#death of a parent cw

[dizzyedgc]

[ dev patel, man, he/him ] — whoa! GIDEON CHOWDHURY just stole my cab! not cool, but maybe they needed it more. they have lived in the city for TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS, working as a LIBRARIAN & WRITER. that can’t be easy, especially at only THIRTY-THREE. some people say they can be a little bit INSECURE and TIMID, but i know them to be INTELLIGENT and DEVOTED. whatever. i guess i’ll catch the next cab. hope they like the ride back to BROOKLYN! — (freddie, twenty-four, aest, they/them)

content warning - death of a parent, mental health issues.

BASIC INFO —

full name: gideon chatur chowdhury nickname/s: gid preferred name: gideon ( is happy / comfortable with anything though, really ) age: thirty-three birthday: may 14th zodiac: taurus gender: man pronouns: he/him occupation: librarian & writer sexuality: bisexual relationship status: single ( + open for ships )

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE —

faceclaim: dev patel hair colour: dark brown hair length / style: slightly grown out, curly, often slightly messy eye colour: brown height: 6'1" tattoos: none currently peircings: none currently scars: none noteworthy

PESONALITY -

positive traits: intelligent, devoted, considerate, imaginative, creative, clever, loving, selfless, aware, humorous, helpful, friendly, courteous, resourceful, entertaining negative traits: insecure, timid, weak, defeated, defensive, scared, submissive, anxious, avoidant likes: writing ( when inspiration hits ), the smell of books, warm weather with a cool breeze, kisses on cheeks and foreheads, books, music ( specifically orchestral music ), natural light, beautiful architecture, home cooked meals dislikes: film adaptations of books that are vastly different from the original source material ( "why didn't they just create their own story inspired by the book? with this many differences it's not like they'd get in trouble for plagiarising..." ), writers block, uncomfortable silences, spilled drinks, licorice hobbies: cooking, tending to his tiny indoor herb garden, writing ( if only inspiration could ever hit ), reading, watching films, listening to music, playing any instrument he can get his hands on, going for walks bad habits: not getting enough sleep, smoking, biting fingernails, procrastinating, stretching himself too thin, doubting himself

BACKGROUND —

gideon was born to starving artists; his mother was a musician, and his father was a writer.

his parents worked hard to provide a good life for their family, though at the same time, they never forgot to chase their dreams and put happiness above wealth.

they moved to new york when gideon was six years old, and there gideon found himself living a perfect life.

above everything else that kept gideon busy, he cherished his time playing music with his mother, and coming up with ideas for his father’s latest books.

unfortunately, gideon’s perfect life was cut short at the age of thirteen, when his father passed in a sudden and unprecedented accident.

to say that gideon was lost is an understatement; he experienced his first terrible bout of mental health issues, and the despair felt endless.

it didn’t last forever, no matter how bleak life felt at times; his mother was of particular help to him, as was reading through his father’s work - the ideas they had come up together, but that his father had never been able to realise into a completed novel.

life carried on, and gideon kept his father in his life by becoming fixated on his work. as a young adult, gideon began to dabble in completing his father’s work, and thus, gideon’s writing career began.

over the course of some years, gideon had three novels - a fiction trilogy - published ( sure to credit his father for his contribution ) and met with success, he felt as though he had never been happier.

like before, though, the happiness didn’t last. without his father’s books to complete, gideon found himself losing purpose - no matter how many great things he still had in his life - and his mental health issues returned.

he thought the solution was to keep on writing, but no matter how hard he tried, no inspiration hit enough for him to complete any other work.

gideon tried for a very long time - he still does try, in fact - but he lost his spark, and submitted to a job at the library instead, something he felt would make him feel closer to his father again.

WANTED CONNECTIONS —

best friend - this is a ride or die connection, they could have been friends as young as six, when gideon moved to new york, and they’re thick as thieves. they’ve been there for gideon through everything ( and there’s been a lot ) and vice versa ! any gender, similar age preferred.

childhood friends - they became friends as kids here in new york, and no matter how much they developed and changed and grown, they’ve stayed friends because of that. i think it’d be real funny if they were super opposite people, and if people had no idea why they’re even friends. any gender, similar age required.

regulars at the library - people who trust his opinions on what books they should check out, people who talk with him for far longer than they should while he’s working about books - or other stuff ! -, people who get their fees for overdue returns disappearing because they’re such nice people to gideon.

ex love interests - gideon was in a serious relationship for the past few years, but before that he also had a few other partners. he’s not the most experienced because he’s quite reserved with his love, but he’s a very good partner when his insecurities and mental health issues aren’t preventing him from being one. any gender !

book club - i’m not sure if this is an already established thing in this group yet or not, but gideon is definitely part of a book club. he wouldn’t have started it, but he would have joined it years ago and committed to it as anything literary related makes him feel closer to his father. he never misses a meet !

musician friends - while he might seem more literature focused due to his career, gideon is an extremely good musician, and i’d love for him to connect to others here in new york. he only typically plays for fun, jamming by himself or with these friends, but i could also see him jumping in on tracks or performances as a session musician when needed / when a friend asks !

gideon is also open to so much more, i'm happy to brainstorm or listen to any / all of your ideas !

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 136

 There is a small child floating in the Watchtower. 

They’re visibly not human, a too-big cloak of purple (what shade no one knows, all they can describe about the cloak is purple, nothing else) hanging from them as big Lazarus-green eyes glare down in something of a pout. The child huffs, blowing white hair out of their face despite it shimmering and shifting on its own already. 

How the child, inhuman or not, found their way into the Watchtower- without setting off an alarm no less- is a concern. A very large concern, but it can wait because there is a four-year old (if the child is the equivalent of a human child that is) at oldest staring down at them. 

 “Do you know where the speedsters are?” the child piped up after an awkward stare-down, none of the league members present quite sure what to do in this situation. It was probably around time to call Batman… or they could call Flash instead. 

[schnuffel-danny]

The info is right there on his wikipedia page, Danny, you really have no excuses for this one

[steddieas-shegoes]

cw: discussion of past parental death due to overdose, mention of drug use

Steve stumbled upon the article when he was helping Robin collect articles for a project for her Industry Studies course.

He didn’t think much of reading about another small time musician getting caught up with the wrong crowd, and overdosing or getting in a drunk driving accident. It seemed like a pretty common theme. It was terrible, sad, horrible, but he’d seen about 30 stories like that in the last two days and he was kind of getting numb to it all.

Until he saw the name Munson.

Until a picture of a woman with long, curly hair and Eddie’s smile stared back at him next to a headline that read: “Kentucky Country Queen Dead at 27.”

He read the article with tears in his eyes.

Elizabeth “El” Munson, a hopeful country singer and guitarist, was found dead in her home by her six year old son, Edward. The boy reportedly tried calling his father at work with no luck before finally calling his uncle, Wayne Munson.

Toxicology reports show that she overdosed on multiple illegal substances. At this time, it is believed to have been accidental and no foul play is suspected.

It has now been made clear that Elizabeth was seeking a divorce from her husband, Al Munson, but had not been successful as lawyers were unable to locate him until her funeral. Their son has been put in the care of Wayne until further notice.

Robin found him 20 minutes later, staring at the page with swollen, red eyes. She took the paper, read the article, and put it back in the files wordlessly.

“I don’t think he wants us to know,” she finally said.

She was probably right.

But Steve had grown pretty close to Eddie over the last six months, had opened up to him about his parents, his fake friends, his concussions and nightmares. Eddie had started opening up to him, too.

He thought he had, anyway.

He told him about how his mom died when he was young and his dad was awful so he moved in with Wayne. He told him about how his dad appeared every couple years looking for money or a place to stay and Wayne always turned him away.

But he never really talked about his mom, always said he barely remembered her.

Did he know what happened?

——

Steve asked Wayne the next morning.

He’d come by to pick Eddie up for a day with the kids, but Eddie hadn’t set his alarm and was still asleep.

Perfect opportunity to find out more.

“So. Eddie’s mom.”

Wayne tensed over his plate of toast and scrambled eggs. He didn’t look up, just took another bite of food.

“Does he know how she died?”

“Do you?”

“Newspaper said overdose,” Steve tapped his fingers nervously against his thigh. “Says Eddie found her.”

