#The Hospice Promise | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

razzle-zazzle · 1 month ago

Text

Whumptober Day 16: Necrosis

Swamp (pond) + "No, I can't feel anything"

3271 Words; Coleverlord, 7 and 2 years pre-canon

TW for drowning, attempted filicide, near-death experiences, emotional manipulation, repeated use of bugs as symbolism

AO3 ver

“Lilly, what were you thinking?”

The words were spoken in a low hiss, almost inaudible to Cole as he approached the kitchen. He came to stop just before the doorway as his mother’s voice filtered out into the hall.

“That’s not—I’m only doing what I have to.” She said, sounding strained, and Cole shuffled forwards nervously. He leaned around the frame and peered through the doorway.

+=+=+=+=+

The rock overturned, shedding light on the creatures below.

The afternoon sun shone bright overhead, while the soil beneath the mud was soft and damp. Cole stared as a particularly large roly-poly crawled along the underside of the rock. A centipede scurried away from the light to another rock to hide under, and Cole shoved his hand into the dirt—there!

Cole yanked the worm out of the dirt and held it, looking it over as it wriggled. The eight year old left the rock upside-down as he stood to go find his mom, intent on showing her his prize.

+=+=+=+=+

The waiting room smelled vaguely floral, in a way that Cole wasn’t sure was from perfume or cleaning products. There weren’t many other people here besides him and his dad—just another visitor talking quietly with the receptionist.

Cole wasn’t entirely sure why he was even here. It was a weekend, and he had dance practice in two hours, and there wasn’t really much to do here in the waiting room—which added up to one bored thirteen year old. Still, his dad had insisted, and there wasn’t much else Cole could do; it got him out of the house in a way that his lack of friends couldn’t do.

(The garden pond had been empty for years now.)

Eventually, a nurse came along, standing before them with a warm smile. It scrabbled at the back of Cole’s mind, and the nurse twitched before sliding their eyes away from Cole and onto his dad.

“She’s ready for visitors, right this way.”

+=+=+=+=+

She had been acting kind of… different, lately, though Cole couldn’t really pinpoint when the changes started. But it felt like she looked at him less, or kept ending conversations early. She was going on more of her trips, too, and telling him less about her adventures when she got back. It felt… Cole frowned, then shrugged, leaning to look around one of his mom’s prized rose bushes.

(It felt cold, like a whisper in his mind. But when Cole reached out for his mother so she could banish that shadow creeping up his back—

She turned away.)

+=+=+=+=+

Both of his parents were backlit by the setting sun through the window over the sink, casting shadows that reached the door. They moved like a dance—constantly responding to each other, movements made in tandem. Cole had never seen his parents dance like this, though, all tense and angry.

(And he was the cause of that, wasn’t he?)

“By trying to drown our son?!” His dad’s voice was low, trembling, on the verge of spilling out to a yell. Cole had seen his dad upset, and disappointed, and worried before—but never quite like this, never quite so unsteady.

+=+=+=+=+

There she was, kneeling by the pond she had dug a few years ago. She was wearing that sunhat dad had gotten her for her birthday, the one that Cole had helped him pick out, with the shiny fake beetle settled among pretty fake flowers along the band. She was humming, a tune Cole recognized from one of dad’s songs, and Cole grinned.

“Momma, look!” Where a year ago Cole would have run right up to his mom without hesitation, now he approached more carefully.

His mom’s gaze snapped up from the dandelion she had been carefully digging out to him, eyes wide for a moment before they narrowed. “Cole.” She greeted, not unkindly—she hadn’t called him her little Pebble in a while. Cole was sure it was because he was almost nine—his mom must have thought him too old for baby nicknames. She smiled, but made no further movement towards Cole. The dandelion in her hands twisted slightly.

+=+=+=+=+

The halls of the place had the same vaguely floral scent as the waiting room, but with a more chemical undertone. So probably cleaning products. Ants marched a spiral under Cole’s skin, cobwebs at the edge of his vision. The nurse picked up the pace.

Finally, with his dad’s hand on his shoulder, they made it to room 424. The nurse scurried off, and Cole’s dad took the first step through the doorway, to the room beyond.

After a moment, Cole followed, shadows thick around his ankles.

(Cole still hated going out to the garden if he could help it.)

+=+=+=+=+

“Look!” Cole proudly showed off what he had managed to find, opening his hand so his mom could see the worm in full. “That’s another one for the compost bin, right?” He wasn’t sure why it felt like his mom was drifting away, lately, but she was still his mom. She’d always love him—of that he was sure.

“Oh, that’s nice of you,” His mom agreed, then, “but the compost bin has enough worms.” She gripped the stem of the dandelion a little tighter, and added, “Why don’t you put the worm back where you found it? We wouldn’t want it to dry out.”

+=+=+=+=+

“That’s not my son!” His mother argued, gripping the counter with enough force to crack it. “That—that’s not Cole.” She repeated, her whole body wound up like a spring. “That—that thing—can’t you see our son is gone?”

(What had Cole done wrong?)

“Lilly…” Cole watched as his dad reached out, hand ghosting over his mother’s shoulder before retreating. “My love, you’re not well.” He sighed, muttering something Cole didn’t catch.

Cole flinched back as sudden pain spiked in his head. The shadows creeping into the hall seemed to melt, something clawing its way towards his parents. They didn’t notice the motion, didn’t react to the creeping crawling clawing in their shadows—

+=+=+=+=+

“Oh.” Well, it was still a cool worm, so it wasn’t like Cole had really wasted his mom’s time. “Okay.” He turned around to go find that rock, worm in hand. His mom watched him go, and her gaze felt like a shadow scurrying up Cole’s neck.

Cole returned to the rocks to find most of the revealed critters had either gone further into the dirt or under other rocks. Cole hummed as he scraped out a small depression in the soil with his fingers, then he gently set the worm into it. “Eat lots of dirt and keep the soil healthy, okay?” He covered the worm with loose soil, patted it for luck, then slowly reset the rock so that the spot was covered again.

