#Grief Tw
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it didn't make sense as to why now bash was speaking about these things. his thoughts best lived being kept inside his head. sure, that's how it manifested. how one idea would become all consuming and lead to lashed out emotions and many regrets. for someone who was so invested in stories, he sure couldn't figure a way out how to healthily articulate himself. being honest with himself was by far the greater challenge, to maeve's point of once you're convinced then there's really no turning back. not really. not when pieces end up missing, scattered amongst memories he had put to rest long ago. he started to feel powerless, the way he was drinking every one of her words. he hung onto each vocal that left her lips like gold. as if it carried the weight to cause him to crash out right then and there or perhaps be the breath of fresh air he was so desperate for. crazy. the word cut deep, tied up with far too many assumptions. it wasn't the first time the theory had come up. diagnoses, prescriptions, hospital visits. it was an ongoing battle sebastian seemed destined to lose. meanwhile his brother always had it all held together. what a fucking golden child. part bash disdained the counterpart for that, but that chapter was closed. the word held so much power over him that it could be noticed the falter and cracks within his facade – the way the glint in his eyes shifted to panic. he felt as if maeve was looking into his soul – perhaps she was.
a nervous bite of the cuticle was attempted to swallow down the sheer rising anxiety. he had said too much. been too clear. and he wanted to flee. all of this and for what? to tell his miseries to a stranger? what the fuck was he doing? bash could spot the warning signs of a spiral from a mile away, but he could never stop it. it was mapped out, almost like fate. clockwork, how the same devious cycles he'd fall into over and over again. 〝 maybe i am crazy, 〞he muttered out, having accepted the trait as its own. hell, it was helpful at times. no one really cared when those that held too many skeletons were the ones pushing away. sometimes it was for the best. 〝 i just don't think it always has to be a bad thing. 〞but maybe it was, a bad thing. too much effort into something that was already broken. at this point too, it would seem as things were all beyond repair. a shaky breath left him and shortly after a laugh. how insane this was – talking about such topics. it was ironic for the fact that this stranger has gotten more out of him than anyone has in, well, what felt like forever.
it took just about everything to stay planted there. it would be all too simple to turn this moment into the usual. end up in her bedroom, cockiness aside. perhaps indulging into stronger vices. he could explode, make a scene, prove all the reasons why it was indeed to be better off alone. whatever proved to be a great enough distraction to tear his attention away from all his dread. he couldn't sit in it for too long before swimming in it. and it didn't take too much time before swimming turned into drowning. it was a survival tactic, to say the very least, to avoid the darkest corners of the night. and yet he stayed – why? maybe that wasn't a question meant to be answered tonight. 〝 i don't talk this way to anyone. 〞he corrected, unsure if that made this situation more or less pathetic. still, there was something to say for the fact that two damaged people were managing to stick out this paradoxical moment together.
forget. it was a tempting offer. to pretend this rendezvous had never happened. to forget maeve's words. the softness of her voice. to remember how she looked like she could strangle the very next being that crossed her path before joining him on the stone instead. it was be easier to tell himself that he was incapable of getting close to anyone. it simply wasn't in bash's DNA to open up or give himself fully. not to maeve, not to anyone. family, lovers, friends. it was all meaningless. it all felt that way, at least, with how fragile life proved itself to be. it was easier to tell himself it was an insignificant. shockingly enough, it was quite comforting for the fact that they hadn't even exchanged names. traded secrets like at some fucking slumber party. reading each other for filth, yet the words would remain here with the night sky and perhaps would never see the light of day. he smiled at that thought. a genuine smile, although toned down as his gaze broke away from maeve. maybe he didn't want to forget. not really. 〝 what about your truth? 〞bash had asked quietly, the question barely above a whispered volume. it was giving permission to escape, if she so chose. to solidify if memory would become nothing but disposable. part of him hoped that however; maybe, they both would give no more than what was taken. debatably more importantly, would not take more than what was given.
