#grief is a funny thing

[ohbother2]

Hi everyone,

I know it's been ages and some of you have probably seen this notification and have hoped that this means the fics on this page will be updating, however, I've got some bad news.

This blog was a joint account between two friends who loved creating silly stories of some of our favourite characters in our free time and gushing over character details with one another. Beyond tragically, my friend, the co-runner of this account, passed away a few months ago. Obviously, I'm keeping the details private, but it was sudden and unexpected.

I know this is a shock to all of you, and not what you were expecting to hear after such a long hiatus. Understandably, I've not been active on tumblr, particularly this account, since. It's felt incredibly wrong to login to this blog and even attempt to re-read some of the stuff posted or your comments/tags, especially without her to talk to about all your lovely messages. She really did love reading them, and we'd call for hours to laugh and talk about your kind messages.

Although I acted as what you'd call the 'face' of this account, actually posting, reblogging, commenting and following others, she was integral to the heart of this account, to the ideas and writing and editing that made this account what it is, and I don't want to continue posting heacannons/one-shots/any kind of creative writing on this blog without her. This was our passion-project, and a massive chunk of it is now missing.

I just wanted to let you guys know what the situation with this blog is and why, and I wanted to give a massive thank you from both of us for being the most supportive, kind-hearted, and tight-knit community we'd ever had or seen on Tumblr before. The fact we even had fan-art made of our writing goes to show how dedicated and incredibly talented this fandom is, how supportive and just genuinely excited everyone is to hype each other up and lift each other and appreciate all our passions. It's genuinely insane, and so rare in modern internet spaces.

Regarding the future of this account, because I don't want to leave unfinished fics floating around the website, and for personal reasons, I will be transferring all fics/one-shots over to AO3, marking them as incomplete, and 'orphaning' them. I've really debated this decision, and I believe it's the one she'd be most happy with. I'm just giving you guys fair warning, I'll wait a few weeks before I actually do anything. I don't know if I'll delete this blog, I'm rather attached, but I won't be active for a while.

Probably most importantly, if anyone wants to take our ideas or our unfinished fics/one-shots and complete them/edit the story/adapt our head-cannons/incorporate them into your own fics, please do. I think it'd be nice to inspire and help other fic writers, and see the ideas carried on in whatever way you guys choose. Everything on this account is effectively 'orphaned' already, so feel free to do whatever you want with it :).

This is getting long, but I also wanted to say thank you to everyone who sent in requests, funny comments, little anecdotes, and witty one-liners into our messages/asks, both that we did and didn't respond to, especially lately. We planned to do a great return to this blog after our exams responding to them all/clogging up your feeds. Someone even called us their 'favourite niche internet micro celebrity', and we both found it hilarious.

There's no gofundme or anything like that set up. Sometimes, things just don't go as we plan and there's nothing we can do. If I've learnt anything from this godawful situation, it's that you should do whatever you want as soon as possible. Don't wait to join that club. don't wait to take that trip, don't wait to watch that show, don't wait to visit friends or family, don't wait to begin doing a hobby that you think you'll love. Anything can happen, and the only time we know that we have for certain is now. (Master Uguay was right in Kung Fu Panda after all).

I won't be active for a while, but I'll check in to see how this post is doing now and again, and I'll probably post again just before I begin taking things down.

Thank you guys, and I hope you don't dwell on this post too long.

[luna-spring]

there it is... again, that funny feeling...

[discordantrhapsody]

And here I am, over 20 years later. Crying again.

[hedonisticeiram]

I had this fic Idea a Muggle Au that is centered around grief. Past Jily, inevitable Jegulus, past Bartylus, found family, mental health issues, infertility. James& Lily wanted to start a family, they had problems conceiving. They do conceive with help, Lily dies during childbirth. James struggles raising Harry and Grieving.