“Trauma messes with your memory.”

It was final, a statement that left Steve with more questions, but a certainty that he’d get no answers.

“Yeah.” He gulped. “I’ve heard.”

——

Steve doesn’t bring it up to Eddie for a while.

He figured Wayne’s reaction said a lot about what Eddie knew or would be willing to share.

But they were a little high and alone and Eddie’s hand was warm in his and his filter was broken.

“I’m sorry you had to be the one to find your mom.”

The air around them was thick. The silence was deafening.

“Me too.”

Eddie’s voice was quiet, nothing like his usual playful tone.

Steve immediately wanted to put this conversation in reverse, pretend his curiosity didn’t matter.

“I’m sorry.”

Eddie moved closer to Steve, his arm a constant pressure against Steve’s. His head leaned against Steve’s shoulder.

“Wayne doesn’t know I know how she died. He doesn’t know I know my dad gave her bad drugs, convinced her all the up and coming musicians were doing a new strain of heroin. She’d kicked him out of the house,” Eddie’s breath caught. “She shouldn’t have let him come back that day. I heard them arguing before I left for school. She told him she was finding a manager and recording an album and that she was divorcing him. I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew it was bad.”

“Eds, you don’t have to tell me.”

“I know, Stevie. But you know everything else.” Eddie’s face turned until his nose and mouth were pressed against Steve’s arm. “I went to school. Didn’t think about it. Figured my dad would be gone when I got home and might come back in a few days once they cooled off. But when I got home, he was gone and my mom’s bedroom door was closed. And I opened it and there she was.”

Steve turned so he was face to face with Eddie, cupping his jaw and rubbing his thumb along his cheek in encouragement.

“I don’t even know why I tried calling the store first. I didn’t even know if he still worked there. But then I called Wayne and it’s like he just knew.” Eddie’s eyes closed for a moment. “Don’t think he’d ever gotten to our house so quick.”

“Did he know all this?”

“He knew enough. I stayed with him and then my dad gave up his rights. Lied to the counselor about what I knew so Wayne wouldn’t freak. Kept it up for a while,” Eddie let out a small exhale that slightly resembled a laugh. “I read the article about eight years ago. A kid in my class made a joke about me being an orphan because of the drug problem in America as if he even knew what that meant and I decided to see what the newspaper reported.”

“Do you play because of her?” Steve asked.

Eddie blinked back at him.

“I play for a lot of reasons. But I started because of her, yeah,” he whispers. “You’re the first person to ask me that instead of give me that look of pity.”

“I’m sad about how it happened, but giving you pity doesn’t change it. I’d rather hear how it changed you,” Steve whispered back.

They were close, legs intertwined, hands touching bare skin under shirts and on faces and necks.

“It changed everything for me. Wayne packed us up and moved us here as soon as he legally could. Probably for the best. Well,” Eddie gave a small smile. “Definitely for the best. Wouldn’t be here with you if he hadn’t.”

“Do you ever go back?” Steve did his best to ignore the fluttering in his stomach.

“Her birthday every year. She’s got a nice spot near her mom.” Eddie bit his lip. “It’s actually coming up in a couple weeks. Maybe you could come with me?”

“Me? Are you sure?”

Eddie nodded. “If it doesn’t weird you out that I talk to her. I like to give her updates on my life, Wayne’s life, music. Think she’d find it quite funny that I bring the guy I’ve had a crush on for two years.”

It takes a minute for the words to sink in.

“Two years?” Steve’s lips curled up into a smile. “I hope I live up to expectations.”

“I think she’d like you. She’d definitely make fun of me for having a boyfriend who wears polos though.”

“Is that how you’d introduce me?”

“If you’re okay with it.” Eddie leaned his forehead against Steve’s. “I know we haven’t talked about what we-“

Steve pressed his lips to Eddie’s, nearly knocking their noses together painfully in the process.

After the initial shock, they both relaxed into the kiss.

“I’d love to go. As your boyfriend,” Steve said after pulling away for air. “What was her favorite flower?”

“Gardenias. Always wore perfume that smelled like it. Why?”

“Because I have to impress her, right?”

“You realize she’s not gonna actually see or hear you? She’s definitely dead.”

Steve snorted. “I know. But she can still have nice things. Maybe us bringing her nice things in death is a way to apologize for the not nice things she had in life.”

“You’re a pretty incredible boyfriend, sweetheart.” Eddie kissed the tip of his nose. “And you now know more than Wayne, so it’s time for a pinky promise.”

Steve giggled before holding up his pinky. “I swear I won’t tell Wayne anything.”

“And you’ll kiss me whenever I want…”

“That’s a guarantee.”

“And you’ll let me win at Go Fish…”

“Not a chance, Eds.”

Eddie laughed. “Worth a try.”

Steve curled his pinky against Eddie’s. “So do you think she’d like me?”

“Oh. Oh god. She’d love you. You’re exactly who she’d want for me,” Eddie rolled his eyes when Steve flipped his hair back confidently. “And she’d braid your hair every night while you gossiped and sipped tea.”

“And what would you do?”

“Probably just soak it in. Appreciate having her and you around. You’ll just have to gossip with Wayne.”

“Wayne doesn’t strike me as-“

“Oh, he’s got you fooled! He’s a worse gossip than the ladies at the hair salon. Just ask him about the mailbox at the end of the road sometime. Make sure you’ve got an hour to spare.”

“Really?” Steve’s eyes lit up. “Is he home now?”

Eddie pulled Steve forward until he was flush against his front. “No and I have much better plans than gossiping with my uncle.”

“Oh?” Steve’s brow raised.

“It involves my bed and handcuffs. You in?”

“Hopefully you’re in.”

“God, you’re ridiculous. C’mon, now I’m even harder from your stupid flirting,” Eddie sat up and tugged until Steve followed. “Can’t believe this is how my night’s going.”

“Believe it, baby.”

[fluentmoviequoter]

Keep Living with Me

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x Andersen!cop!reader (r's mom is Captain Zoe Andersen)

Summary: You fell in love with Tim Bradford quickly, and he receives your mother's blessing to propose. After you watch your mother's murder, his plans are thrown off and he gives you a place to heal.

Warnings: spoilers for ep 1x16 "Greenlight," parental death (Captain Zoe Andersen), grief, panic attacks, nightmares. comfort at the end! not proofread

Word Count: 4.6k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

“Good mornin’,” Wade greets as he enters roll call. “Before we get started let’s give a warm welcome to our newest Andersen. Welcome, all the way from Chicago! I know your mom is here so we’re all too scared to give you any grief, but I hope LA treats you well.”

“Thank you, sir,” you reply, nodding to the officers beside you.

“Andersen?” Tim whispers.

“Captain Andersen’s daughter,” Bishop answers. “She was working her way toward detective in Chicago but transferred a few weeks ago. Wanted to be closer to her mom, from what I’ve heard.”

“Meaning that if you want to lay some Bradford charm on her, you’d have to answer to your boss,” Angela adds.

“Cute,” Tim replies, giving Angela a fake smile.

“You said it.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Officer Bradford,” you call, jogging to catch up to him. “I just wanted to say thanks for the assist back there. I don’t know how that second guy got past me, but I’m sorry for not paying attention.”

“It happens,” Tim offers with a shrug. “And it’s my job to have your back.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t deserve some thanks every once in a while. I’ll let you get back to your rookie, but, seriously, thank you.”

“No problem.”

Tim doesn’t know exactly when it happened, but at some point, after you arrived in Los Angeles, he got attached to you. Now, he keeps an eye out for you and shows you a side of himself that very few people are lucky enough to meet.

Calling your name, Tim beckons you back to his side. “Let me buy you dinner? As a thanks?” he asks, squeezing his hands together nervously.

“Why would you be thanking me? You saved me,” you remind him. 

“Just-“

“I’d love to. But I’m paying,” you answer, smiling before walking away again.

“Doubtful,” he murmurs to himself before returning to his shop.

✯✯✯✯✯

Two weeks after your first date with Tim, you smile at him over your shoulder in roll call. You haven’t told anyone about your feelings, and Tim is just as happy to keep your relationship private for now – that’s something he made clear from the beginning, private not secret.

“Bradford, Andersen, the captain wants to see you,” Wade says as he enters the room. Neither you nor Tim move until he adds, “I think that means now.”

