#Parent Death TW

[beanarie]

inspired by this post by @epiphainie and people's awesome tags on it.

the messenger

The buzzer rang five minutes after Evan's text (Just coming back from our last call. Thank God. Not even stopping to shower I am outta here. See you in 20. 15 if I gun it. Start getting those clothes off.)

"Hello?" Tommy said, pressing the button. "Is someone there?"

"Oh, Tommy. I didn't even- Good." Something crackled on the other end. "Sorry, it's uh. It's Maddie."

Well, it was hardly his gate to keep. Tommy redid the buttons on his shirt. "Come on up."

Maddie arrived with Jee-Yun on her hip. She still had her work shirt on and she was mostly looking everywhere but him.

"Hi," he said, curiosity shifting to concern. He hadn't spent much time with the Han family unit. Not long after he and Evan became official, Maddie and Howie rescued a traumatized child from a group home and their free moments then went towards maintaining the connection between her and the parents she'd been ripped from, aka Hen and her wife Karen. But from what he'd heard about her, Jee-Yun seemed uncharacteristically subdued. Feeding off her mom, perhaps. "He's not back yet."

She looked up at him, very briefly, just long enough to give a good view of her reddened eyes. "Right. They're pretty much done. I asked Howie to meet us here."

She set Jee-Yun up on the easy chair with a coloring book and markers, then kissed her cheek. "Draw Mommy a nice picture, okay?"

Tommy ducked his head as she approached the kitchen, conscious of their differences in height. "Maddie?"

She took in a sharp breath, her eyes bright as she raised one hand. "I'm sorry. I'd tell you. I'd just hate to have to keep saying it."

"Okay." He touched her shoulder and left his hand there a moment. "I think there's... tea?" She was already too brittle and fragile for alcohol.

She nodded gratefully, her gaze going toward the kid quietly marking up a page of farm animals as he retreated to the cabinets. He thought about Howie's brother, Alfred- no Albert. His name came up occasionally in group conversations. He'd couch-surfed through the family, becoming a firefighter himself until he realized that being barely legal to drink and loving his hero brother weren't good enough reasons to stay at a job that didn't do it for him. After resigning, he'd gone back to Korea.

Tommy didn't ask. Asking would force her to answer.

He thought of some other names, which he also did not bring up.

They each had a mug of vanilla chai, which Evan never touched but Tommy loved. Tommy sipped his. Maddie only stared at hers. The door opened, letting in good-natured smack talk.

"Look, all I'm saying is, if it actually had been a rottweiler, you would've finished the call on the other side of the street."

"Okay, okay, Mr. I didn't enter the tiger apartment until Chimney tranqed it."

Tommy wondered at the logistics, whether Maddie's request of Howie arrived before Evan fled the station house, or if the two of them surprised each other by making it to Evan's building at the same time. Maddie breathed in, letting the motion straighten her posture, and stepped away from the counter.

"You didn't enter until after that, either!" Evan turned away from Howie and the grin fell from his face. "Maddie? What's going on?"

Howie glanced at Tommy, who gave a tiny shrug.

She took Evan's hand. "Buck," she said. "Come sit down."

Tommy discarded several names as Howie came and stood next to him.

Maddie sat next to Evan at the table, both of her hands covering his. "Mom called me about an hour ago from the hospital. Dad had been having some chest pain and they found a severe blockage. They went in for a double bypass, but-"

"But what?" Evan asked quietly.

Her face crumpled. "Something went wrong during surgery and they couldn't stop the bleeding." She removed one of her hands from his to stifle a sob. "Dad's gone."

"Shit," Howie whispered.

Maddie shifted the angle of her chair and leaned forward to throw her arms around Evan's neck. After a second or two of shellshock, he returned the embrace, tightening his grip around her. When he met Tommy's gaze, he didn't look sad, or angry. He just looked lost.

"Daddy!" Jee-Yun cried, making the entire room flinch, right before she launched herself at Howie.

[mylittleredgirl]

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

[comic-art-showcase]

Batman by Alvaro Martínez Bueno

[softhairedhotch]

this one to me feels much more oc-like than a reader-insert (bc of all the details i added) but a few of yous said to keep it as a reader fic so i hope this is okay!! don't hate me if you can't relate to it please n thanks <3 also sorry for the weird formatting of my fics/the random bold or italics or small text idk tumblr hates me and keeps doing it!!! comfortember day five: treehouse (+day eight: grief/mourning) aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader aaron is there for you, just like he always is, after you lose your mother. word count: 2.1k warnings/content: parent loss, death of reader's mother, hurt/comfort, some emotional conversations and sad topics, mentions of crying, pet names, kissing, hugging, established relationship. lyrics that inspired this: "do not enter" is written on the doorway / why can't everyone just go away / except you / you can stay / what do you think of my treehouse? / it's where i sit and talk really loud / usually / i'm all by myself

comfortember masterlist here!

also on ao3!

the treehouse

You step out into the back garden and take a deep breath, closing your eyes as you allow the crisp air to wash over you. Aaron steps out moments after and closes the door quietly before his hand finds your lower back. 

