I’m sitting on an uncomfortably small plane, venturing over to Los Angeles from Boston, to experience how my anxiety reacts in different zip codes. Ever since my family vanished from the face of the earth Ive been running, haven’t stopped much. Except for this plane ride 1500 miles away from the ashes of my family. Unsure of why i decided LA would be a place to escape grief when the amount of homeless souls that paint their streets symbolize the suffering we all undeniable feel. Looking out the dirty window of the plane, the world seems still and unconcerned, like a Bob Ross painting filled with happy accidents. I’m almost positive we’re flying over the grand canyon right now, but I have no clue. There’s mountains, streams, stretches of land that seems like life may be possible there, red clay matter, all over the midwest of America, so we could also be anywhere in the world maybe. Mars? Who knows? All I know is the view is placidly intoxicating and i would be content with never getting off this flight. I could awe over the eiffel tower, admire the fluorescent lights of tokyo, i could fly and run to any corner of the universe in search of something that lives within me. The question is, will these places unravel the rawness of what needs to be healed or will be continue to serve solely as distractions, dancing me farther from my purpose. Regardless of the battle between my ego and presence being, I believe no matter where in life you hope to find joy, the adventures we take during our journey holds the beautiful possibility of any kind of true peace.
I sat on a gray stone bench
ringed with the ingenue faces
of pink and white impatiens
and placed my grief
in the mouth of language,
the only thing that would grieve with me.
Lisel Mueller, When I Am Asked.
Five of cups
In January I lost my grandma Liz, I inherited a lot of her stuff, including the majority of her ashes, but I also wound up with her heart shaped necklace, for nine months it sat in its case in the bottom of the bag I carry everywhere. I for nine months could barely look at it without becoming more depressed and angry, but today I decided to start wearing it, and when I put it on I honestly felt a bit relieved, a calm washed over me, it felt like I was getting a hug from her. I miss her and many others everyday and I know that there here with me but it was a nice reminder.💜
To the Bone
Fuck. Hermione peered down at the piece of parchment below her fingertips. She’d just spilt her brand new, high-quality ink all over her bureau. Where’s my bloody wand?
The nervous witch quickly looked around her small flat. On one of her tall, mahogany bookshelves, between the book she was currently reading, she saw the wand she’d gotten her first year in Diagon Alley. There it laid: vine wood and dragon heartstring. She still loved it all the same; her first token of the Wizarding World.
Absentmindedly, Hermione summoned it to her side. Accio was one of the few charms she’d gotten attuned to without her wand, and she refused to use wandless magic unless it was absolute and perfected beyond an arguable doubt.
“Scourgify,” she voiced, fearing its usual soapy qualities wouldn’t be enough this time around. I’m sure it’s going to leave behind some stains! She sighed, transient relief filling her full as a new piece of parchment paper awaited her on a clear desktop.
Hermione sat down, studying the rise and fall of her chest. Today would be the third day Ginny hadn’t answered her many owls. She was so worried. Only days ago, she’d spoken with Molly at The Burrow when Ginny and all the others had refused to come down and chatter over afternoon tea. They were still grieving. It made sense. The war had only ended a month ago, tomorrow.
Yes, that day, May 2nd, 1998, would go down in history. The Great Battle of Hogwarts, where good had triumphed the dark forces. However, none of that seemed to matter right now. One collective evil was gone, but it didn’t mean it hadn’t been replaced with other extremes just as powerful: grief and sorrow and longing for impossible futures that could now never be.
Fred Weasley, even with the little she knew of him, had always been a kind-hearted, humorous, and brave young wizard. The epitome of a Gryffindor at heart. She’d valued him for that, and she knew many did. Hermione thought of Angelina Johnson and sighed, still trying to grapple with how unfair it all was. One death hurts so many, too many…
Hermione would never forget Mrs Weasley’s eyes the last time she saw her, let alone George’s who had only come into the kitchen for another sleeping draught. That image would haunt her until her last dying breath on her deathbed. Nobody should have to lose a son, a twin, a brother, a lover in that way.