In the beginning, everything blurred together, going through the motions. All his mates did their very best; it wasn’t them, after all. Losing Lily was never a part of the plan. Each day he spends in their room, he can smell her scent fading. In the end, it’s the laundry that makes him lose all sense of control. He’s stripping the bed, it's Lily's hair tie that falls to the floor, landing on his foot. Assaulted by all the times this has happened before, how he would tease her about it, he drops to the floor, grabs the sheets, holding them close, sobbing into them. He wants to scream, kick, break things, yell about how unfair it is. They battled infertility; they won. It wasn’t without loss, in the end, he still lost the mother of their child, his wife, his Lily…

After that day, he goes to his parents’ house, breaking down to his mama. Effie tells him to move back in, so they do. James can barely be a person, let alone be a dad to his son—the one person they both wanted the most, created together, planned for a life between them all.

It sets in during the upcoming weeks that lead into months, until one night his dad takes him outside. They walk in the garden. James knows that he hasn’t been an amazing son; he hasn’t even begun to be a father to Harry. Bracing himself for the inevitable, he follows his dad further into the garden. Monty leads him to a spot near a tree that is perched on a hill. He walks over to it, motioning for James to sit.

“Son, I want to share something with you. When you were little, there were times that you would cry and cry. I wouldn’t know what to do; your mama was a natural, but I struggled. I felt inadequate; I didn’t know what to do or how to make it better. I would come here and sit to think; I would always think, ‘How can I be better?’ I was hard on myself. Your mama came to me one night, she told me words that have stuck with me over the years:

‘Babies cry to communicate; it’s the only way they know how to. They are so small, innocent beings that are created without their consent. It’s only right they get to cause a little grief. It means they need you, and they don’t stop needing you. They cry, you answer.’

That’s all you have to do be a steady presence. All you have to do is show up, be present.”

James can feel the tears welling in his eyes; the sting has become so familiar he doesn’t mind the pain.

“Lately, I wish you would cry.”

The tears begin to fall as he leans into his dad, crying for what feels like an eternity. When he’s done, James looks at the house from where he’s sitting realizing that you can see the nursery from there. It’s been three months since Lily died, three months since he’s been able to function. Harry is three months now, and he needs him. James turns to Monty.

“Papa, I need your help; I need to see a mind healer. I want to feel better.”

In the next three months, he begins to see a mind healer. It’s a rough start at the beginning. Some days he comes home angry; others, he feels hopeless, thinking there’s no point in it. He tries, though, day after day. He takes baby steps to get back on track. Sirius and Remus come over more often now that he can bear to be around people. He apologizes to Sirius, saying he’s been a terrible mate; Sirius laughs at him and hugs him. They both end up a sobbing mess. Remus comes over to hold them both. The next breakthrough he has is when he’s finally able to hold Harry and rock him to sleep. Harry is a small thing, but he has more hair than James has ever seen a baby have. He matches James in most features, his eyes are all Lily. As he looks down, staring at Harry, he goes to wrap his blanket around him more. Harry starts to flail and grabs his hand, holding on tight. James tries to pull away; Harry starts to fuss, so he stops. He holds Harry, rocking him to sleep, he holds his hand right back. Mentally, he’s doing gymnastics to look down at his only son. When he gets the courage to, he looks at Harry, who’s looking back.

“You’re going to blind me with those; they’re so bright.”

He touches the bridge of Harry’s nose; he looks at him, scrunching his face. Harry starts to kick and wiggle as if hearing his voice wakes him up.

“Your mom used to complain about how much you kicked; this is what she meant, what a wiggle worm.”

Harry lets out a little squeal.

“Yes, you! Who else?”

That’s when Harry smiles at him, holding his hand, kicking his little legs as if agreeing.

It clicks then that they’ll be okay; he can do this. He can just talk to Harry, so he does, little by little. Spending most nights putting him to bed, telling him all about Lily, how they met, the first time he saw her lose her temper. It becomes the best part of his day. He continues to see a mind healer; Harry continues to grow bigger by the day. Once James feels well enough, he attends university, deciding that he wants to help people overcome their grief.