+=+=+=+=+

His mother smiled warmly. She looked different than Cole remembered, much of her strength lost to illness. She also seemed… shorter.

You’ve gotten taller, Vessel.

Oh, yeah that.

Cole glanced at his dad, who nodded towards Cole’s mother. After a moment, Cole approached, something squirming in his chest. His mother opened her mouth to speak—

Only to be cut off by a cough that made her shoulders heave and shake. Cole’s chest itched, a little like a burn but not quite.

How far the mighty have fallen.

+=+=+=+=+

Cole wandered around for a bit, poking at the soil between the rocks and looking for weeds to pull, dirt on his hands and knees getting smeared onto his arms and shins—somehow. It wasn’t like he was trying to get covered in dirt, it just sort of happened. Much to his dad’s chagrin and mom’s amusement—though the last time Cole had unthinkingly tracked mud into the house, his dad fretting and asking him to please go wash his hands before dinner, his mom hadn’t said a thing.

As Cole wandered around, he ended up somewhere behind his mom, who had moved on to inspecting her roses while Cole began to dig at the soil where he was sitting. After digging and covering a few holes, his mom had ended up standing by the pond again, bending down to look at the water while Cole hummed.

+=+=+=+=+

His mother pulled back sharply. “I’m fine.” She said, harsher than Cole had ever heard her talk to his dad.

(Why didn’t his mother want him anymore?)

“Lilly,” His dad was speaking through grit teeth, “I came home to find you drowning Cole in the pond.” He grabbed at her arm. “You’re not well.” His expression softened, for a moment, and he stepped forwards. “My love—”

“Don’t call me that.” Cole’s mother snapped, shadow clawing up her back. Cole’s head pounded.

+=+=+=+=+

“Cole?” His mom’s voice floated over to where Cole was, soft and… nahh, Cole was just imagining that uncertainty. His mom fought dragons; she could never be uncertain!

“Yeah?” Cole asked, looking up from the hole he’d been digging—and then moving to put the soil back real quick before standing up.

“Can you come here?” His mom wasn’t looking at him, instead staring at the water. Cole stared at the floral print of her shirt—old and faded from time; she’d had that shirt for as long as Cole could remember and often wore it when gardening—at the sunlight on her back. It looked much warmer than the shadow he could feel clinging to his—even though the sun was beaming down onto Cole all the same.

+=+=+=+=+

His dad’s hand on his back prompted Cole to shuffle forwards, close enough to the bed for him to see his mother clearly. There was a chair there—one of his dad’s jackets was slung over the back. It was the only chair, but Cole took it at his dad’s prompting.

The shadow in his mind raised Its hackles. Cole stared at his mother—he wasn’t sure what else to do. He hadn’t seen her since…

(rough rock against his shins cold water around his chest and head and arms face pressed into the mud chest burning—)

Shh, hush now.

The memory fled to the back of his mind. Cole shifted in his seat as his mother and dad greeted each other.

+=+=+=+=+

Cole stood as his mom’s words registered. The shadow at his heels hissed, cold around Cole’s ankles. For a moment he felt held in place, before he shook it off. “Yeah, Momma?” He walked over to stand at his mom’s side, a thin line of stones separating him from the pond. “What’d you need?”

One moment he was standing next to the river-smooth rocks lining the edge of the pond, his mother kneeling next to him. And then he was under the pond water, his legs folded under him as a heavy hand pushed him down by his shoulders.

+=+=+=+=+

Cole stumbled back, away from the door and the way his parents were moving together like a dance except wrong, away away away until he was in his bedroom and the kitchen felt like a distant memory.

Light from the setting sun filtered in, hazy through the thin curtains. Cole flicked the light switch, but it did nothing to banish the shadows dancing at the corners of his vision. His head swam, and he swallowed hard.

(What was wrong with him?)

+=+=+=+=+

Cole sputtered, palms smacking against the mud at the bottom of the pond as he tried to push himself out. The hands on his shoulders only pushed harder, impossibly heavy against his back. Cole squirmed, holding his breath as he tried to—to wiggle free, or push himself up—

The mud at the bottom of the pond was very soft, and very slick. Tiny fish scattered away from Cole’s thrashing, and he couldn’t breathe—

Momma where are you come help—

Cole struggled, but the hands on his back pushed down harder, his nose inches away from the mud at the bottom of the pond. Why wasn’t—where was—his mom had just been right there, how was he—

Momma, I’m scared.

+=+=+=+=+

“And how have you been?” It took Cole a moment to realize his mother was talking to him. Something about her words made him uneasy, isopods scuttling around his organs. His dad had stepped out of the room at some point, though Cole had no idea why.

“Fine.” Cole answered, not sure what else to say.

(She’d said he wasn’t his son.)

“That’s… good.” Was his mother getting nervous? Well, that wasn’t unusual—Cole had that effect on people.

(“You’re a freak.” An upended milk carton soaking into his hair and shirt—)

“Are you… doing well in school?” His mother asked. “I…” her lips pursed, “heard you got into a fight.”

“They started it.” Cole responded, pulling his legs up and folding them in front of his chest, resting his chin on his knees. Worms wiggled up his spine. “I finished it.”

(Between talking to classmates and being left alone, Cole preferred being left alone.)

+=+=+=+=+

Cole gasped, water rushing in as he inhaled against his will. He tried to kick his legs, but couldn’t quite manage it with how they had buckled under him. Cold water rushed down his throat, burning into his lungs—

Cole choked. The hands on his back leaked cold shadows that crawled all over his body, whispers slinking around behind his eyes like roly-polys under the rocks. He was too tired to thrash, now, his chest burning burning burning as cold spilled out from his core. The hands on his back pulled back, for a brief moment, then shoved down with such force that Cole’s face was pressed into the mud, cold water crawling up his legs towards his ankles.