"You okay?" He asks, his voice just above a whisper. It's almost drowned out by the sound of mourning doves overheard.

You shrug, your shoulders feeling as though they’re being weighed down by the heavy armour you’re trying–and failing–to shield yourself with. “I will be.”

“Yeah.” He looks around the garden and lets out a short, flat hum. “But no one is expecting you to be okay, you know that, right? There’s no time limit; you’re allowed to grieve.”

“I know.”

“I know you do, sweetheart. But I just wanted to remind you.” You turn to look at him and, at the sight of his genuine concern, your brave face crumbles. He wraps his arms around you immediately, pulling you close and enveloping you in his warmth. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you whisper as you cling to him, trying your hardest to hold back your tears but failing miserably. “I know.”

“Good.”

“I just don’t know what to do.” 

Aaron presses a kiss to your forehead. “You don’t have to do anything.”

You pull back and look up at him, confused. “Yes, I do. I have to… to get rid of everything and sell the, the house. And do all the paperwork and figure out what to do with her antiques and, and, and–”

“Hey, hey,” he interrupts you gently, pulling you back into a tight hug. “Don’t worry about any of that right now. I’ll do that.”

“What, no–”

“Let’s not talk about this now, okay? We’ll sort it out later or tomorrow. Give yourself some time to think about it.”

“But what do I do in the meantime? I can’t just… sit around.”

He thinks for a moment. “Show me around.”

“What?”

“Show me around the house. Tell me everything you can, anything you can remember, and I’ll listen. I wanna know what life was like for you.”

You almost burst into tears at his words. “Really? You wanna know about my childhood?”

“Sweetheart, I wanna know everything about you.”

***

You take Aaron inside the house, taking him to the living room. The room hasn’t been touched in a few days, save for a few files on the coffee table you checked earlier, and you feel sick at the thought of leaving the house behind once everything’s packed away. Then the thought of having to pack everything away makes you feel even worse and you sway on the spot. Aaron notices you falter and reaches out to squeeze your arm gently, standing beside you patiently. 

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do when all this is gone.”

“It doesn’t have to be gone,” he replies. “You can take it all.”

“And keep it where?”

“In our house, in a storage container… there’s many places.”

You think for a moment, holding back tears, before shaking your head. “No. I need to… to let it go. Not all of it, but I can’t keep everything. She wouldn’t wanna weigh me down with all her stuff.”

“Alright,” Aaron says, squeezing your arm again and leaning to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “Take anything you need. I promise we’ll find a place for it. That sound good?” 

You nod and lean into him for a moment before slowly making your way through the living room, grabbing the objects with the most significance to you and telling Aaron about them before sorting them into a box to take back to the house. You pack a few of your favourite DVDs, ones you’re sure won’t even play anymore with how scratched they’ve become, as you tell Aaron vague memories of watching them as a kid. What happened when you watched them, who you watched them with, how you felt–anything that comes to mind because you know he’s listening.

A few family photos are displayed on the TV stand, as well as a cabinet in the corner, and you relive the memories of when they were taken as you tell him all about them. He asks to look at one closer and you give it to him, watching as he smiles down at a photo of you with your old dog. “You looked happy.”

“I was,” you reply, nodding. “Some of the time, anyway.”

He gives you a small smile and hands you the picture. “I know what you mean.”

You continue to walk him around the house, showing him dents in the wall from where you hurt yourself and little drawings you hid behind drawers and peeling wallpaper. He listens intently, smiling at your happy anecdotes and comforting you when tears well up in your eyes as the worst memories cloud your mind. You show him your childhood bedroom, telling him about friends that used to come over for sleepovers and the first time you kissed someone behind the open door so no one would see. 

“My first kiss was with Haley,” he replies. “In the theatre room at our school.”

“Isn’t that where you first met her?”

“Yeah. I kissed her in the same spot I first saw her.”

“Aw,” you smile as you grab an old diary and throw it into your bag. You’ll read that later when you’re alone so you don’t embarrass or upset yourself anymore in front of Aaron. “You’ve always been a romantic, how cute.”

He blushes and presses a kiss to your cheek as he passes by, making his way to your desk and flicking through a few papers you left there when you were last over. “You think you’d want these?”

“Probably not, doubt they’re important.”

Aaron nods and begins to open the drawers, pulling out miscellaneous items and silently dividing them into piles of things you might want to keep and things you’d throw away. You watch him with a sombre smile, feeling your chest ache at the realisation that he knows you so well and that his love for you is endless. When he catches you watching him, he pauses and raises an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“I love you, you know that, right?” 

“Of course I do,” he replies, closing the drawer and walking back over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist to tug you close. “I love you, too. More than you’ll ever know.”

“Hm, I don’t know. I think I have a pretty good idea.”

“I don’t want to doubt you, sweetheart, but I really don’t think you do.” He presses a sweet kiss to your lips, channelling all his love into it. “I can’t even begin to express how much I love you. I just… do.”