It’s been five years since Lily died; not a day goes by that he doesn’t miss her or isn’t reminded of her presence in his life. Not a day goes by that it doesn’t hurt. He’s become a companion to his pain, carved out a space for it to live within him. Some days, it feels like it’s the only reminder that space was once filled with love. He's taken on case after case over the years, handling grief: spouse loss, sibling loss, pet loss. At the end of the day, it is all loss. What does that mean anyway? It’s the absence of…”

[othystt]

grief is so weird because it's been four years and i'm still waiting for you to come home. i'm trying to remember the sound of your voice reading to me, the comfort of your embrace. i'm still waiting for you to come home. i tear up at the mere thought of finding a sweater at the back of your mostly-empty closet that might still smell like you. i'm still waiting for you to come home. i remember a world where i thought i would never have to live without you. you raised me, and so i'm still waiting for you to come home. when are you coming home? you've been gone an awfully long time and the house feels so much emptier without you. come back. i miss you.

[27paperlilies]

Like you wish you never met someone

Or you have never met someone

I assume your referring to this post

It's about a young boy who tragically lost his life in a road accident down my street. Most days I pass by the memorial that has taken up the space. A simple black iron fence now covered in colorful blooms of different kinds, his picture and trinkets from his time alive.

I never knew this boy, and probably never would had he survived, but I feel the echo of grief non the less and so I pay my deepest respects. May he have a peaceful rest.

[soobunny710]

what people don’t talk about grief is the jealousy that comes when you see your peers having both parents at their graduation while you only have one standing beside you

[fweakybee]

Finding yourself at a point where you are grieving the parts of you that are now gone-you are languishing in the shell that contains your essence, its betrayal fresh.

A pile of attached pieces, far more worn down than to be expected, fumbling to pull itself together in the moments that matter the most. Struggle is a secret you keep since your mental battle is so mind-numbingly complex to unearth and stay in the lead. They say mind over matter, but what if matter is so overwhelmingly dense and your mind just is grasping at the will to care. A pile of pieces is rumbling.

Born under stubborn stars, your spirit isn’t fragile and its fire is fed with righteous fury. But darkness envelops you and it’s hard to find the strength to keep moving, keep feeding that fire, keep its glow-alive. Alive is a place that you want to be, fighting your body, medicating the pain away, to be with the people you would give the world to if you could.

So here is where you stand, a pile of rattling pieces struggling to stay connected, unsteady but full of flame and ready to take on whatever life throws at you.

[cowboymalewife]

i think about my ex sometimes. we still have each other on instagram. i loved them so immensely without really realizing it. we weren't even in a "real" relationship. we've known each other for over a fourth of our lives. i cried for hours after they dumped me over text after three year long relationship and a longer friendship. they made me explain a fucking tweet i made after they dumped me, a tweet where i replied to a friend's qrt so the op never would've seen it unless they looked, and they made me explain it bc the op had been nice to them while they were getting hate for a post, bc the op had gotten antiblack hate for a similar take, and i had to tell them i had no idea about any of that, and to remind them that I can disagree with black people and think their opinions are stupid without being antiblack, because i'm black, and i view other black people as normal human beings and not infallible pedestles of victimhood. everyone involved in that interaction was black except them. it's the worst breakup ive ever had in my life. they text me at work to know if i had time to talk and when i asked about what, they told me they wanted to break up with me later, so i had to just go through my fucking work day handling clients like that. i miss them like a fucking limb, and if they tried to talk to me again i would probably scream at them so loudly i'd rupture their eardrum and shred my vocal cords. i still text our friends to see if they're okay. i hope they don't do the same, because i don't want them to know anything about me right now. we never even met in real life. i still want to, sometimes, or at least the part of me that's still seventeen does.

[hopeurokays]

nobody talks about how hard it is to mourn someone you weren't super close with. it's been six months and im crying over her on a random sunday night but i can help but feel guilty for grieving bc i know her sister and dad and close friends have had a much harder time than i have with her death. it just feels like i don't deserve to grieve

[schumigrace]

.

[xnotxyourxbabyx]

You know what’s horrifying, forgetting the sound of someone’s voice…

[itsflorasdiary]

cleaning out my room only to find the letter i wrote to someone who i can no longer send it to (its been over three years, its weird.)

