#loss cw

[brbabcs]

often times in the brba and bcs universe, we see grief and loss through the individual that remains in the aftermath of the actual death. but something that compels me about nacho’s trajectory is that we see his grief before he dies. we see this last phone call with his father, mourning not even just himself but the fact that this will be it. that the loss is not something he can avoid or navigate around, but instead something he just has to choose the best option from. he’s looking around at these future-dead men, hearing his father through the phone, knowing that there are only so many endings available to him — and more than that, that he is at the end of the line. he’s in these desolate landscapes, filled with disconnected individuals (who, only one truly is rooting for him in any capacity,) and knowing that the air he breathes, and the people he loves, and the world he’s surrounded by, will be something that, soon, he will no longer be able to see or hear or touch or love. grief is devastating when there’s this phantom image of a person in the aftermath that can never actually be there, of course it is. but grief before the actual loss has occurred is gutwrenching. we see grief for his father, grief for his life, grief for young nacho varga who, only a few years prior, was seemingly on top of the world and only climbing upward — and inevitably, now falling quite a long ways down. and all he can hope is that, afterwards, the impact he takes will be enough to stop the damage from shattering outward. that it can be his last act of love

#nacho varga #bcs #better call saul #not really analysis more of a ramble of me being sad over tragedyboys again #something something you did not want to be christlike #whatever. fuck my life #need to go watch him making fun of pryce’s stupid car again to heal myself #grief cw #loss cw #mine

[youneedsomeprompts]

~ LOVE HURTS ~ SAD CHRISTMAS PROMPTS

requested by: anonymous

Feel free to use and reblog!

being alone on Christmas eve

fights on Christmas

missing their loved ones when everyone else spends time with theirs

remembering late family members

being sad but everyone expects them to be happy

having their expectations for Christmas disappointed

being with toxic people on Christmas eve

having to work on Christmas eve

being dumped shortly before Christmas

having serious worries that overshadow every Christmas joy

not wanting to carry on their parents' traditions

old conflicts bubbling up during the holidays

having to cry during every Christmas movie

hating all the Christmas decorations around them

trying to ignore everyone's jolly spirit

trying to hide their sadness during the Christmas celebration

trying to make others happy at least

having the winter blues

storming off after a fight with their S/O

saying ugly things on Christmas eve they regret afterwards

#christmas prompts #holiday prompts #writing prompts #prompt list #angst prompts #loss cw #loss tw #sadness cw #sadness tw #whump prompts #writing inspiration #writing ideas #writers on tumblr #writeblr #setting prompts #fanfic prompts #winter prompts #20 prompts

[khaotunqs]

thinking a lot about my mom--she would have been 70 today.

we didn't have the best relationship towards the end of her life, but she was my mama, she was my foundation, and i loved her so much.

i still love her. i still miss her. and i know, in spite of her demons, that she loved me too.

happy birthday, mom. ❤

#mona.txt #loss cw #grief cw #death cw

[beeflibeef]

Alternative universe where Fumus and Taffy are humans except Fumus is sick with a disease and Taffy outlives him, wishing that Fumus was immortal

#why- #au #notcanon #noncanon #death cw #loss cw #angst cw #+ fumus is 170 cm here

[trhor]

Previous | Beginning | Next

Then - 17th July, 2042

#royal simblr #ts4 royal simblr #ts4 royal story #ts4 royalty #ts4 royal legacy #sims 4 royal family #ts4 royal family #ts4 storytelling #sims 4 storytelling #ts4 screenies #ts4 screenshots #mourning cw #grief cw #loss cw #death cw #sim: king james ii #sim: alibhe #sim: isobel #sim: hamish #sim: cullen #sim: ffion #sim: august #sim: laoisa #trhor #chrono

[screechthewriter]

you crazy-assed cosmonaut (remember your virtue) | a god of war/titanfall 2 crossover

part 4/6:

Anything could go wrong when you left home. Atreus had experienced that over and over. Sometimes, it felt like every time he and Dad left the house for a simple trip, things went sideways. War only made that worse, because they were deliberately running towards trouble, and any plans could fall apart if someone sneezed too hard. Atreus actively tried not to expect anything from a mission, good or bad.

But even this was beyond what he’d expected.

They had to unexpectedly bail out, which meant when Atreus hit the ground, he was nowhere near the drop zone. Not only that, but the door wasn’t coming off his drop pod. Atreus had never liked those things, but he didn’t want that dislike justified like this. He was able to get free of his restraints, but struggled with the door. A robot voice in the background droned on and on about his heart rate. “I know, Siri,” Atreus snapped. “I’m a little…” He settled back against his seat and rested both feet against the door. “…stressed at the moment…!”

He had been trying to avoid cutting loose and using his powers to their full extent, troll incident aside. But there was no way he was going to die stuck in this damn drop pod. Atreus took a deep breath and pushed. Metal creaked, groaned, and…

Crack.

The door popped off its hinges, letting Atreus push his way free. Unfortunately, he stepped out into absolute mayhem.

