#TW: Loss of Parents

[lieutenant-speirs]

Sitting across the table from you, Sergeant Martin had been watching you rapidly zone out from the conversation of theo ther soldiers around you. “Hey Peanut… You okay?” the endearing little nickname falling from Sergeant Martin’s softened voice pulled you back from your thoughts.

Your eyes shift over to his features, which were studying yours intensely. You simply nodded and gave him a small smile. One he did not return, but merely raised his brows slightly. “Really? ‘Cause it looks like you’re about to cry.”

You try to maintain your smile but you can feel your lips twitching as they fight to drop the smile, tears welling up in your eyes before you even had a chance to blink them back. “I’m fine.” you stupidly try to convince him, knowing your teared-up features were evident that you were lying. The wobble in your voice only adding to your lie.

Instead of just sitting there and arguing with you, Sergeant Martin gave a small tilt of his head, a gesture of ‘come on’ indicating for you to follow as he stood up. You slowly rose too, not wanting to bring unwanted attention to yourself for breaking down. Keeping your gaze down, you followed Sergeant Martin outside as he lead you around the side of the building that offered a little privacy. Soldiers were still walking around but none were within eavesdropping distance. Few might be able to catch glimpses over ruins of the stone fence but that was something that couldn’t be helped with the foot traffic of soldiers on guard, on patrol, carrying out whatever duties were required of them.

Sergeant Martin took his typical position when he wasn’t impressed; arms crossed at his chest, intense gaze, shoulder leaning against the brick wall of the building. However, it wasn’t because he wasn’t impressed by the situation, rather…it was fucking freezing. But this was as private as could offer right now. You’ve all gone through worst. Bastogne, notably. Blue eyes on you, he patiently waited for you to say something but you kept your eyes down on the ground, as though you suddenly found his muddy boots incredibly interesting… The texture, the colour, the small cracks of the mud still embedded on the leather boot…the contrast of the brown mud against the grey stones of debris that-

“Peanut….?” His voice pulled you out of your thoughts and your eyes quickly flickered to his, as intense as his gaze was, there was a softness showing through his blue orbs.

You swallowed down the whimper that arose in your throat, giving a small laugh instead; a nervous tic of yours, before your eyes finally lifted to the grey skies which mirrored everything you felt. You pursed your lips together and ran your tongue along your lips before slowly letting go, only for your teeth to catch your bottom lip and pressing hard, not enough to draw blood… but enough to try to ground you in that moment.

Brows that were generally either downturned when your bad, or resting when you’re happy (your only two moods), were now upturned in a worried manner. Letting go of your bottom lip, you let out a small gasp before finally finding the words to explain…Eyes resting on a focal point on the stone wall. Anything but directly at your Sergeant. He didn’t seem to mind.

“I…um…I got a letter….” you started but then stopped. In your mind, it explained everything. But to Sergeant Martin, it explained nothing except that you must’ve received some bad news. So he gently prompted, “A dear John letter…?”

“No.” you laughed softly, the idea so absurd that someone might actually like you in that sense… The laughter quickly died down as a painful emotion washed over your features “A…It’s um…My…Dad. He died.” “…I’m so sorry….” came the hushed apology as Sergeant Martin’s heart dropped. It was all he could say. Despite his usually tougher exterior, he was still extremely sympathetic in situations like these. It’s never easy losing your parents. You shook your head. You didn’t want sympathies. They don’t bring back the dead and you’re not the type to fall weak to it. “How’s your Mom?” “I don’t know…ask my Dad? They should be reunited now but I’m…stuck here without them. All alone.” Sergeant Martin watched as your smile at small attempt at humour quickly faded into sobs. Everything you had at home was gone. It was just you, your mum and your dad. And then just you and your Dad.

Your Dad couldn’t sign up for the war due to his declining health. But you could. And you did. To make him proud.

But when you signed up for the war to become a medic, you thought you’d be assisting in medical tents near the front lines… not actually be on the front lines. You took it all in stride but you never anticipated the pain of working tirelessly only for the wounded to die on you, you never anticipated watching your friends die before your eyes or underneath your working hands…

And now this.

The one thing the War couldn’t touch… and still managed to rip your only other loved one away from you.

Sergeant Martin knew how strong you were. Many of the men doubted you, shamefully including him, but they were all proven wrong by your strength and resilience. You had become their boulder; a safe and stable place to lean on. In the end, he was glad you were part of his platoon.

The division was split up into platoons. There were two medics; you and Doc Roe. You got paired with, what you thought, were the meanest assholes of the group. You were slowly proven wrong. Probably because when they bite, you bit back harder. Thus earning their respect because you could hold your own. Sergeant Martin had been the trickiest to earn his respect. But in time you did.

You certainly didn’t think a day would come where you would be the one needing a shoulder to cry on.

A hand flew to your mouth to stifle the sobs that finally rose from where they had been squashed down for days, your other hand resting on your knee to steady yourself as you hunched over.

“Oh, peanut…” you heard him softly mutter that endearing nickname before you felt yourself being pulled against him as he hands wrapped around your arms and guided you upright into his chest. His arms immediately wrapping tightly around you. His lips pressing against the side of your head as his arms were strategically placed so it wasn’t inappropriate. One arm around the upper middle of your back, the other arm wrapped around your shoulders, holding you firmly to him.

Any strength you had that you were holding onto, immediately melted beneath the warmth of his embrace and your heartbroken cries soon turned to muffled cries as you turned your head into his chest and trembled violently with each sob that racked your body. As muffled as they were, they still caught the attention of nearby soldiers who would either look around for the source of the sound, or they’d see it but the death stare from Sergeant Martin over the top of your head was enough to keep them moving. He had to wonder whether anyone else in the building could hear you.

Sergeant Martin felt a tight tug at his jacket and then two little points of pressure at his sides, coming to realise that you had moved your hands to grip him for support. “Breathe, Peanut…” he reminded you when your sobs threatened to turn into hyperventilation. His hand soothingly rubbing your back in an attempt to ground you and calm you down. But he never hushed you. Just simply being a friend to lean on and letting you get it out. You’re no good to them if your mind is preoccupied elsewhere while on assisting on missions as their standby medic. And they can’t rely on Doc Roe when he’s currently needed elsewhere.