maeve didn’t answer right away. her eyes were on him, not with pity, not even really with sympathy — just that same steady look, like she was seeing him and cataloging it without judgment. it was rare, how quiet she could go. how soft. she didn’t look away. she rarely did — her gaze could cut through people when she wanted it to, but this wasn’t like that. it was quieter, gentler, a kind of reluctant reverence for the strange and fragile thing unfolding between them. her pulse was in her throat. her limbs felt heavy again, but not from the weed. from honesty. from being seen and not immediately regretting it. she was good at silence when it counted. too good, probably. terrifyingly good. “i’d be a terrible therapist,” she said eventually, voice low and almost wry, like she was trying to lighten the weight of it. but even that sounded too honest. “i think i’d end up validating all the wrong things.” her fingers were tracing a small, absentminded circle on her knee now, and her shoulders shifted slightly, like she was trying to adjust her skin, find a way to be in it without making it too obvious.
her legs were crossed beneath her, knees tucked tightly together, and she still couldn’t quite settle her hands. they moved, like they were looking for something to hold onto. her fingers played with the edge of her sleeve before smoothing it out, then moved back to her knee, back and forth, back and forth. a restless, compulsive motion: like even her body didn’t know what they were supposed to be doing. like they were trying to sort out how to respond to this — this closeness that didn’t come with a script. “but maybe i’d be good at making people not feel crazy for the things they carry,” she added, her voice softening, like she was trying it out on him. testing the idea. her chest felt too tight all of a sudden. she shifted again, though the movement didn’t ease it. it just made her feel more self-aware. more present in her own discomfort. she wanted to make a joke, something offhand to cut through the moment. something that would force the air back into its neat, predictable shape. that was her reflex: to make it all safe by closing the door on whatever was too real.
it would’ve been so easy to say something flippant. to close the door on it. that was the move—always had been. in the past, this would’ve been where she made her exit. gave some effortless excuse, brushed her hair behind her ear, made herself vanish with a smile. or, worse, kissed the person. used touch as a weapon of avoidance. it was the easiest way to make rawness feel less exposed — put your mouth on it until it went quiet. not from romance, not even desire, but panic. panic and instinct and the hollow reflex to bury tenderness in something easier to explain. it was easier than unraveling, less terrifying than naming what hurt. it was like placing a silk sheet over a splintered table: a beautiful cover for something cracked. she never knew what to do with the real moments. the ones that didn’t ask for anything but presence. they made her feel off-balance. like she was supposed to reach out, or say the right thing, or stay still — but she’d never known which. her hands never figured out if they were supposed to comfort or distract or disappear altogether. she’d always struggled with this part. always. whether to stay human or disappear. her hands never knew what to do — how to be gentle without shaking. how to hold someone else’s pain without fumbling it. it was like her body didn’t know how to process care unless it was dressed up as something else. something simpler. less frightening.
she swallowed it down and focused on the warm high in her body instead. “you don’t talk like this to strangers, huh?” she inquired, her voice quiet, almost a whisper in the space between them. it wasn’t an accusation. it wasn’t even surprise. just an observant question. but there was something about the way her mouth shaped the words, how the line of her jaw tightened ever so slightly, that said she knew. maybe better than he realized. her chin was slightly tilted, eyes a little unfocused, like she was trying to make sense of it. trying to decide whether she should ask a question or leave it there, hanging like a thread between them. “i won’t remember it if you don’t want me to,” she said finally, voice softer. “i’m good at forgetting. practiced.” god, was she practiced. she’d built her life around that kind of performance. made it look like she didn’t hear things she wasn’t supposed to, didn’t feel things that rattled too close to the bone. she didn’t say that she hated how good at it she’d become. that half her life was a carefully scrubbed archive of things she’d agreed never happened. there was no point in offering that. it was the kind of thing you only said when you wanted someone to hold it. and she wasn’t sure that’s what this was. but still — she stayed. let the quiet settle again. she’d forget it, if he needed her to.
“i don't even know your name,” she reminded him like it was a comfort, like he could dive into the deep end of ocean beneath waves and all it would be is a sound in the dark. the offer was there. real and quiet. and part of her — more than she’d let on — hoped he would let her keep it, would ask her to forget. would want her to walk away from this, from him, without holding onto a thing. still, her hands stayed still now, her fingers curled lightly against the fabric of her jeans. she felt the weight of his gaze on her, but she didn’t look away. didn’t let herself. something in her chest fluttered. something small and fragile and raw, like a matchstick at the edge of a flame. it was so hard to tell if she wanted him to ask her to forget. or if she wanted something — anything — to make it feel real enough to remember. she’d forget, if he asked. and she’d mean it. even if something about this night would stay with her anyway. like a bruise. like a secret.