You press another kiss to his lips to hide the tears welling up in your eyes. The love you feel for him is so strong it feels like you might burst. He kisses back, letting you take the lead. Pulling back, you look deep into his eyes and smile the first genuine smile you’ve been able to manage since you first heard the news. “I love you more.”

Aaron chuckles. “Sure you do.” He presses a chaste kiss to your lips with a hum. “Ready to carry on?” 

“Yeah,” you mutter, going to pull away before a thought strikes you and you let out a sharp breath. Aaron pulls you back into his arms immediately, looking down at you in concern but keeping silent to give you a moment to think. “Sorry, I just… realised that that was gonna be my last kiss in this room.”

“Is that a good thing? Or bad?”

“I don’t know,” you reply honestly, feeling out of it. “I don’t like the thought of everything we do in this moment being the last of anything, but… the fact that it’s you that I’m doing all this with… yeah, I think that’s a good thing.”

He smiles sweetly at you, love shining so clearly in his eyes, and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Then let's stay here for a little longer.”

“We should get it over with, I don’t wanna waste all your free time off work. You deserve to get some time to yourself.”

“Oh, honey,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and resting his head against yours. “This isn’t a waste of my time. Trust me. I want to be here, with you, for you, and that’s all that matters. Don’t think like that, okay? I’m here because I want to be, not because I feel like I have to. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “It does.”

***

“I guess that leaves the treehouse,” you shrug, feeling drained as you step back outside with Aaron following you. You stare up at the treehouse, wondering if it's necessary to go up there. “You don’t have to come up. It’s pretty small.”

“I’ll go wherever you go.”

“You’re so cheesy,” you say with a small smile, even when his words mean the world to you.

He smiles at you. “You love it.”

“I really do.” Making your way to the treehouse, you glance at Aaron and allow a small smirk to dance over your lips. “Don’t stare at my ass as I go up.”

Aaron laughs. “No promises.” 

You roll your eyes and begin climbing, risking a glance back to find Aaron’s eyes firmly on the ground and being as respectful as ever. It makes your heart skip a beat. Reaching the top of the ladder, you look at the treehouse's entrance and cringe at the big ‘DO NOT ENTER’ sign hanging beside the doorway. It was a sign you carved yourself when you were younger. When you look inside the treehouse, your heart aches as memories flood through you. It takes you a few seconds to force yourself inside but once you clamber in, you call down to Aaron to let him know he can join you.

The sound of him climbing up surrounds you as you push yourself into your favourite corner, one filled with soft padding and blankets. A few of your favourite books are scattered across the floor and pictures of you and your childhood friends cover the walls. The nostalgia hits you hard and you bite your lip to stifle a sob. 

Aaron joins you, crawling inside and looking around with interest. As he gets comfortable in the small space, his long legs curling against himself to fit, you realise it’s the first time anyone’s ever been in the treehouse with you. Or at all. 

He remains silent, waiting for you to be the first to talk. You appreciate that. 

“I used to come up here a lot,” you say after a few minutes. “To read, to think, to talk to myself out loud… everything.”

“And did it help?”

“Yeah,” you nod, reaching over to grab one of the books beside you. It’s one you’re sure you’ve read a million times over, the pages worn and yellowing and a small layer of dust covering the outside. “It was nice. Peaceful. Somewhere I was never bothered.”

“I had a place like that,” Aaron muses, smiling at you. “Not as personal as this, though. It was a bench a few blocks from where I grew up, hidden by a few overgrown trees. I liked it.”

“Did you go there a lot?”

“Whenever I could. Couldn’t go much in the winter because of the cold, though.”

You huffed out a laugh. “Same here. Still came here even if I meant I almost froze to death.”

His smile becomes sad but there's clear understanding in his expression. “Yeah.”

The two of you sit inside the treehouse for almost an hour, talking about whatever comes to mind. Aaron listens intently to every word you say, his comforting hand drawing patterns over your thigh and eventually over your side when you move to curl up against him. You feel yourself drifting off at one point when the exhaustion settles deep in your bones, feeling so safe and warm and loved and comforted beside him, but you force awake to finish back up in the house. 

Aaron follows you inside, as he always has and always will, and comforts you through everything that comes after that. He helps you pack up the house, assuring you over and over that you can take however many boxes you want back to the house you share with him. He sits with you for days after, mostly in silence when the grief catches up to you and you can hardly think, never once looking as if he’d rather be elsewhere. He holds your hand throughout the funeral, never once leaving your side or once letting you think for a moment that you’re ever alone. And even after it’s been weeks, months, years, since that moment, he’s there for you whenever you need a shoulder to cry on. Just like he always has been. 

[madebycoffee]

an update.

i will be applying the appropriate TWs on this. Fair warning but there's some important things I feel I need to say.

-

One week ago today, my Dad died. There is more I could say about it but all that really matters is it was sudden. It was unexpected. We don't know why he died currently. Hopefully we will get answers soon.

