#tw parental loss

[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. 

[thequeenofsastiel]

Sometimes grief hits you out of nowhere. I'm headed to school, and was contemplating the fact that the branch farther away from me is actually faster to get to than the one closer to me because my bus system is weird, and thinking that it's a good thing because it means I'll get to be downtown, close to a lot of places I like being but rarely go to because it's such a hassle. But then I was trying to think about the good things about going to the school closer to me, and I thought that at least going there would make it easier for me to get to my dad's. And then I remembered.

The last time I went to school, my dad was alive. And he really really wanted me to go to college because he wanted me to be able to find a job and be financially stable. But because of my various mental illnesses, that's always been extremely hard for me. He'd be so happy to know that I'm going back to school.

The grief is rolling through me like waves and I wish it wasn't because I have to be able to focus. He'd want me to.

Fuck.

[childlikegoblinqueen]

My question wasn't meant to be rude, sorry! I'm a fic writer too, I was wondering if you ever had second thoughts or something. Like, why do this when you could write your own stories? Or write nothing at all?

Oh jeez!!!! Now I feel bad if I came off as salty!

Haha.

This is a great question! Honestly, there’s a bunch of reasons.

First, I’ve never been particularly comfortable with my OCs. I love how many people are passionate about theirs and build whole facets of story into them. My job requires me to read ALL THE TIME and I am forever in awe of how writers can make characters that I genuinely care about… but I just always feel like my own ended up hollow.

Second, I had terrible insomnia after losing my parents the way I did. My therapist actually suggested that I try fan fiction and it just opened up a creative space I forgot I had.

I often think about how Dave Filoni was literally hired to “write Star Wars Fan Fiction” for Clone Wars and his OC(s) like Ahsoka Tano are now beloved in the fandom.

I guess there’s a part of me that finds relief in playing in a sandbox that has some sort of design. It’s a way to hone storytelling skills and plotting, but has scaffolding.

And the scaffolding is kind of a good place to start, even though I have no intention of writing anything to monetize it. But my brain wants to tell stories! I think a lot of us in fandom spaces feel that way? Or just in general. Maybe not?

Alex Hirsch said something at the Requiem Cafe panel about being a kid and imagining all fictional characters living in a dimension… maybe that’s a misquote, but I get the general idea because it’s not an uncommon thought. I can get REALLY deep into the weeds here, but I’ll leave it there.

In general I can say in good authority that MANY current best selling authors cut their teeth writing fan fiction. Some adapted their works into original pieces, others used their experience to sharpen their wholly original stories.

One can also consider various plays from Shakespeare, mythology, and Dante’s Inferno as fan fiction…

So

Why not write it? Especially if it makes you happy.

Thanks for the ask!

[trkstrnd]

te quiero siempre, papa.

[aiden-stevens]

🍻 + “ have you ever considered running away ?” (nora)

They're where they're not supposed to be, which is typically on brand for the pair. Shit, if Aiden and Nora ever kept themselves in line with their noses clean, the Hell is probably freezing over. It's one of the many things he can appreciate about her. Kicking it back at the junkyard after volatile destruction has been had, or climbing the fire escapes of the downtown buildings to camp out on the rooftops.

His legs dangle over the edge and sway slightly to and fro, and the bottle of whiskey between them doesn’t go untouched. Aiden’s hand is on the neck, and he swallows a mouthful.

It burns the back of his throat all the way down where it warmly settles in his stomach, but it’s not an unfamiliar feeling. He takes another swig, half the size of the first, and puts the bottle back between them. “Who hasn't?” He shrugs, meeting her eyes with a knowing look.

And okay, New York wasn't her running away, but it was an escape from Aurora Bay.

"Small towns suck balls, it's boring and there's too many shiny too-nice sweethearts too worried about their image in this town who think they piss perfume and shit roses." But it's not the residents that get on his nerves.

Okay, they do, but the real reason for considering it is, "My mom's never home. She leaves me money, she hired Cricket to cook meals for me - which, cool, fine, I got a real good friend out of that-" he pauses, and in his drunken thought process, pulls out his phone to text Cricket:

[ are you friends with me bc my mom paid you to be? ]

"But she doesn't care what I'm up to. Or about me. My house always feels empty. And dad's dead, so unless I want to camp in the cemetery..." He wraps his fingers around the neck of the bottle to take another swig, one almost too big so he has to wipe his mouth with the back of his free hand.

"But I can't leave. I got Cricket and she's giving me a purpose, and Nikki's grown on me so much, I don't know how she did it, and Mack? He's practically family, and not because he thinks my mom is hot and calls me 'son'." Mack is what Aiden thinks having a brother is like.

"And I got you."

Aiden passes the bottle to Nora.

"My ride or die. I took one, so now you."