“…isn’t the drop zone…”

“Just stay together…!”

“Do we have any pilots in the area?!”

Atreus looked around. No sign of Cooper. “Jack?” Atreus called. “Jack?!”

A bullet whistling past his head forced him to duck. Atreus immediately reached into the pod for his bow. Still intact, all the arrows there. Hemlock with a decent amount of ammo, Kraber with less ammo, couple of grenades, two hand axes strapped to his leg.

He could make it work.

Atreus started with the bow, taking careful aim at the closest Reaper. His bow hadn't held any Light energy in years, decades even, but Sindri's dragon tooth trick still held. It was really useful against mechanical enemies that liked to group up. The lightning arcing between Reapers was almost hypnotic, but he didn't have time to appreciate the splendor of good old fashioned Dwarven magic craft. He had to get to the others. Fortunately, the short-circuiting gave him the cover he needed to dart away from his pod and to his fellow Militia members. "Have you seen Private Cooper?" he asked.

"Good luck finding anyone out here," replied the sergeant. It seemed like he was the highest ranking person out there. "I don't even know where we're regrouping."

Awesome.

Atreus swapped out the bow for the Kraber, wanting to preserve as many arrows as he could for as long as possible. Just hold them back. Hold them back until you're told otherwise.

If you knew where you hit, Reaper's heads came off pretty easily. He counted his shots as he went. Six shots with the extended magazine. Crack. One. Crack. Two. Crack. Third shot hit the chest, but that was fine; .50 caliber ammo punched a hole through a lot of things, Reapers included.

Crack. Four. At least Reapers didn't feel pain.

Crack. Five. He couldn't say the same thing about humans, so...

Crack. Six. Make sure you do it the first shot. Even from this distance, he could practically taste the blood in the air.

Or maybe that was from someone on his side. Hard to tell in all this chaos.

"Reloading," he said instinctively, ducking back behind cover. He'd switch to the Hemlock once he took out the last handful of long-distance threats...he’d have to keep an eye out for the heavy sniper ammo, he could only carry so much at a time...his mind was racing, the familiarity of combat clashing with the sheer amount of variables a war like this threw at him.

At least it’s not a dragon, he thought a tiny bit hysterically.

There were three more long-distance targets; he took them out in quick succession before switching to the Hemlock. Fewer shots in the clip than the Flatline, but it being semi-automatic removed the urge to just keep a finger on the trigger. If you can’t do it in one or two shots, don’t do it at all. Only as much force as necessary. The thought echoed in his head after each three-shot burst. Only as much force as necessary.

Only as much force as necessary.

Only –

“C’mon!”

Atreus snapped out of it. They’d thinned out the IMC forces there. Time to run. He took off after the others, scanning their surroundings, only letting his gaze linger on any dead Militia long enough to confirm…

Then again, it was difficult to tell people apart when they were lying dead in the mud like that.

Funny; dead bodies never really bothered him before. He'd seen so many of them growing up in his little part of the world, the realm he still thought of as Midgard even though it had been divided up into countries with new names  and evolving cultures (Denmark, Sweden, Norway). People died, all the time, and with the Desolation sweeping through, there wasn't really anyone to bury them. But now? The same sight, or a similar enough sight, chilled him.

Maybe it was because they were freshly dead, some not even visibly injured, looking as if they could stand up and walk away any second now.

Maybe it was because, back then, he hadn't been scanning the faces for any sign of a friend.

Atreus shook the thought off and kept moving.

The sergeant was still trying to figure out where in the hell they were supposed to meet up, leaving the rest of the grunts to follow and keep their heads on a swivel. Atreus didn't realize he'd put away the Hemlock and drawn one of his axes until one of the others pointed it out. "It's meant to be thrown," Atreus noted absentmindedly. He was trying to listen--not just for footsteps, but to any creatures that came through. Most of the local fauna had fled, save for a handful of predators and scavengers who saw the chance for easy pickings, but what was left could give him an advance warning of approaching threats. "Don't worry, my aim is pretty good."

"...they spring you out of a nut house to get you to join, Kokinos?"

Atreus forced a laugh. "Nah, I'm just built different." Definitely never heard that before, definitely doesn’t feel hurtful…

A whisper made its way across the breeze—smaller creatures running through the underbrush, ears twitching, talking about the incoming two-legged creatures. Atreus froze and listened harder. The creatures (whatever they were) didn’t have the best eyesight, so determining whose side those two-leggeds were on wasn’t easy…

“Kokinos?”

“Shh.”

They were coming from the southwest, and moving pretty quickly. Atreus tried to hear them instead, but even with his senses being a bit heightened compared to his fellows, there was too much background noise. But…

“Incoming. Southwest.”

No one questioned it, fortunately. They were too hyped up and worried about getting ambushed to ask questions. Atreus didn’t draw his Hemlock; he kept the axe in his hand, feeling the grip going cold under his fingers. He was usually wary about using the axes to their full potential—it was a lot harder to answer for than the bow—but today, it felt like a matter of life or death.