Momma, I ‘ m s c a r e d—

The heavy shadows at his back shifted. Cole drifted, not quite aware as something burst into the water and grabbed his shoulders. The new hands yanked, and Cole came up out of the mud and then the water, hair plastered to his forehead.

Cole stumbled backwards, warm arms wrapping around him. Someone was talking, but Cole couldn’t quite hear it through the rushing in his ears and the shadow clawing up his chest and the whispers in his throat. Something inside him seemed to shift—

Cole vomited, hacking up water. His chest burned, muddy pond water dribbling from his lips down his chin onto the rocks before him as he coughed and coughed and coughed.

+=+=+=+=+

His head hurt. The shadows swirled, cascading across his room. It sounded like whispers. It sounded like too many ants marching along, every footstep magnified so that he could hear it. Cole rubbed at his arms, brushed still-damp hair away from his forehead—it wasn’t enough. There was something creeping up his back and arms and neck and chest, something clawing at his ribs from the inside.

Cole stumbled back, legs catching on his bed. He laid there, staring up at the ceiling, at the way the shadows interlaced with the light of the setting sun.

The shadow creeping up his back curled around his shoulders like a blanket made from the twitching legs of a thousand house centipedes. Like a spider, something crawled along the inside of his head as whispers blinked in and out of Cole’s vision.

There is nothing wrong with you, Vessel.

Cole blinked. He glanced around, looking for the source of the voice—

His head wrenched to the side as if pulled by some invisible hand, locking his gaze on the mirror on his closet door.

+=+=+=+=+

The smear of colors that was the world started to resolve itself; Cole’s dad was staring at him, hair ruffled and chest heaving.

Cole’s head hurt. Water had soaked into all of his clothes, cold and heavy. His mom said something sharply behind him, and Cole’s head twisted to look back at her of its own accord.

Her hands were soaked, and her shirt must have been splashed at some point, splattered with wet spots. There was mud on her knees, and her sunhat had fallen off at some point, some of her hair having fallen loose from its bun.

+=+=+=+=+

His mother smiled. It was clearly strained. Cole stared at her, a million ants marching around in his skull. Shadows clung to the walls like cobwebs, slowly dripping down and reaching for his mother. He wondered why his dad had stepped out of the room—was his mother really doing that much better, now that she didn’t have to look at him?

Well. Better being a relative term—she was still sick and slowly dying, but at least she could look at him without wanting to shove him in the nearest body of water.

His mother looked away, her breaths coming in stuttered and shaky. So… not doing better, then.

Of course not. Get away from her, Vessel. She will only bring you to ruin.

His mother grabbed for her panic button, shadows clawing at the bed from all sides. Cole’s head pounded in a distant sort of way, millions of skittering spiders creeping under his skin. He wrapped his arms around his knees, curling up tighter as though it might somehow save him from the crushing pressing in on all sides—

And then his dad’s hand was back on Cole’s shoulder, and Cole was being led out of the room while his mother struggled to breathe through painful-sounding coughs and her own panic. Cole let himself be shuffled down the hall, chest wound tight the entire way to the waiting room.

His dad looked pained. “She had been doing so well…” he mumbled, not quite low enough for Cole not to hear.

Cole grimaced. His head stopped throbbing, the ants and the spiders and the centipedes and the worms and the isopods and the bees and the flies coming to a rest, shadows receding to the very edges of his vision.

It clawed at his brain, hissing reassurance while Cole sat in the waiting room. His dad had gone back, leaving Cole alone except for the receptionist, who was busy with her computer and didn’t really count.

(He preferred to be left alone—though, in truth, Cole was never alone.)

+=+=+=+=+

Cole’s dad gave him one more smack on the back, and Cole coughed up spit and water. His dad’s hands were also wet, but they weren’t heavy against Cole’s back.

Something tickled at the back of Cole’s head. His eyes slipped closed, the world blurring around him as shadows danced across his vision. His parents were—they were saying stuff to each other, but Cole couldn’t make out the words. His father’s tie became a smear of color against his suit.

Cole slumped forwards, shadows filling his vision.

+=+=+=+=+

His eyes looked… funny. Not quite right. There was something fuzzy in Cole’s head, something slithering around inside his skull, leaching out from his eyes to cradle his head. Cole tried to look away, but his head wouldn’t move at all.

(Cold mud against his face and water in his chest—)

Shh, hush now.

The memory retreated back to the eves of Cole’s mind, hidden under crawling shadow as Cole continued to stare at his reflection. The voice in his head crooned, a lilting melody filling Cole’s ears.

You have done nothing wrong, Vessel.

The voice… it sounded right. It felt like flies buzzing inside his skull, but—

Cole’s head pounded, but the pain was distant, now. The lingering burn in his chest faded, and Cole watched, disinterested, as the shadows in his reflection shifted into a smiling face. His worry melted away.

The sun had set to the point where barely any light was filtering into Cole’s room, now, and he could hardly see his reflection in the gloom. But two glowing points in the mirror grinned at him, shadows carding through still-damp hair.

Cole’s eyes slipped closed, shadows filling his vision.