@noralevin @cricketcampbell @mackmontgomery @ambivalenceshefelt

[chloroformcurry]

More of Dulce

(I drew this on new years… what’s been up with me lately)

[prenzea]

mild TW parental loss

"We'll have so many stories to tell whenever they come back, any minute now"

It hurts so bad because that's the exact way I felt about my dad when he was in the hospital, "Oh, whenever he gets home we'll have so many shows to watch, and this to do together" and then. he never came home

and it feels like qBBH knows that the eggs might not come back but he's back in the denial phase because of the signs

[yellowdevilkitten]

7/8/1982

The call comes late at night, Steve’s trying to sleep but assuming it’s his mother calling from the hotel he gets out of bed. He ventures down stairs, phone ringing ominously. He walks faster, the phone’s ringing starts louder too. It stops ringing by the time he makes it down the stairs with an irritated huff he walks towards the stairs again ready to get under his covers and sleep, then the phone rings ruining his dreams of sleeping. 

“Yes?” He answers, the irritation evident in his voice. 

“Steve, oh thank goodness!” It isn’t his mother but instead her sister, Diane. He’s confused on why she’s calling; she never usually calls just shows up and would never call at, he looks at the clock which reads four-forty-five. Good thing it’s summer break he thinks bitterly. 

“What’s wrong aunt Diane?” Steve questions hoping to get the conversation over with quickly. 

“It’s your parents,” Is all she gets out before all the possible outcomes of what she’s about to say next come to mind none of them partially happy.

[thequeenofsastiel]

It's my first birthday without my dad, and I have to admit, it's hard. He always liked to take me out to dinner on my birthday, so not getting to do that with him is rough. I'm in an airport struggling to hold back tears. However, I'm going to have a birthday dinner tonight with so many people whom I care for, which will make it easier. While I do feel like I'm far too young to lose my father, I know all I can do is continue to grow and become the best version of myself, which is what he always wanted for me.

Here's to 34. I've got this.

[noah-atwood]

Send 🦯 for my muse to talk about their grandparents

“I love my grandparents. They took care of me the moment I was born. When my mother passed, and my dad didn’t have the means to do it, they took me in so he wouldn’t have to give me up.”

Looking back on it now, Noah is sure it was to make sure his father didn’t lose him, because his lifestyle choices were (and probably still are) less than stellar.

“And when I did go back to my father, I thought it would be a normal household. It turned out it wasn’t, and instantly they fought for permanent custody of me. That’s love. I might’ve not have been raised by my actual parents — one definitely couldn’t on account of the whole being in a grave situation — but they are the perfect family.

They opened their doors for me and my friends. They always had enough food for everyone. They taught me kindness, compassion and generosity. That we always have enough for our neighbors, and community is important, and how to build these long lasting relationships that become family, too. They’re both the pillars holding up the man I am today.

Sometimes I get scared when I think about their ages. It’s hard not to when you work in EMS, you see the worst of the worst, but for now, I’m cherishing every moment I can have with them.”

[aiden-stevens]

👔

"He's dead, if that's what you wanna know. Yeah, uhm, Mount Hope. It's on Market Street, if you know the area."

Aiden cups his hand around the end of his cigarette and brings a lighter up to set a flame to it. There isn't much of a breeze out back of Tejas, but the door opening and closing for anyone going out to the back storage creates a small gust that can put it out. He takes a drag followed by a sip of his Monster energy drink.

Raising his eyebrows, he shrugs and realizes the conversation isn't over. "Nah, he died from health complications. See, he kinda cheated on my mom. Didn't actually, uh..." The can is placed between his feet by the box crate he is sitting on and his cigarette in his mouth to create the gesture of his finger going through the circle shape of his pointer and thumb on the other hand.

"Yet. She found out when it was just talking. It was his argument when she decided to take everything she could, but my mom, she's a shark and there was blood in the water."

Served him right, Aiden thought at the time, but as he got older, a shred of mercy wouldn't have killed Anastasia. She'd always liked money, more than anything else.

"But anyway, she put him in a small apartment, the girl he was talking to eventually took off, and he had a stroke or whatever. Lived for some time after, I'd go visit him even if he didn't care if I showed up, but whatever. Doesn't matter much now."

[chloroformcurry]

Ma?

(Dulce’s memories)

[singersalvaged]

haha this hurts :)

[bl00dfroma-fairy]

grief is saying ‘I want to go home’ whilst sitting in my living room

[mchiti]

sufjan stevens made many songs for his mother I can relate to but when he sings "my brother had a daughter the beauty that she brings, illumination" he specifically wrote this for himself and for me. and for my niece. and also for my mother too

[thequeenofsastiel]

It's my first Thanksgiving without my dad, which is especially hard since he's the only family I have in town. So I spent it alone. Today is probably the hardest for sobriety. I'm swallowing back tears as I write this. Holding out for Christmas when I'm going to see my family in Tucson. Now I'm just going to crochet and watch TV and try not to think.