sitting as he rummaged through your fridge.

“I’ll go grocery shopping later.”

“No, I can do it.” You assured him with a smile. “It’ll give me a chance to stretch my legs and get some sunshine.”

Felipe pursed his lips and nodded. “I guess.” He took out the carton of eggs and some bacon, setting the last two eggs on the counter, dropping the carton into the trashcan. 

Listening to the sizzling sound and inhaling the mouth watering scent of bacon, you felt your body relax. Moments like these with Felipe made everything tolerable. A moment of peace with no pain or worries. 

“Coffee?”

“Orange juice.” You took the plate from him, sprinkling the salt and pepper onto the sunny side up egg. Using the fork to cut the yolk, you dipped a piece of bacon inside and popped it into your mouth, the crunching sound echoing in your ears. 

“How are the boys?” 

“Ez got patched in.” Felipe didn’t seem pleased and you couldn’t blame him. His wife died, his eldest joined a motorcycle gang, and the golden boy with a bright future followed in his brothers footsteps. You’d be disappointed too.

“Ez doesn’t know you still live here.” Felipe poured the orange juice into a glass, setting it down on the table and sitting across from you. 

“Does he know about...” You trailed off, motioning to your head with a finger. Felipe pursed his lips and shook his head, intertwining his fingers across his stomach and leaning back. 

“He should hear it from you.”

“I’m sure he’s got enough on his plate.”

“He’ll find out eventually, (Y/N). It’ll hurt more to see you in a hospital bed.” You exhaled through your nose and continued to eat. Felipe had a point; letting Ez find out you were sick so late would be cruel. Especially when he stuck by your side when you were younger.

“I’ll tell him.” You muttered, shoving the rest of the egg into your mouth and watching Felipe grimace. Chuckling softly, you stood up with the plate in hand and set the plate in the sink, grabbing the small notebook that sat atop of your fridge. You flipped through the pages until you got to a clean new page.

“You sure you want to do the shopping?”

“I am more than capable, Felipe.” You smiled at the man and opened the fridge, jotting down the things you were missing before checking the pantry.

“Remember-”

“Not to push myself too much and if I feel sick I need to call you.” You looked over your shoulder at him and smiled as the old man stood up. Felipe took his keys out of his pocket and left the kitchen, leaving the house as silently as he had arrived. 

“Alright, (Y/N).” You quietly whispered to yourself, inhaling as you ripped the paper from the notebook. “How hard can it be? Just a quick trip to the store.”

Exhaling, you entered your room and changed, collecting your keys and folding the paper into a small square before sliding it into your pocket. You stepped out of the house, cringing at the brightness. You locked the front door and approached your car, getting inside and turning it on. 

“Just a quick trip. Nothing will happen.” You reassured yourself, pulling out of the driveway and driving down the street. Turning out of the neighborhood, you felt yourself begin to relax as you listened to the radio.

The town had remained the same over the years; the rich thrived while the poor scrambled to keep themselves afloat. Violence lingered around every corner, especially with the cartel and Mayans keeping a tight grip on Santo Padre. Despite the violence, the town had a calming atmosphere to it. The people were kind and most would be happy to help a person in need. 

Arriving at the store, you took a deep breath and shut the car off, getting out of the car and heading inside. Taking a basket, you walked down the aisles in search of what you needed. The sensation of a headache beginning to set in filled your body with more anxiety but you chose to ignore it in favor of getting more groceries. However, the headache continued growing and you quickly headed to check-out. 

Other symptoms began settling in as you arrived home. Resting your head against the steering wheel, you took in a few deep breaths and opened the car door. Stepping out of your car and opening the trunk, you grabbed a few of the grocery bags and stepped back, heading towards your porch. However, your vision suddenly wavered and you stumbled slightly, shutting your eyes and hoping the random spout of dizziness would ease up long enough for you to head inside.

Suddenly, the weight of the grocery bags disappeared. Opening your eyes, you noticed a man heading up the porch and gingerly placing the bags down. The Mayans MC kutte caught your eye.

“You okay, mijo?” You turned your head to look at Felipe and gave him a tired smile.

“Always.” You responded softly, feeling his arms wrap around you and gently lead you to your house. You fished the keys out of your pocket, glancing over at the man as he went back to your car for the rest of the groceries.

“Is that Ez?” You asked quietly, unlocking the door and stepping inside. A grim look passed over Felipes features and he nodded, a deep sigh slipping past his lips. He led you to the couch and patted your arm as you sat down.

“I’ll get some coffee brewing.”

“I should be the one taking care of you, old man.” You called, hearing him grunt and head into the kitchen. The front door shut and you peeked over your shoulder, watching Ez’s tall figure walk towards the kitchen, grocery bags in hand. 

Leaning back into the soft cushions, you took the folded blanket from the armrest and draped it over your body, shutting your eyes as a wave of nausea hit. You almost didn’t notice the soft brush of fingers against your shoulder until the cushion beneath you shifted slightly. Opening your eyes and turning your head, you smiled upon seeing the youngest Reyes.

“Hey, Mr. Popular.” You cooed and turned to face him. Despite the obvious physical changes, he still had that boyish look to him. He was still little Ezekiel. Your next door neighbor who always wanted to play and show you his trophies. The boy who would visit you in the hospital and help you with homework. The boy who eventually stopped visiting.

“If I had known you still lived here-”

“It’d be stupid to get mad at you for living your life, Ez. Your dad already goes out of his way, I don’t need you to put a stop on your life to do the same. You did that enough as a kid.” You assured him softly, reaching out to place your hand over his. His skin was warm to the touch and you found yourself tracing the veins on his hand.

“I should’ve sent a letter or visited when you got locked up.” You muttered, tugging the blanket further over your shoulder and bringing your knees up to your chest. Ez moved his hand to grab yours, running his thumb over the back of your hand. 

“How bad is it?” He asked quietly, almost as if he were afraid to ask. 

“Like.. four months to live bad.” You answered with a chuckle. Ez grimaced at your response and frowned, giving your hand a squeeze. Pressing his lips together, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around you, chin resting on your head.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what, Ez? You didn’t give me this.”

“I know.. I.. Back in high school and when I went away for college. I- I should’ve tried to reach out more.” Pulling back, you scoffed softly and shook your head. 

“You were living your life, Ez. You had friends, Emily, and school. I didn’t expect you to drop everything to make time for me. I would’ve felt a burden if you had.” You told him, offering him a reassuring smile. 

“You shouldn’t spend the last few months sitting inside doing nothing.” 

“If you’re gonna try to convince me to go skydiving with you, it won’t work.” The Mayan laughed at your words and shook his head. 

“I meant check out some cities, go to the fair, take up a class.” Ez raised his hand and cupped your cheek, a soft smile appearing on his face. 

“I want to help you experience new things.”