Lieutenant Speirs walked past and his eyes zero’d in on the source of the sound. An unreadable expression on his face…. Disapproval? He looked questioning at Sergeant Martin but the Sergeant merely pressed his lips together and give an ever so slight shake of his head, indicating bad news from home and that you weren’t alright. “Best get yourselves inside, Sergeant. No point standing out in the cold. Thought you had enough of that in Bastogne.” “Will do, Sir.” “Get yourselves a cup of tea, too.”

No, it wasn’t disapproval. It was a situation where Speirs wanted to help but didn’t know how. Little did the Lieutenant know that by simply offering the suggestion of a tea, was plenty help in itself.

This wasn’t a situation like Blythe. He saw Sergeant Martin offering comfort to the one person everyone thought would break at the very beginning but proved them all wrong… obviously it was something more than a feeble case ‘I’m scared’.

Lieutenant Speirs knew.

Blue eyes watched as Speirs walked away without a second glance to you both.

Your sobs had quietened down and Sergeant Martin loosened his arms around your back and rubbed your arms. “Lieutenant Speirs has a point. It’s fucking freezing. You right to go inside?” “Yeah. Let me just take a moment.”

Sergeant Martin stepped back a little bit but he stayed a moment longer, not leaving that personal space where there’s barely a gap between you. Just in case you needed an extra hug. Which, deep down you did but he’s already done so much. You smiled a wobbly smile up at him as you took a step back and inhaled a shaky breath. “You go in. I need a moment.” you reassured him. He looked like he didn’t believe you, and probably didn’t, but nevertheless he gave you that warning look that you all knew not to fuck things up, and left to turn the building and walk back inside.

You wiped at your face and leaned back against the brick wall. Sighing harshly and closing your eyes to the heavens. God, you didn’t think it’d hurt so much to lose your Dad but it did. It hurt knowing that you haven’t even turned 30 yet, and you lost both your parents already. This wasn’t supposed to happen for another 20 or so years! You took in deep breaths, trying to calm yourself down and place a reality check on yourself. You’re alive. It’s more than you can say for many that died in vain…

Sergeant Martin walked back inside the abandoned building and began barking orders. “Webster! Brew some tea. Everyone else…” his voice dropped to a more serious tone as he walked over to where the majority of his boys were. They were a little team, situated in an abandoned building while awaiting new orders. The whole squadron on standby. “A certain little peanut out there isn’t doing too good and needs our support.” “What happened?” “Bad news from home.” “We all get bad news from home, Sarge. Dear Johns…Dear Janes���” “No. Not when the only family you have left is gone.” The intense stare that Sergeant Martin has, made sure to dead-stare everyone individually until these thick imbeciles of his finally got the message. “The Old Man?” Malarkey quietly asked. Sergeant Martin simply nodded. Malarkey swore quietly under his breath. It’s no lie to say that Malarkey is well-liked by everyone, and he gets along with everyone. So it’s no surprise that he knows more than Sergeant Martin would. You having told Malarkey many stories, and him swapping his own. So, he fills the rest of the team in as to why this was more serious than some random family member dying. “(y/n) lost their Mom years ago to TB or Pneumonia or somethin’… Parents had a child before (y/n) but it died. Ended up bein’ just them and their old man. No siblings. No Aunts or Uncles.”

Again, Sergeant Martin let that small piece of news sink in before he spoke again. “Which is why I want you to all sit up at the table and give them the support they need. Do I make myself clear?”

A low, hushed chorus of ‘Yes Sarge’ was given before Sergeant Martin walked away and the boys went back to doing what they were doing. Some were playing cards, some were reading books or letters, some were writing letters, some were making conversations.

Sergeant Martin’s gotta hand it to them though…. Because as soon as you walked down the stairs, neither of the boys looked up or treated you with special treatment. They carried on as if nothing happened. Malarkey glanced up from smoking his cigarette quietly but said nothing. He watched you walk outside with Sergeant Martin so it’s no surprise he’s a little curious.

Sergeant Martin walked over with two cups of tea and passed you one. “Thank you” you politely said as you wrapped your cold fingers around the warmth of the mug. It’s not as warm as Sergeant Martin’s hugs but it’ll do. Another tilt of his head towards the table was given and you followed quietly as you both sat down with your tea. The teabags were stale but it was better than nothing and a somewhat nice break from the terrible coffee.

Malarkey had swapped smoke for tea as he poured himself a cup and walked over to join you at the table. You glanced over at your friend and smiled softly, he smiled back but said nothing. Malarkey barely smiles these days but when he does… it’s rather sweet. However, he had since watched his two bestfriends die and that did a number on him. Just like the letter you received had done to you.

Liebgott made his way over with his own cup of tea and sat down with a huff, rolling his head back and slouching in an uncomfortable position that’s probably comfortable to his long limbs.

Slowly… one by one… including Webster, who received a small nod rather than a death-stare from Sergeant Martin, made their way over and sat down at the table.

Everyone was silently sipping away at their tea until Sergeant Martin broke the silence. “Since we’re all here, I want to make a toast.” “Hear, hear!” “To peanut… we couldn’t get through most of our days without you ordering us around like a mother hen. Both your parents would be proud.” “To Peanut!” Liebgott said as he raised his cup of tea a little, followed by everyone else who chorused a ‘To peanut!’ making you laugh.

Why do you get the feeling the nickname is going to stick?

You raised your mug politely with a soft laugh.

Malarkey leaned over, his shoulder bumping against yours as he quietly reminded you, “You’re never alone, (y/n). You have us. We’re not much, but you have us.” You bumped your shoulder against his, laughing softly “Thank you, Malark.”

You sat there, quietly listening to everyone. Cold fingers wrapped around the warm mug of tea, nursing the warm liquid. You glanced up and saw Sergeant Martin watching you. You smiled softly, mouthing a ‘Thank you’ and he simply smiled back and gave a wink.