5 notes · View notes

lobstermatriarch · 4 months ago

Text

I believe I may have a job

#hooray and also fuck #it's not hospice anymore which fucking sucks #but the other offers i got had the most unreasonable expectations :/#this at least a) is stable and b) has the promise of expanding back into hospice eventually

3 notes · View notes

scattered-winter · 1 year ago

Text

brain is oscillating wildly between voltron rwby au and voltron running au but i am writing neither of them </3 and quintenary stars is on the brain always but i'm not writing that either </3

#i DID prep some canvases for painting today tho....#haven't painted traditionally in. holy shit. since before mom went on hospice #so it was good to get my paint out again even if it was just white #i carved out a little studio spot in the basement and im hoping to paint more often. i got some canvases from work for very cheap <3 #and i also want to write more but. we'll see how that one goes.#i was doing so well with qs i had an update almost weekly but now it's been months <//////3 #which is fair considering everything i've been dealing with but still <//////3 my fanned fiction.......#anyway. tentatively i am hoping to at least have the update WRITTEN if not posted by the new year #but i make no promises.#winter speaks #i have paint on my hands......such a good feeling i've missed it #sometimes u gotta just get covered in paint. for mental health

5 notes · View notes

trippingthemoonlightfantastic · 6 months ago

Text

May 22nd,

My mom is home! She qualified for home hospice. Her dementia is profound enough that I can get some support with meds and a weekly visiting nurse. However she's been insanely energetic. She's taken her bandages off every time I leave the room. She's very active and is occupying all of my time keeping her from putting that energy into something destructive.

She is much better at home, much less fearful about everything, including walking to the bathroom, but I'm still not sleeping or able to get much done.

I still owe $1200 on my May rent. Apparently, my landlord came down from the mountains while we were in the hospital, looking for payment. I could really use some assistance getting stuff paid. I may not be drawing a paycheck but I promise I've never worked so hard at such stressful work in my life.

499 notes · View notes

the-moon-loves-the-sea · 1 month ago

Note

As someone about to be 24 in a few months, does it really get better the older you get? Genuinely confused and wondering because I feel like everyday I'm dragging my feet to just catch up to my peers -Sun

I promise, it really does. Our twenties are rough. That’s our very first decade on our own! You’re just getting started. And your peers who seem like they’re miles ahead of you aren’t really on the same path as you — not any more, not like when we were all in school and we had the same things to learn and the same few years to learn them in, and someone else would tell us when we were through. Now it’s all up to you what comes next.

So all of the ones who have lovers now, or their own place, or a bank account or a couple of dogs or a sense of personal style — none of them are on the same paths either. One of them will raise three kids and then years later start again with two more and do everything differently, and the first kids won’t know how to forgive them for it. And the one going on to their second degree will realize ten years later that they really hate the field they studied for. And they’ll decide to drink less or work less and have to live with the quiet when they slow down, and they’ll move in with their lovers and learn they don’t know anything yet about what they want in love or how to get it. Everyone starts over, over and over again. It’s not a race, it’s a rhythm.

But maybe you really are spinning your wheels and you don’t know how to get traction. How’s your depression? I needed meds, not the anti-anxiety meds they recommended me but proper adhd meds that took years to get. I needed my own space too. I needed new ideas. How kind are the people around you? Do they think good things about you? Are they constantly in crises? Does hearing them stop you from hearing yourself? I had to leave my hometown. I had to unlearn a lot. If you can’t leave, can you find one new person? One quiet place to think? One new author, one new song that’s angrier or lovelier that you can dance to at night or sing to yourself through a long day?

Did things get bad when you were still a kid? You might need extra time with the part of your mind that got stuck young and scared. Somatic therapy is really good. Music helps, and green space, and time working with someone who needs your company — kids or animals or older patients. Most schools and hospice programs need helpers. Making things for yourself helps too — trying until you learn what you like to write or eat or plant, not because it’s mature but because it’s yours.

And maybe you’re actually quite good at some things that you haven’t noticed because they feel easy to learn. How’s your photography, your writing, your memorization, your patience with small kids or spreadsheets or cleaning the little corners of a place? Maybe you don’t know; maybe it’ll take time to find out. If you’ve been diagnosed with anything like neurodivergence or chronic pain, the nearest town to you might have a vocational rehab center that’ll work with you to find your strengths and work you can do.

Anyway, I’m proud of you. You’re looking for hope. There is as much that’s good in the world as all the bad, and some of it is near you. I hope you know you belong here and we need you.

#all the love to you #asks #my god we’ve all been 23 and it is not!!! easy!!!!

156 notes · View notes

skele-bunny · 3 months ago

Text

CW - MENTIONS OF DEATH

(but this is a fluff post! I promise!)

So, we know about quints being assigned to the hospital, of course, yes!

But what about fire ghouls?

Fire ghouls who are usually seen in the intensive units. Being the ones to have skin-to-skin with the kits and infants in the NICU as baby huggers/kangaroos. Holding them so securely and being a part of their every day routine, comfort, and care.

Fire ghouls who are in the ICU rubbing coma patients legs and arms to keep blood flow going but not too much to disrupt their cold-care for healing.

Fire ghouls who hold hospice patients to soothe their death-cold tremors, letting them have that relaxation and sweet comfort; even as it's their last breath and last time they close their eyes.

Fire ghouls who lay delicately against hypothermic patients as they lay underneath their warming blanket to help raise their temperature and keep them at a safe level.

Fire ghouls also seen in the physical therapy unit (along with waters) to help ease pains and stiffness, cramps, and just general pains.

#the band ghost #ghost band #rabrev writing #nameless ghouls #cw mention of death

107 notes · View notes

am-i-the-asshole-official · 10 months ago

Note

AITA for not helping my family pay for hospital bills?

🎷🔥 so i can find it later

This is going to need a lot of context right off the bat. I (20'sM) am a gay man that comes from an extremely conservative family. My sister (20'sF) is also a lesbian and recently got married and adopted a child. I'm very proud of her, but that's not the issue.

My parents seem to have little to no issue with my sister marrying a woman. They do have a very big issue with me liking dudes, however. Like, it was the reason my parents got divorced "big issue." I'm not gonna go into everything, but my sister ended up with my dad and I stayed with my mom for reasons I'd rather not share.

Our last parting was on... less than decent terms. Upon finding out that I was of the homosexual variety, my dad flipped his lid. He called me several slurs and said some other very hurtful things, and even made moves to physically attack me. My mom, also a very homophobic woman, stepped in and thankfully talked him down. Then divorce, etc etc.