Breathe. Breathe. No more force than necessary. No more…

The first of the figures emerged from the underbrush. IMC. Definitely IMC.

"Shit - !"

Saying that he blacked out wouldn't be accurate. But there was a bit of a gap between his fellows noticing those were IMC and oh, one of my axes is in that guy's face that Atreus couldn't account for. The only thing that stopped him from bull-rushing them was the awareness that he’d just get caught in the crossfire if he did. He did draw his second axe, but only to throw it into someone who had gotten a bit too close. He drew his Hemlock next. Dropped one. Dropped another.

Silence settled over the forest. Atreus could hear the raspy gurgles of someone’s last breaths. His second axe had hit someone in the neck; by the time he reached them, they were gone.

“Shit,” muttered another rifleman. He was standing next to the first person to get the axe, staring at it with barely-contained shock in his eyes. “Remind me not to piss you off.”

Atreus shrugged and pulled the second axe free. “Don’t worry. I avoid friendly fire.” He walked to the first person to fall, and pulled the axe free from his face. He saw the other Rifleman flinch visibly. “We should keep moving. There’ll probably be more coming.”

No one argued the point.

You are in your head, boy, said Father’s voice in his head as they kept moving.

I know, Atreus thought back, despite himself. It wasn't guilt over having killed someone, not like it had been the first time he heard Father say that. He'd gotten used to self-defense killing a long time ago. He had even more or less gotten used to warfare. But something about today…

It was the danger of it all. The taste of blood in the air. Fear for a friend, and the things that fear could drive someone to do. It lit something in his spirit that didn't usually come out. He wasn't his father, but he was his father's son, and even if their "domains" so to speak had very little overlap, even if they weren't the gods they had once thought…

The union of lightning and summer leaves was fire. And oh, how Loki burned sometimes.

But he couldn’t do that, because he had promised to be better, and he wasn’t looking to show the whole world what he was. So he tried to breathe.

Tried to swallow it back.

It was harder than he thought it would be.

Eventually, they met up with another group and stopped to figure things out. Or, at least, to let the officers figure it out. Atreus normally would’ve butted in, but he was still feeling in his head and just didn’t have it in him to try and argue with officers. Instead, he focused on finding good branches for arrows. They wouldn’t be perfect, but something told him he was going to need more. Ammo was running low in general, and he definitely wanted to save the Kraber shots for emergencies.

Back to basics, he thought as he examined a branch. At least the trees out here are strong. It almost reminded him of home. Familiar but not all at once. A lot of forests felt the same, to be fair. Trees were trees, predators were predators, prey were prey. War was war.

I wish Dad were here.

"Have any of you seen Private Cooper?" he asked one of the other Rifleman from the second group.

"No, sorry," said the Rifleman. "I think they're trying to get a roster of who's still kicking but communications are scrambled, pretty much anything further than medium range risks getting intercepted...you know how it is."

"Yeah." FUBAR, he was pretty sure the acronym was. He'd say SNAFU, but there was too much fucked up and not enough situation normal for that one. “So I take it you don’t know what we’re going to do?”

“Follow Sarge and hope we find someone who knows what’s going on?”

Great.

That wasn’t something Atreus would usually be on board with, but it also seemed like his best bet for finding Cooper. This was a decently sized planet, and as good a tracker as he was, he had nothing to work with. All he could do was hope this whole mess worked itself out.

Just stay alive, Jack. I’m coming for you. I promise. While he was at it, he sent a brief plea to his ancestors. I know he isn’t one of us, but whatever help you can spare him, please…

At least he knew Mom would probably listen. He hadn’t been lying when he told Cooper she’d like him.

Unfortunately, the day did not improve. It was just a lot of running, dodging and weaving, avoiding the IMC and eventually linking up with another larger group. Atreus wasn’t sure what was going on, especially not when news of a superweapon hit. He only knew that he still hadn’t seen Jack. Had no news of him. The anxiety over his missing friend made him feel like he was going to vibrate, and the sights and sounds of war didn’t help.

In short, by the time he and the other grunts were pulled off the planet, it had gone from a long day to one of the longest days of his very long life. And the fact that it ended with half the planet being blown up only made things worse.

But then...

“Kokinos, you’re not gonna fucking believe this.”

Saying that he didn’t believe it would be a stretch. What Atreus was told as the other Rifleman led him back to the hanger bay sounded like things Cooper was capable of handling. But it was also a series of absolutely insane events that would normally never happen to a guy like him. If Atreus’s day had been long, Cooper’s must have lasted lifetimes.

And yet there he was, standing in the hanger, surrounded by people congratulating him, wearing all the gear of a pilot, and very much alive.

Atreus was so fixated on the fact that Cooper had lived, that he hadn’t lost the one friend he’d managed to make in this whole mess, that he almost missed the look on Cooper’s face. When he did notice, it felt like his heart stopped again, for completely different reasons. There was a smile on Cooper's face, sure, but it was fake, plastered there by panic. His hands were clutching the straps of his gear, the white-knuckle grip hidden by gloves, and he flinched every time someone got too close.