[frankpanioncube]

Well I had an interesting two days.

Personal and/or Distressing stuff under the cut.

The mum of one of the kids I grew up with (And when I say that - I mean he and I were across the street neighbours and the next oldest ‘kid’ was our literal next door neighbour who had his own motorbike and was our babysitter and shit.) so it was sort of ‘by necessity’ but we also liked one another and stayed acquainted over the years and since our families more or less didn’t move we’d see eachother now and then...and when I had to spend time at my parents’ it was usually during Christmas and I’d go talk to them and bring them cookies or whatever

And so I get an e-mail about surprise heart attack. 3. It was sudden

I mean - I knew these people since I was very very young (3-4? their son who I played with is two years older than me  - and I’m not sure but I think it’s pretty possible his parents were younger than mine as I was born when my spawn point was over 30)  - so I said that I didn’t know Mrs (Redacted) had heart complications.

She didn’t. So the suddenness of it all was especially shocking 

Well anyway. Helluva thing at any rate. But Mrs. Redacted was a wonderful person and she will be very very missed.

[tawaifeddiediaz]

do you ever think about how much it hurts eddie when chris expresses how much of his mother he's beginning to lose. because we know that he does his best to keep her memory alive, that they go to her grave and they talk openly about her. but there are things that eddie will never be able to replicate for him - her voice, the way she smelled, the way she'd walk towards him, how she felt when she held him close, etc - and chris will continue to lose those details even if eddie talked about shannon 24/7 for the rest of his life.

that is a sort of helplessness that i don't think anyone talks about enough, and that makes eddie's expression when he overhears chris talking to buck all the more wounded

[steddieonmywaywardson]

What about Steve’s parents who aren’t abusive or neglectful?

The Harringtons have worked their asses off for years to obtain and maintain the lifestyle they currently have. The house isn’t cheap and neither is the fancy furniture.

Things get tough when Mrs Harrington passes away due to an accident or long illness and Mr Harrington has to work harder to cover the loss of income and the horrific medical bills as well as making sure his beloved wife gets the send off she deserves.

More hours means less time away from his son. He knows Steve is hurting too but, with nobody else to turn to, and knowing his son is made of strong stuff, Mr Harrington has to go away on more business trips and for longer, just trying to keep a roof over his son’s head and not drown in debt.

Steve misses his mother, of course he does, but he understands his father is trying his goddamn best to keep the finances under control.

This isn’t the time to think about college. It can wait. He needs to work, needs to contribute. So he puts himself out there, gets any job he can. Even if it comes with a dorky sailor suit.

It’s why he cares so much about The Party. He knows just how much it hurts to lose a parent not only to death but to work as well. El, Max, Eddie, they’re just like him and Steve is going to fucking be there for them, show them that love and care and try his best to fill up some of that hole in their hearts.

And when his feelings for Eddie become something more? Well, the hole in his own heart starts to heal as well.

[jinx58062]

you know you’re fat and you’d messed up when you use to tell your parents you’re going on a diet and they would yell at you for not eating, now I told them I was going to diet and they started to encourage me to loose weight and not eat…

[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. 

[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!

[compassionatereminders]

Less an ask than some thoughts I thought you might appreciate. Reading a lot of your recent thoughts about toxic positivity [which is exactly what I'd call telling people some version of "Just love yourself"] has made me think a lot about times I was really struggling, and how many people misguidedly tried to tell me some version of that. At those times, when I was struggling with the death of a parent, my first partner's suicide, gender dysphoria, and serious depression and SI connected to all that, my takeaway from those statements was always closer to "Just be OK so I can divest from caring about your life." It ended up being the opposite of helpful, reinforcing my own sense of isolation and helplessness.

Nowadays I'm less depressed and honestly I look on those people with pity. They were seeing someone suffer with stuff that they had no idea to fix, and had likely gotten a lot of similarly toxic messaging in their own lives that might just leave them woefully unprepared to cope with hardships.

Honestly, I think the people in positions to give that advice probably need it for themselves more than anyone they're inclined to preach it to. In retrospect I think if those people had known the first thing about love they would have just paused to spend some time being there with me in my suffering, maybe asked me what I wanted out of life and offered a compassionate presence. That's the hard truth that I think all that toxic "self-love" nonsense is trying to avoid: there's often no fix you can give people, and the task of a bystander is to listen deeply and respect what the suffering person thinks, feels, and wants, not what we think is best for them [up to and including if that want is for the person trying to help to buzz off because their approach isn't helping].

Yeah like... if there really was an obvious, simple solution, we would know about it. And the implication that struggling people just haven't thought of basic shit like "exercise" and "positive thinking" is really condescending even if people are "just trying to help". Because odds are that we have thought about whatever "solution" people who barely know what we're going through can come up with on the spot or after a short google search

[the-grand-gemini]

Wyll Ravengard thoughts/writing prompt:

Wyll's identity is so heavily focused on his father, which absolutely makes sense given his upbringing with only the one parent, but that doesn't mean sometimes Wyll never wonders what his life would be like if she'd been there. He doesn't necessarily miss his mother as he never had her, but there are moments of "what if". What would father be like, would his expectations have been the same, would his mother have stopped him from being sent away, would she have come with him if Ulder would not let him remain in Baldur's Gate, would she too have cast him out, would she have written to him after he left the Gate, would she make father stay in touch too? Wyll carries a sense of loss and nostalgia he has no means of placing. His mother is an empty shadow in his mind.

Which brings me to this: I can't get the idea out of my head that after Wyll is transformed he feels he's lost part of the gift that his mother gave him. Specifically his eyes. Are Ulder Ravengard's eyes also brown like Wyll's? Probably, but maybe Wyll's eyes were the same shade of brown his mother's were... He had already lost one during battle, and now his remaining eye has been touched by the Hells.

The scene that made me think of this is when Karlach is mourning the loss of the heart that her mother gave her. I feel like Wyll is still probably in relative shock over his changed form and is experiencing body dysmorphia. He would hear Karlach's words and suddenly have another moment of heart break. A thought that had not sat with him yet while too busy trying to adjust to his new form and survive their adventure. The gift that his mother gave him has been corrupted and it's his fault.