I saved up enough money to move out when I turned 18 and may have done some impulsive things including completely trashing my mom's bathroom, which I know I'm definitely the asshole for, but in my defense my mom kept "forgetting" to pick up my prescriptions and I was manic (I have bipolar). But, again, I know I'm the AH for that.

I now live with my two best friends R (20sNB) and P (20sM) in a house we all pay for. R comes from money so they help out a lot, and I love them both to death. We kind of have a sort of situationship but none of us are poly? Idk it's weird we're just going with it rn.

Anyway, I bring them up bc we all went to my sister's wedding together, and my parents separately chewed me out for bringing them (and for R daring to wear a dress. They're amab for context) and I obviously argued back bc hey they're my best friends and my sister specifically said it was okay for me to bring them (she and R are also friends and they wouldve been invited regardless of me bringing P) and also because R looks very good in a dress and i can handle them shit-talking me but i will not tolerate slander towards R or P.

At the wedding, I went full no contact with them and told them to lose my number. They, ofc, did Not lose my number and I got several calls from extended family saying about what you would expect them to say, so I switched numbers and gave only my sister and her wife my new number.

My sister. I love her to pieces but sometimes she gets on my nerves. She gives my number to my mom to have "just in case," but she reassures me that she won't give it to my dad or any other family. So far, she's made good on that promise, I just have to deal with periodic calls about getting a girlfriend and having kids.

Now, my dad isn't the healthiest guy out there. He has arthritis, osteoporosis, and several other things that i don't really wanna get into. As he's aged he's only gotten worse and there have been several times he's almost died, but recently he's been put on hospice and has an estimated Not Very Long to live.

Here's where I may be the AH. My dad calls me while I'm at a very important, personal event for R (he got my number from my mom) and goes on a long rant on how I'm an unlovable disgrace and how he fed me and clothed me and I could make up for all that by helping him pay off hospital debt. I say no immediately and tell him that he's never been my dad, only my dna donor, and that he's going to be dead anyway and that selling his house could cover all the bills. He calls me many more names and tells me he wishes I was never born (calling my mom some very derogatory names too (she's asian)) and that i should just go ahead and off myself to save the world someone like me. I tell him he should die faster while he's at it because God knows the world already has enough bigots in it and there could never be too many mentally ill queers.

I hung up, but now I'm thinking I went a bit too far. AITA for not helping out with his hospital bills and yelling at him?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

400 notes · View notes

relenafanel · 1 month ago

Text

Another crossposted threadfic:

A wangxian time travel Marry My Husband (kdrama) AU where wei ying is dying in a hospice, but before he does he decides he wants to see his sister again in person, not over video chat. She is very pregnant and very at risk and can’t make the trip.

It’s his final wish. (He ‘jailbreaks’)

Getting there isn’t easy. His body is weak and movement hurts, but his stubbornness gets him to the train station. Sitting on the train allows him to rest.

He’s not completely aware of his taxi ride to his sister’s, but he dreams of his mom telling him she’ll take care of him.

That she’s sending him a present to make sure he’s alright. He just needs to see it.

He gets to his sister’s and something is very wrong. At first he thinks it’s the baby, but he gets a glimpse of her horrified face, men in masks

And a gun.

He’s falling. Everything goes black.

He wakes up a decade in the past.

He’s still at his old job, the one at Lan Industries that he loved. It’s years before he was fired for stealing a coworker’s work.

He realizes he has a mystery to solve. More than one. Who claimed his work was stolen? Who killed him?

But, more time-sensitive, he needs to remember enough of his life to not alarm anyone

He remembers Lan Zhan as being a tough boss. He is tough. He’s unamused when wy makes a scene at his desk when his desk neighbor gropes him, forgetting they dated around this time

He does ask if wy wants to submit an HR report while handing his ice for his knuckles.

wy: no, I think we’re dating. We are dating, right?

lz: I believe you broke up?

wy, pretty sure it was on again: well we’re for sure broken up NOW

lz: Mn.

The closer wy gets to lz, the more he feels like there’s… something.

There’s also something very shady going on at the office in secret, and he can’t put his finger on what it is.

And now he needs to figure out what and also avoid whatever got him sick in the first place

A lot to do for a very busy time traveller!

And then lz makes a reference to an international incident that happens 3 years in the future

And

Oh. His mother had made a promise.

(og thread on X)

#relenafanel writes threadfic #relenafanel writes wangxian #wangxian #mdzs #look I cannot explain why my brain suddenly went into creative mode after being empty for years but 🤷‍♀️

63 notes · View notes

read-write-thrive · 3 months ago

Text

part 1

“Waiting for the other shoe to drop”, while pessimistic, seemed to be a running theme in Charles Rowland’s life. It wasn’t really a phrase he heard when he was alive, to be fair, but at some point he’d come across it (probably hanging out with too many Americans, but can’t remember for sure) and it felt a little too much accurate. His dad’s come home angry again? Time to wait for the fallout. He’d gotten written up at school for not paying attention? Just a disaster waiting to happen. He goes against his best mate’s advice? There he goes, literally torn from Charles’s arms and back to hell, just as he’d said. Maybe the last one was a little dramatic, but that’s the gist.

The looming anxiety of it all usually slid off of him for the minor stuff, and was otherwise bottled up and shoved far away for the heavier stuff, but regardless he didn’t let it show. Have to keep up appearances and all. He’d only had one real instance of all those emotions blowing up (and he still blames the Night Nurse for all that mess) so he thought he was doing a bang-up job keeping himself together.

That was until his dad died. Yeah, it was rough, and he ended up berating the old man on his death bed, which probably was a shitty thing to do. And yeah, he’d needed a bit of a cry afterwards. So what? Blokes cried sometimes, and he was man enough to admit to his emotions and all that. The girls had done a good job of emphasising that he (and, mostly, Edwin) needed to express their emotions more. That it was healthier to let it out than bottle it all up. Not sure if they still needed healthy habits as ghosts, but it wasn’t hurting anyone. Just a little uncomfortable.