Oh, no, I have to get him out of here.

"Well, shit, he lives!" Pushing to the front of the crowd was easy; benefits of usually being the tallest person in the room. "Damn good to see you, buddy!"

Atreus already suspected it was bad. He knew it was worse than that when Cooper didn't reply. He just stared with that same wide, frantic look in his eyes. "Hey, listen, guys, I know he's the big man on board right now, but why don't we give him some air, huh?" Atreus hated touching Cooper right then, but he had to if he wanted to get them out. He kept it low contact--one hand on the shoulder, grip not too firm, only the gentlest of pushes to get him through the crowd. "He probably hasn't even slept since we dropped."

No one questioned him or tried to stop him, outside of a few people giving final congratulations as they walked past. Atreus waited until they were free of the crowd before he started speed-walking, whispering a single word—Falið, hidden—to try and keep them out of everyone's perceptions. "Just hold it together for a minute, okay?" he added to Cooper. "I'm getting you out of here."

"...hmm." Cooper had stopped smiling. Now he really looked like he was going to claw his skin off. "Yeah."

To his credit, Cooper kept it together until they were alone. "Okay, what do you need?" Atreus stood in front of Cooper and held out both hands. "We can do yes or no questions if you're not…"

Cooper started sobbing.

Oh, shit. It was bad, then. Atreus reigned in his urge to hug, not sure if that would set Cooper off worse, instead sitting down next to his friend as he sank to the ground curled up on himself, body shaking with sobs. “I’m here,” Atreus said quietly. “I’m here.”

Cooper leaned against him, but said nothing.

It was then, as they sat there in an isolated corner of the ship, that the real weight of the day hit him. The realization of how bad things had gone. How many people had died today? How many deaths could have been avoided, if the IMC had just been willing to negotiate instead of being trapped by their greed? It’s not fair, he thought. That was the same thought that had made him join the Militia in the first place. This time, though, it weighed on him with sorrow and pain, not anger.

War is never fair, boy, replied the memory of his father’s voice.

Atreus had thought he understood, but he was starting to realize, once again, how little he actually understood.

Eventually, Cooper’s sobs calmed down, replaced by a heavy silence. Eventually Cooper spoke, his voice dull and thick with tears. “Lastimosa’s gone.”

Oh. “I’m sorry,” Atreus said quietly.

He had a feeling there was more to it than that, but he wasn’t going to push things. If that was all Cooper had the energy to say, that was all he had the energy to say. Atreus could wait to hear the whole story. And, on a purely selfish level, he wasn’t sure how much heartbreak he could face today.

Atreus let Cooper hold onto his arm. As they sat together, Atreus started humming quietly, the same tune his mother used to hum to him whenever he was sick and couldn’t sleep. He tried to imagine her sitting there with them both, her presence gentle and soothing.

He prayed for the strength to help his friend, and the strength to make it through himself.

.

Atreus learned the rest of what happened slowly--about Captain Lastimosa and BT-7274, about the field promotion, the struggles and terror that came after, losing both of them within such a short time span. "I'd be screwed if you were gone, too," Cooper finished dully. They were waiting in the med bay for some test results to come back. Cooper had refused to go in there without Atreus, and Atreus wouldn't have let him go in alone anyway. "Seriously. You're not allowed to die now."

"Right back at you." Atreus didn't know he could feel so exhausted. He could only imagine how much worse it was for Cooper. "I'm sorry…"

Cooper shook his head. "Not your fault. Nothing you could've done." After some hesitation, he added, "I mean...that makes it kind of worse, though, I guess."

Atreus knew what he meant. Helplessness could cut deeper than failure. He'd felt it before. At least most of the time when you failed, you could reassure yourself that you'd done your best. That you'd tried, and had some level of control in the situation. It did occur to him that Cooper may have been wrong--that maybe there was something Atreiis could have done, had he just been there--but there had been so many things beyond his control in the lead-up. Things he couldn't have predicted or averted.

Still. It was the damn troll all over again.

"Is the SRS keeping you on?" Atreus asked, trying to distract the both of them. "It's the least they could do after you saved everyone's asses."

"I think so. I just don't know if…" Cooper hesitated, then rubbed his eyes. "I don't know if I want another Titan. I don't know if I can...not after…"

Atreus nodded sympathetically. He might not have understood completely what Cooper was going through, but he could grasp the sentiment. At the very least, he knew a thing or two about loss himself. “I get it. He was your partner. That’s going to take time. I’m sure they’ll respect that.”

Cooper rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, I think so. We’re going back to Harmony, last I heard. Maybe...maybe I’ll be okay with it later.” He didn’t sound sure of that—more like he was trying to convince himself. “Looking forward to getting some real sleep.”

“Me, too.” Sleep on a planet, too. Atreus had never been to Harmony. He and Dad just tended to stick to less established planets, places like the Outlands or its borders. The kind of places here people weren’t really looking for guys like them.