Once the door is closed behind you, you promise, “I didn’t tell her.”

“Relax,” Tim demands. “It’s probably not about us.”

He opens the door to your mother’s office, and she points for both of you to sit. Pulling your hands into your lap, you fiddle as she looks at a paper on the desk before her.

“Care to explain?” she asks.

“Explain what, ma’am?” you reply.

“You’re in here as my daughter, though I’m not thrilled to learn you and another officer are dating without my prior knowledge.”

You look at Tim, but he seems content observing this confrontation.

“Mom, I-“

“It better be a good reason,” she interrupts. “Because it’s been weeks since Tim asked me if it was allowed.”

Looking over at Tim, your mouth gapes before you accuse, “You told her!”

“I had to,” he answers. “I wasn’t dealing with her wrath, as captain or your mother.”

“So, you’re not mad?”

“Why would I be?” your mom asks. “You chose the best of them.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Tim says happily.

“Don’t think that makes you infallible,” your mother threatens. “I have a gun and I can fire you, and what I choose to do depends entirely on you.”

Tim nods severely, and they both chuckle when you release a relieved sigh.

“Congratulations,” your mom tells you. “I’m glad you’re happy, and I’ll see you both at dinner on Friday?”

Tim leads you out of the office, and you ask, “What’s Friday?”

“Probably a chance for everyone who loves you to threaten me.”

“Sounds fun.”

Tim reaches out for you, but you turn away quickly. 

“You told my mother without telling me. No hugs for you until Friday.”

Smirking, Tim replies, “Yeah, you try holding out that long.”

✯✯✯✯✯

✯✯✯✯✯

✯✯ 1 Year Later ✯✯

“I’ll be back in a few,” Tim tells you, kissing your forehead.

“Where are you going?” you ask, looking up at him from your spot on his couch.

“To get your favorite breakfast,” he answers. “Because I love you.”

“Be careful. I love you.”

After a year of dating, you and Tim easily acknowledge the depth of your feelings for one another. He makes you feel important, loved, and like the center of his world. It was easy to fall in love with Tim, yet every moment spent with him makes you happier.

While you wait on his couch, Tim heads to your favorite café. Fiddling with the box in his pocket, he smiles as he thinks of you. You’ve gotten to know him so well you have become practically impossible to surprise. (At least since he first told you he loved you, holding you close under a starry sky in the California desert.) This, though, should be the best surprise yet.

The bell over the door chimes as Tim enters, and he quickly finds the woman he’s here to meet.

“Good morning, Captain Andersen,” he greets, sitting across from her. She looks at him until he amends, “Sorry, Zoe.”

“It’s been a year, Tim, you’re going to have to get used to it at some point,” she teases.

“I will. I actually asked you to meet me here because I have a question about my future with your daughter.”

Zoe’s smile grows, sure that she knows where this is going. Tim removes the velvet box from his pocket and slides it across the table.

“I want to propose, ask your daughter to spend the rest of her life with me, but I refuse to do that without your permission. So, Zoe, my question is, will you allow me to marry your daughter? I can’t bring her half as much happiness as she brings me, but I will love her until my dying breath.”

“Tim,” Zoe begins, pressing the ring box back into his hand. “I would love to have you as a son-in-law; of course, you can marry my daughter. And if your proposal is anything like that, I can’t imagine her saying anything other than yes.”

“Is she going to cry?”

“Most likely,” Zoe answers with a laugh. “But you should get going before she gets suspicious.”

Tim stands with Zoe, pulling her into a hug as he thanks her. She reminds him that the family is having dinner together on Friday, and his standing invitation still stands.

“We’ll be there,” Tim promises. “And I’ll let you know when I pick a date.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim knocks on Zoe’s door a week later, entering her office and closing the door behind him. 

“I’m proposing this weekend,” he tells her, smiling as he thinks of you.

“Take it easy this week, then. You want everything to be perfect,” Zoe reminds him.

“Yes, ma’am.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Are you okay?” you ask Tim. “You’ve been… different.”

“I’m great,” he promises. “Just ready for the weekend.”

You nod, unconvinced by his brush-off answer. Trusting Tim is easy, so you know he will tell you when he’s ready. As the day progresses, with IA reversals, celebrities, and an attempt on Nolan’s life, you’re not sure you and Tim will be able to talk about whatever bothers him.

✯✯✯✯✯

When you hear about the shots fired and the greenlight on Nolan, you don’t hesitate to meet your mother at the scene. Not telling Tim yourself wasn’t a conscious decision, simply the result of your adrenaline surging and concern for your fellow officers. Lucy is talking to Nolan as you approach, walking behind your mother, and you notice Tim standing to the side, sending him a concerned look.

“According to intelligence, you’ve bee greenlit by Southern Front,” Captain Andersen – no longer acting like your mother – announces.

“How’s a rookie get greenlit before me? I gotta step up my game,” Tim adds.

“It’s not a badge of honor, Bradford,” you reply, giving him a stern look.

“I was kidding,” he promises, his full attention on you.

Listening to the facts and learning why Nolan is being targeted, you know that finding the gang in a city as big as LA will be next to impossible. As your mom and Nolan leave, you rush to catch up with them.

“I’m coming with,” you announce.

“Officer Andersen, no,” your mom argues.

“I have more gang experience, I assisted in countless cases in Chicago. You need to let me help.”

Shaking her head, your mother gestures for you to join them. You know you’ll get yelled at, lectured, and, if you’re lucky, encounter the wrath of a concerned mother rather than an undermined captain when you get home later.

✯✯✯✯✯

“K-9 unit already swept the property,” Zoe says as she leads you and Nolan into his place.

“Uh, no, Ben left for New York yesterday. So, what’s happening here?” he replies.

“The DA approved a VARDA alarm. It bypasses 911, sends a red alert to all the cops in the area.”

“So, what’s next?”

“That’s up to you.”

“I mean, I can’t just go to work, right? I’d be endangering everyone who came within five feet of me.”

“Being a cop is being at risk.”

“You’re saying I should just report for duty, act like nothing happened?”

“I think we tell the criminals what to do, not the other way around.”

“No matter the consequences?”

“No matter the consequences. But, look, it’s up to you. No one is gonna judge you either way.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Nolan, this isn’t about bravery. You have a family. Any cop who’s ever worn a badge understands that. It seems the system is up and armed. We have a unit parked out front. Try to get some sleep.”

“I’ll stay,” you offer. “And I’m sure West and Chen are on their way.”

“You call me if anything happens,” your mom demands. “And make sure West and Chen know that, too.”

✯✯✯✯✯

The next day, when you and Nolan enter the station, Tim gives Nolan a nod of approval. The rest of the officers break into a round of applause, and Tim’s eyes move to yours.

“You need to be careful,” Tim mouths.

“I promise,” you reply silently. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Riding in the backseat of the shop, you listen to your mom and Nolan while thinking about Tim. Being careful has always been a priority, but knowing that you risk not going home to the man you love puts everything into perspective.

The radio comes on as dispatch announces, “7-Adam-15, possible 459 in progress, 1936 Kristol Lane.”

“7-Adam-15, show us responding,” Nolan responds. “I hate this. Feels like everyone’s fighting my battle for me.”

“City still needs policing,” your mom points out.

An engine revs behind you, and you glance out of the back window, quickly noticing the nondescript van behind you. “Uh, mom?”

She nods once, removing her gun from its holster as the van moves into the lane beside the shop. You and Nolan similarly prepare to defend yourselves. The van sits beside the shop momentarily before turning onto another road.

“Uh, that was…” Nolan begins.

“Exilirating,” your mom finishes.

“I was gonna say ‘terrifying.’”

“What if we meet in the middle and say ‘dangerous,’” you recommend.

“That’s a good choice too.”

“7-Adam-15, go to channel 2 for Sergeant Grey.”

“Andersen,” Zoe calls after switching to the proper channel.

“It worked,” Wade says. “Midas forced Cole to lift the greenlight.”

“I guess you are back to being just another rookie,” Zoe tells Nolan as he takes a deep breath.

“But maybe keep your guard up for a few more days,” you suggest. “Just because there’s no greenlight doesn’t mean you’re safe.”

“Does this mean this little partnership is over?” Nolan asks.

