#[ tw: grief ]

[adulthoodisokay]

had my first hospice-hosted group parental grief counseling session this evening and idk what to say other than that hospice is a wonderful gift of an organization and if you’ve lost a parent my heart is with you and always will be

[mournfulroses]

Miguel Hernández, tr. by Robert Bly, from The Selected Poems; "I Have Plenty of Heart,"

[tvuniverse]

BOBBY NASH and AMIR CASEY | 9-1-1 → 7x08 Step Nine

[wield-the-mighty-pen]

Sometimes I think about how Adrien must grieve

How, when he lost his mother, it was a gradual thing, where he lost more and more of her, where he was slowly prepared for an eventuality and a future in which she would not be there anymore. How it was longstanding and tormenting and how his grief began long before the day he would never see her again. How though the pain of loss must have been sharp and aching for him, and he must desperately miss Emilie, at least he achieved some solace in not having to see her in pain anymore.

But then once he's reached a healthy stage and coping style in his grief for Emilie, the wounds are reopened once again.

How his father went from existing to suddenly being gone to Adrien. How he had no warning, no indication that he would never see him again. How even though the grief is sudden and unexpected, it had really started months before Gabriel was gone, and even long before he became injured.

It's how despite the fact that Gabriel was seemingly in good health, and Adrien had no reason to fear losing him, Adrien has actually been grieving for Gabriel and their relationship for a long time. How Adrien has had to watch his father slip away, lose himself, and slowly give less and less of himself over to Adrien, until Adrien could hardly recognize the man that was supposed to be sitting across the table from him.

Sometimes I just think about how grief became a comfort for Adrien, a lifestyle, because he has been taught that all good things in his life, all things he loves, must come to an end eventually.

And I think about how that must affect him as a person.

[cerealbishh]

"Hey, we found you."

"I guess you did!"

[offhanddesign]

We need to talk about Oliver and the grave scene. (spoilers)

Barry Keoghan's improvisation in that scene completely changed Oliver's character and the film as a whole. It encapsulates a critical moment of emotional catharsis for Oliver, marking the first and only time in the film where he completely lets down his guard.

Throughout the film, Oliver maintains a distance from Felix, constantly holding back parts of himself, standing in front of the bathroom door but not allowing himself to enter. At first glance, it appears almost masochistic, but it's critical to understand that Oliver's feelings for Felix go beyond love. He's obsessed. It's as if he fears that getting too close to Felix could expose his true, empty self. And deeper than that, Oliver perceives Felix as something ethereal, akin to a living god. How could you even begin to approach such a being?

His confession in one of the last scenes with Felix where he admits that everything he did was to meet Felix's desires, underscores this guarded nature. Even in this moment of apparent honesty, Oliver is totally incapable of being fully vulnerable with Felix, as evidenced by his backup plan involving the drink.

In stark contrast, the grave scene is where Oliver's walls finally come crashing down. His open weeping, undressing, and act of penetration with the grave soil are profoundly powerful symbols of his extreme vulnerability and his unfiltered emotional state, now finally free of all societal pressures. As disturbing as this act may be, it symbolizes his intense longing for a deep, unfulfilled connection with Felix. In death, where Felix can no longer see or judge him, Oliver finally finds the freedom to express his true self and desires.

The act of penetration can be seen as a desperate, symbolic attempt to maintain a bond with Felix, a way to bridge the unbridgeable gap between life and death. It's a poignant and tragic manifestation of his grief, the complex emotions of longing and obsession he silently harbors throughout the film.

The grave scene is a turning point in Oliver's character arc, perfectly complimented by the finality of the grave beneath him.

Oliver loved Felix in the only way Oliver knew how to love Felix.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Aftermath || LN4 {1}

Pairing: Lando Norris x widow!reader Summary: A year after losing your husband to an F1 crash, his teammate comes by and regrets never coming to check in on you. Warnings: 18+ only, grief and loss, depression, mentions of blood, alcohol WC: 2.2k

F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten || Eleven || Twelve || Thirteen || Epilogue

It doesn’t matter how long the night may seem, dawn will find a way to fight the darkness and break in a new day. Another day without him. 

365. It had been 365 days since he left this world for an eternity among the stars. Even now, a year later, you struggled to say his name without spiraling into the abyss where you wished you could join him. 

“Racing is my oxygen, I need it to survive.” That is what he had said whenever someone asked him if he was thinking about retiring.

“I hate you,” you murmured to the picture of your wedding day, the bright smiles something that hadn’t been seen inside these four walls for a year. 

You could almost hear his mocking laugh and you sighed at the truth, you could never hate him. He was your other half, he completed you. You hated that he had left you and the emptiness that had remained in his absence.

“I miss you.”