All that to say, it felt like his friends had been treading on eggshells around him ever since his dad died. Which was infuriating, yeah, but also didn’t make sense to him. Especially after he’d already cried—did they expect him to get angry again? To blow up over a dead man? He thought he’d gotten it out of his system just fine, so getting these weird vibes was starting to stress him out more than anything. He’d resolved to bring it up on their next movie night and ask why they were acting funny—didn’t want to mess up a case, after all.

However, he didn’t get the chance before it all came crashing down on his head. Ultimately, Edwin was the messenger.

“Charles, I—“ he took an unnecessary breath, “Have you checked on your mother lately?”

His undead heart went cold, but his default smiley ways were still stuck on, “Not really, why?”

Edwin’s eyes were sad, which was never good. He didn’t emote unless it was serious, “I think you need to visit her. She’s not faring well.”

And so they went. Turns out everyone hadn’t been waiting for Charles to blow up, but rather for his mother to pass and then for him to break down all over again. Edwin had been checking on her daily since his father’s passing, deducing correctly that Charles would be too swept up in the emotions around his dad dying to remember that his mum wasn’t getting any younger.

The girls weren’t free until the evening, but they promised to stay in touch and maybe visit later if they could (particularly if they could figure out how to visit the Hospice without rousing suspicion). And so Edwin and Charles were on their own.

Charles had rushed into the room, as if running at the issue would evade the emotions of it, or as if getting there quickly would reveal it was all a lie—neither of which were true.

Instead, he was face to face with a dying woman with some resemblance to the photo on the mantle in the house he grew up in—his grandmother, or maybe his great grandmother, or some favourite aunt, he couldn’t remember anymore— hair gone fully white, pulled back into a tight bun so as to keep her curls controlled, keeping her gaunt, sleeping face exposed. Unlike that photo, this woman was in a hospital gown, tucked into sterile sheets, with a tube under her nose to help her breathe. Gone were her usually loud and ornate earrings, her bare fingernails stained from years of colour. There was a singular blanket laid across her lap, on top of the sheets, that almost looked more familiar than the woman it covered. It was her, but apparently he hadn’t stopped to just look at her any time recently, if ever. It felt too much like looking at a ghost, as ironic as that felt.

She was awake, but halfway to dozing. There was someone at her side, adjusting the blanket and murmuring reassurances in what was definitely Punjabi. It had been so long since he’d heard it, added to having never properly learned anything besides English under the threat of his father, that he couldn’t make out the words. That realisation left a stinging feeling in his chest.

“A relation of yours?” Edwin asked at a whisper, coming up to stand beside Charles, almost entirely copying his position from that fateful hospital room. It didn’t seem as if either of the room’s living occupants had noticed them.

Charles blindly reached for Edwin’s hand for comfort, not looking away from the scene in front of him and matching his partner’s volume, “No idea. Don’t think I’ve seen them before.”

Edwin hummed, “Perhaps a little too young to have met you. Or someone your mother reconnected with recently—“

“I’m not really in the mood for deductions, love.” Charles said, not unkindly. Everything felt too fragile to be picked apart like that.

“Right. Apologies.” Edwin squeezed his hand and went quiet.

Charles squeezed his hand back in forgiveness, joining in the silence. He kept going back to what the stranger was saying, familiar consonants both soothing and devastating. What kind of a son was he, failing to comfort his dying mother, unable to speak her mother tongue, a stranger to his relatives? His tears were thankfully silent.

It took much longer for his mother to see them than his father. Several days passed, with the mystery relative coming and going more days than not, and the usual nurses and caregivers administering various care. Over time, the boys (the girls couldn’t figure out how to enter the space, but were supportive from their distance) had learned that the stranger’s name was Sangeeta, and she was a niece of his mother’s who’d noticed her steady decline and was the one to take her to hospital and then to hospice care. Charles’s mother had apparently stopped taking care of herself after her husband’s death, and she had refused other care, so at this point all they could do was make her comfortable. Charles spent a whole morning ranting to Edwin about it, how unfair it was that her life was so tied up in his asshole father’s that she wasn’t even trying to live after he was gone. Edwin, the deeply kind person he was, had let Charles rant until he ran out of steam, then gently pointed out that she’d been under the thumb of his father for far longer than Charles was, and that she’d now had to mourn her husband and her only child, which presumably takes a toll. Charles had started crying before Edwin had even finished talking, and Edwin had held him close on the plush sofa for the rest of the day.

It was hard to tell if it was a comfort or not when she finally saw them, but Charles decided that wasn’t important to think about right now, if ever. Right now, his mother could see him for the first time in forty years, and they didn’t know for how much longer. And yet, with all this time to prepare, he still found himself speechless when the time finally came.

“Mere laal,” She beat him to the punch, eyes glazed over but clearly locked on Charles, “I am glad to see you again, beta. It’s been so long.”

Charles let out a shakey breath, “Hi, mum. It’s—well— it’s been longer for you. I’ve visited a few times, over the years.”

She reached out a sinewy hand on a bone-thin arm, and Charles flew to the seat by her side, keeping his focus to make sure his hand stayed solid in her grasp. He vaguely noticed Edwin taking the seat beside him.

“Such a handsome boy. You were so young.” Tears welled up in her eyes.

Charles, all anxious energy and nerves, tears of his own threatening to spill, was quick to respond, “It’s alright, mum, I’m alright. No need to cry over me.”

She huffed, “Nonsense. You were the light of my life. Who else should I cry over?”

They were both crying at this point, tears streaming as they sniffled in turns. Edwin laid a careful hand on Charles’s back in a show of comfort.