#「 ✩ * º ╳ ft: maeve. 」#some1 be nice to maeve#save her#i didnt match im nothing but SCUM#mental illness tw#grief tw
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Legends never die, and as such, Jellie will continue to live on in Minecraft and within our hearts until the end of time. It was a pleasure to draw you, Jellie. Have fun playing in the stars.
#hermitcraft#my art#jellie#pet death tw#tw pet death#tw pet loss#pet loss tw#tw grief#grief tw#Let me know if I should add any other TWs
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grief is saying ‘I want to go home’ whilst sitting in my living room
#grief tw#tw grief#grief journey#grief poetry#dealing with grief#good grief#grief#grieving#grief/mourning#parent loss#depressive shit#depressing shit#grief posting#grief poem#grief tag#grief blogging#holidays#sad christmas#christmas
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(dis)comfort in your absence.
the short film that i worked on from mid november to the end of december! i've already received my score so i think i'm allowed to post it now. it's the first short film that i've ever made & i don't have a lot of experience in animation & and know NOTHING about sound design so please ignore the flaws v__v pretend they don't exist.
animated in adobe photoshop & adobe premiere pro
for the background noise / music i downloaded a few lmms files that i found online and played around with them a little bit
#my art#illustration#animation#short film#2d#animated film#student project#grief tw#loss tw#volume warning#worked really hard on this so i'd really appreciate it if you watch the whole thing lol
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5 Seconds of Summer paying tribute to Liam Payne, via IG story [18.10.2024]
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Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 8 part 1
(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])
(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])
EPISODE EIGHT. fasten your seat belts, get ready for some turbulence, nobody panic. things are going to become fucking sad, but you're going to be okay. yay?
for a fleeting moment at the beginning of the episode you get the mad hope that alice survived - that rio is going to spare her, somehow
but the camera keeps spinning, keeps spinning, and we're upside down. this show is so good at evoking uncanny vibes with simple practical effects. not to mention the great callback to lilia flipping the room at the end of last episode. we are on the other side now, we're not in kansas anymore.
and this is of course rio collecting alice's soul, and it's where she disappeared to at the end of episode 5. I find rio's choices here so brilliant, because we know that she chooses the way she appears to souls. she is not being mean per se, she's woken alice up so gently and she's talking in a soft voice. but she looks fucking scary too, there is no questioning who she is or what she's doing here. indeed alice doesn't question her former companion being the grim reaper. it's like, rio is willing to go slow, but alice still needs to know right away that there is no escape.
alice's quiet devastation as she sees her own dead body. as much as I would have liked to see lilia walk away with her Death, I'm so glad we got alice instead. lilia died on her own terms and on such a high note. alice's story needed to take one last breath. literally.
this whole scene to me perfectly encapsulates the message of the show. beautiful, strong alice, alive one moment and gone the next, just like that. how can one come to terms with that?
words that sound mocking, but aren't. it's like accusing the ocean or the stars of being cruel. nature doesn't carry any ill intent, it simply exists.
but look what happens next. rio's smile fades at alice's despair. because rio is a willing agent of nature and balance, but also - and that's the brilliancy and tragedy of this character - rio is capable of love. she has an impossible job and she's damn good at it, but it takes a toll. she bent the rules of nature once, for the one person she loves more than the universe itself. she won't go that far for anybody else, but she has gotten to know alice, she felt true companionship with her - alice's loss is hurting on a personal level.
I've seen so many 'alice's death doesn't sit right with me' takes. YEAH, YOU THINK?!! alice's death is AWFUL. she lived all her life under this horrible curse and died one moment after liberating herself. all her hopes, all her goodness, all her potential, gone. it's MONSTROUS. it's UNFAIR.
it is monstrous that people (and children, dear god, children!) die all the time of disease, or wars, accidents, calamities. go scream at the sky about it. see if it answers back.
you died protecting someone. it's so matter-of-factly.