Honestly, Atreus kind of missed the isolation. Hopefully Harmony had some areas that weren’t so developed.

“Jack Cooper?”

Cooper looked up, then looked at Atreus. Atreus gave him an encouraging smile. “I’ll wait right here for you,” he promised. “And we can get some sleep afterwards, yeah?”

Atreus waited until Cooper was out of sight before he let the smile drop and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands, still deeply exhausted. He was starting to get how his father--a veritable mountain of a man, the unbeatable and unkillable “god of war”--could look so tired all the time. He missed him. More than anything, he missed his dad.

You'd know what to do if you were here.

So would Mimir. So would Mom. At least with them he'd lost them due to circumstances beyond his control. With Dad...he'd chosen to walk away. Sure, he’d every intention of getting back in contact, eventually, but one thing lead to another and Dad moved on from where they'd been living before (probably because of the war)…

Now he was alone. His fault.

Atreus forced himself to take a deep breath. His chest was starting to feel tight. He knew that feeling and he knew it could only make things worse. He had to be present, for Cooper if not for his own mental health. Not stuck in his own head and beating himself up.

He breathed slowly. He tried to stay calm.

He waited.

Cooper, fortunately, wasn’t gone too long. He didn’t look worse when he came back to the waiting room; between that and the little thumb’s up he gave, Atreus assumed that he wasn’t about to drop dead any time soon. “Don’t suppose you can get me out of here without us running into too many people?” Cooper said. “I know they’ll probably want me to do a briefing at some point, but…”

“Way ahead of you.” Atreus could just coast by on magic alone, but that would raise too many questions. So, he stuck to the lesser-known parts of the ship, as many side hallways as he could, with only a little sparkling of magic to help keep them really out of everyone’s eyes. Wasn’t too long before they were back in the sleeping quarters. Fortunately, they’d been able to get a room together when they transferred onto the ship; meant that they didn’t have to worry about someone random hanging out in the room.

Then again, if Cooper had a room mate who wasn’t Atreus, he could’ve been dead by now.

Cooper immediately sat down on his bed, slouched in a way that said that getting his gear off might not happen. Atreus barely managed to get his own shoes and gear off before climbing into the top bunk. “If anyone calls me, I’m not here,” Cooper muttered. “The Ark sent me to another dimension, where I’m napping.”

Atreus laughed quietly. “No one’s getting through that door. I don’t care if it’s Graves himself. Sleep, okay? You need it.”

“Hmm.”

Eventually, Atreus heard the sound of boots and heavy gear hitting the floor. Cooper’s breathing went quiet and steady not long after.

Atreus thought he would fall asleep quickly himself, but he didn’t. He lay in his bunk, staring up at the ceiling for far too long. Eventually, he quietly climbed back down the bed to grab his knife. The knife his father gave him.

I wish you were here.

It was only when the knife was with him, within reach, that Atreus was finally able to fall asleep.

#fic: you crazy assed cosmonaut (remember your virtue) #series: hammer of the gods (will drive our ships to new lands) #war cw #violence cw #loss cw #grief cw #god of war #titanfall 2 #respawn cinematic universe

[highfears]

━ 𝐆𝐄𝐎 𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐀 moodboard two

day two of the twelve days of moodboards - featuring @bitcme

#i hate that i have to clarify this but because there's a hand holding picture #these two are siblings essentially #lmfao but also :sob: rip ash and flora </3 #loss cw #grief cw #death cw #trauma cw #shrikejournal #* geo / moodboard #* geo / musing #* geo / visage #* geo / moss

[edandstede]

had to say goodbye to my sweet little boy today and i’m completely fucking heartbroken i don’t know what to do with myself. it hurts so much. i’m going to miss him more than words can even say, he was my lovely little gremlin and i can’t fathom that he’s gone. here are some photos because he was such an angel, a complete ray of sunshine in my life and he deserves for people to know how lovely he was.

#loss cw #pet loss cw #death cw #grief cw #mourning cw #personal #quill to paper

[hidesinhisarchived]

@herhorrors asked: " i'm tired of watching all our friends die , " ( here's some random unprompted pain ouch )

mark's gaze shifted from the drink that he'd been staring into to look at andrea. he looked as if her words had shaken him from deep thought and he blinked, trying to come back to earth. "it's been a lot over the last few years, hasn't it?" so many people had died and it felt like there was no end in sight. he'd left angel's funeral only a few hours previously and his head was still spinning from that and his meeting with buzzline. plus, mimi's face kept swimming to the forefront of his mind. she looked too pale and she'd lost some weight since her and roger's breakup. it worried him because he couldn't tell if it was from the hiv, the grief, the drugs, or a combination. not to mention, gino had recently lost patrick and seeing gino grieve was like a punch in the gut, even if mark had never particularly cared for patrick. and roger. would he even know if roger's condition worsened? would he die all alone in santa fe or would he at least reach out to mark?