However, that seemed to give Charles an idea, “No, really mum, it’s okay! See the bloke next to me? His name’s Edwin, and he’s been by my side all these years! He’s the one who first found me, and we’ve been helping people ever since. It’s been aces. Not sad one bit.”

Edwin stiffened at the mention, then all but froze when her eyes turned to him. He knew he looked night and day from Charles, and if he started talking she was bound to find him as abrasive as everyone always did, so why had Charles pointed him out!? If ghosts could sweat, Edwin would be drowning in his nerves.

Her gaze stayed on him for a long moment before she broke the silence, “He’s been good to you? Not like those other boys.”

Edwin wasn’t sure what to do with that, but thankfully Charles was quick on the uptake, “Not like them at all. He’s— he’s the best, mum. None of those tossers could even compare.”

“Because the boys— the ones who—“

Charles gripped her hand, “I know, I know. He’s a genuinely good person, Edwin. I was bad at picking friends in life, but thankfully I chose well with this one.”

His attempt at joking was overlooked completely by her, “Those boys, how could they do that? I knew their families, John Parish��s mother went to your funeral… Such cruel boys…”

“I’m alright, mum, I’m okay.” Charles kept going, smiling even as the tears continued, “It’s all in the past.”

“I should’ve fought harder for you… kept you close… mere laal, taken from me…” She was sobbing, her whole frame shaking with hiccoughs.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Charles took a steadying breath, “You know I couldn’t have stayed in that house, mum. And no one could’ve known those lads would go that far…”

Her sobs were worse for a moment, then stilled suddenly as she fought for oxygen. She coughed weakly.

At that, Charles’s crying intensified, despite all he did to keep himself together. He could tell. He knew what was coming. It was still devastating to see. Edwin pulled him in for a proper side hug, taking care not to jostle his grip on his mum.

This did not go unnoticed, and the dying woman suddenly smiled, as if the devastation was forgotten with the oxygen. She looked back to her son, “I am glad you have been happy, beta. You deserved happiness.”

“I’m happy, I’ve been so happy mum, I promise,” Charles tried to calm himself down, stuck in his reassuring her.

“Mere laal, light of my life, darling boy,” She breathed with difficulty, smile dropping, “Can you forgive me? I failed you…”

Charles’s frame shook with his vigorous nodding, “I forgive you, mum, you did the best you could, I love you so much—“

Her weak smile returned, glinting in the lamplight of the evening room, “Thank you, beta. You were too good for me, for this world…”

“All because of you, I swear it, all thanks to you—“

“Charles.”

“I love you, I’m sorry I wasn’t a better son, I’m could’ve been better, gotten you out of that house—“

“Charles, darling.”

“You deserved better, I love you, I forgive you—“

“My love, the light—“

Edwin was right, a deep blue light had filled the space, illuminating the still body of his mother. Her face was pulled into a slight smile, eyes closed, as if she was having a pleasant dream, even as the tear tracks dried on her cheeks.

“No, no I’m not ready—“ Charles immediately started to protest, gripping onto her hand like a lifeline.

“Charles—“

“I only just got to see her! She only just got free of him! No, no, I won’t—“

Edwin gently but solidly grabbed under Charles’s arms, “I’m sorry my love but we should go—“

Charles was nothing but hysterics by this point, head thudding onto the sheets for a moment before Edwin fully pulled him away. He said more, but Charles was too overwhelmed to process it properly, buzzing in his ears and headache behind his eyes making him feel alive in all the worst ways. Maybe it was just the first time he had cried this hard in his afterlife, or maybe being this close to an active death did something to their physiology—

Everything was a blur as they returned to the flat, Edwin all but carrying him through the mirror so that he wouldn’t get lost on the way. They collapsed onto the sofa, extra large cushions taken up by their ghostly presences. The girls were already there, and joined into the cuddle pile without another word (or perhaps with a few, Charles still wasn’t all there yet). Edwin jostled them all slightly to better position everyone before settling in again, making sure Charles was properly surrounded.

Charles sobbed for a while longer. He wasn’t quite sure for how long, or what day it was, or if he was bothering his friends by taking up their time and space like this. His devastation had seemed to take over his entire being. But, when he did breathe a little easier, when he was finally able to sit up, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. His mom was dead, yes, but so was he, and dying had granted them both freedom from that man, from that house, from the cruelties of the world. And in his death he was surrounded by people who loved him, people who were there for him when he needed them and would still be there for him tomorrow, and the next, and the next. The other shoe had dropped, and it certainly hurt, but thankfully he had people around him to help him through it. He was truly lucky to have them.

hope you enjoyed this impromptu series exploring Charles and his parents and grief and loss and all those lovely things. this was inspired by the complicated emotions I have / had after my grandparents passing, and I heavily encourage you to do something similar if you’re ever struggling with these big emotions—therapists and such will say that journaling is where it’s at, but sometimes it’s easier to project onto fictional characters and that’s ok !!! and, just to drive the point home, I want to reiterate that you are loved, and there are people around you who are there to support you, I promise ❤️

also, just to make it abundantly clear, I’m a v white midwestern american and as such have vvv limited knowledge of cultural aspects of Charles’s mom—I did research and tried my best, but if I screwed anything up PLEASE let me know so I can fix it!!!!! same goes for Britishisms ig but mostly looking for feedback on her Punjabi and her various cultural elements :)

63 notes · View notes

pyrrhiccomedy · 4 months ago

Note

I've been following your Heretic updates and I've been wondering, are the Hours akin to forces of nature - or they beings with desires and fears that are simply too alien for humans to comprehend?

They are beings with desires and fears that are for the most part completely comprehensible. Mother White is the only alien one. They are also forces of nature. The Hours are the aeonic powers that hold the universe together, and maintain an order in which life and the pursuit of apotheosis are possible. Their passions, rages, promises and burdens configure and power the architecture of the universe.

You know what, let's actually run through them.