“Ginny,” Hermione started. Her fingers trembled as she dipped her quill into her no-name, backup ink jar. “Are you still coming today to my flat? Your mother informed me you would, that she’d make sure you would. I’m worried about you. I know you’re hurting,” she wrote before scratching out the last line. I don’t know how she’s hurting. Nobody as close to me, as Fred was to her, died. “I can only imagine how much you’re hurting. I’m so, so sorry you have to go through this. None of you deserve it. You’re all far too good for such weighted pain.
But please, Ginny, come see me. You need some air.” Her parents might have been obliviated, but it simply wasn’t the same. They weren’t dead, and Hermione knew she was going to find them and retrieve their memories somehow. It’s why she’d gotten a flat so rapidly. She knew school would start again soon, but her parents came first.
Hermione had promised herself that she’d go back and finish her last year, afterwards. Hopefully, with Ginny by her side, even if she had a year more to do. She didn’t mind. Hermione wanted the witch to graduate as well. Her future didn’t merit to suffer too.
“I don’t know how much help I can be, but I want to try. Anything at all I can do, I’ll take.” Hermione signed her name and beckoned the owl she’d just received as a gift from Harry to take the letter to The Burrow. She watched as Snark flew eloquently outside of her windowpane, crossing her fingers, Ginny would show in the late afternoon. It’s still possible she decides to come later on this evening.
Hermione knew it was most probably wishful thinking, but she’d remain hopeful. She had to be. Being a realist, or a pessimist, or the middle ground in between, hadn’t cut it all of these years. It never made her happy. Happy. After the war, and Lupin and Tonks and Snape and Fred and Voldemort, that’s all she wanted. I want to be happy. I want her to be happy.
She waited anxiously as the hours tiptoed away from her reach. Every new minute brought with it more angst. Hermione imagined Ginny locked away in her room as she cried. Knots formed in her empty stomach. She hadn’t eaten since the night prior. All of this worrying really had taken its toll. Hermione just wanted to see her already, to make sure she was okay.
Logically, she knew Ginny wasn’t, but it didn’t change the want to see her, nevertheless. The clock struck 9. She’s obviously not coming. Hermione laid back, almost as if to rest in her distress. She closed her eyes, and before she knew it, sleep took her to more nerve-wracking nightmares of Ginny, George, Molly, Ron, and the rest of the Weasley family.
Even if she and Ron were no longer talking since she’d rejected his approaches pre-war, she still cared for him like a brother. She was happy he wasn’t home and stayed at Snape Manor with Harry. Hermione was even happy he’d started to talk to a Hufflepuff witch a year or so younger than he. He deserved happiness, all the same.
She hoped they’d be able to reconcile their friendship. Hermione couldn’t imagine a life where The Golden Trio weren’t all friends. After all, they’d spent all their secondary years together.
Hermione twisted and turned in her sleep, somewhere stuck between both realms. “Who’s there?” The noise continued, “who’s there?” but the knocking didn’t stop. She waked suddenly. Someone was actually at her front door.
Rubbing her eyes, Hermione walked to the door sleepily and turned the knob without a second thought.
“Ginny?” There she stood-her red, soaking locks framing her porcelain visage. Hermione turned her head inside and glanced outside her window. It was pouring. She hadn’t even realised. “You were out there,” she stuttered, “all alone in the cold, but why?”
Hermione studied Ginny’s face as she had her own breaths earlier. She’d expected her eyes to be bloodshot red, and the little mascara she wore to be streaming down her face. There was none of that. Ginny seemed frozen, completely disconnected.
“No worries about that,” Hermione said. “Come in, come in.” Ginny slowly moved forward as Hermione opened her door wildly. “Give me just one second.”
Hermione brusquely went to the cupboard down the corridor and got a couple of blankets. She couldn’t even begin to structure her thoughts. She was- She seems so- I don’t know what- She didn’t know what to think.
Hurrying, she closed the door to the closet and brought both blankets to Ginny. Why isn’t she taking them? Fuck. What’s wrong with her? She’s gotten me already so beyond worried!