“We got a burglary call to take,” Zoe answers with a smile.

✯✯✯✯✯

Following your mom and Nolan into the open door of the burglary location, you take the left side as your mother goes straight, and Nolan goes right. Nolan turns off a radio before a flashbang is thrown into the room. You cover your ears and move toward an assailant before he throws you onto the floor, taking advantage of your disorientation as another man sticks a cattle prod to Nolan’s chest. You’re unsure where your mother is, but as your eyes close, you hope she proves she’s always been the best cop in your family.

✯✯✯✯✯

You regain consciousness first, but the men don’t seem to care about you as they watch Nolan. Handcuffed to wooden chairs with your backs to the pool, you don’t have many options to break free, so you can only hope that your fellow officers have noticed how much time has passed since you radioed a code 6 upon arrival.

Nolan groans as he wakes, and you can’t warn him to stay quiet before he’s noticed.

“Look who’s awake,” Cole says as he turns toward Nolan, holding up the electrical prod. “Packs quite a kick, doesn’t it? It’s got four times the voltage as LAPD uses. Could probably cook the eyeball right out of your skull.”

Leaning back, Nolan replies, “Look, look, I did not intend to disrespect Astrid, okay? Or you, okay? And I would be happy to apologize.”

“Too late for that now. Only way this ends is with you dead.”

Your mom chuckles, and your head snaps toward her as she continues, “Yeah, I, uh, I’d heard that you were dumb, but it is shocking to see it in person.”

“Dumb?” Cole repeats.

“Dumb,” you say with your mother.

“Who lured you into an ambush with a false surrender?”

“Does your father know that it was false? Huh, junior? I can’t imagine that revelation’s gonna go too well, huh?”

“I think it’ll go fine.”

“Oh, he’s dubmer that I thought. What’s my rank?”

“What?”

“Her rank, idiot,” you interject. “You should be able to tell by her uniform.”

“Who cares?”

“I have a feeling you will.”

“You put a hit out on a rookie,” your mom adds. “But two bars and a badge that says ‘Captain’? You’ve just crossed a line that anybody with half a brain would run screaming from. A line that even your father might whack you for crossing. Understood? So, let me tell you how this is gonna go. You and your little goonies are gonna-“

Cole lunges forward, pressing the prod against her. You pull against your restraints as she yells in pain.

“Hey! Cole! No!” Nolan yells. “Hurt me! Right? I’m the one you want hurt, right? Killing me, that’s trouble you can handle, okay? But not her. You need to let her go.”

“Do you think I’m dumb, too?”

“No.”

Cole looks back and forth between Nolan and your mother. When he moves toward her, you and Nolan yell, “No!” but can’t stop him from kicking her chair into the pool.

“No! No! No!” Nolan chants, fighting the handcuffs.

While you pull as hard as you can, attempting to break free, you begin tipping your chair back toward the water.

“If the line’s already been crossed, then there’s no going back. Which means non of you are walking out of here. As long as your bodies never turn up, the murder can’t be pinned on me,” Cole says.

Twisting in your chair, moving onto two chair legs, you watch your mother struggle underwater through blurry eyes, your vision affected by your tears.

“No, you’re wrong,” Nolan answers before offering to make a video apologizing to Astrid. “Just get her out first. Right now,” he adds after Cole agrees.

“No, you got to make the video first. Come one!”

“Nolan!” you grunt, hoping he makes this quick.

Turning back to look at the pool, you think your mother’s arm is free, and as she swims to the surface, pulling one of Cole’s “goonies” into the water, Nolan tips his chair to tackle Cole to the ground. You move toward the other man, unconcerned, when he points a gun at you. Headbutting him once you’re on the ground, you flinch when a gunshot sounds in the pool.

“No, no, no,” you repeat lowly, turning toward the water’s edge.

Your mom raises over the edge, shooting the man standing above you.

“Mom, no!” you warn as Cole reaches for his gun.

You and Nolan struggle against the cuffs, and when a bullet hits your mom’s neck, time seems to slow down. She presses a hand to the wound before she lowers back into the water.

“No!” you scream, your voice cracking with emotion. “No, no, stay up!”

“No, Cap-“ Nolan calls.

“Mom!”

Nolan breaks his chair and dives into the pool as you watch helplessly. 

“Come on,” Nolan repeats, beginning chest compressions.

“Nolan,” you whisper, sobbing against the wet concrete beneath you. “It’s too late.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Nolan tells you to stay still while he breaks your chair, but with your attention on your mom, that should be the least of his concerns. He frees you, pulling one end of the handcuffs away from the chair so you can move.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“It- it isn’t your fault.”

You begin crying again, looking at the bloody water as you kick the pieces of the chair away from you. Releasing a pained yell, you move to your knees, sitting beside your mom as sirens approach.

Nolan is beside you, unmoving, until Wade places a hand on his shoulder. Tim rushes to your side, kneeling beside you as he pulls you up.

“It was Cole,” Nolan says.

Tim leads you away from the pool as the coroner moves your mom into a flag-covered coffin. As you follow the procession through the line of officers, you stop beside Tim, waiting for his nod before you continue.

After the coroner leaves and Wade dismisses everyone with instructions to find Cade, you avoid looking at Tim. You can’t fall apart until you catch her killer. 

✯✯✯✯✯

When you walk into roll call the following morning, Bishop offers you her seat, and you gladly take the place beside Tim. He slides the black strap over your badge before taking your hand under the table. You stay behind the roadblock, letting Nolan and Tim approach Cole to make the arrest. Once he is in cuffs and in the back of a shop, you holster your weapon and keep your eyes on Tim.

He rushes to you, pulling you into his arms, holding you close as you cling to him.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says against your hair. “Do you want to go with them?”

Shaking your head, you move toward Tim’s shop, and Lucy nods as she finds another ride back to the station.

“I- I don’t know what I’m supposed to do without her, Tim,” you say when you’re alone.

“The hurt never goes away, but it lessens,” Tim promises. “And I’m right here.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Somehow, you manage to get through the funeral without falling apart. The moment you prepare to go home, to begin a life without her, that changes. You freeze on the sidewalk, looking back to the headstone.

“C’mon,” Tim murmurs as he approaches you. “You’re not staying alone tonight.”

“I can’t do this, Tim.”

“Yes, you can. Look at me. She loved you, and she wanted you to live and love, and do what you wanted to do. Do not let that monster take your life, too.”

Tim cups your cheeks, kissing your forehead as you nod.

“I’m sorry.”

 “Don’t apologize. It- I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but you’re not alone, okay?”

“I know,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim holds you against his chest until you fall asleep, but you don’t get much rest before a nightmare wakes you. Slipping out of Tim’s arms, you walk into his backyard and close the door behind you. Sitting on his deck, you feel like you’re back in Cole’s yard, frozen and unable to do anything more than scream. Why didn’t you take action like Nolan? Get the gun somehow before Cole got away from Nolan? … Why didn’t you save your mother?

Pressing your hand against your mouth, you attempt to silence your cries, but you should have realized that Tim would notice the moment you left his side. He closes the patio door softly, sitting beside you.

“Can I come closer?” he asks softly.

You shake your head quickly, and your thoughts spiral. So many things could have been done differently, and maybe this is a sign that you should have never come to Los Angeles, never have become a cop and that you are the reason she is dead.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tim calls, demanding your attention as he grabs your hand. “Breathe. Breathe with me.”

As Tim grounds you, you crawl toward him, letting him hold you as you fall apart in his arms. Crying into his chest, you eventually fall asleep again, and Tim whispers a promise that he will always be here for you.

✯✯✯✯✯

The first few weeks are the hardest as reality sets in, and you relive the moment. Tim never leaves your side, though, offering a hand to hold, a shoulder to cry on, or a reminder that you are not to blame. As the time between tears grows longer and you can look at pictures of her and smile, you decide you’re ready to return to work.

“Are you sure? If you need more time, that is completely understandable,” Tim replies.

“I’m sure. You told me not to let Cole take my life, and I’m ready to start living again.”

“Still room for me?” Tim asks with a smile.

“Loads of room for you,” you promise, leaning against him.

“Then I’ll be by your side the whole time.”