(Not that it's actually his fault given that he was a teenager when forced to take Mizora's deal, but you can't tell me Wyll doesn't feel guilty at times for "failing" to meet his father's expectations and internalized that sense of shame)

Even though he's never really met his mother as she passed before he could know her, he feels another level of loss. The body she died giving to him has been altered, the eye(s) in the mirror watching him are no longer his mother's. Maybe one day there will be some relief. His changed body is a means of stepping out of the shadow of who his father expected him to be. But for now there is loss and mourning a gift given by someone he never knew.

I just feel like Wyll doesn't get as much writing and we don't really get to deeply explore the horror of having your body altered without your consent! Which thematically everyone in the party is desperately trying to avoid having their body altered via the illithid tadpol! What we do get are a few brief lines saying that we are sorry and that he's still himself (as well as very handsome if not more so because... horns 👀💦).

I need to read about Wyll mourning himself and accepting his new body. Confronting his father for abandoning him in a time of need. Remembering his father choosing his duty to the city over his duty to him as his child. I mean he could have retired! He and Wyll could have moved to the country OR travelled the coast together fighting for others! However that didn't happen and I feel like a bigger discussion is needed before healing that bond.

You can't tell my young Wyll Ravengard, who loves his father so much he already forgave him the moment he was cast out, didn't cry his heart out alone under the night sky the first time he was on his own. That he doesn't suppress those emotions constantly, because yes he doesn't regret sacrificing himself to protect the people of Baldur's Gate, but that doesn't mean he doesn't weep knowing his father's love was conditional.

I need a discussion where he worries that Tav may choose to leave him someday if he cannot meet their expectations. He knows its unfounded, but the hurt inside himself remains.

I want to see Wyll struggle with his changed body and rediscover himself. Either with the support of a romanced Tav or just the entire team as a supportive found family there to help him.

If anyone wants to use this as a writing prompt please go ahead and tag me if you do so I can read it!

[xrollingmyeyesx]

Memories

Pairing: Lo’ak x Omatikaya!Reader, Lo’ak x Fem!Reader

Anonymous Request: “Would you ever consider writing lo’ak calming down reader after they have a panic attack?” + “Can you write where reader has ptsd or smtg.”

Summary: As a warrior of the Omatikaya clan, you’ve witnessed a lot of death. Lo’ak and his family help you deal with the PTSD, and soon things get better. When you leave to stay with the Metkayina, reckless actions drag you back into old memories. 

Warnings: Panic attack, PTSD, death of a family member, angst. Please do not read if you are triggered by gun violence or the loss of a family member to gun violence.

Word Count: 4,647

Notes: I have mild anxiety and panic attacks, so I just wrote this from my own experience and from some research. This fic could be considered kind of graphic, so please do not read if that is going to bother you. If you think I didn’t add enough warning or I should add more tags, pls let me know. 

No smut like I usually write, so I’m not so confident in this, but I hope y’all like it❤

The Elders used to tell stories of the First Great War. They would gather up the young children and sit them in a circle. They told stories of fire and death and destruction. They told of the monstrosities that occurred at the hands of the Sky People; how Na’vi were slaughtered for defending their home. They told of the human’s greed. The stories remind us of what the sky People did. 

The Elders tell the stories so that The People never forget. 

For years, almost two decades, they were just stories to you; Memories of a time long before you were born. Sure, they were true events, and yes, it was horrible, but the war was over. The People were at peace and you had no reason to worry.

But peace cannot last forever. 

You were out in the forest hunting when the Sky People returned. The stars in the sky grew, their blinding light shattering the dark night. Massive ships descended with a mechanical screech. Their machines tore through the forest, setting everything ablaze. You remember choking on the dark smoke, your lungs burning as you sprinted for safety. You remember crying when you looked back at the damage. It felt like they had torn out a part of your soul, creating a hole in its wake.

When the Second War came, you fought beside your brothers and sisters. You were a good warrior and dedicated to the cause. You quickly grew to be a leader amongst the fighters, even sitting in on strategy meetings with the Olo’eyktan. So many of The People were lost, so much land destroyed. You tried to keep your spirit up, but over time you lost your happy demeanor. 

In the course of one year, you were forced to watch the people you loved die. 

One by one it happened, like the RDA was intentionally picking on you. Everyone had lost someone, but why did you have to lose everyone? Your parents, your sister, your best friend. Pieces of your heart and your sanity chipped away, bit by bit. 

Their deaths weighed on you, and you withdrew from the clan. You had no family to go home to, no friends to talk to. No one seemed to want to be around you, and you couldn’t blame them. You were a magnet for death, destined to be a sole survivor. You stopped going to evening meals and you barely slept. 

It was hard to sleep when you saw the dead behind your eyelids. 

Lo’ak was the one person who you could talk to. He found you one night outside your family's old home. You had been so distant from him, stuck in your own head. The two of you had always been close friends and he worried about you.

“Y/n?” He whispered as he lowered himself to sit beside you. You were staring off into the distance, your eyes blank. He laid a hand on your shoulder. “I’m not going to ask if you are okay, because I know you are not. But please, let me take some of this burden.”

Your knees were pulled up to your chest, your arms hugging them, as you turned to look at him. He had watched you lately, and it was like you were withering away right in front of his eyes. 

“I just,” His voice cracked. “I know it is hard, I do. Just…please talk to me.”

Your eyes watered as you tried to hold back the emotions. Your voice was scratchy from going unused. “I cannot stop seeing them.” 

You met his eyes. “I see my sister in the other children, how she used to run around, carefree, just like them.” Your voice picked up as tears fell down your face. “Sometimes I learn something new and I-” You stumbled over the words. “I turn to tell my mom, and she’s not there.” 

“Oh, y/n,” Lo’ak whispered sadly. 

You continued as if you didn't hear him. “Sometimes I think I see my dad, but when I turn to look for him he is gone.” You laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Eywa is punishing me. I keep getting these, these things. Episodes where I am stuck rewatching their deaths.”