“Um, I’m sure you’re freezing,” Hermione murmured as she carefully unfolded a blanket and wrapped it around Ginny hesitantly. To her happy surprise, Ginny didn’t seem to be put off by her action. “Do you want a cup of tea?”
I’m being so awkward! What am I supposed to say? Or do? Maybe I’m making things worse. Fuck. Hermione didn’t usually curse, but she was scrambling. How can I help?
“It’s okay, ‘Mione.” 'Mione? Hermione looked up. She’s talking, thank Merlin! The nickname fell off Ginny’s tongue like thick honey and warmed Hermione’s insides. Just maybe, I’m helping. I hope. She seems genuine.
“Are you sure?” Hermione looked into those familiar bright brown eyes. “There’s nothing you need?” she asked, tightening the blanket around Ginny’s front as she continued to look into her fiery hold.
Tears began to furiously stream down Ginny’s face, and before Hermione knew it, Ginny had her head on her shoulder as she wept.
Hermione’s heart screamed in horror. She knew she wasn’t the one that was supposed to cry, but she couldn’t help it. She kept her cries silent, regarding Ginny’s grief that she knew was much greater than her own. They stayed like that for a long time, just standing there as Ginny sobbed before the redhead finally pulled back.
With her thumb, Hermione soaked up as many tears as she could under Ginny’s eyes. Slowly she whispered “it’s okays” and “shhs” as she did so. Hermione knew those words made no sense, at the moment, but nothing else seemed too either.
Slowly, Ginny’s eyes aligned with hers once more, and before Hermione could go along repeating sweet nothings, Ginny jolted forward and dragged their lips into a searing hot kiss.
Saltwater tears fell down her cheeks as Ginny smoothed their lips together, seeming to hold onto any warmth she could get. It was all soft and passion, warm and want.
“Ginny,” Hermione gasped as she pulled back from their embrace. Her eyes were wide and lust-blown. “W- What are you doing?”
“Please,” she muttered. Fuck.
“What do you mean, please?”
“I can feel the way you look at me…” What, I know for a fact that I’m not that obvious! Tears were still streaming down Ginny’s face. Hermione furrowed her eyebrow.
“Okay, I’ll be honest, I heard Ron complaining to Harry about finding your diary and how he’d read passages about you fancying me, that you have for years. Is that true?”
That right foul- But there was no time to think about that right now. Ginny already knew, anyway, and she was standing right here, crying in front of Hermione’s eyes. She’s only doing this because she’s grieving. I know it. I can’t take advantage of her like that!
“If it is, I had no idea. Absolutely none.”
“It is,” Hermione said simply. “But, I can’t, Ginny.” Even if I want to.
“Please,” she cooed. Fuck.
“You’re grieving, it’s not right! I don’t want to take advantage of you, because I know you wouldn’t be saying all of this, if not.”
“That’s not true.” Hermione could hear the authenticity in Ginny’s voice. “I want you.”
With that, Hermione pushed Ginny flush to her against the closest wall and pressed their lips together as hard as she could. Her reservations were almost completely gone, but she wanted to make sure Ginny knew they could stop at any time.
“If at any time you want to stop, we can. Just say the words.”
“'Mione,” Ginny softly moaned into her mouth. Fuck. I’m going to die tonight.
Hermione, with an avid fervour, recollided their mouths as she slipped her fingers in Ginny’s red, luscious locks. After only minutes, their tongues were sliding together in an almost perfect harmony.
It was a primal desire, in ways Hermione never knew she could feel. It was demanding, and all of her senses were heightened to their highest of extremes. Ginny peppered kisses down her neck, faint at first until she started to nibble and bite at her pulse point.
Hermione sighed, just in time catching her breath to suppress a held-in moan. This has to be about her. Focus, Hermione. Focus. Hermione backed away, seeing the sudden fear that washed over the other witch’s face. She can’t possibly think I’d be the one to stop now that we’re, at this point. I’d never-
“Can I?” Hermione asked, holding the first button of Ginny’s blouse.