So, when you walk into work three months later, you assume that Tim is responsible for the round of applause and the “Welcome Back” banner hanging in the bullpen. You and Tim are both surprised by how easily you return to the station, smiling as you greet your friends and able to walk past your mom’s office with nothing more than a sad smile. 

✯✯✯✯✯

After practically moving into Tim’s house after the funeral, you know where everything is. So, when he spills a drink while watching the game, unable to draw his eyes from the screen, he asks you to get him some dry clothes.

“Sure thing,” you reply, smiling at him.

Tim yells when his team scores, and you shake your head in loving amusement as you enter his closet. Moving a small basket to get a shirt from behind it, you accidentally knock something onto the floor. When you stand after picking it up, you realize that it’s a jewelry box. Opening it, you see the one thing you didn’t expect.

In the other room, one of the teams calls a time-out, and commercials begin playing. Tim realizes that you’ve been in the bedroom for a while, so he stands, stretching as he sets out to check on you.

“Did you fall into a-“ he begins, freezing when he sees you staring at the engagement ring.

“Sorry,” you say, snapping out of your shocked stupor as you close the box and put the ring back. “I knocked it off and didn’t think, uh, here’s a clean shirt.”

Tim grabs your hands rather than the shirt, stopping you before you can walk around him.

“I’ve had it for a while,” Tim explains. “I just- I could never find the right time to ask.”

Wiping a tear from your cheek, you press the shirt against Tim’s chest and ask, “Can you get dressed, please?”

“For what?”

“I need a hug, but you’re really wet.”

Tim laughs, changing right beside you before pulling you toward the bed. He rolls onto his side, looking at your face as you reach for him.

“What about the game?” you whisper.

“Who needs a game when I have you?”

“Well, if you’re not using the tv,” you begin, trailing off.

Tim sighs, kissing your cheek as he reaches over you for the remote. He turns on your favorite movie, inviting you to lay against his chest as you cuddle against him.

“Yes,” you say a few minutes later.

“Yes what?” Tim asks, looking down at you.

You pause the movie, rolling toward Tim to look up at him as you lay your chin against his chest. “If you proposed, I would say yes. No matter when or where.”

Tim smiles, and you decide to watch him rather than the movie.

Considering what his proposal may be like, you whisper, “I wish my mom was here.”

“A few months ago, I left to get breakfast, and then I was acting different the rest of the week. Do you remember that?” Tim asks. You nod, and he continues, “I went to see your mom that day. I showed her the ring and asked for her permission to propose. She told me that I had her blessing and she’d love to have me as a son-in-law.”

Tim smiles as he remembers Zoe's excitement after learning about his plans.

“I was going to propose the weekend that – that she died.”

“She loved you,” you remind him as he brushes his thumbs over your cheeks.

“And I love you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Get dressed,” Tim whispers in your ear as the movie ends.

“What?”

“Put clothes on. Unless you want to go to dinner wearing that,” Tim replies, gesturing to your well-loved pajamas. “Not that you don’t look beautiful, of course.”

“Move,” you mumble, pushing past him to reach the dresser he emptied for you after the funeral.

As he drives you to dinner, you watch Tim’s profile, feeling like the luckiest, most loved woman ever. He stops at a park, exiting beside a tree covered in fairy lights. Walking to the passenger door, he takes your hand and helps you out of the truck.

“Tim, what is this?” you ask.

“Something I should’ve done before,” he begins, kneeling. He looks into your eyes, reflecting the lights above you as he speaks. When you say yes, crying just as Zoe said you would, Tim stands, pulling you into his arms before sliding the ring onto your finger.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hi,” you greet, lowering to sit in the grass. You look at the sparkling ring on your finger and smile. “Tim proposed. I- I wouldn’t have seen it coming if I hadn’t found it in the closet.”

The wind blows, wrapping around you like a comforting hug.

“He told me that he went to see you and you gave him your blessing. I know you loved him, and you knew how much I loved him, but… sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve him. He singlehandedly held me together after that day with Cole. And I don’t want to receive more than I give.” Leaning toward the headstone, you read your mother’s name and ask, “What do I do to show him I love him?”

“He knows,” Tim answers, approaching with flowers. “May I join?”

You smile, inviting Tim to sit with you at your mother’s grave. He lays the flowers against her headstone before wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“What are we talking about?” he asks.

“Us.”

“That’s my favorite topic.”

As you fall back into conversation with your mom, and Tim joins you, you feel like your mom is sitting across from you. With her love and Tim’s, plus all the love you have to give, you know you will be okay. Great even, you think as you lean against Tim, and the sun glints off the ring on your left hand.

[scatterbrainedbot]

Hello :D

You're so cool

Anyway have you thought that in your rat sons au Splinter might outlive the boys?

You're very cool :D love your stuff dude

(tw for some blood, light gore, implied overdose (kinda??))

hi copper!!! this is a fantastic question!

so obviously typical irl rats have far shorter lifespans than the average irl tortoise. according to google (yes, be awed by my spectacularly in-depth wealth of research) the average pet rat lives between 2-4 years ish, and the oldest on record lived to be about 7. meanwhile, an African spurred tortoise (Splinter's species) averages more around a 50ish year lifespan in captivity, tho is suspected to possibly exceed 75 or more in the wild.

Now, the mutation does give us a lot of wiggle room for playing with these numbers. For the rat sons boys, id say their natural lifespan probably clocks in at about 45-55 years old? definitely not old by human standards, but not young young either. (though, its also important to note that the boys were exposed to the mutagen just days after being born.)

For Splinter, meanwhile, aging is slightly more complicated. He lived the vast majority of his life as a regular normal African spurred tortoise (well, non-mutated at least. there were perhaps some shenanigans of a more mystical variety going on before he was mutated, but thats a separate matter) He was about 70ish i think? when the boys were born and they were all exposed to the mutagen. so he is already distinctly an old man turtle papa. id guess he'd probably still have another eh lets say 25-30 years after his mutation. he could probably push it a little farther even with some mystic nonsense, but when push comes to shove id say his 'natural' post-mutation lifespan would put his death like a solid decade or two before his sons.

of course, the tricky part of the matter is that theres no way for Splinter to know any of this. theres no way for him to know how the mutation affected them all, or if it even affected them all in the same way. especially since the boys dont show many physical signs of mutation for the first few years, and just kinda look like normal rats, (albeit with a more human sort of intelligence) — what sort of health standard do you hold them to? what if they simply dont show external signs of sickness or old age anymore? how do you actually know if something is wrong?

for a while there Splinter is very worried that one of his babies will just essentially reach the end of their normal rat lifespan, fall and not get up again.

so mostly, he just tries to live in the moment, enjoying whatever time he does have with his little ones, taking each day as a gift <3

still,

that fear

never

really

goes

away.....

[manyunhappygreenies]

"IF your mother was still alive, we would not be here at all."

dad of war but make it shadow and silver.

PLEASE DONT TAG AS SHIP TY

[comic-art-showcase]

Bruce by Chris Samnee

Batober prompt: Absence

[steddieasitgoes]

It’s Mother’s Day 1973 and Steve’s mom isn’t home.

Instead of spending the day with her only son, she’s left to follow her husband on his latest business trip. Steve doesn’t remember where she’s going, just that she promised to bring him back a snow globe for his collection. The one that sits on the highest shelf the bookcase in his room — collecting dust.

He’s been pawned off to his nanny again. Poor Ms. Anderson who has put her own middle-aged life on hold to raise a kid whose not hers. Steve’s not stupid. He knows his parents pay her well to take care of him, but he still wishes she’d tell them off. At least, put up a fight, so she didn’t have to spend all her weekends with him.

Usually the duo stay cooped up in the Harrington’s House. Ms. Anderson will cook him a nice meal and they’ll spend the afternoon playing games or watching movies. She’ll fall asleep early in the movie and Steve will disappear to play with his toys or snoop through his parents things to try to figure out where they’ve gone this time.

Today’s different though.

It’s Mother’s Day, after all.

Today, Ms. Anderson has taken him to Roane Hill Cemetery. She lets him hold a massive bouquet of pink carnations as she gathers a picnic blanket and basket from the back of her car.

“What are we doing here?” Steve asks, struggling to keep pace with Ms. Andersons determined steps.

“Visiting my mom.”

“But isn’t she…” Steve doesn’t finish the sentence.