The Madrugad (the First Hour) is the Hour of the Passage. She ensures that one side of a doorway connects to the other. She also presides over the passage from life to death (and back, if she allows it). She is invoked for summonings and resurrection magic. She attends the Sun-In-Rags in hospice, preventing him from passing into death. She is remote and solemn but broadly benevolent, though not necessarily generous.

The Queen-In-Chains (the Second Hour) is the Prophet's Hour. She presides over all causality and the organization of time. She is completely insane, but probably knows everything, and can act with searing and bewildering precision when she launches some petitioner on a called shot through the butterfly effect.

The Stranger (the Third Hour) is the Hour of Deception. She presides over everything that is unknown, and protects the secrecy of everything which should remain unknown. She's one of the three gods of the Wood, and is generally a real jerk. Trickster gods are almost universally manifestations of the Stranger. Her sister is the Ring-Yew, and the pair generally cooperate when called upon to do so. She is engaged in a friendly rivalry with the Black Captain.

The Rending (the Fourth Hour) is the Hour of Annihilation. He is the destroyer. Rage, cruelty, and pestilence are his offices. He wants to hurt you before you die. He loves the Sunflower King, and inflicts endless torments upon him to express his love. Doesn't really have a bone to pick with any particular other Hour. He intends to kill them all equally.

The Kithmark (the Fifth Hour) is the Hour of the Inner Reach. He maintains the boundary between 'you' and everything that is not 'you.' A lot of yogic practices get into Kithmark veneration. Mostly keeps to himself but if you end up fucking around in Idless at all you'll probably become a big fan of him. He is working very hard all the time to prevent you from being colonized by invading intelligences.

The Pyre-Hawk (the Sixth Hour) is the Hour of Exultation. His office is purification and ascension. He's absolutely 100% of the time in a state of ecstatic joy, and you will be too, if you pursue his favor for long enough! Nobody has beef with the Pyre-Hawk. He's the life of the party and we're all thrilled he's here.

The Sunflower King (the Seventh Hour) is the Hour of Triumph. It is by his will that your will has the power to reshape the world around you. Even the physical laws of the universe give way before the will of the Sunflower King. Proud and resplendent, haughty and flensing, in his kingly greatness he submits to be Rended to spare all of creation from facing the same scourge. The most beloved of the Hours for the greatness of his sacrifice. The Madderblade is his guardian and knight. All hail.

The Madderblade (the Eighth Hour) is the Hour of Conquest & Reconciliation. The fusion and fission of every atom in the universe are only the echoes of her towering victories in both love and violence. She is glorious. She is always serving. She is the first force that ever slew an Hour. Her blade bit the heart of Mother White. The Black Captain wants to fuck her so bad it makes him look stupid. She loves him too. They've been in a state of relentless war ever since acknowledging their passion, to prevent themselves from committing the calamitous Sin of the Sky.

The Bent Minstrel (the Ninth Hour) is dead, which is very bad. He was the second of the three gods of the Wood, and presided over the movement of nature. People who know about this sort of thing generally speak well of his memory, although often in the same way that they call the fairies "the good neighbors." Wild Hunts and horned gods aside, he was the right Hour to pray to if you wanted your harvests to be plentiful and the weather to be good. He also inspired art & music, which he perceived to be just more manifestations of the weather. Mother White ate him.

The Ring-Yew (the Tenth Hour) is the Merciful Hour. Every lucky break you've ever gotten when the chips were down was thanks to her. She is the particular protector of children, prisoners, slaves, martyrs, animals, and the lost. She is the third god of the Wood, and by far the nicest one. Fortunate is he who glimpses the edge of her silver hand in his moment of despair, because a path to peace and freedom is about to open up before him. She is completely incapable of any kind of violence.

Mother White (the Eleventh Hour) is the Hour of Vibrance. Hers is the vital force which allows life to multiply and which reanimates the dead. She is constantly hungry and has no other motivation that anyone has ever been able to determine before she ate them. It's hard to even tell if she communicates, or if she's just mimicking communication in order to entice you to come close enough that she can get her jaws around you. She's an awful grub and probably unkillable, but who knows what she'd pupate into if she could ever get enough to eat? Maybe something that wouldn't be so alien and dangerous.

The Stone Beggar (the Twelfth Hour) is also dead, but it seems unlikely that he'll stay that way. He was the Hour of Inevitability, and presided over the turning wheel. His name is still invoked by revolutionaries, and cursed by those who would try to cling to power beyond their appointed time. It is thanks to his kindness and to his cruel indifference that the wheel always turns. He was noble, quiet, and implacable in war. Mother White ate him too.

The Uranian (the Thirteenth Hour) is the Hour of Daring. Alone out of all the Hours, he was once a mortal man. His offices are magic and the movement of the spheres. Kind of a dick tbh, very into backstabbing your way to the top. The kind of guy who would actually say "don't hate the player, hate the game."

The Black Captain (the Fourteenth Hour) is the Hour of Satisfaction. It is by his will that oaths, vengeance, and victory hold power. He used to be the greatest of the stalking kings of Mithra, before the Madrugad summoned him into mundus to defend her domicile (in which the Sun-In-Rags takes sanctuary) from the ravages of Mother White, during the War of Intercalation. Dutiful, cunning, ruthless, and skillful. He's the sink to the Madderblade's source, you know? The Romans were really into him.

Those are all the currently seated Hours. There are more beings you can petition: like the Ecdysiast, the Wakefire, the Flayed Widow, and the Hanged Rider, all of whom were killed during the War of Intercalation and their Thrones have subsequently been taken by others (the Madderblade, the Pyre-Hawk, the Uranian, and the Black Captain, respectively). There are also Great Leviathan and the First Ant, neither of whom have ever been Hours, but are sufficiently titanic beings that they have a lot in common with the Hours. But you get the idea. They're not incomprehensible at all, except for Mother White.

#heretic #dice matters

71 notes · View notes