Lo’ak pulled you closer to him, draping his arms over your shoulders. You shook as tears racked through your body. You were so, so tired. “I cannot even sleep, Lo’ak. I’m the reason they’re dead and they haunt me for it.”

His grip tightened, pressing your face to his broad chest. “It’s okay, It’s okay. Their deaths are not your fault.” He felt himself getting emotional at seeing you so distraught. “They live within Eywa, they are not gone.”

“But they feel gone!” Your voice cracked at the sudden shout. “No one else feels the way I do. Something is wrong with me, Lo’ak.” You sounded as if you had given up all hope. 

“It is okay to feel these things. It’s normal after seeing so much.” He reassured you, his hand rubbing your shoulders. He hated that you had been dealing with these emotions alone for so long. 

Your cheek was squished against his chest, your tears marking his skin. “I don't know how to make them stop.” 

Your words were barely a whisper. Lo’ak kissed the top of your head, trying to soothe you. “We can figure out a way. Some method of coping. You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

And you didn’t do it alone anymore. That night was the first time you slept in the Sully's hammock. They let you stay with them and you became part of their family. You grew close to their kids, and even considered Tuk and Kiri your sisters. 

The family quickly learned of your night terrors. Sometimes you didn’t move, frozen in terror as you screamed out for help in your sleep. Other times, they found you thrashing wildly on your sleeping mat. Jake tried to wake you once, attempted to calm you, but you fought him in your sleep. You tried apologizing the next day, but he wouldn’t have it. He told you that it was called PTSD, something you get after a traumatic event. He explained that he used to have it from his war on Earth. Jake said you might heal someday, but that it was hard.

A couple weeks later, Lo’ak was the one rushing to your aid at night. He slid onto the mat beside you and wrapped his strong arms around you. Something about the pressure calmed your thrashing. He stayed there, whispering words of comfort against your ear until your body relaxed against his. The family realized soon after that Lo’ak was the only one able to calm you. He woke every night to repeat the motions, and at some point they decided it was just easier for him to sleep next to you. The family grew used to you sleeping on the same mat, your back to his chest. 

His presence helped, and over time the terrors started to wane. You were able to go weeks without them, and everyone slept much better. Lo’ak was always there when you needed him. Despite your problems, he accepted you and helped you work through it. You guys worked out a method of bringing you out of panic attacks, and it worked. 

Lo’ak was your rock. He kept you safe from yourself, grounding you in your moments of weakness. He was the calm in the middle of a storm, the light in the darkness. You spent months slowly falling in love with him. 

The two of you spent a lot of time together, gathering or just talking walks in the forest. He accompanied you to the spirit tree most of the time, to support you in your efforts to see your family. 

You were leading him there now, but had different plans for your evening. You stopped at the tree and faced him, the soft glow of the Spirit Tree casting light over his face. “Lo’ak,” You reached to press a hand against his cheek. “You have always been there for me, always cared for me. You accepted me for who I am, flaws and all. 

“You deserve to have someone take care of you, tihona.” Cuteness. You smiled at the nickname. It was something he’d started to call you, and you often found yourself blushing at it. “And you do not have any flaws, not to me.” He said that part softly, his eyes locked on yours. 

Lo’ak had known for a while that he loved you, but had yet to say anything. He didn't want you to think he was only helping you heal because he wanted something out of it. He needed to make sure you felt the same. 

“You are everything.” He said, leaning close. “Everything to me.” 

“Lo’ak,” You whispered, glancing at his lips. 

He didn't need to hear more, instead pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was slow, and gentle. Lo’ak pulled you into his body by the waist. He had waited so long to feel the press of your lips against his. When you pulled back for air, he finally said the words that had been aching to leave his mouth. 

“I See you.”

“I See you, Lo’ak.” You answered. 

....

A couple months into you and Lo’ak’s relationship, your life was uprooted. Sky People had built avatars and were using them to hunt down the Sullys. After an extremely close call, Jake made the decision to take his family and leave. No one questioned if you were going along. You had no one in your life, and you and Lo’ak were promised to each other. You weren’t mated yet, but there was no question that you would leave with him. 

It was difficult to convince the Metkayina to let you stay, but Jake assured them that all of you would adapt. You worked with the kids of the Olo’eyktan to learn their ways, and grew to be friends with them. Lo’ak and Neteyam had a rocky start with Aonung, but they too settled into friendship with him. 

No one knew of your past or looked at you with pity. It was a new start. Tsireya was a close friend, her honesty and positive attitude reminded you of your sister, and you enjoyed her spark of life. Aonung was decent too, the two of you often sparring together. Life in Awa’atlu was growing on you. You opened up more and the Sully family began to see you shift towards the happy girl they knew before the war.

Your group of friends often spent the day together, chasing each other around the island and playing stupid games. You were doing that now, sitting in a circle inside the Sully pod. Kiri called the game “Truth or Dare.” She sat to your left and Lo’ak to your right, his knee pressed to yours. The simple touch made your skin heat, and you found yourself blushing anytime his eyes found yours. 

“Okay….truth or dare, Rotxo.” Tsireya said, eyes twinkling mischievously.

He rolled his eyes. “Dare, obviously.” Rotxo always chose dare. He claimed it was “manly.”

“I dare you to kiss Kiri.” Tsireya said smugly. Her words elicited a blush from both Rotxo and Kiri, the latter tapping her fingers on her leg nervously. “Unless you do not want to.”

You knew that both of them liked the other, and chuckled at Tsireya’s matchmaker tendencies. 

“No, no, I want to.” The words rushed from Rotxo's mouth, causing the rest of you to laugh at his awkwardness. He sat beside Kiri, so neither needed to move to complete the dare. Their lips pressed together quickly, and then they both yanked their heads away. The rest of you laughed at their antics, Neteyam and Aonung teasing them.

Giggling, you turned to Lo’ak. “They would make a cute couple, huh?”

He smirked, his four fingered hand coming to rest on your knee. “Not cuter than us.” You smiled up at him, and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. 

“Guys look!” You turn your head to see Aonung digging through stuff in the corner. 