I know I don't have to say anything or give a reason, but I wanted to. I won't be releasing any of the 11 days of decos I have already made during July. I want that event to feel fun. Right now Sims anything doesn't feel fun. Even being on Simblr doesn't feel fun or right.

When I feel up to it, I will finish the requests that I had listed out to do, and then share everything once it's done.

-

I will most likely return to my story side blog first, as that's always been more fun to me. But again. I don't know when.

see you when i see you.

coffee.

[lemonmaggot]

First Moments in Grief

Summary: Cole is the only ninja who can understand what Zane is feeling after the passing of Dr. Julien.

AO3 link:

Fic below the cut (1,995 words)

It had been over 24 hours since the Ninja had heard from Zane. He had gone to visit Dr. Julien in the morning. Usually, when the nindroid visited his father, he would return by sundown. With Ninjago in peace, and his father getting older, Zane spent the day with him as often as possible. He was weak. Everyone knew that it was only a matter of time before he passed again. This time though, Samukai would not be there to receive the inventor. That fact is why Cole worried when Zane did not return at his usual time. Only one thought swirled through his head. His greatest fear for Zane. That Zane was in the spotted forest, his father dying, and Zane could do nothing but watch as it happened. He would be grieving alone. No one should have to go through that alone. The other ninja tried to assure Cole that Zane was fine. He must’ve lost track of time then it was too late to be out traveling at night. But it didn’t make sense. They were ninja. They all felt comfortable in the shadows of night.

Cole paced around the deck, worried for his friend. He should send Zane another message. Before Cole could reach for his phone again, he heard a heavy clank on the ship. He whipped his head around, seeing Zane stepping aboard. His arms hung limp and his head leaned forward, swaying with each step he took. “Zane!” Cole called out, practically leaping with long strides over to the robot. It was perfect timing, as Zane collapsed forward and Cole was able to catch him. Cole let the weight of Zane’s head rest against his shoulder as he hooked his hands under Zane's armpits.

“He’s gone…”

Cole’s breath caught in his throat. He needed no clarification. Cole looped his arms around Zane and squeezed the nindroid. Zane’s arms lifted and ghosted around Cole’s midsection, before dropping to his sides again.

“Let’s get you somewhere quiet,” Cole suggested softly. Zane weakly nodded but made no effort to move. So Cole lifted the ice ninja off his feet and hooked an arm under his legs for easy carrying.

Cole carried Zane below the deck of the ship. The pair passed by the gaming room. Inside they heard the muffled voices of Jay and Kai yelling as they played. They argued that they would win this round. Lloyd interjected every once in a while that clearly he was going to beat both of them. Cole was relieved that the others were distracted by their games. As much as he loved them, he wasn’t sure they would be of any help to Zane. They couldn’t understand how Zane felt at the moment. Not how Cole could. They couldn't understand the prolonged suffering of the inevitable end. The end that still takes you by surprise, even as you watch it approach. Cole brought Zane to their shared room. It wasn’t the most private spot, but it was better than nothing.

Cole gingerly laid Zane on his twin-sized bed and sat beside him. Zane didn’t move from the position Cole laid him in. The usual light in his eyes was gone and his face showed his default position.

“I see now why my father erased my memories last time,” Zane murmured, his voice glitching. “I-” Zane hesitated and looked up to Cole. “It hurts… physically.”

Cole nodded his head and lay beside Zane, facing the robot. The bed was cramped but the ninja had long forgotten what personal space was. “I know…” Cole mumbled. “I’m here for you Zane. You can talk about it if you want. Or we can just… exist together.”

Zane nodded and stayed silent for a few moments, staring at Cole. “I feel empty,” Zane stated after a long pause. “In films, I always see people sobbing when their loved ones pass… I am equipped to cry tears. But I just…”

“Feel like there’s an empty pit inside you?”

“Yes… precisely…”

Another moment of silence passed. Normally, a room filled with this much silence and Zane’s intense staring would be awkward. Rather than anxiety, there was an air of understanding.

A few tears slipped down Zane’s face, falling to Cole’s plush pillows. “How did you feel after your mother passed?” Zane asked. “How did you deal with it?” Cole had vaguely mentioned it in the past, but was always quick to change the subject. From what Zane could tell, her death was relatively recent in Cole’s life. “You don’t have to tell me… I just… don’t know what I’m supposed to do now…”

Cole closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Zane’s assumption of the timing was correct. “I ran away from home,” Cole began. “My dad was distracting himself in his own ways, so I decided to find my ways.” Cole opened his eyes again, meeting Zane’s icy blue stare. “I tried climbing mountains… with no gear… the fear of falling to my death if I slipped kept my mind off of it. I don’t think it was very healthy for me. That’s when I met Wu. He said he was looking for me. I didn’t understand what he truly meant. All I knew was that it was a change of pace, something new to distract me.” It was strange to think about. If his mother had not passed, he would not be here at this very moment. Lying beside one of his closest friends in the world. “At first, being at the monastery was lonely and it made me feel worse... All I could think about was how I didn’t even know if my mom would be proud of me or not. But then Wu brought you and Jay back…”

A small smile crept onto Cole’s face as he recalled meeting Zane and Jay for the first time. Zane was mysterious. Jay was a blabbermouth. “It… was a nice distraction,” Cole hummed. “Rather than having a death wish, Jay distracted me with all his terrible jokes. You distracted me with your wonderful food. But…” Cole’s smile faded as he gulped. “Sometimes the sadness would just… randomly strike me. I’d see a simple flower, not even a lilly, and it would make me fall apart. Even when a second before I felt at the top of the world…”

“I see…” Zane hummed. “How come Jay and I never saw you cry? You were certainly more serious when we first met but... I would have never guessed that you had just lost someone so dear to you.”