have you ever watched blade runner 2049? (if you haven't major spoilers ahead). ryan gosling's character, a replicant, believes he might be special, a chosen one, but turns out he was just a cog in the machine. he dies protecting harrison ford who is of course the real hero of the story. the bittersweet implication being that he didn't die in vain, that no matter how small his role in the overarching story, his life mattered and is worth remembering. but he still died alone and bleeding under the snow. it's a much bleaker message than the sweeping hero tales of old, but is not completely devoid of hope.
rio wishes to give alice's brief existence some closure, some meaning. alice died selflessly, doing something she truly believed in: isn't that worth something?
and yet. alice is still dead, all of rio's good intentions won't spare her. we do need to be kind to each other and uphold our humanity in the face of tragedy, even if it hurts like a bitch, even if it won't change a thing. be kind, if you find the strength for it. create meaning where there isn't. it's all we have in common. it's all we can do.
alice visibly recoils at rio's words. they're not enough, nothing is ever going to be enough.
and that's why I think rio had to look so damn scary in this scene, even if she's being patient and so gentle under the circumstances. her role as Death has to come before her personal feelings, that is her job and her choice.
oh, alice. my sweet alice.
lilia saw Death coming and went willingly. alice said no and cried as she stepped through the threshold. again, I am SO glad we were shown this. she wasn't as brave as lilia, but I dare you to call her a coward or to love her any less.
GOD jen's ear-piercing SCREAM. what did I just say about lilia's death being better? screw that. death is an equalizer. nobody is spared.
jen has held it together so far. eyes on the prize, no pity for anyone else involved. look at her crumble.
billy is speechless. this is the third time he has known grief in however many hours, and each time worse than the previous one. he has lost all of his innocence. and the light, the light. everything is green, it's rio, rio, rio.
remember when agatha was so afraid of Death in episode 3 that she tried to break a glass window, and everybody laughed? so funny, wasn't it?
and here she is, fucking terrified, running through green light.
and then she sees her.
your coven is shrinkiiiiiiing. oh it's so nice to finally see her with her crown. I pray and hope to see agatha wearing a crown some day.
first alice, now lilia. I love that it's so heavy, I love all the implications. it was never only about agatha trying to avoid an ex. it's what rio represents, it's what rio did to alice and lilia.
it's what she did to nicky.
except it wasn't her! she's just the ferryman! and if anyone, agatha killed alice and lilia! we just saw rio's heart ache for alice as she collected her soul! they're both lashing out at each other because they can't handle this impossible heaviness between them. agatha is being cruel because she's in pain. rio is being cruel because she's in pain. it's such a mess.
this is all I have in me tonight, fuck this show is too much. and we've just started the episode! there is a lot to unpack, the closer I look at things the sadder it gets.
go to episode 8 part 2
#agatha all along#agatha deep dive#alice wu gulliver#rio vidal#agatha harkness#jennifer kale#billy maximoff#character study#death tw#grief tw#mortality tw
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sometimes it’s “oh for some reason humans are designed in a way where grief is an eternal process” and sometimes it’s “it was years ago but also next week because my body recognizes how the light falls in mid-april” and sometimes it’s just being toddler-coded to want my mom when i am very very tired
#and sometimes!!!!!! all three#anyway. and so on.#at least no matter what happens this month or perhaps for the rest of my life i will always be having a better time than april of 2015#grief tw#parent death tw
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"Grief will keep you reaching back for what is
not there."
-Adrianne Kalfopoulou, “Poem in Pieces, a Log,” A History of Too Much
#Muhteşem Yüzyıl#Magnificent Century#mcedit#Muhtesem Yuzyil#Hurrem Sultan#weloveperioddrama#perioddramaedit#period drama#historical drama#The Cursed Pages#It Is the Policy and Nothing Personal#The Last Hope#Prophetic Dream#Suleiman’s Endless Winter#Sultan Suleiman#Awkward-Sultana#grief tw
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I need to know more about cat dad Sam omg
instead of a dog, dean instead rescues a scruffy little calico cat and calls her miracle. he’s the one who takes her home, baths and feeds her, so it’s the end of his bed that she sleeps on, it’s him who she follows around the bunker meowing for food or to play. sam gets stared down across the room when he comes in to ask dean a question or to grab something from the fridge.
he doesn’t manage to even touch her before dean dies. dean is gone and the only living things in the bunker are sam, and little miracle.