“Aonung, you should not be going through their stuff!” His sister scolded. At her words, you turned back to the group. 

“I found a gun!” The boy spun around, Jake’s gun in his hand. Sunlight glinted off the metal, and you froze at the sight of it. 

“Hey, put that down.” Neteyam demanded, strutting over to Aonung. “That is not a toy.” 

Aonung didn’t listen, instead bringing the scope up to his eyes. “This is so cool. How many people has your dad shot?”

The older boys continued to argue over the weapon, Neteyam tugging at Aonung’s arm. A dull whine was starting to build up behind your ears and a feeling of unease settled in the pit of your stomach. You placed a hand over it and looked over to Lo’ak, who was already watching you intensely. His brows were furrowed in worry, and he grabbed your hand. 

“It’s okay,” He said to you under his breath, before addressing the fighting boys. “Seriously Aonung, stop. You do not know how dangerous those are, you can’t just go playing with it.”

The situation shouldn’t make you as nervous as it does. Yes, it’s a weapon, but you’ve been around plenty of weapons. You’ve been around guns many times, Jake even keeps one around constantly. But right now all you can focus on is the dark metal of the gun and Aonung’s finger by the trigger. 

Aonung either didn’t hear Lo’ak or pretended not to hear, because he continued fighting with Neteyam. He was trying to keep it away while Neteyam reached over his shoulders for it. “Skxawng, give it he–”

Pop. Pop. 

The crack of the gun firing made you flinch as everyone around you ducked for cover. It’s a blessing that Aonung’s recklessness had not left anyone injured. Instead, there are two holes in the floor of the marui pod. The room is silent for a moment, before everyone starts to raise their voice at the culprit. They’re yelling and he’s defending himself and Lo’ak is saying your name. 

The sound of the gun firing replays in your head, over and over. 

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. 

You could never describe to Lo’ak what the attacks felt like; You were never able to put the feelings into words. The only way you could describe it was like this horrible, terrifying feeling that took over your entire body. It was like every single nerve in your body was crying out in fear. The flashbacks were the worst. They felt like someone holding your head underwater, forcing you to watch but unable to help.

You’re not in Awa’atlu. You’re back home in the field where your parents died.

The sound of a crash was followed quickly by the shouts and war cries of your party. You were attacking a shipping convoy and had just blasted the train off the tracks. You led the ground troops, directing them to get the supplies and get out quickly. 

“Incoming!” Jake’s voice is heard over all the chatter and the groaning of burning metal. 

Two gunships round the corner, their guns trained on the team. “Take cover!” You shout, ducking behind a piece of debris. The sound of rapid shots rings out.

When it’s over and the gun ship has moved on, you stand to assess the damage. You see your parents a few yards away, and watch as they start to walk towards you, their arms loaded with supplies. They don’t see the second gunship turning back.

You sprint towards them, jumping over obstacles and yelling for them to run. The words had barely left your mouth when the gunship fired. You watch as the ship litters their bodies with bullet holes, right in front of you. Their faces were twisted in shock and pain. You stumble as you run for them. Their bodies fall to the ground, supplies scattering. By the time you make it to them, they are long gone. You run your hands over your mom’s body, trying to stop the bleeding somehow. But it’s impossible; There are too many wounds. 

The gunship had come back and was gearing up to shoot again when someone's hands dragged you to your feet. “Y/n! We gotta go, we gotta go!” 

“I can’t leave them!” You try to grasp onto their bodies, to stay with them, but Lo’ak is dragging you by your arms. You fought him and he was forced to half-drag, half-carry you away. 

You blink and the scene changes, becoming the familiar green and browns of the forest. 

“Do you see anything?”

You groan. “Nothing is happening at this post.”

You and your best friend, Ok’iye, are on a recon mission to scout one of the Sky People’s outposts. You’ve been there for a few hours already and have yet to see anything worth taking back to Jake. 

Ok’iye lays beside you as you hid in the foliage. You lay on your stomach with binoculars held to your eyes as he looked through the scope of a gun.

“Ok’iye, what are we even looking for?” You question, turning to face him. 

He glances over to you, a grin on his mischievous face. “I think Jake is pranking us, because there isn't–”

A dark splotch appears in the center of his forehead. His blood and flesh splatter across your face and chest. His blood is warm and you can taste it on your lips. His smiling face goes slack as blood flows out, marring his dark blue skin. It all happened so fast, and you duck down to hide from whoever is shooting at you. You don’t know how long you stayed like that, but eventually the day turned to night. You laid there next to his body for hours, cowered in fear.  

Once you are sure it is safe to leave, you start making your way home, Ok’iye’s lifeless form over your shoulder. You couldn’t leave him, you would say to yourself. He needed a proper ceremony so he could return to the Great Mother. 

You carried him for 2 hours. You didn’t cry for him or mourn him. You were just kind of… numb.

Later, Jake told you that it was something called shock, your body’s way of protecting you from the pain.

Sometimes you can still taste Ok’iye’s blood.

The scene shifts again. You’re still in the forest, but now you're in a meadow and the sun shines brightly. 

You walk through the meadow, your little sister on your heels. Sey’ax is a curious kid, and she likes to tag along with you when you scavenge. 

“Okay, stay in the meadow so I can keep an eye on you.” You order, an endearing smile on your face. 

“I know, tsmuke!” The girl laughs at you before running off towards the creek to play. 

You hadn’t thought twice about bringing her along. You did it all the time and this was safe territory. You walk through the forest, gathering berries and other materials. You can hear her laughter a few yards away, and smile to yourself as you pop a paskalin berry in your mouth. 

You didn't see the human soldiers coming. You didn’t know they were there until you heard the familiar screech of a bullet leaving the chamber of a gun. 

You drop your basket, fear squeezing your heart as you sprint to where you last saw her. You find Sey’ax’s lying face up in the stream, her laughter long gone.

“Oh no, no, no!” You fall to your knees, rocks digging into the soft flesh as you sob over her. Sey’ax’s blood turns the water red and it swirls around you. She is barely conscious as you cradle her in your arms. “You are okay, Sey’ax. I will get you to Mo’at.” Your throat is dry, tears spilling down your face.