“I didn’t want anyone to see me like that,” Cole sighed and shook his head. “Not even in a weird toxic masculinity way. Just… I didn’t want to bring you two down. Plus it felt weird, I guess? To cry and tell someone I had just met that my mom was dead… I don't even talk with my dad about it.”

“I would have supported you, Cole,” Zane assured.

“I know you would’ve, Buddy,” Cole agreed. “But I wasn’t sure back then. I didn’t even know your favorite color. I knew nothing.”

Zane nodded and a comfortable silence fell upon them once more. After a while, Zane finally broke his gaze from Cole’s face. His eyes looked to his knee that brushed against Cole’s, slowly stealing the warmth from the Master of Earth.

“Sorry,” Cole murmured, pulling his leg back.

“No, no,” Zane assured. “It felt… nice.” Zane looked back up to Cole who seemed to be analyzing him. “I think I would feel better with more contact. When you hugged me earlier, it also made me momentarily relax.”

Cole nodded and without a word, he pulled Zane into a close embrace. Zane slipped an arm under Cole and hugged the larger man back. Wrapped in the loving, warm embrace of his teammate did make him feel better. Zane sighed and closed his eyes. He snuggled closer into Cole’s chest, his ear pressed to the muscular body. Faintly, he could hear Cole’s steady heartbeat.

Zane felt a sharp spike of pain as he remembered how yesterday he listened to his father’s heart thud as Cole’s did now. Only for it to fade, grow weaker until…

Nothing.

No air filled his father’s lungs. No blood flowed through his body. His heart did not beat. His head, once full of so many ideas, now contained no activity.

Zane gasped before an onslaught of tears poured down his face, soaking Cole’s shirt. Cole’s grip around Zane tightened, holding the nindroid closer. This must have been what Cole mentioned. How even the smallest of things, that were vaguely related, set him off.

Zane twisted his head so his face rather than his ear pressed against Cole's pectoral muscles. He couldn’t stand to listen to Cole’s beating heart any longer. Zane refocused his attention on Cole rubbing circles into his back. He needed to focus on anything else. Whatever it took to forget the feeling of hearing his father’s heart beat to a stop. Zane squeezed Cole tighter and Cole returned the squeeze. Cole’s strong arms helped Zane feel grounded. He was safe in Cole’s big arms. Nothing could stop this bubble of serenity.

“How long did you feel like this?” Zane whimpered. He didn’t care that it had only been a day. He wanted it over now. How was he supposed to protect others when he felt so miserable?

“I still do,” Cole answered, leading to another sob racking through Zane’s body. “I still miss my mom every day and it still hurts. The only thing is that now I’ve learned to live with that grief.” Cole looked up from his dear friend and to the pot on the windowsill which grew flowers. “I like to do something that honors my mom every day,” Cole began. “Even something small, like how I make my tea… I make it exactly how she liked it. It’s how she taught me. That way she’s always with me.” A tear slipped down Cole’s cheek. He bent his neck and buried his face into the top of Zane’s head. The white hair collected his few tears. “It helps. The days that I feel like I can’t go on without her are getting further apart. I can remember her again without crying every time now. But I’m still grieving.” Cole sniffled and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “I’ll never not miss her… she’ll always be important to me. Now I continue forward, it’s what she would have wanted for me. I know she’s proud of me…” Cole hiccuped as more and more tears fell from his eyes and wet Zane’s white hair. “I know your dad is proud of you too,” Cole quavered.

Zane nodded his head, refusing to speak. He knew his language model was glitching. Even with his eyes closed he could see various system error warnings. Dr. Jullien had equipped Zane with the capability for complex and intense emotions. However, it seems he had not expected Zane to become as sentient as he was. Zane assumed his sentience had something to do with his unique power core. Perhaps it was due to the previous ice elemental visiting Zane and his father before he passed. Zane would never know for sure. His old parts simply could not handle the intensity of it all.

The two held each other as they cried. Even as the sun set and their tears dried, they held each other in a tight embrace.

As the hours passed, the other ninja grew worried. Not only from Zane’s continued absence but now from Cole’s disappearance. When they finally checked their shared room, they found the two asleep, still curled up to each other. Seeing tear tracks on Cole’s cheeks, they could only assume what happened. The most likely option was the truth. They could wait until the morning or until Zane was ready to tell them. For now, the two were left to rest.