A knock sounded at your door and you dragged yourself through the silent house to see what had been delivered. You didn’t want to have to interact with anyone, let alone on a day like this one. “Just leave it on the step.”

“Y/N?”

You stumbled at the voice and froze, wondering if it was too late to climb back into bed and pull the covers up over your head and hide from the world. 

“Please, Y/N, open the door,” Lando called out.

They had been teammates. They had been friends. The three of you had spent so much time together the media joked Lando wasn’t third wheeling but a part of a throuple. 

Your hand trembled as you reached for the stiff deadbolt, the harsh scrape evidence of how long it had been since it was last opened for a grocery delivery almost two weeks ago. 

After the funeral, everyone else moved on with their lives while you were left with dozens of decaying bouquets and sympathy cards that could never replace your husband. For a while there were phone calls and invitations but leaving the house had become daunting and eventually those had stopped entirely. You couldn’t blame them.

“Jesus,” Lando muttered as you opened the door. “Are you alright?”

“What are you doing here?” you asked as you pointedly ignored his question. 

He shuffled on the doorstep as he shifted his balance about. “It’s the memorial unveiling today, I thought you might want someone to drive you.”

If you could feel anything, you might have felt angry. “I didn’t know there was an unveiling.”

“Shit, seriously?” He ran a hand through his curls that had grown longer than he used to keep them. “You should be there.”

He carefully stepped around you and into the house, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the stale air before he frowned. You couldn’t remember when you last opened the curtains, preferring the dark where you could sit in his shirt and pretend he was still with you even after his scent faded from the material.

Lando stepped into the kitchen next, opening the fridge and cupboards to find them almost empty before slamming them closed. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” you said lamely as he stormed across the room to grab your shoulders. “I’m fine. I was going to order groceries today.”

“This isn’t fine, Y/N!” He sighed and released his grip so he could pull you into his arms. “I should have come by sooner.”

You froze as you felt the first human contact in months and felt his heartbeat against you, the rhythmic thump enough to jolt you back into control and you pulled away, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively.

“I’m not your problem, Lando.” You turned to the door that was still open, his comical Fiat Jolly parked in the drive. “You should go.”

His head dropped as he slowly walked past, pausing only a moment to say something before he thought better of it and shook his head, closing the door behind him. 

The road noise in the retro pastel blue car was too loud to hear anything when Lando’s phone rang so he pulled over into the next parking lot off the busy streets and found Oscar’s name on the caller ID. 

“Hey mate, what’s up?” 

“Where are you?” his teammate asked in a hushed tone. “The ceremony starts in five minutes and you’re the one who actually drove with the guy.”

Lando stared out ahead at the shop space he had pulled into and saw it was a food mart. “I’m not going to make it.”

“What could possibly be more important than this?”

“I’ll talk to you later, tell them to start without me.” Lando hung up without a goodbye and rushed out of his car, an apology sent to his friend in heaven. 

There was no knock at your door this time, there was just the quiet scratch of the pot plant moving across the concrete step before it was unlocked and swinging open. 

You didn’t even have the energy to rise from the bed you had crawled back into, there was only one person who knew where the spare key was hidden. He pottered around in the kitchen and you heard the doors opening and closing before his bare feet padded softly down the hallway. 

“Coming in,” Lando warned as the door creaked open and he stepped into your room. “I hope you’re wearing something.”

Before you could ask why he gave you the answer and ripped the blankets off the bed. Cold air rushed in and you shivered as you pulled the hem of your husband’s shirt further down your thighs. The orange and grey pattern on the shirt caught Lando’s attention and his eyes turned down before he turned away and opened the closet.

You weren’t sure if he was expecting to see one half empty but you hadn’t been able to box up a single item. You were clinging onto them, and the memory they represented, for dear life. 

He grabbed a casual dress he had seen you wear before and tossed it over, the soft cotton covering your legs. “Get dressed.”

“Lando!” He had already disappeared back down the hall and you groaned as you rolled off the bed and onto your feet. The material hung loose around your body in a way it hadn't before and the dress was no longer flattering as you stood in front of the mirror. 

It was the first real time you had looked in the mirror and you barely recognised yourself. Your skin no longer glowed, your hair was knotted and unkempt and your eyes held no life where they were sunken into your face.

Needing to try salvage something of your dignity, you tried to brush out the knots but the handle snapped and you stared at it in disbelief. Sudden rage hit you as you failed at such a simple task and you threw what remained of the brush at the mirror, shattering the image but somehow making your reflection more true to how you were feeling.

“Y/N?” Lando skidded to a stop, barely missing the shards of glass on the carpet. “Are you alright?”

“No,” you admitted aloud for the first time and your legs gave out as reality crashed into you. “I miss him so much.”