he doesn’t even see her for a day. in that time he takes dean home, wraps and burns his body, and cries outside until he can make himself go inside and shower. it’s only when he comes out of the shower that he sees miracle outside of dean’s shut bedroom door (the one he shut so he didn’t have to see the lack of dean inside) meowing to get in. he goes to pet her but she doesn’t let him, and he gets that, so he backs off and reluctantly cracks the door open to let her run inside.
he doesn’t expect her to then follow him into the kitchen, still meowing. and he’s upset and grieving and just wants some silence so he just puts her food out in hopes of shutting her up. it works, she was just hungry, and he feels guilty when she skulks away once she’s fed. he hears her meowing outside of dean’s bedroom door later on and it makes him cry again
this continues for a few days, he only sees her when she gets hungry, and he only hears her when she’s meowing for deans bedroom door to opened that he keeps shutting when he walks past it and having to re open when she wants in. “guess it’s your room now huh?” he grits out one evening, eyes stinging and throat clogging and feeling so horrible about everything
it’s that night that he’s in bed so tired that he can’t fall asleep that his door creaks open, and there’s a little mrrr as miracle jumps up on his bed. he reaches to touch her, she doesn’t let him, so he rolls over and let’s her curl up beside him where eileen used to sleep.
it’s like that for a week, until she finds him crying in the library because he found some photos that he wasn’t ready to look at. he doesn’t notice that she’s there until she’s nudging his leg and when he reaches a hand down she lets him pet her, leans into his touch and purrs at the contact. he pets her until he stops crying, by which point she’s curled up in his lap asleep. that night she sleeps beside him, only after he’s sat and pet her again, and it’s only the next day that he leaves the bunker for the first time in a week to buy a cat collar, some cat food, and a cat bed.
she doesn’t sleep in her bed, she sleeps beside him in the spot she claimed as hers
#something about sam’s relationship with bodily autonomy and the way cats don’t always like to be touched#sam taking care of miracle and in turn taking better care of himself as he grieves#i could go on and on about this#cat dad sam#sam winchester#spn#sam winchester headcanon#grief tw#blondie’s asks#anon !!
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"Don't grieve for me when I'm go—" listen up here asshole. If you wanted to tell me how to feel about your death, you shoulda fucking stuck around. You're not here so you don't get a say anymore. You're not the one who has to deal with the emotional and logistical consequences of your passing. You are the missing piece in my life now, so you have (had) neither the knowledge nor ability to predict the best way for me to cope with it. And frankly, yes, I would have felt better if there'd been some kind of massive event where I could join everyone else grieving your loss and we could say to each other the awful hollow things that can't make it okay but can make it better, and then we could go get drunk about how much we missed you. So frankly, go fuck yourself. I miss you like hell. Hopefully you can take this criticism on board the next time you die. xo.
#staranise original#for the record: this is about someone who died a year and a half ago#we did in the end have a shared grief event like 9 months after#but this still bubbles up for me#from time to time or sometimes always#death tw#mourning tw#grief tw
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Freedom



John Shelby X OC 🥃 Lots of angst! But also lots of fluff!
Alice Shepherd had always been an interest to the Shelby brothers, ever since they were all kids. Especially John. They grew up on the same estate, with the same traditions and same rules - but she was never the same as them, or as anyone else. From the angry scars covering her body to the mess inside her head - no one quite understood her. So when she manages to escape her arranged marriage and return to Small Heath after years of being supposedly 'dead or missing' things quickly get chaotic again.
Trigger warnings for graphic content; abuse, assault, violence, torture, blood, alcoholism, drug use, self harm, ptsd, grief, time period typical misogyny
Part One | Part Two
Part Three | Part Four
Part Five | Part Six
Part Seven | Part Eight
Part Nine | Part Ten
Part Eleven | Part Twelve
Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen
Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen
Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen
#john shelby#john shelby imagine#peaky blinder fanfic#peaky blinder imagine#john shelby fanfic#john shelby x reader#peaky blinder fanfiction#peaky blinders#tommy shelby#tommy shelby fanfic#thomas shelby#1920s#1920s fiction#dark imagine#dark fanfiction#outer banks blog#fanfiction blog#arthur shelby#joe cole#Joe cole fanfiction#tw assault#abuse tw#tw blood#grief tw#tw noncon#peaky blinder headcanon#fanfiction#angst fic#angst with a happy ending#angst
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more on grief. the symptoms.