“Tsmuke, help me.” She pleads, her voice a ragged sigh. Her last breath is used to ask you, her big sister, for help, and yet you can do nothing but watch as the light leaves her gold eyes. You hold her to you, begging the Great Mother to not take her, to not take the last person you had. 

The Sky People had shot her, a child, for nothing. She did not attack them, she had nothing to give them, and yet they murdered her. Your cries echo around the clearing. When you look down at your baby sister, you find your hands stained red with blood. 

She was a child. 

••••

To you it felt like hours, like you were really living those days over again, but it was only a few minutes. At first, Lo’ak couldn't tell if you were having an attack or if you were just shocked. You stared unblinking at the hole in the floor. 

 “tihona? Y/n, talk to me.” He shuffled to kneel in front of you, placing his hands on your shoulders. His voice sounded muffled, like he was talking to you through water. You were unresponsive to his words, which quickly grew the attention of the other teens. 

Kiri lifted a hand to cover her mouth. The whole family knew of your past and the episodes of sudden panic you got, but she was surprised nonetheless. You hadn’t had one in so long. Kiri had finally started to think you were healing. 

She came to your side, holding your hand. “Y/n, you’re okay.” 

The words may have sounded comforting to her, but in your head her voice sounded like Sey’ax. Your skin felt hot, like there were real flames searing into your flesh. You heard what you thought was your sister's voice and panicked. “No, no, no, no.”

The group watched as you lashed out. Your hands came up to your ears, trying to keep the haunting sound of her voice out of your head. 

“Hey, it’s okay. You are okay.” Lo’ak’s voice filtered through, and he briefly came into your eyesight, but then his face morphed into Ok’iye’s. The wound on his face dripped blood, trailing down and into his eyes and mouth. 

You can feel his blood, warm against your face, and claw at it desperately, trying to scrape it off. “No, no, no, no. Go away!” The words are a jumbled mix, some kind of mix between a groan and a wail. “Go away!” 

Lo’ak grabbed your wrists, holding them so you couldn’t injure yourself. You caught his chin with your nails, leaving an angry, red welt in your wake. 

Tsireya cried out as she watched. “What is wrong with her?”

Rotxo and Aonung stood close by, their faces an ashy white as they stared. Neteyam growled under his breath, protective of the girl who had become a sister to him. “This is your fault!” He pointed a finger at Aonung, poking him in the chest. 

Their voices reminded Lo’ak that there was an audience. “Get out! You all need to leave.” You thrashed in his arms with tears rolling down your face. Your mouth was parted, but no sound came out, only gasps for air. “Seriously, Neteyam, get them out of here.”

The older boy jumped into action, hastily ushering everyone out of the pod. “Is she going to be okay?” Tsireya asked Kiri, her own eyes watering at seeing you so distraught. Their voices were muffled as Neteyam led them from the home.

 “Y/n, I need you to breathe.” Lo’ak pleaded. His pulse raced but he did his best to maintain a calm composure for your sake. You weren't taking in any air, and he was scared you'd pass out. “Breathe, tihona, please.”

Helplessness and overwhelming fear made your body shake. Lo’ak maneuvered himself behind you, sitting you in between his legs, so he could wrap his arms around you. Not only did it allow him to apply pressure, which would help, but it was also able to keep you from hurting yourself further. 

Your head was foggy, and it felt like you were floating. It was a cold and empty feeling. A faraway voice filtered through. “Y/n. Come on.” It said, “You are not there. It’s not real.”

I'm not there.

“Come back to me, it’s okay. You are okay.”

You tried to focus on Lo’ak’s voice, to center yourself. Your eyes drifted around the room, but your vision tunneled as you searched for him. “Lo’ak.” You whimpered, voice barely audible. 

“I am right here, my love. I got you.” He cooed. Your heart beat erratically and you were gasping for air. 

“No,” You cried out, twisting in his hold. 

“It is Lo’ak,” He said, rocking you gently. “You aren’t there, y/n.” 

“Lo’ak?” You repeated, crying out for him. 

Lo’ak started leading you through the steps. “Count from 5, okay? I’ll do it with you. Mrr,” he started.

You copied him. “Mrr.” 5

“Tsing.” 4

“Tsing.”

Your breathing began to become less erratic as you counted. Slowly, your senses were starting to come back to you, piece by piece. 

He ran his hands over your arms comfortingly and spoke softly. “Tell me something you can see.”

You looked around the room, your gaze finding a blue blanket in the corner. “A blanket.”

“Good, you are doing so good.” He cooed. “Tell me something you can smell.”

You inhale softly through your nose, welcoming the strong scent of the communal fires in the village. “Fires.”

“Good, good. Something you can feel.”

You shifted a bit in his hold, your breathing finally back to normal. Your head ached, but it was normal after an attack. You leaned back against his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heart against your back. “I feel your heart.”

Lo’ak hummed behind you. No longer were you buried in flashbacks, but they left their toll on your body. You feel weak, emotionally and physically, and you want nothing more than to just fall asleep. It’s a bone deep tiredness, and settles into the corners of your mind and your body.

As you came down, you started to cry again, this time softly. You were mortified that you had regressed so much, and even more embarrassed that your friends had been there to see it. They must think I’m a monster, you thought. It only made you cry more. 

“Oh, hona,” Lo’ak sighed. “I got you, I got you.” 

“I am sorry, I am so sorry.” You mumbled, hating yourself. You hated doing this to him. You felt like a constant burden on him and his family. How could he possibly love you? You were broken, you thought.

“Shhh. You have nothing to be sorry for. Everything is okay.”

Lo’ak held you for a long time. He knew that you needed time to process and recuperate. He had seen you sleep for days after an attack, and wasn’t surprised when you started to drift off. 

He moved you to lay down, leaning over to grab a blanket for the both of you. Lo’ak draped it over you, and cuddled into your resting body. 

He thought for a long time about the two of you. You had such a hard life before and you had lost so much. Your pain felt like his pain. He wished he could bear the pain for you. 