“Yeah,” she says, spreading out the blanket next to a small gravestone. “But just because someone’s gone doesn’t mean they’re out of our lives. Coming here makes me feel connected to her.”

Steve doesn’t understand that. 

How can Ms. Anderson feel connected to her dead mom if she can’t even look at her? He doesn’t even feel connected to his own mom when she’s in the same room as him.

Maybe it’s a girl thing, he thinks.

Steve sits down quietly, after that. Ms. Anderson clearly needs this visit and Steve’s not going to interfere with her plans. Not when said plans get him out of the house for the first time in a week. So he sits and listens to Ms. Anderson talk to the headstone. Watches as she digs out a small flower pot in the ground to place the flowers in.

It’s only when she ducks her head in a prayer that Steve decides to explore.

“Don’t go too far,” she warns. “And be mindful of others!”

The cemetery is full of older people. Some sit on blankets like Ms. Anderson with gorgeous flowers and picnic baskets full of food, ready to spend hours with their departed mothers. Others, stay for a few minutes. Set down flowers and tap headstones before ducking their heads while retreating to their cars.

There’s laughter and tears and Steve doesn’t know how to feel about all of it, except lonely.

He wishes there was someone his age around here.

Steve ventures deeper into the cemetery, where the trees are taller and fuller. Older, Steve thinks. It’s through a small clearing that he spots a boy about his age sitting in front of a headstone. An older man stands behind him, a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

He’s too far away to know for sure, but he’s pretty sure the boy is talking to the headstone. Head tilted forward, shoulders hiccuping up and down like the boy is crying. Steve wonders who he could be visiting. Certainly not his mom, right? He’s much too young to not have a mom — Steve should know.

He watches as the little boy leans forward and kisses the headstone and Steve realizes it must be.

Steve must make a sound, a gasp or a small cry because the boy and the older man’s head whip around in his direction. He’s still too far away to hear, but he can tell the man is telling the boy something. Whispering in his ear before nodding his head in Steve’s direction.

He should leave. Ms. Anderson is probably done with her prayer now and she’ll be worried if he’s not back soon, but he can’t leave. Not when he spots the little boy trudging through the tall grass towards him.

“Are you lost?” the boy asks.

Steve shakes his head.

“What are you doing all the way out here then?”

Steve shrugs. “Was that… were you talking to your mom?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, looking over his shoulder. “Uncle Wayne says it’s good to come talk to her ‘cause she gets lonely too. Are you here for your mom?”

“Oh no,” Steve says. “My mom is, well she’s not here but—”

“Do you want to help me?” Eddie asks, before Steve can finish it. “Wayne wants me to go find a yellow flower in the field over there. It’s so big I could use some help.”

“Sure!” Steve says, happy to finally have someone his age to talk to. “But why yellow?”

“It’s my mom’s favorite color!” Eddie smiles. “She said, she always felt like the sun was touching her when she wore it. It was her happy color.”

Years later, when Steve and Eddie have reconnected and they’re going through Steve’s closet to find items to donate, Eddie will ask Steve why he has so many yellow sweaters.

“It makes me feel like the sun, warm and happy,” Steve says, smiling softly. “I used to wrap myself in yellow whenever my parents left me home alone.”  

And it’s then and only then do the two of them realize they met long before they crossed paths in the halls of Hawkins High and even longer before portals to hell-like dimensions open.

[gffa]

We buried my dad this morning and I've been on and off wobbly about it, I've been struggling a little with having it feel real (he spent a lot of the time in the hospital in the last few years, so it's felt like he could just be staying there for a few weeks again), but something about saying the actual words, "We buried my dad today." is hitting a lot harder than I expected. I think, in part, I'm also feeling extra adrift because while we were in the area, we visited my mom's burned down childhood home and while I was only there a few times when I was very young and I'd seen it at least once since the fire, something about how it had time to settle and collapse and sink into the ground, so that it was still recognizable, but suddenly so small and beyond anything left to salvage from it, feels like another of the things that used to be part of my world fading away. (And, of course, it's stirring up memories of my nephew's death, because I loved that little guy so much and I still miss him.) And my dad's really gone. I'm never going to see him again, he's buried in his hometown that he loved, and it feels final in a way that even going through his stuff doesn't (we've had to do major cleaning sprees before, we've had to do massive changes for him before, none of this felt truly new), this was my last goodbye to him. My dad really died and all the complicated relationship stuff can't even dent that I feel lost without my dad in the world. So, have some patience with me, I'll come and go a lot, sometimes I'll be fine and posting like normal, other times (like the last few days while I got ready for this) I'll be basically MIA, but this was the last major thing to do for him and now it's all just. Final.

[gabessquishytum]

CW: past child abuse, past parricide

Special inspector Hob Gadling hates his job. Well, it's actually not true - he loves his job, but today specifically, he hates it. First, he was hoping for a bonus, and now he got assigned to a years-old cold case 'just to ensure that no new details emerged, and the investigation needs not to be reopened.' Second, he'll have to deal with some filthy rich weirdos.

Destiny Endless is a top-tier consulting risk manager, his services costing more than Hob's yearly paycheck. Death is the founder of a successful chain of funeral homes - after all, people always die, and rumor has it that Death is the best in her line of work. Dream is a famous writer who's able to write it all: whatever genre he sets his eyes - and pen - on, the book becomes a bestseller. Desire Endless is a porn star; the only mention of their name makes armies of fans go hard, wet, and horny. Despair founded a pharmaceutical corporation and revolutionized the world by introducing new, highly effective antidepressants. Destruction seems like the only normal person in that fucked-up family of masterminds: he had made a career in the military and then fucked off to travel the world. Last but not least, there is Delirium, an artist. Personally, Hob thinks that one needs to be constantly high to come up with such colors and forms, but hey, it's not him who's paid six figures to install some mind fuckery in amusement parks, so he doesn't get to judge.

Hob wouldn't come close to any of these freaks, but he has to verify that nothing was missed during the investigation, and so, here he goes. Mama and Papa of the Endless disappeared almost twenty years ago with no trace. Their bodies were never found, and there was no evidence of foul play. They just vanished into thin air, voilà. It was presumed that they had got bored, bought themselves new personalities, and left to live someplace else. To Hob, this seems strange yet plausible: looking at their kids, it's obvious that insanity runs in the family.

Still, Hob shows up to do his job, examine old records, and talk once again with all the Endless heirs. All goes very smoothly - there's nothing suspicious, all the kids' testimonies match. Hob would gladly close the check, but there is one tiny problem: he fell head over heels in love with Dream. Now in his thirties, he's unconventionally beautiful, insanely talented, and he's got Hob wrapped around his slender finger. Dream keeps his distance at first, but eventually, they begin dating. Hob finally closes the check for good - it's as clear as day that Endless parents must be chilling on some private island - and plunges into the relationship with Dream, learning him from the other side, as someone vulnerable, insecure, and kind-hearted. There's only one strange thing: Dream is inexperienced in bed for his age, and he's always somewhat tense during sex. Hob tries to talk to him, but Dream shuts the conversation down. Hob guiltily googles his bf and finds out that despite his high profile, there are no mentions of his exes in the media. At all.

Hob is puzzled, but it all falls into place when, one night, his lover has a nightmare. Hob wakes up from his screams and, with horror, realizes that this is more than a nightmare - it's a memory. He wakes Dream up and holds him while he cries. On the periphery of his mind, Dream's screams and pleas create a terrifying story of the siblings being abused by their parents for years.

'You killed them together, didn't you? Each of you thought you were the only one who suffered and thus kept the others safe. But once you all learned the truth…' Hob whispers into Dream's hair and holds him tighter. 'It's alright, my sweetling. I'd have killed them myself for you if they had been still alive.'

They stay like that through the night. In the morning, Hob makes Dream breakfast like nothing happened and goes to work. He's got no reason to worry about the case ever being reopened: there's no evidence, and he's determined to be the only one who sleeps by Dream's side till the end and holds him through his dreams and nightmares.

I love this so much. Poor, poor Dream. And the rest of the siblings too!

