#now this imp is off to be sad about Oz some more :'D

[the-wonderful-imp-of-ozcar]

So i was recently reminded that this post exists and I got sad thinking about it- so I decided to make it a ficlet so it can be everyone else’s problem too~! :'D

[TW: Mention of Death, Mourning. ] ***

Only those closest to Oz ever noticed the little ceremonies that took place 4 times every year. At first it always seemed nothing more than a one off experience, so no one makes a connection. And even his most detail oriented friends often didn't put it together for a few years, at least.

Oz liked it this way; it meant he had to explain less often.

And lie about it less often. Because Gods above, he hated to lie about it.

The first one was near the start of the year, when winter was past its harshest phase. On that day he would drink a personal blend of hot tea all day. No matter the location, no matter the temperature, and no matter the incarnation- if he had the ability to, he'd take the day off and drink this personal blend all day long, reflecting on this life and the world around him.

(It wasn't exactly the same as the one she loved, but many of the old tea types went extinct over the years. Still, it was as close as he ever could get to it, and it brought him the solace he desired when he thought about her smile when she would make it in the morning and sip it alongside her *̶̧̘̱͋̈́̍*̸͎̆*̵̹̬͒͂*̶͙̤̠́̀*̷͖̦̫̈́̃*̶̫̉̐)

The next one was near the middle of spring, when everything was full of life and color. Oz always tried his best- he really did- to make them correctly; but throughout his many lifetimes of trying to make scented candles, he found they always had something wrong with them when it came time to burn. One scent often overcame another, air pockets appeared in the candle, or on occasion it would produce smoke instead of burning cleanly.

(Still, Oz couldn't help but smile when he remembered making many of the same mistakes alongside her, and how she loved the product anyway. It was about the experience of creating something together, after all. A shame that *̶̹̝̗̽̓*̷͉̼́*̷͕̮̓͆̌*̷̧̹̽̽͆*̸̛̻̞͂̂ never saw it that way.)

When the summer heat hit its peak, Oz could be found performing the third routine; the simple act of playing a tune. He preferred to play it properly on an instrument when he could, but it often came down to simply humming the notes of the last song he could remember her playing. That was fine honestly, as the original songs were played on a woodwind instrument that had long since ceased to exist.

(He often wondered if this was in the proper spirit, as she loved to make up the notes as she went along- creating something new each time- just to get everyone up and dancing along. But still, he couldn't help but replay her last made-up melody she had played for them- even if it was only days before *̷̦́*̷̻͆*̸̧̈́*̴̱͘ ̶̢̂*̸̫̑*̵̦̚*̶̻̿*̵̡̊*̶̱̃,)

And finally, the last one came in fall, landing on a day where most would be focused on upcoming holidays or harvests. This was the hardest for anyone to notice, as it had no physical trace; no drink, no candle, and no tune to prove it existed. Over the many, many, many years that Oz walked remnant, very few ever picked up on this ritual, but it happened every year all the same. Every year, on the same date, Oz made sure to thank all of those around him for what they did; whether it be close friends, family members, staff, or his inner circle- he made sure that day they left understanding how much he appreciated their presence in his life.

(This was also often the hardest of all of them, as it meant showing an amount of vulnerability that he was often uncomfortable with. But still, for the little girl who always made sure everyone around her knew how loved they were, this discomfort was the least he could do to honor her memory. And honestly, the fact that his then *̷̞̎*̷͓͝*̶̭̍*̶̨͠ never thought it was important to reciprocate this... really should have been telling.)

These private ceremonies weren't much, he knew; but Oz found that over years celebrating his daughters' birthdays in these small ways helped the ache he still felt for them. So every year, without fail, he mourned and celebrated his little girls in these small ways- hoping despite having no right to it, that if he ever did complete his mission he’d get the chance to finally see them again.