[wulfums]

Remember that I'll always be with you, even if you can't see me, because I love you.

[Image Description - Mort Cattle, Young Chilli Heeler, and her mum standing together. Her mum has angel wings and is partially transparent. She and Mort are looking at Cilli lovingly. There is a sun drawn behind mum. The background is lined paper. End Description]

[stiffyck]

Hey stiff I feel like it’s been too long since ppl brainrotted about tcd scar.. he is so messed up and Perfectly Fine. So normal. He does not think about the horrors he went through as a kid all by himself nope definitely not. Definetly doesn’t get painfully reminded about the enormous gap of his life full of nothing but loneliness and death, where everyone else around him talks about families and childhood and friends and memories and happiness….. yikes.

SJVKEKGMS OUGH YEA YES DIVISKGKW

Scar hearing people talk about their families and all the stuff they did when they were kids and he's just. He never had that.

He hear people talk about childhood friends and playing outside and building their first builds while Scar thinks of little him, holding his badly stitched together cat pushie close to his chest while hiding in a corner with his gun, trying not to cry as the zombies outside scream and bang on the barraged doors and windows.

Scar hears others talking about their birthday parties and how much fun they had, what beautiful cakes they had and how their friends came over for parties and he remembers him sitting on a broken bed, softly singing happy birthday to his plushie.

He doesn't remember his own birthday, but it's the least he can do. Jellie deserves something nice..

Scar hears the others talking about their families and he can't help but remember his own parents chasing him down, trying to catch him just so they can rip him apart.

Uh. I should sleep it's 2 am but yea anon I agree. Tcd scar...

[aercnaut]

semi hiatus notice: for the month of march, my activity will be spottier than usual. for those who don't know, i lost my mom two years ago on the 15th, and the whole month is hard for me. i won't apologize for grieving, so i hope everyone understands my not being here. i love you all and will still try to write, but i can't make any promises much will get done.

thank you for your patience.

[fatexbound]

@wildxcardrebel said: ❛ i’m scared of ending up alone. ❜ (for Naoto)

&. 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬. | Accepting

"Ah."

That hit closer to home than she would like to admit. Being alone and ending up alone was a fear she's always had ever since she lost her parents - her only beacon of hope in this world, and recently, with her grandfather's passing. He was resilient against any kind of disease and yet... he lost the final battle. Her thoughts wouldn't stop. They were loud, too loud more often not. Ren suggested that they take a stroll through the park with the stars shining above them.

It's a pleasant and refreshing scenery, sitting on a bench and discussing anything that came to mind until that sentence slipped out, making her turn her head. Her hand drew a little closer to his, yet not touching it in the slightest.

"That is familiar to me. Do you... want to talk about it?"

[taenith-rain]

A Klanti was spewing ridiculous conspiracy theories about SK in the tag, and talking about how it was offensive to their eyeballs.

I replied with a romantic SK scenario. I believe that if people like this come into *our* space, they have consented to interact with SK material. This is petty and not advisable, but sometimes I just do not have it in me to block and move on.

However, the person responded with "my father died today, how dare you"???

????????

How... how could I have known that based on ship hate posts????

I still responded with my sincere condolences and urged them to used mute/filter before expressing my condolences once again.

Then I blocked them, because clearly this person is dealing with IRL issues and lashing out because of it.

I hope they find peace and that their pain eases soon.

[unkledeath]

bound, ghost, midnight for ezra! 👀

OC Asks

YEEEEHAW okay I'm putting these under a cut because this is gonna get A. long and B. probably pretty gnarly. (Any potential nastiness will be CWed in the tags.)

bound: Has your OC ever been imprisoned or captured? What happened? How did they get out? Did the experience leave any scars?

Ezra's been captured more than once in his long, storied history of adventuring. Most of it has been pretty low stakes stuff he was able to talk himself out of, but his last experience with it was by far the worst.

It started about two months into his relationship with Gortash, who offered Ez a place to stay since he didn't have a stable residence at the time. What started off as a cozy little sugar daddy type of situation got ugly fast, and his wealthy arms dealer boyfriend turned out to- shockingly -be an obsessive control freak. It only got worse after they found out they were the respective chosen of enemy gods, and Gort put Ezra under constant surveillance to make sure his new pet canary wasn't singing his secrets to anyone else.

He finally managed to escape after several months of what amounted to house arrest, waiting until Gortash was out of the city on a business trip. Fleeing to the one supportive person he knew, his on-and-off patron and half-brother Luca, he laid low at his home for a while as he tried to recover from the experience.

Gort eventually caught back up to him and tadpoled him for having the nerve to leave, but even before that the whole experience fucked Ezra up pretty badly. He's always valued his freedom above most things, and while the gilded cage he was kept in might not have been the worst by most standards, dealing with being watched and controlled was terrifying. So no physical scars from it, but definitely some mental ones.

---

ghost: Who or what haunts your OC? What happened? How do they live with their ghosts?