Hob doesn't want to draw further attention to the case of course, but he does all he can at work to make sure that files are carelessly "lost" or at least buried so deep in the archive no one will find it for a century. It even occurs him to frame someone else for the crime to make sure that the siblings are thoroughly safe, but... its better left forgotten. God knows Hob will spend the rest of his career making sure that no one ever goes sniffing around the Endless siblings ever again.

What's more he'll spend the rest of his life helping Dream in his recovery. He makes sure that he has private, confidential access to resources that a survivor should have - none of the siblings ever told anyone about the abuse or went to therapy because they're terrified to look like they had a "motive" to get rid of their parents. Hob changes that. He persuades as many of the siblings as he can to visit trusted therapists. Not all of them go for it, but at least someone is finally advocating for them and offering a little bit of support.

Hob loves Dream most of all of course, but he considers all the siblings as his family. He hates what happened to them. He can't fix it. But he can protect and love them as they deserve. Maybe all of them can finally breathe a little easier, with a friend on their side.

[tangledinink]

griefaversary jumpscare.

it's officially been five years since the loss of my dad. i think that means i'm healed now, right? anyway, my dad is the whole reason i started tmnt: stabilize, so my brain and hands decided we'd draw splinter.

[thevioletcaptain]

So I've been quiet on here a lot longer than planned.

The reasons are many. The reasons are varied.

The reasons are mostly fucking horrible.

Under a cut because it's long. Check tags for content warnings.

First was the expected absence: my parents came to visit me in Los Angeles over my birthday, so I spent the first half of October showing them around whenever I wasn't working a shift at my shitty department store day-job, or in class at UCLA.

Then, almost immediately after they went back to Australia, I got a second job working as a personal assistant for a composer. This was (and is) an extremely fun and rewarding job, but meant having one more thing on my weekly schedule, which was an adjustment.

Given that until halfway through last year, I'd been out of work since I immigrated in 2019, it took a while for me to get used to having so many concurrent responsibilities, and I'd just started to get a handle on things when I got sick right before the holidays. I took many covid tests -- all negative -- and eventually determined that it was just last year's strain of flu, which I hadn't managed to find time to get the shot for due to the aforementioned super busy schedule. I'm almost positive it was thanks to a particular customer at the aforementioned shitty department store job who coughed hard enough in my direction for their germs to get through my n95.

Anyway, last year's flu was a monster, and I spent a week in bed with a fever, then several more weeks being utterly drained and with a horrendous cough to match. It took a full month for me to recover, and then in mid-January, almost as soon as I started to catch up on all the things that had fallen behind while I was sick, things got bad, then good, then worse, then better, then much, much, much worse.

Basically, it starts with my dad being diagnosed with prostate cancer. He'd told me in October when they came to see me, but the surgery was scheduled for the tail end of January.

The surgery happened on a Monday, and it was a complete success. They got it all in one go. No chemo or radiation or further treatment needed at all. I spoke to him on the phone after he woke up, and he was in good spirits. Happy to have been given the all clear by his doctors.

I told him to watch Star Trek: Strange New Worlds & Evil while he rested up at home, because I'm writing specs for both this year and wanted him to be able to read them and know what was going on. He's the one who got me into sci-fi and horror, after all.

He went home.

He was home for two days.

He started feeling a bit rough on the Thursday. Short of breath. No appetite. Mum took him back to the hospital, just to be safe.

Turns out he'd had a mild heart attack. They couldn't figure out why. The echocardiogram didn't show any issues with his heart.

Then over the next couple of days, his breathing got worse. They took a scan of his lungs, and found that they were extremely inflamed. They'd given him covid tests but they came back negative. We told them about a work accident he had about 20 years ago, where a switchboard he'd been working on exploded in his face, and he'd suffered from inhalation burns among other things.

They thought that maybe something during the prostate surgery had caused irritation in his already damaged lungs, which put stress on his heart and caused the mild heart attack. He's never had any issues with his lungs since that accident, but they thought that maybe he'd just adapted to the damage over the years without realizing.

They kept trying different treatments to help his lungs heal. Nothing seemed to work. His breathing kept getting worse. They had him on as much oxygen as possible without intubating him, but it wasn't enough, so over that weekend they decided that they'd need to move him to another hospital with a more specialized lung unit.

When they were preparing to do that on the Monday night, he crashed. Another heart attack. Bigger, this time. They intubated him. Sedated him. Called my mum and told her to come in right away because things looked so bad.

But then he rallied. By the morning, though he was still sedated and intubated, the doctors were confident that with the right treatment at the specialized lung unit at the other hospital, he'd be okay. He was still in a rough condition, but stable. They transferred him to the other hospital.

He was given another covid test. This one came back positive.

My mum and brother called me once it was a reasonable time in Los Angeles to let me know what was going on, and the next day my brother booked me a flight back to Australia. I had to leave for the airport about five hours after my ticket was booked.

I got to Melbourne on February 1st.

For the next two weeks, dad was intubated, sedated, and in an isolation room. Every few days, they scanned his lungs again, and they were slowly improving.

Finally, he stopped testing positive, and was moved to a regular room in the ICU. Then he healed enough for them to extubate him and wake him up.

On February 13th, he was conscious enough to squeeze my hand when we went in to see him. On February 14th, he was conscious and capable of talking enough to ask a nurse in his ward to bring him his phone, and called mum first thing in the morning to wish her a happy Valentines Day.

Two days later, on Friday 16th, his lungs looked good enough on scans that they felt it was safe to do an angiogram, which they wanted to do just to double check that there weren't any issues with his heart that they missed with the echo.

They did the test. They found massive blockages. 90% blockage in one artery; significant blockages in two others.

Even though he'd barely recovered from covid, the blockages were bad enough that they scheduled him for open heart surgery on Monday 19th. They said without surgery there was a 100% chance that the blockages would cause another massive heart attack that he would not survive. They said there was about a 20% chance that he'd have complications, but only about 4% that they'd be serious/life threatening.

Like before, the surgery went well. Triple bypass, in the end. We got a call late on Monday afternoon to say that he was in recovery and looking good. His heart was functioning perfectly. They'd bring him out of sedation that night. Keep him in the ICU one or two days just as the standard post-op procedure. He'd spend a week or so in a cardiac ward after that, then head to a physical rehab ward for a couple of weeks until he could build back the muscle mass he'd lost while sedated.

We went in to see him the next day. Tuesday 20th. His 66th birthday.

He was tired, but looked good. Color in his cheeks. He made a couple of jokes. We left after about 45 minutes because he was pretty worn out, and we wanted to let him get some rest.

But then after, that his breathing started to get bad again. By Wednesday morning, they'd switched out the oxygen prongs in his nose for a big, high-pressure mask again. They called to let us know they were going to intubate him again so he could rest while his lungs recovered a bit more.

They struggled to get the tube in.

His lungs were deteriorating badly. He kept getting worse. We couldn't go in to see him because they were working on him all day.

At 9pm we got a call to say that he was just getting worse. They had him on 100% oxygen. He just wasn't absorbing it. His entire body was under massive strain. They were doing everything they could, but he just wasn't improving.

They said we should go in right away.

We got there by 10pm. My brother and his wife arrived about the same time. We went in to see him. He didn't look good. He looked pale. But he was warm, and he'd come back from the brink before, and we were sure he could do it again. We stayed with him for about an hour, and left not long after 11pm. Went back to my brother's place because they live closer to the hospital.

We were there about half an hour before they called us again. Just after midnight. He was gone.

That was about a week and a half ago, now. It still doesn't feel real. He was only 66. He hadn't even retired yet. He was working full time up until the week before Christmas, and had planned on going back to work a few days a week after he'd recovered from surgery. He never had any heart trouble, or lung trouble. He was active. He was fine.

My wife Zel and her mom flew in a couple of days after it happened. I barely remember anything from the past two weeks. Everything just feels fake.

I've been trying to write something to say at the funeral, which we've finally been able to arrange for next week -- it was delayed because we had to wait for dad to be released by the coroner. I don't think I'll be able to do it.

Anyway. That's where I've been.

It'll probably be a little while longer before I'm around here much, let alone posting with any regularity, because I'll be in Australia helping my mum & and my brother sort everything out. I have no idea how long I'll be dealing with stuff, or when I'll be able to make words cooperate enough to post anything, but I'll be back eventually.

I'm trying to keep an eye on Discord (I'm violetmatter over there) so you can find me there if you want. But yeah, I just wanted to let you guys know why I've been so quiet.