You didn’t feel the glass slash your legs or the sharp pain as they stabbed your knees. You didn’t feel the warm blood seeping into the carpet or Lando’s arms as he picked you up. You didn’t feel anything but the overwhelming sense of loss like a fist squeezing your heart from inside your chest.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you,” Lando murmured as he sat you on the kitchen side and cupped your face. “I’m sorry I wasn't here.”

“I’m not your problem,” you reminded him as you shook his hands off your face. “You were his friend and I’m not an inheritance.”

“I’m your friend too. A shitty friend, but I’m going to fix that,” he said as he looked down at your bleeding knees, “starting with this.”

He went to the cupboard above the fridge to find nothing had changed and the first aid kit was still on the shelf you struggled to reach, but he easily did. You tried to get a bandaid from it as he placed it on the benchtop beside you but he moved your hands back and gave you a warning look.

“This might hurt,” he apologised as he broke the top off a saline bottle and started to rinse the blood away. “There’s some glass stuck in there - maybe we should go to the hospital.”

“I’m not going back there, especially not today,” you said with a lick of venom and a shake of your head. “There’s whiskey in the back of the pantry, just give me some of that.”

He seemed dubious about the idea but knew how stubborn you could be and exhaled a resigned sigh before getting the half empty bottle. He looked at you through the clear glass, above the sloshing amber, and you could feel the judgement in that stare.

“I have trouble sleeping.”

He didn’t give you a response as he handed it over before getting a chair to sit on, placing your foot on his knee so he could try to get the glass out with a pair of tweezers. To be honest, you were numb to everything and didn’t even need the alcohol but you gulped greedily at the spiced whiskey. 

“What’s that?” you asked as you noticed a pot on the stove, steam softly billowing up, and then you noticed the mouthwatering scent. 

“Vegetable soup. You need to eat.”

“When did you get so mature?” The joke fell flat as he looked up and you saw the depth of his own grief that he let escape from where he had buried it.

“A lot has changed in a year.”

There was no appropriate response to be said so you took another swig and felt the warmth of the alcohol hitting your empty stomach while he continued to pull shards of glass out.

“All done,” he said as he gathered the rubbish and left you to inspect the bandaids plastered all over your knees and skins too.

“If you ever look for a change in career, nursing isn't the answer.”

His lips curled up with a small laugh as he checked the pot and gave the soup a stir. “You’re meant to say thank you.”

“Thank you, Nurse Norris.”

Lando returned to where you were sitting after lowering the heat on the stove and tapped his finger on the stack of mail beside you. He picked up an envelope with the F1 symbol beside the return address and flipped it over before seeing almost a dozen others just like it. 

“Your invitation is probably in one of these.”

“Did you know there’s a clause in the contracts for ‘surviving spouses’?” You laughed bitterly and tipped the bottle back, no longer feeling the burn of the alcohol rushing down your throat. “They send a cheque every month, the very people who killed him and I want nothing to do with, and if it wasn’t already bad enough, they send it in his name.”

Lando looked at the envelopes and frowned. “Seriously?”

You took the top one and ripped through the seal to show him the cheque address to René Gauthier. On and on, you tore them all open and Lando swallowed deeply as the mess grew.

“Do they think €10,000 a month is going to make everything better? Nothing they do can bring back my husband.”

“Nothing can fix what happened,” he said as he wiped your cheeks that you hadn’t noticed were damp with tears. “I know it doesn’t make it any easier but they brought in new regulations this year, so it doesn’t happen again.”

“Sometimes I wish he hit those officials,” your voice broke at the whispered confession. “He would have had to live with that guilt, but at least he would be alive. Oh god, I’m a terrible person.”

René had been labelled a hero for the manoeuvre he had done to save the lives of the officials that were in the wrong place. He had put himself into a wall swerving away from them and while they had walked away unscathed for their mistake, your husband had died for his. It wasn’t fair.

“You’re not a terrible person, Y/N,” Lando reassured you as he pulled your hands away from where you had hidden your face in shame. 

The alcohol had hit your system and you closed your eyes as the room swayed, your words falling unfiltered as your head spun. “Racing was his life, Lando, but he was mine. I don’t know how to live without him.”

The bottle disappeared from your fingers and you lifted your heavy eyelids to see Lando putting it on top of the cupboards out of your reach. 

“You find a way to live because it's what he would want.” He scooped you up off the counter and your head fell into the crook of his neck without resistance. “You find a way to live because we’ve already lost too much. I’m not going to lose you too.”

Click here for part two.

[queermatcha]

"Tommy? Are you okay?"

Tommy looks up over his shoulder from where he is standing at the banister of Evan's balcony, his arms leaning on it. He has been watching the traffic down the street for quite a while now, just standing there. He feels very tired, conflicted even - but the fact that Evan just got home from his 12-hour shift makes him smile a little.