He prayed that he could keep you safe, but knew deep down that he could not protect you from your own memories. 

••••

Later, his father and the rest of the family filtered into the pod for the night.  “She okay, son?” Jake asked, concerned etched on his face.

“Yeah,” Lo’ak answered. “She’s going to be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

Tag List

@lovely-turned-deadly@neteyamsgirll @strnqer @attlas567 @maria-1287 @erodastylinson​ @ihrtchickpeas​ @fucksnow​​ @grimes-gf​ @httpsplanetmarsdotcom​ @rainbowsocks @neteyamzmate @generalflapnickelbear @ellielovesrobinarellano​ @lovemyself-persona​ @alovingelf​ @sully-stick-together​ @whos3rn​ @meepmeepbark​ @amberofzo​ @melsunshine​ @astroponyo​ @tanchosanke​ @lizziesfirstwife​ @yeosxxx​ @seasonedcapsicum​ @kadu-5607​ @eringaitskill​ @doulcha​ @nijha2tact @shydestinypeach​ @ani-girl​ @midnight-star47​ @instabull​ @silententhusiastdreamer @ilymarkchan​ @neteyamoa​ @kaiya3333​ @lynbubble​ @bakugounuggets​ @primadonnagal-blog​ @taintedxkisses​ @hirokosoul​  @kyrah-williams​ @genshinimpactislife​ @erika-simps​ @summe-rliu @urfavbrunettebish​ @bbylime @ricecakeslove​ @lovesickbtch @idcalol @hotmarveladdict  @axionn​ @orinlin​ @pikuposts @corrupt-cadaver420​ @torchbearerkyle @luvlykrispy @elli-aesthetics @awkward-d3rs3-dr3amer @raven1234321 @lunamochii @scarletrosesposts @lolzies11 @lilithdonahue @jjkclub​ @zoeoii @softhetixx @heesoftiefreak @c78r​ @ripneteyam​ @tiddybiddy​ @findingourtreasure @traveleraroundsworld @aonungs-tsahik @gyriffndorkate @iikatsukii @euhmae25 @chloelmao67 @gracefulbumblebee​ @lovergyal @nao-cchi  @goodiesinthecloset21 @sharni07 @hangezoes-wife​ @neteyamsmate4life​ @hopelesslydevotedloser​ @carolinemacher​ @whyloakkinda @riverlikethelake​ @in-luvais​ @katsukisdaddy​ @tsireyassgurl​ @justhavingsomefun​ @sullymenrhot​ @midnightsnakesstuff​ @bbyhargrove  @ohmsjedi​ @zendayaswrld101​ @neteyamsgirl​ @laylasbunbunny​ @lichik​ @sakurayuki8655-blog​ @vevethirst @mangogloss-blog @eatassskatefast12 @liyahsocorro @kaealowri @leftbreadparadise @ihatecats123 @selinbaskaya​ @regulus-black-223048​ @itssiaaax​ @kachowness @lov3rluna

[ikaishere]

Chapter 1 - denial.

trigger warnings - loss of a parent, talk about hospitals, alcohol, grief, death.

backstory for modern au sky part one, as you probably figured, it will be a five parter:) meanings behind flowers: page 3: marrigolds, grief page 5: white lilies, innocence. here: loss of it.

[neuroticboyfriend]

between my parents telling me incessantly to lose weight and eat less (despite me telling them repeatedly to stop), and my sister going on a new year's calorie-restriction low fat/sodium etc. diet (with her boyfriend no less)... i am feeling incredibly triggered. i'm sick and i am so hungry but i feel guilty every time i eat.

whenever i haven't eaten a lot my dad tells me that's good. whenever i'm hungry and go for 2nds my dad tells me to stop. whenever i have a medical issue and need my parents' help, my dad refuses to help me and tears me apart, telling me i need to stop thinking about these things so much/letting my pain stop me and i just need to lose weight.

i just wanna shrivel up in a ball and cry. they really treat me like i'm just crazy and there's nothing physically wrong with me except for my weight and diet.

[jinx58062]

I just want to be held, but I don’t want to be touched.

I hate being subjected to other people’s thoughts and eyes, but all I want is to be wanted, and fit the ideal beauty type.

I just wanna be seen, but I want to disappear at the same time.

[trkstrnd]

te quiero siempre, papa.

[takethebodymarc]

the bobby flashbacks im experiencing rn

him and em both died bc of their damn stubbornness >:(

[compassionatereminders]

you recently reblogged a post that said "the grief is never ending but so are the strange ways love will find you again and again" or something to that effect, and it hit home really hard.

my mama was my best friend in the whole world. she adopted me the day i was born, we had similar trauma and chronic illness so she was super understanding of my needs, she fully supported me being queer, we both loved to do art and various crafts, we liked similar things, had similar senses of humor, told each other everything and hung out every single day.

in 2020 she passed away very suddenly. i wont say anything further, it would be potentially triggering and absolutely sad and its not really necessary to my point.

me and my dad were devastated and we had to lean on each other so much. everything was crap for a long while.

but today, i am living in a mobile home on my dads land, right next door to his house. my two partners, one of which ive dated for 7 years and the other for 4, have moved in with me. (polyamorous, not cheating.) we are so happy together. we take care of each other.

today i gave one partner a haircut and infodumped about my current favorite show to the other. one of them is currently snoring loudly in my bed. we adopted a dog, her name is iggy. we go to my dads for weekly dinners, holidays, to hang out, and whenever theres a severe weather warning lol. we go to the library and the park together. we do boring errands together and have fun doing them. we cook and clean and go to appointments and get groceries and watch movies and play games and cry and laugh together. theres a pride flag on our wall. the neighbors are nice and iggy has made friends with every dog in the neighborhood.

im sorry for the wall of text, just like... damn. it really actually does get better, doesnt it? the world is actually full of love and kindness and beauty. the grief stays, but the love grows so so much larger around it.

if you read all of this, thank you.

I am so happy that love is growing around your grief! I love my mom so much and I can't even imagine the pain losing her would cause, and it is just so beautiful to hear that life can grow around even something as terrible as that. So thank you for sharing this with me!