[steddieas-shegoes]

even with the hole

for @steddiemicrofic prompt 'hole' (yes, again) rated t | wc: 404 | cw: implied and brief mention of child abuse, implied parental death (in the past) | tags: getting together, first kiss, angst with a happy ending

📷📷📷📷📷📷📷📷📷📷📷📷📷

The cigarette burned a hole through the picture, the last remaining image Eddie had of his mom.

His dad was crying, mostly out of anger, fear. His glossed-over eyes kept glancing at Eddie sobbing a few feet away, begging for him to stop.

It felt cruel that the last time he saw his dad was also the last time he saw his mom.

The picture in his wallet when Eddie nearly died had a hole where a woman should be. Steve could tell that much.

He wasn't trying to be nosy, he just needed to try to get his driver's license out so they could confirm his information for the ER nurse. The picture fell out when he pulled cards and slips of paper out of the front pocket of his wallet.

He quickly slipped it into his own pocket so they wouldn't see it or take it, and handed over the things they needed.

But the more he looked at the picture, the more confused he got.

In the picture, Eddie was no older than four or five, sitting in a woman's lap while she showed him a chord on a guitar. Some of the top of Eddie's head had been burned off along with the woman's entire face.

Steve may not know much about Eddie, but it was pretty obvious this person was important to him.

He hoped he got the chance to ask about it.

He waited. Eddie woke up to a lot of questions, about what happened, how he was, where did it hurt. Steve didn't wanna add to it.

Days later, Steve managed to stick around after visiting hours were over.

Eddie was tired, but insisted on the company.

Steve pulled the picture from his pocket and watched Eddie's face go through a series of complicated emotions.

"I didn't want this to go missing. Seems important," he said.

"Yeah," Eddie nodded, gulped.

"She taught you guitar?"

"She tried. I was still too young. Wayne taught me."

Steve placed his hand on top of Eddie's. "You remember our first grade play?" Steve handed him another picture. "She was there."

Eddie looked down and saw his mom.

"How?"

"Nancy knows how to find anything," Steve shrugged.

Eddie let the tears fall. "Kinda wanna kiss you."

"Wouldn't say no."

"Pretty unsexy to kiss while I'm crying, don't ya think?"

Steve leaned in and pressed his lips to Eddie's. "Not to me, Eds."

[bakvrue]

the things we don't do

izuku x reader

cw: DEATH, PARENTAL DEATH, hospice mentions, sadness, me projecting onto izuku, very very sad, grief, feeling of loss, depression, anxiety, sad (again), wc 1.2k, header by @/cafekitsune

It's been either a few minutes or a few hours. Izuku can't tell.

He sits on your couch taking a break from the room that has stolen his attention away for the past few days.

A spare room turned into a makeshift hospital. Bottles of liquid medicine easy to administer as well as adult briefs, wet wipes, cleaning supplies, and a small booklet about the process of dying sit neatly organized on a table.

Everything you need to take care of a dying parent.

It didn't sneak up on her, Inko's age and a myriad of health complications have been accumulating over the years, but that doesn't make the pain of losing someone easier; the pain of losing your mom any easier.

Izuku looks at the clock, counting the hours to make sure that he has the dosing times right, and closes his eyes. Never once did he think that he would suddenly be in charge of administering morphine, but he would do anything just to make his mom feel less pain.

He walks through the kitchen trying to remember what last he ate before shaking his head, he's not hungry anyways, and heads back to Inko's room.

He moved a comfortable chair from your living room into this makeshift hospital room so that he could at least sit more comfortably, so he makes himself at home.

It's been five days since she was brought home, and two days since she has uttered a word or opened her eyes. He can hear her soft snores over the sound of the movie he put on, one that she always put on for him when he was a kid.

He can see her now laughing at her favorite part, singing along to the music, doing that silly little dance she always did. It hurts him to look over at her now, but he does because soon he won't be able to ever again.

He holds her hand as he watches the movie with her, occasionally sending out texts to friends and family members giving them updates. He's not sure how much more he can update them since there's not much happening.

The woman in the movie jumps off of a roof onto a paper lantern zipline as fireworks explode indicating that the movie is just about over. Izuku kisses his mother's hand and sets it down gently on the bed.

There's a few minutes before the next round of medicine, just enough time to clean up the room a little bit.

The raisable hospital table that she no longer can use is converted into the supply storage and his new desk for sorting medicine. The wipes are stacked from largest to smallest in the corner, the paper towels and latex gloves finding their home next to them. A small vase of flowers is moved next to a new larger vase just delivered today, all that's left is some trash on the bedside table.

That's when he sees it.

They say that it's the smallest things that break you, and he supposes that's true now.

Wrapped up in its wrapper is half of an eaten lollipop.

He remembers the last day she was conscious he found this lollipop hiding in his pantry. It's a special one you could only find in certain shops, its chalky consistency reminding him of summer days during his childhood when Inko would eat these when she got home from work.

He had excitedly ran to her room to show her his find, and she had made excited grabby hands for it, even though her mind was slipping she remembered the joy of her favorite treat.

Izuku watched her that day enjoying the treat, until she got halfway done with it.

"Let's save the rest for later, okay Mom?"

She pouted at him but agreed, "Later."

He had wanted to be able to give it to her later, to use it as a reward for having some soup for dinner. A little treat to brighten her again.

But he didn't know that would be the last day she would ever speak to him.

Izuku looks at the lollipop again and feels sick to his stomach. He covers his eyes and walks out of the room. It feels wrong breaking down in front of the one person you wish could comfort you but can't.

He goes back to the living room with tears blurring his vision, pacing before he decides to sit.

Of course he did this, of course he took away this one comfort from her and didn't let her finish it.

His head falls into his hands, and sobs escape him as he lets himself fall farther into this feeling. He's drowning in his own thoughts.

He took away her happiness, just like every time before when he had told her no. When he said no to fast food. When he said no to this trip, or to getting that puppy, or any other things that she asked for. Every "No" rushes into his head.

His throat is raw, and he can barely breathe, he doesn't care. What does it matter when the person who cheered for him the hardest is beyond repair? What does an optimist do when their spirit finally gets broken?

He thinks about the lollipop again, and another choked sobs breaks through him.

Izuku doesn't hear your keys turn the lock as you enter your home, two large grocery bags in hand, but you can hear him. You set down all your things as quickly as possible and then set out to find him.

And what you find breaks your heart. He's folded over his knees, sobs making his shoulders shake as you quickly run to envelope him. Taking whatever weights he needs off his shoulders.

He wraps his arms around you and cries into your shoulder. He's so grateful for you, more than you could ever know at that moment.

When he's quieted down, he holds you tighter. "Do you want to know what that was about?"

You nod, "Yeah, but you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"I do." He sniffles and wipes his tears on your shirt. "I took her happiness away from her… why couldn't I just give her what she wanted?"

Izuku can feel the tears rising up again and his lower lip starts to wobble as he continues.

"I never let her do anything, why didn't I just let her?"

"Oh, Izuku," you hold him tighter and he does the same.

"I never stopped to get her food, I never took her to do things, I couldn't even let her finish a stupid lollipop."

Your presence calms him, just having you next to him lets him hear how all of this really sounds out loud, but it still hurts him.

You pull back from his embrace so you can wipe the tears from his face. Salt steaks layered over freckles wiped away by your thumbs.

You press your forehead against his, "You tried to do what was best for her. You didn't stop for fast food because you wanted her to eat healthier, you didn't take her to do crazy things like horseback riding, you didn't get her a puppy because it would have been your puppy. You're a good son Izuku."

Izuku's lip quivers as he pulls himself into you again. He takes a deep breath as tears roll down his cheek once again.

He hears your words, he knows they're true, but god does it still hurt.

His phone alarm goes off from Inko's room telling him that it's time to give her meds. He kisses your shoulder and stands up, heading back to his mom.

[anaberrry]

Hey.

Arthur Bennett seeing anything lovely and thinking about how lovely his family was.

Arthur Bennett seeing a happy couple and thinking about how happy his parents used to be.

Arthur Bennett seeing a toy and thinking of how much his siblings would love it.

Arthur Bennett seeing anything he loves and wishing he could give that love to his family.