Seeing as the lack of TFIOS fic is making me sad, I've decided to contribute! Bits in italic are 'An Imperial Affliction' quotes(Remember, I'm not Peter Van Houten so...) and bits that are normal are well... normal:) Hope you enjoy!

Mother's good eye focused on the building tide, watching as the wave gained strength, before crashing down onto the sand. She saw the world through one eye, and through her simplified singular perspective, she had found herself incapable of seeing the world in anyway apart from the world she saw. She saw a broken world, with no hope, desperately trying to gain strength, not unlike the thickening waves dancing in front of her.

...

He'd loved her. He'd always loved her. She'd told him that- despite the fact he only had one eye, and that he'd soon be unable to appreciate the world's visual beauty due his unfortunate illness- she'd always love him.

Always. What had it all even meant? Wasn't always meant to be a promise? A promise that no matter what awful hand the world had given them, their love would be infinite? It had meant nothing. Nothing at all. The world was falling apart, quaking underneath Augustus' prosthetic and Hazel's trusty oxygen tank, and Isaac couldn't glue it back together. No matter how hard he sobbed and begged and prayed, Monica refused to listen. He had no hope. No strength. His painful affliction- which had caused left his eyes unable to do the things eyes are meant to do, and left Isaac in extreme pain at times- had resulted in yet more pain.

...

The sunlight hit against the light green grass, reflecting back slightly yellow in contrast with my shadow. It was as if Anna could see photosynthesis taking place right in front of her, the chlorophyll trapping in the light energy beaming from the sun and using it to help make it grow. She gave up trying to stand up, knowing fine well why her already fragile body was resisting against her, and waited. She just stared at the greenery underneath her nose, waiting. It was back, and it was devouring her nervous system, leaving her motionless and limp. Life had been halted by a stop sign of inconvenient placement.

...

In that moment, Augustus hated himself. He hated his body refusing to work in his favor, resisting the signals his brain was sending to his organs. He hated thinking about the maliciously cancerous tumours that his insides consisted of, clutching fervently at the controller that programmed him, treating his life like a carelessly played level of Counterinsurgence. But Augustus wasn't wasn't Max Mayhem. There wasn't a start button he could press, giving him the option to bring the game to a halt or erase a whole fraction of his life.

Fumbling with the G-tube, he breathed in shakily. He could feel Hazel's hand brushing against his forehead and wiping the vomit from his chin as his eyelids began to droop.

He liked life, but as his last little bit of independence became obselete, in that moment, he would've been quite satisfied if he'd died right there and then. Trying to keep himself concious, he filled his mind with thinking about his favourite part of 'An Imperial Affliction', where Anna falls and can't get back up, and immediately knows her cancer is back. Even though Peter Van Houten was a shitty person, there was no denying he was a good writer. He knew his body was failing him. He knew that he had no control over what happened. His knowledge hadn't made it any easier. The pain was desperately demanding to be felt.

...

"The thing about pain," the dutch tulip man turned to Anna, before averting his eyes outside of the window. "Is that it demands to be felt. No matter how much morphine they pump through your body, the affliction will always try to fight it. Painkillers don't murder pain. They just fight a battle that they're going to lose in the end. The pain always returns. Like you, Anna, they are fighting a war with pain being the predetermined winner."

...

Watching his daughter everyday, trekking along through her everyday life with her trusty oxygen tank by her side, had never been easy for Mr Lancaster. He'd leave for work most mornings close to tears, having convinced himself that when he'd return, Hazel's battle would've been lost. For her first thirteen years, he took her for granted, fantasizing about the big milestones like her wedding and her first child, but as the doctors broke the news to their family that Hazel's life expectancy was limited, he realised that those milestones would never be reached.

As Hazel headed off to Amsterdam, he was sure she wouldn't return. Just weeks ago, she'd been screaming in pain because her lungs were filled with so much gunk. Surely she couldn't live could she?

It killed him. The emotional pain pierced him like a knife, turning him into a sobbing wreck. The resistant pain begged for his attention. Hazel's affliction wasn't just hers. It was his too. And her mum's. And Augustus'. And Isaac's. And all of her friends. The affliction was everyone's.

...