[beautiful-rosepetals]

one year - a short reflection

this piece is nothing special.

the claddagh ring faces up. i used to wear it up when we were together. i am supposed to give love to myself now, but that is too difficult.

a friend pointed out how much i talk about you, and it’s true.

oh, he bought this for me.

he’d like that art.

i should send that to him.

he likes those clothes.

that reminds me of this one time together.

i know that feeling.

i know. i understand.

i know.

i hate that it’s true, but it feels like you have become just another part of me.

i am obssessed with the idea of seeing that part of you again, the part that made you what i loved. i am obsessed with the idea of you coming back, leaving those horrible people, and allowing everything to shift into its old way of living. i am obsessed with the idea of being able to do everything we once wanted together, with the same person i fell in love with.

these thoughts consume me daily. they have never ceased, never faded, but i have learned to live with them peacefully as i have with my sadness. they come and go throughout the day, and i listen, and i move on.

deep down i don’t think i will move on. it has been a year, and i feel that nothing has changed.

although i feel that way, i know have changed. the boy i am has always been much too mature for his age, but now, i allow the little girl in my heart out to cry. she sobs and grieves for the life she never got, and i allow her, and i help her.

she never wore the pink raincoat until last thursday. i told you she did, but i lied. i told you she loved it, she promises, and that was the truth. she wore it last thursday, and they both touched the little pink bears and smiled, telling her it’s cute. the girl in me cried that day. you knew who i was before i did.

last thursday, if i was alone, i would have been sobbing. my love held my hand for hours as we talked, quieted, and fell asleep. i feel that a part of my heart, the very heart that has been slowly shattering, was bandaged that day.

every day, my dear reminds me that he loves me, loves everything i have to say, loves being around me, could talk to me forever. it was a change i didn’t expect to happen so suddenly, but a welcome one nonetheless.

if it wasn’t for my loves, i would not have learned how incredible affection can be. one held my hand while the other listened, and in that time, i have still cried less tears than the amount of love i believe i am incapable of sharing.

the above is not romantic. i do not know if it will ever be. i do not know if i want it to be. i do not know if it should be. i have never felt a love so pure, so sweet, yet still platonic.

i believe you were the first to show me that same love, and i will never regret you being the first. but i watched you fade away over four months, and i am terrified of that happening again, for it is one thing to have life stripped away in an instant, but another to grieve a life still walking.

the last month has been hard; i have been exhausted. i am restless, i am tired, i am at peace, and i am terrified. there is not a day that goes by where i do not think about what i have lost: a whole life that once stood behind me.

i have always struggled with grief, but this has enveloped me more than any other feeling. in a strange way, it is a part of my personality and who i am. i am terrified of silence and i cannot sleep sound, yet i still wear these fond memories on my wrists every day. i do believe i am depressed, i am grieving, but i am at peace with how i feel. i do not fight it.

the only thing that has changed in a year is that i am accepting who i am.

i am at peace with my sadness.

i allow it to consume me.

i move on afterwards.

let the cycle repeat.

i still wonder how you knew who i was before i knew. i wear these clothes and bracelets proudly, when i used to be nervous to be myself.

i still wonder where that boy went. he is in my dreams, but perhaps he was only a dream the last three years.

[lurkinginnernarrator]

au where SQQ does undergo the 'qi-deviation' and is 'changed' but in reality the twin of Shen Jiu, Shen Yuan made a comment one day about how all Shen Jiu did was bitch about his martial siblings. Never one to turn down a golden opportunity,

Shen Jiu: bet

And so the twins decided to switch lives!

The qi-deviation is just so they can explain away any differences of temperament and so sj can hightail away easier.

Shen Yuan: this is going to be so easy

(spoiler. it wasn't)

Between useless sect meetings that could've been not even an email but a text message, reading fifteen different preteens attempts to sneak in dick jokes into their poetry assignments, the head cook alerting him to the fact that they've somehow run out of rice??? They're the greatest cultivation sect??? How does that happen???

Anyway, two of his Hall masters eloping together and taking an extended honeymoon (he's happy for them, but. Who's going to teach those classes now??? Him. Apparently.), sect politics and his 'martial siblings' barely even attempting a farce of civility or courtesy AND his guqin strings needing to be replaced and restrung ?

Shen Yuan is sorry 🙏🙏please come back🙏🙏🙏

Cue the allotted period of switching ending and Shen Yuan dramatically throwing the fan on the ground as Shen Jiu rolls up and goes "thanks for the vacation didi"

[art-soboro]

a flood of miracles wouldn't be enough because you called my name