"i hate it all. I don't think humans were designed for this much pain," he grumbled as he took a deep swig of his drink. the filmmaker spared a glance at his watch and wondered if he should call sam and let him know that he'd be home late and possibly drunk off of his ass. or maybe he'd just skip going at all and go hide out in the loft. try to get used to the emptiness of it all. let sam have his fun with some random twink in a random bar. how much trouble would he get in if he just didn't call at all? pft. knowing mark's luck, sam would probably never even notice.

#herhorrors #i. ｢ v. lessons in pain and love * ahs nyc. ｣ #grief cw #loss cw #funeral cw #drug mention cw #also sam would probably notice #mark's just being self loathing atm

[urdamage]

✧ the fact that it was fall was not a fact of importance to hen wen . the events that happened in the season were recognised and felt , of course , but whether it was fall , winter , spring or summer , it didn’t matter to them . if any kind of season mattered to hen wen in these months , it was the fact that it was scorpio season , though truthfully they avoided talking about it as so many reasons for heartbreak came with the stars aligning in that way . 

hen wen used to love this time of year . they didn’t come from much , but they had their brother , and he was always more than enough . he was only a child when hen wen came to be in his care , but he never made her feel like she was robbing him of his youth . each halloween , even when he was in his prime trick-or-treating years , he would make sure hen wen felt celebrated , and even more special than halloween . he took her birthday seriously ; he made her feel like the entire world celebrated her birthday first , and halloween second . 

her brother did so many things like that for her , from the first day of her life to the last day of his . the best moments of her life were the moments spent with him , and a lot of the moments that made it to the top of her list happened to take place in fall . as each fall came around , hen wen couldn’t have cared less about the changing colours of the leaves , or even the creativity seen in the carved jack-o-lanterns lining the streets and the costumes worn by those who walked them ; even in the years where the siblings grew naturally more apart , each fall , hen wen found herself excited for the traditions she had with her brother , and nothing else mattered to her . 

what once was the best part of her year , is now the very worst . hen wen suffers with intense loneliness ; she’s lost without her brother , her best friend , her other half , her protector . he was the only one who truly got hen wen , who truly saw hen wen . he proved the fact every day , but on her birthday , he did the very most , and that made every one that came after his death feel especially barren . 

instead of excitement , hen wen only feels dread leading up to halloween ; she no longer feels as though time is leading up to her birthday , as when she lost her brother , she also lost any sense that she might have been special or important , even in the slightest . she tries to recreate the magic he once created for her , but it can’t be done ; she tries to reach out to him , she tries to feel his presence , his love , but that is also an impossible task . she weeps and she weeps , for all that she lost , for all that she will never experience again . she weeps over her devastation and her pain ; why do things only grow worse for her ? and she weeps over her anger . 

her anger is a tricky feeling , but perhaps it’s the very strongest of them all . hen wen is so unbelievably angry over experiencing such loss , so angry that they defied odds and made the very best of their situation , only to have everything good ripped from them . they’re angry that their pain only worsens , angry that events such as the attacks only further traumatise them . they’re so angry at their brother , for putting his all into his sibling , neglecting himself to the point of death , but most of all , hen wen is so incredibly angry that they’re angry at their brother . so they continue to weep . 

halloween tricks don’t scare them , but all that they continue to feel certainly does . 

✧ hen wen szeto moodboard 05/?? ✧ freddie’s thirteen days of moodboards 09/13

#blood cw #loss cw #death cw #trauma cw #abuse cw #neglect cw #grief cw #abandonment cw #this is sad cw #∘₊✧────── hen wen szeto ; moodboard #∘₊✧────── hen wen szeto ; musing #∘₊✧────── hen wen szeto ; visage #moodboard #musing #visage

[welcometothevale]

"And now the pain's different It still exists, it just escapes different And evades vision, makes the rain different Makes the news boring and my rage distant Yes, I'm young and living dreams In love with being noticed and afraid of being seen But I can finally eat and I can fall asleep It's fine, fine, fine"

A modern lamp with a mauve, dome shaped lamp shade and metal base smashed into the olive hued wall, bulb shattering and lamp breaking in half. It clattered on the wood flooring stained to appear like cedar and left gashes marring the boards. The wall had a gaping maw with jagged chunks of drywall hanging snaggle-tooth style.

As a raw wail, a primal sound of grief that rattled her chest, bounced off the walls that were devoid of any form of personality minus the color slapped on their surface. Myra threw something else across the room. A bluetooth speaker this time. It struck her flat screen TV with a crackling thud and actually remained stuck within the screen longways as if she'd thrown a knife.

Her dark brown, nearly black, mass of wild curls was even more disheveled and frizzy than usual due to her hands running through and pulling them. Her headboard had multiple throwing knifes stuck deep within the wood—thrown with all of her force. Those knives wouldn't come out of the headboard easily. Different elements of her bed were strewn about her studio apartment.

"FUCK." The dhampyr screamed so loud, she didn't even recognize her own voice. This was one of those extremely rare times Myra was crying. She'd woken from one of the same night terrors that always plagued her sleeping hours.