the feeling overwhelming you at random times of the day, without warning. suddenly you are stuck crying and gasping for breath.
your stomach cramps every time you think about them. it makes you want to vomit. nothing really helps and it can kill your appetite.
you are constantly tired, no amount of sleep seems to be enough. you could sleep for a thousand years and maybe you wish you could.
no matter what you are doing and how happy you are, they are always on your mind. you ruminate and ruminate if there was anything you could have done differently. you think about all the things you should have done.
grief alienates and isolates you. it feels like people can’t understand, there is no right words to calm you down.
you will hate yourself for this but sometimes you feel so powerless you wish you would have never been put in this situation. even if that means never knowing that person. you don’t really mean it though you are just desperate.
you can grieve people that are still alive
your grief can project in other things and situations. your mood can drop quickly. you can overreact or be aggressive and abrasive. this alienates you further
people will tell you to distance yourself. you cannot.
feel free to torment your blorbos with this
#a couple days ago i was driving home in the middle of the night after meeting my friends and just started full blown sobbing in the car#it took me an hour to calm down#emotional whump#grief#grief tw#death tw#whump prompt#whump prompts#of course this doesn’t apply to everyone. each person deals with grief differently#whumpee and caretaker#loss and grief
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Yasmin Drabble
Or, the first time Yasmin wakes up next to MC.
The last time Yasmin woke up next to someone she loved, she lost him forever.
It’s been five years now. Any other morning would have been standard. Boring. But that morning was different. She was pissed at him. She woke up with her back turned and abandoned him to his snoring. Fumed silently, motions short and tight as she made her breakfast. The last morning she ever spent with Seth she was furious at him.
Part of her feels like she should have cherished it–like she should have spent every single second with him that she could. But she isn’t sure she would react any differently today. The memory still sets her temper flaring, even now.
She lays on her side again, but this time she’s facing the person in her bed. She watches you sleep, throat thick with emotion she doesn’t want.
The feeling of total security another person can bring is something she'd forgotten.
She opened her eyes to find your arm hooked around her waist, her forehead pressed against your collarbone. It could have felt like a cage, being imprisoned in your arms, but instead it feels like an anchor. Like her connection to you is the only thing keeping her floating in place.
Yasmin frowns, looking at you now. She was secure before. Every night for five years she's spent snug in bed without issue. Nothing could hurt her–she doesn't even know what it might be she feels protected from. She doesn’t need someone else to protect her.
And yet laying in the bend of your arm has her feeling the safest she's ever been. She feels invincible.
She clutches the edge of the comforter in a curled fist, the plush fabric giving her something to hold onto. A different sort of anchor. She needs to make sense of the swirling mass of emotion currently leaving her half-paralyzed in bed.
You mumble something unintelligible, shifting in your sleep, and her hazel eyes hone in on your face. She searches for signs you might wake up and break the spell that you've unintentionally cast upon her. When you settle back in, your features smoothing, she isn't sure if she should feel relieved or disappointed.
Maybe a bit of both.
Yasmin rolls away from you, onto her back. She stares up at the ceiling. The previous owners of the house put up tiny green stars that were meant to glow in the dark. When they moved in she wanted to peel them away. They didn't match her decor plan–they were unsightly.
“Why would we do that?” Seth had laughed, wrapping his arms around her, “Get rid of the house's best feature?”
And she relented. It isn't every day you can give someone the stars.
She squeezes her eyes shut, her heart stuttering with a familiar pang of grief. Her chest grows tight. Her stomach drops.
This is why she doesn't want this. Doesn't want you. She's worked so hard to turn Seth into a memory–into a ghost. An intangible part of her past, to be thought about only rarely. Void of any emotion. Just lingering scenes of the past, starring a woman who died alongside him.
God. She's not ready to do it again.
Yasmin considers herself a brave person. She might not spend her time trekking through the woods in search of lost souls, but she's no coward. She keeps her head high, faces the things she dreads head-on. It's the only real way to take care of them.
So why is it when it comes to you, she's flinching? Cowering in the face of a grief she was so sure she'd buried?