Before he can turn around, his boyfriend's strong arms wrap themselves around his middle and Tommy closes his eyes. A gentle weight is added to his back - Evan has leaned his head against it. Exhaling softly, Tommy places one of his hands on Evan's that are lying on his stomach. His boyfriend is holding him, steadying him. Evan is like an anchor right now and Tommy feels unshed tears burn in his eyes.

"Did something happen?" Evan asks, his voice soft. Worried. Evan Buckley is the most caring man Tommy has ever met and he adores him for being like that. The fact that he immediately noticed that something is wrong makes Tommy's heart beat a little faster because he feels seen. Cared for.

"My mother called today," Tommy tells his boyfriend after a few seconds of silence, his eyes opening again. After brushing his fingers over Evan's hand for a few seconds, he laces their fingers together. It feels good to hold on to Evan. A cold breeze makes him shiver a little. Or at least he thinks it's the breeze. "My father passed away two days ago."

Tommy hears Evan inhale sharply and the other man tightens his hug around him. "Oh Tommy," Evan breathes. "I am so sorry." Tommy squeezes Evan's fingers. "I haven't talked to him - or my mother - in over six years. They basically disowned me after I outed myself to them. Threw me out of their house and told me that I'm not their son anymore." It was hard to speak when there was a huge lump in his throat and Tommy laughs, but it s a bitter laugh, without any amusement or happiness in it.

"We've never been that close, but they broke my heart back then. And still-" Tommy swallows thickly and his voice is trembling. The tears in his eyes sting. "Still, I feel like so damn sad because he died."

Evan moves their intertwined hands up, from Tommy's stomach to his chest, and places them right above his heart. "I understand how you feel," Evan then says. There's so much emotion in his voice. Again, Tommy closes his eyes what causes a few tears to drip down his cheeks. "I don't have the best relationship with my parents either. But I'd be devastated if they died." There's a soft kiss to Tommy's back, right between his shoulder blades, and even more tears fall.

"Whatever you're feeling right now, it shows how much you care despite everything. Whatever you feel is valid, Tommy. It makes you human. And whatever you need, just say the word. I am here for you."

Now, it is Tommy who raises their hands. He presses a kiss to Evan's palm and then leans his cheek against it. And even though his heart feels heavy and his cheeks are wet, there's a small smile on his lips. Tommy inhales. And exhales. "Thank you," he breathes. Evan's lips brushing against his neck make his heart feel less heavy. Because he's not alone in this.

[tiya-minuscule]

can we see the university gang as their in game canon (older) selves but dressed as in their university clothes/outfits? :>

(tbh i just wanna see hot punk old man don pauly wolly my beloved)

Never forget that I'm here to rip your heart.

For real, I got a bit over excited with this one... But thank you so much Anon for the ask, it gaves me the opportunity to draw adult Clark and... Well... He's hot.

Hope you all enjoyed this little bonus :)

[oh-katsuki]

yk when someone dies and you just have to... sit with it.. and you're like... how do i tell people something is wrong. how do i tell people who never met them or knew them or spoke to them that something happened. and it feels selfish somehow to even talk about it out loud but at the same time for some reason you feel like you have to. like somehow you're telling a lie or being disrespectful or being self-indulgent. when the reality is that you just don't want to be alone in grief. but they didn't know them and even after saying something, you're alone anyway.

[happy-lemon]

THEY TELL ME

They tell me that anxiety and stress are what caused his heart to stop beating. They tell me that it was sudden and fast, and that he didn't suffer. They tell me there was nothing they could have done to save him. But they can't tell me how I'm supposed to go on without him.

[adulthoodisokay]

I kept a scarf because it smells like her and I kept a bracelet because she wore it when I was little and I kept the flying pig necklace because I got it for her when she had cancer 18 years ago and she said she would get discharged “when pigs fly” and I feel like the saddest girl in the whole world

[mournfulroses]

Rita Dove, from On the bus with Rosa Parks; Poems; "Nightwatch. The Son,"

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Healing, WA style 💙

I’m recovering well physically. I’m staying out of the water on doctor’s orders, I’ve been taking all my meds, I’ve only needed painkillers twice. Sleep is a bit patchy, but I’m rested on the whole.

The guilt is there. Guilt that I’m taking joy from being in such a beautiful place, so soon after. Guilt when I’m ordering breakfast and I think, I can have runny poached eggs now. Guilt that it’s been so busy I didn’t even realize it’s one week today.

I’m slowly getting back to your very kind messages. Forgive me if I miss any. Thank you again for everyone who’s checking on me ❤️

[that-guy-in-the-chiton]

A father’s grief (Helios and Phaethon)

[cerealbishh]

"Live..."