Hands zip-tied in her lap, their endorphins in her veins, there wasn't anything Myra could do to stop it. Gilly hung limp in the steel grip of the vampire, flesh nearly translucent with a look that was a mix of pain, terror, and pleasure. It didn't make sense for all of those feelings to exist together on the same expression, but not much made sense in her hazy mind.

Vampire bites had the ability to make their prey completely compliant by pumping the prey with endorphins that would rival any street drug. Humans who knew of vampires sometimes lived in servitude to feel that bite and in the hopes of gaining immortality. Myra had lost count of the times she'd been bitten, but judging from how amazing she felt at the moment the vampires were making sure to keep the feedings frequent.

Gilly was dead and Myra was high off her ass, doing nothing.

A boot to the leg of the dining room table snapped the wood—sending the table sliding into the wall while the legless corner crashed to the floor, scarring the wood once more. Another pained sound, a union of a scream and a sob, and then a floor length mirror bursted on the ground, shards hissing against the flooring as they slid outward in every direction. Her face was crimson and raw from all the tears and exertion caused by the destruction of her home.

It was a lot harder to cut through someone's neck than she had always thought. Especially with a collector's machete left out by some nerdy blood-sucker. Myra didn't stop though. She hacked over and over with wet thwacks until—thump, thump—the vampire hit the ground, head rolling until it met the edge of a rug that slowed its momentum.

Oblivious to the job being finished, she still punished the demon at her feet. She kept swinging the machete, more like an axe now toward the ground, grunting with each strike. She was aware of someone's arms around her torso, pulling her up and back; this made her realize she'd fallen to her knees and was stabbing into what had once resembled a human body.

Myra was in her bathroom. She'd ripped off her shirt and was frantically scrubbing her skin with a wet cloth, trying to get all of the blood off. Blood that wasn't actually there, but it had been there. That day. She'd been drenched in it. Blinded by it. A female member of the institute security had to get the nonrespondent Myra into the shower and clean her off before any of them could leave what had been the vampire's dwelling. The security had come at the call of Aaron—the eldest student to go on the foolish misadventure to hunt vampires pre-graduation—as he had managed to escape to a neighboring house to use a phone. It'd taken them 20 minutes to arrive, and by then Myra had blood coagulating in her curls and half dried on her flesh. There was so much of it—she'd not stopped her torrent of violence until someone had pulled her off—so fresh blood covered the old and dripped down her tan flesh.

Looking up from her bloody body to the mirror in front of her that revealed that her body was clean. Not a trace of crimson was drooling down her skin; there was only the red irritation from her rough scrubbing. Another shriek and her fist collided with the mirror, causing cracks that spread like lightening across the surface. The same fist pulled back, and stuck again, imbedding slivers of glass in her hands and making the mirror explode, shards fell like a rain shower across the bathroom floor. "FUCK." She sobbed, hitting the wall again. "Gilly, I'm so fucking sorry. I'm sorry Gills. It's my fault. It was my idea. You didn't even want to go. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She sank to the floor, head spinning and sharp stings of pain barely registering as the pieces of the mirror sliced her once she was sitting. Her legs were bent, knees skyward, and slightly extended and spread. Myra's head rested between her knees as she fought to breath between countless, despondent apologies to the first friend she'd killed.

#drabble #headcanon #backstory #myra #(lyrics are from no complaints by Noah Kahan) #death cw #murder cw #blood cw #violence cw #ptsd cw #flashbacks cw #grief cw #self harm cw #long post cw #loss cw

[not-poignant]

Ok so I know it was a past arc but I’ve been doing a ffs reread and was wondering.

What would Arden have done if Efs attempt was successful. Would he have been able to recover and move past? Or since we are here and I was wondering like. Amnesia au, Ef survives and loses his memory for a while and then is found again and like the question of is it right to make him remember all his trauma all over (though I know amnesia like that can sometimes just go away) I’ve much to ponder!!!

Okay so first things first, I hate hate hate amnesia stories (you didn't know but it's a squick of mine), but it's unethical and horrible as all hell to withhold someone's traumatic past from them just because they don't remember it. Like the visceral 'yuck' response I had to even the idea of that is profound. It's not even a question of if it's right - it's right and ethical and the right thing to do to tell them. But this is one of the many reasons I hate hate hate amnesia fics, the fact that this could ever even be a question fills me with horror and existential dread over the fact that people might withhold the actual authentic truth from me about my own life were anything like that to ever happen to me.

(The other issue I have with it is that 'amnesia fics where the character never recovers their past memories' should be marked with a Major Character Death warning because imho killing the character's mind and personality permanently is the same thing.)

So that's out of the way, sorry anon, I just don't think there's ever anything ethical about withholding someone's truth from them for any reason, and anyone who thinks there is - is putting their own selfish thoughts about 'saving someone' before a person's reality. There is no true 'do over' re: trauma. It is in the body as well as in the mind. And there's nothing to stop the person from having horrific flashbacks down the track and then literally think they're insane because no one told them the truth. If folks want to write that in fic more power to them but I reserve the right to yeet those fics into the sun (i.e. close the tabs or just never see them). Gross.