It wasn't supposed to be this way. You were cute. She was interested. You were supposed to just have some fun together and go your separate ways. Friends–and nothing else.
Typically she has no problem ending things there. Of all of the casual partners she's had since, none have shared her bed. Not like this. They have their fun and then they go home. They don't get asked to stay.
She asked you to stay.
Groaning softly, Yasmin covers her eyes with her arm. Wishes the knot of tension tangled at the base of her spine would unravel. That all of these emotions would just go away. You accepted her insistence that this would never be anything other than friendship without issue. So why the hell can't she?
You roll over and wrap your arms around her. She tenses, her breath catching. Tears well in the corners of her eyes. She pulls her arm back to brush away the warmth, trying and failing to reject the deep rolling sadness that has stolen the breath from her lungs. She will not cry over this. She can’t.
The bed is the problem. It’s too big. Meant for two, not for a single woman wrapped up in her blankets and her grief. The house, too–built for an entire family and left almost empty. For the longest time, Yasmin has avoided being alone at the house whenever she could help it. It was full of too many reminders, and too much empty space.
For the first time in five years, it feels like she’s home. Like the bed is full. Like her heart is.
How can you be the one to bring her home? You’re practically a stranger.
She reaches out, wanting to brush her fingers against the side of your face. She needs to convince herself that you’re really here. When she does, she sees the way her hand trembles in front of her. Fuck–she’s supposed to be stronger than this. Yasmin steels herself and cups your cheek.
You shift under her touch and her heart twists. Your skin is smooth and soft beneath the caress of her palm. She brushes her thumb against your face and chokes back her tears. It’s too much. She pulls her hand back like you’ve burned her.
When you wake up, she decides in an instant, she’s going to be over this. She’ll be perfectly composed. She’ll greet you warmly, pull you into a sweeping kiss, and forget all of her ghosts. It’s been half a decade, and Yasmin doesn’t want to spend any more time crying over a man long dead. Not when she has a new beginning laying curled up at her side.
But for now? The deep violet gloom of early morning filters in through the blinds. She leans down and presses a kiss to the top of your head. Tears well, and this time she lets them fall. Lets herself feel her grief, for the first time in years.
For now, she mourns.
And when the morning comes she starts something new.
#drabbles#yasmin#finally feeling alright about this one#i looooove yasmin#death tw#grief tw#this one is angsty friends#but i doubt that comes as a surprise#i hope everyone enjoys <3
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Trivarna Hariharan, Can Grief be a Good Teacher?
#authors#aesthetic#bookish#1950s#80s#book photography#70s#book blog#franz kafka#60s#quotes about life#quotes to live by#quotes en tumblr#quotes en español#quotes of the day#lit#quoteoftheday#literature#life quotes#quotations#grief poetry#grief tw#grief poem#grief and loss#grieving#loss#emotional#heart break#grief journey#university
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So Many Ways to Draw a Ghost by ChelseaGranger
Death, Grief, and Joy Writing, drawings & paintings by Chelsea Granger with contributing writers & artists
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Why this petition matters
The entertainment industry, acclaimed for its glamour and stardom, is equally infamous for the enormous pressure it exerts on the mental health of artists. Resultant issues such as stress, anxiety, depression, substance misuse and even suicide are alarmingly high. According to research, performers are 2-3 times more likely to suffer from these issues compared to the general population.
In recent news of Liam Payne's tragic death as many others, the entertainment industry needs to be held accountable and be responsible to the welfare of their artists. We seek to implore lawmakers to create legislation safeguarding the mental health of artists within the industry.
Such a law would necessitate regular mental health check-ups, adequate rest periods, and the presence of mental health professionals on-set, including any ongoing support during their career. It will ensure a healthier, safer, and more conducive working environment for artists to cultivate their talents reducing phycological distress. This would also include early interventions to protect and minimise before it's too late. Furthermore, the increasing rate of musicians who die before the age of 35, is concerning. We need to act now!
The artist's role is invaluable not just in the world of entertainment but also in society. Let us ensure their protection and wellbeing. Your signature could be a lifeline for these talented individuals, contributing to a larger movement of mental health awareness and care in industries worldwide. Please, sign the petition.

SIGN THIS PETITION
Lottie Tomlinson has signed the petition (via LouisTSpainNews)

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