His mother. Ezra's mom didn't handle motherhood, rejection, or the dire poverty he grew up in especially well, and his entire childhood was an extended lesson in learning how to placate her. She was his first lesson in presenting people with the version of himself that they wanted, and her violent mood swings molded him into the person he is today.

He was 12 when she died, and while finding her body and trying fruitlessly to find help for her was traumatic, it's not really what haunts him. Ezra feels much greater guilt over how relieved he was when he finally accepted that she was gone.

---

midnight: What keeps your OC up at night? Do they have nightmares? Fears? Anxieties? What do they do in the small hours of the morning when they should be sleeping?

Ezra has gnarly nightmares. It's 50% home-grown trauma and 50% the natural consequence of letting an evil lich ride shotgun in his skull, but he is not a sound sleeper. He has a hard time falling asleep on his own, and the only thing that can really guarantee him a solid 8 hours is self-medicating. (Laudanum's his preferred method, but he's not averse to drinking himself unconscious either.)

When that's not an option, he keeps himself distracted. There's always songs to practice, new projects to write, plans to be made. Anything to fill his mind, because it's not a pleasant place to be when it's quiet.

[mylittleredgirl]

i had a strange dream last night that my mother, when she was in hospice, decided to go back to canada to die. we weren't allowed to go with her. she drove away in a white sedan with her dear lifelong friend who used to be a priest, and left me and my father here. we said our last goodbyes here in the driveway, and she wouldn't promise that we could talk on the phone. we just had to wait and go about our lives, mourning someone who was maybe still alive or had maybe already died, wondering if someone would call to tell us what was happening. i think my dad moved out like he did a while after she died in real life, and it was just me here, remodeling the house.

isn't that such a metaphor for loved ones dying? the hope that they will return to the place they came from and have missed, but the sorrow of not being able to join them. the hope we might receive messages, but it's long distance. that we will never know if they are in peace, in a place they once loved, or if it all ended on the way.

this morning my cousin texted me from canada to tell me that my aunt, my mom's sister, has terminal cancer and she didn't know if anyone had told me yet. (they hadn't.)

there's so much love underneath all the distance (and the family complications that came from my mom leaving the church), but i'm so far and have been since i was a little child. farther now, because i am sick and can't drive nine hours each way for a weekend like i wish i could. i'm not sure if a visit would be welcome (because she's suffering and it would be one more thing for my cousin to manage, not because i'm personally unloved). i could visit my other cousins, perhaps, or my aunts and uncles. i am my mother's representative here on earth now.

my dream wasn't necessarily prophetic, although i hope that it might mean If There Are Spirits that my mom's is going north to support her sister. last week, i re-lived the harrowing end of my mom life while i was writing a letter in support of the death with dignity act. yesterday, i re-read a story i wrote about a son watching his mother suffer from dementia. i wrote it in 2007, two years before my mother's first cancer diagnosis. back then, her great fear was that she would ultimately die from alzheimer's like her mother, who wasted away in hospice for more than 10 years. in the face of that, her dying painfully and relatively young from cancer was a relief to both of us. i guess my aunt will also be spared that fate.

i feel most for my cousin who is closest, who has to hold so much of this. i can't know her experience, but i have done the caretaking, have watched my mother suffer, have had to hold the feelings of my father losing his wife. i don't know my cousin well enough to know how to support her without that support itself adding more weight.

i'm not sure what my next step is. i texted my other cousins, and my cousin's wife who i think will be the best one to help me figure out what will be most helpful. in the meantime i'm processing, i guess.

[comic-art-showcase]

Chris Samnee's Batober 2023 sketches

posted with the caption: Here’s a handful of my sketchbook pages from this year’s Batober. Kind of all over place— a lot of what I call “thinking on paper” but thought maybe it’d be neat to show some of my initial thoughts. ✍️✍️✍️🦇🦇🦇

[kaleidoskull-fr]

I just remembered a dream I had last night where as a site-wide event they just started to kill off trading post dragons. The only part I remember clearly was the death of Swipp, which orphaned Pipp and Tripp. Baldwin stepped in to adopt them and the only differences were that Swipp's free trade slot was removed and he was replaced with new artwork of Baldwin looking very concerned for the kids.

[blood-teeth]

My mother haunts me in ways I did not think possible.

It had unfolded before me before I was told, tasted her death upon my lips like an omen. Gravity was negotiable and becoming untethered was expected. I knew the science of it all, of the grief. Knew that I would hold her in my body for the rest of my life. Knew that I would spend the rest of my days dedicating each step, each breath, each sob to her remembrance.

When I touched her skin at her funeral, staring into the open casket and trying to ignore the way the mortician had badly moved her hair to cover the hole in her head, her skin was warmer than her touch ever had been in life. They sprayed her with the perfume she always wore, to cover up the scent of death. It was too much. If I breathe through my nose too hard, I smell the sweetness of it.

I wish, somewhere deep inside of me, I had been able to smell the death.

My mother haunts me in ways I did not think possible.