*takes a deep breath* *sips some tea* I have to stop or I'll just start ranting asdlkfjdafsa (ranting more).

As to Efnisien's suicide attempt, Arden would have recovered and found ways to enjoy life again. That's what people do after tragedies. It's pretty universal. Unless you develop something like Complicated Grief and even that's not meant to be static, and requires professional treatment and support.

It would have taken him a long time, a lot of therapy, and I imagine he might avoid people with PTSD in the future, or he might simply never have another partner because he was happy not having partners in the first place until Efnisien. But it's not like he'd ever forget Efnisien or not be upset about it in the future. Grief re: the loss of a loved one lasts forever. You don't forget it, you just...find a way to keep living and eventually grow room to have good things in your life again.

This was a pretty depressing ask, anon! I hope you're taking care, because I don't think this is where everyone's mind goes when they read FFS.

#asks and answers #falling falling stars #fae tales #fae tales au #arden mercury #amnesia fics are my nemesis #i don't think it's romantic to never move past someone's death #which is why i've never romanticised it re: Pitch in say the SALverse #where he comes to life *because* he starts moving on #this one hits close to home though #i'm so glad i never actually have to write any of the kind of horrible things #i've talked about in this response #suicide cw #suicide attempt cw #grief cw #loss cw #amnesia cw #idk what the content warning is for 'lying to someone for selfish reasons when they have amnesia' #'being immoral to people with PTSD' cw lol #administrator Gwyn wants this in the queue

[panterc]

Even though Grimmjow would never admit anything regarding his feelings for his fraccion, he really did appreciate and adore them. When they were struck down, he felt it deep in his core. The hurt he felt was the worst he could ever feel. He didn't have time to mourn them during the events of Aizen's attack and the war that ensued.

He only truly mourned their loss when Aizen was defeated and Hueco Mundo was healing. He wasn't the only one that lost something, but he certainly felt it the strongest. He spent days, weeks, months, in his room. Shying away from so many before Nelliel was able to pull him out of it at last. This is why Nelliel has a strong influence on Grimmjow and his emotions.

She was able to bring him back to a reason to fight and to continue living.

#he still feels it tbh #but he's doing better #he feels like a failure #a king that lost his crown in so many ways #loss tw #loss cw

[iamdarcylewis]

"So you're back."

Darcy switched in her chair, at least it was really comfortable but man, seeing your therapist after ghosting him for a month was... Weird.

"How are you feeling?"

"Good."

"Darcy." God damn it. "You're still paying the whole hour whether you tell the truth or lie, but if you lie it might take us more sessions."

"Fine, fine. I feel like shit." Then more questions followed. It was a lot she had to catch him on, even if she was sure he had heard about Jane, everyone did and everyone had to remind her that.

"Is it normal? To just... Hope people would stop reminding me about Jane? How long does it take to just.. Stop being so sad?"

"Everyone has a different process, some people take longer than others, but the important thing is that you let yourself feel the pain." Darcy looked down at her hands, playing with her fingers. She didn't want to feel sad anymore, that's why she came back to therapy. But of course, it would take time, there was no healthy shortcut.

Darcy kept talking about Jane, about having to move out of the apartment, about almost crashing the car with Gabe when they were looking for Josh and bless this therapist who wouldn't judge her or at least was great at hiding it.

"...So now there's four dogs and a cat at the apartment."

"That's a lot." Then he looked at his watch. "That's all for today, same time next week?"

She sighed, she always cried so much in this and hated it. "Sure, same time next week."

#drabble #loss cw #i've been meaning to write that darcy's finally going to therapy but i keep forgetting

[beeflibeef]

so out of character and sugary, please dont break your teeth off of it

#out of character #noncanon #tw angst #grief cw #loss cw #au whithin au #sad

[archdruiid]

aloe :   how does your muse handle grief ?

Botanical headcanons // @und3rdark

He doesn't. Not really. He may cry and mourn for a short while, lay his loved one to rest according to their wishes, but he doesn't actually let them go. They remain with him, either in the form of regrets or guilt. And he buries those regrets and guilt in his duties and responsibilities.

The best example is his Archdruid he lost to the Shadow Curse. He had a close bond with them and they were like a parent to him after he escaped the Underdark. Losing them to the Shadow Curse, watching their body twist and decay in front him while all he could do was run, has broken him in many ways. He mourned them, buried what remained of them in the way the Oak Father dictates, but he never truly said goodbye. He thinks of them every single day and swore to end the Curse that killed them, because he failed to save them when it mattered. In a way, he hoped that ending the Curse would release him of the weight in his chest and somehow soothe the loss.

It's similar with his trauma from his time in captivity with the Drow. He may tell himself he dealt with it and he may speak of it rather casually and dismissively, as if it's entirely in the past and he's fine. But deep down, every wound is still bleeding and aching.

#und3rdark #( headcanon ) a fog lifted. #( answered ) the oak father's call. #loss cw #sa cw #slavery cw