You bury something and it's supposed to be gone. You bury something and you sing the Lord's hymns over it and the earth is supposed to eat away at the proteins and fats and osteocytes of the body. You bury something and you're supposed to remember and you are supposed to grieve and you are supposed to rebuild your life accounting for this new loss. And then one day everything is supposed to be okay again.

But you bury it. You inter her into the ground with the dirt and the worms so that she will not fuse herself into your ribcage and become you.

She follows me. And I know that she's in everything.

She haunts me at the hospital. She is my patient who I sit with all night to make sure she doesn't make another attempt. I do not stare at her wrists but I stare at her eyes and the wrinkles there that suggests she must have smiled big and bright in her life. I stare at the blue of her eyes and I think about my mother's and her blue-green-hazel. I don't look at her shaking hands but I listen to the way she repeats the time after I give it to her, hinging herself on those facts as though she has nothing left.

"8:45 PM? Saturday the 16th?"

"Yes ma'am. It's the night of the 16th. You checked into the hospital just today."

She closes her eyes. I see the golden shimmer to them, blonde at the base and translucent near the tips. My own hands start to shake as I document her behavior in her chart. Calm. Confused. Interacting with staff. Patient took her medicine.

"And you'll be here with me all night?" She whispers, lips trembling. "All night long?"

"Yes ma'am," I say, swallowing something that tastes a whole lot like death down my throat. "All night long. In the morning, another one of my colleagues will sit wit you." My voice does not sound like my own when I say, "You will not be alone."

My patient nods and whispers under her breath, crying. "It's 8:45, Saturday the 16th. It's 8:45. It's 8:45. It's 8:45. It's 8:45--"

My momma walks with me as I run to my car after my shift ends, throwing my work shoes into the back. She sits herself in the passenger seat while I collapse into the front seat. She stares at me as I cross my arms over my steering wheel and sob and sob and sob and sob until I can't breath. The only thing I can smell is her perfume.

Sometimes she goes away for a while. I stare at the ocean beating against the sand on my long runs and breathe just a little easier. I count down the miles and feel alive with my heart beating so furiously in my chest. As if to say, Look. I have survived this and I will survive this. I will I will I will. I will get better. I will be better. I swear my life on this.

I do all my homework. I get some writing done on my book. I call my girlfriend and fall in love with her more and more every day. We talk about marriage. We talk about kids and my cats who will be our cat. It does not hurt to be around her mother, it does not chafe me that she has what I lack. I play a song on the piano for her and I smile and I smile and I smile.

But in the night, it closes in on me.

My mother haunts me in ways I did not think possible.

My eyes are brown, except under fluorescent lights where they become hazel with an olive tinge to the edges. I see them change in the bathroom mirror and I see her pressed against the shower wall and she smiles when we make eye-contact. Hazel and hazel meeting. She smiles with all her teeth with her dimples flashing and she says "Like mother like daughter."

And later when I'm pressed against the ceramic with burning thighs and the drip-drop of pain, I will slide my hands over my mouth with red and sob, "Christ have mercy. Christ have mercy. Christ have mercy." My momma will sit behind me and hold me to her chest. She will smooth my hair away from my face and press a kiss to my temple. My momma will say, "There is no forgiveness. That's the whole point. You will suffer because you are alive and you are alive because you must suffer." And then she says, "I just got too tired."

I'll crawl myself to bed and stick to the sheets and I will fall asleep with the taste of death on my tongue. She stars in my dreams as alive, but dying. A cancer patient, a car crash, an unfortunate accident, never the way she actually died. So I stop sleeping. My eyes burn, my body aches. I stop eating and my bones start to show through my clothes. I am delirious off the grief. I have been made high off the loss and pain. I start to daydream. I start to pray to God and beg. I ask that He takes my life. I ask that--

My mother haunts--

She is standing in the corner of my room wearing the flannel shirt that now hangs in my closet. It no longer smells like her but every now and then I'll pull blonde strands of hair from around the collar, the cuffs, from behind the buttons. It sets me off. I am no longer human, but a raw nerve that has been grated on too many times. I am crying but I don't notice. I am screaming but there is no sound coming from my mouth. I remember my days of running in the sun. I remember smiling and laughing. I remember my girlfriend whose text messages have gone unanswered. I become pain. I become pain. I become pain.

I am screaming at her ask asking her why. I am sobbing, chest hiccuping and telling her I was doing so good. I was doing better. I swore my life on it. I am throwing things and screaming at her to go back into the dirt. To go back to the warm wet earth and the worms and to stop living inside my lungs.

My momma lets everything hit her. And when I'm done, I turn into my pillow and scream so hard I hope it kills me. It won't.

I feel her hands against my back, rubbing circles against my knobby spine, fingers dipping into the costal spaces of my ribcage. She just says I am not gone because of you.

But I can't believe her, because "like mother like daughter" goes both ways. Because she haunts me in the death the way I had haunted her in life. And because she must know I cannot live without her. She must know that without her there is no me. There is no point.

My momma rubs my back until I fall asleep. And when I wake in the morning, I wake knowing I will have it inside me forever, knowing I will never heal from it. I wake with the taste of death on my tongue.