“Yes,” she moaned, causing the hairs on the back of Hermione’s neck to rise. Ginny’s eyes were still puffy, but there were no more new tears. Thank Merlin, again, Hermione thought. “Please.”
With that, Hermione made quick work of the buttons, and as soon as the blouse was off the fit witch’s frame, a deep blush settled across her features. Ginny moved her hands to behind her back and unclasped her onyx-laced bra, leaving her completely nude from the torso up.
Hermione flushed an even deeper shade of crimson as her eyes took in the beautiful, Quidditch player’s body. She was pale and freckled, and her breasts were perky with nipples such a soft pink, Hermione could already feel just how wet her panties were.
She shut her eyes, for a moment, and took a deep breath before lunging forward and kissing Ginny again. They kissed long and hard before Hermione made her way down the witch’s speckled chest. Ginny smelled of strawberry soap, grass, and a faint smell of broom polish, Hermione assumed would be more poignant when Ginny would go back to playing, hopefully, next year at the latest.
Hermione made her way shyly to Ginny’s breasts, experimentally kissing around her nipples before lifting her thumb and brushing across each one carefully. They were already hard to the touch, and for the first time, Hermione couldn’t help the moan that escaped her lips. This was all too much to handle.
Ignoring the nerves that fluttered so fervently in her stomach, Hermione ducked down, taking one nipple into her mouth. She had no idea what she was doing, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care right now.
Soon, Hermione’s tongue flicked over the hardened nubs, scraping them with her teeth as Ginny moaned a bit louder and more erratic each time. She must like it, Hermione thought. Her confidence growing, Hermione sucked harder and harder until Ginny whispered her name under her breath. Does she even realise just how sexy she is?
Hermione released Ginny’s nipple and slowly kissed her way down her stomach, moving one of her hands towards the witch’s trousers.
“’M-Mione,” Ginny pleaded as Hermione continued, thinking she was only moaning. “Hermione,” she said this time with a bit more conviction.
“Yes?” Hermione looked up at Ginny. Does she want to stop? Did I go too far?
“We can’t continue.” Hermione’s smile fell before the witch could clarify, and she drew herself back from Ginny’s body. “I mean, we can’t continue here. If you’re-” she quivered.
“If you’re planning on continuing what you’re doing further…”
“You mean if I’m planning on licking you. Right?”
“Yes,” Ginny admitted as she blushed a shade of red that was even deeper than her hair. Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle. Ginny was too cute and unfairly sexy like this, dishevelled and horny for no one other than her.
“Come,” Hermione said, taking the witch’s hand and bringing her to her bedroom. She knew she’d need to swallow her own nerves in order to make Ginny feel at ease, for this next part. You’ve got this, Hermione. Don’t fuck this up!
In the bedroom, Ginny looked around sheepishly. It wasn’t a big room, one queen bed with stacks and stacks of books on the windowpane. There was a bare minimum of decorations. Hermione hadn’t been there long enough to really arrange things properly.
Hermione knew it was dumb, but part of her felt embarrassed that she couldn’t bring the witch somewhere better than this. Someplace luxurious or worthy of the redhead. Am I even worthy of her? Hermione sighed internally, trying not to dwell on semantics she now couldn’t change.
“You’re so beautiful, Ginevra!” Hermione tilted Ginny’s chin up, so, their gaze could meet again. “I’ve been wanting this for such a long time. I just never thought I’d get it.” It was now Hermione’s turn to blush again.
Trying to make Ginny more comfortable, Hermione slowly removed her own clothing. She was wearing a simple black buttoned-down dress. Ginny watched in awe as she scanned over Hermione’s body and removed her last article of clothing alongside her panties.
Speechless, they both stood there for a second, looking at the other and wondering how they’d only gotten to this place after years and years of friendship. It seemed all so obvious to them now that their walls were down, the years of hopeless pining. There was nothing to hide no longer.
They were both bare, literally and figuratively, standing in front of the other utterly naked. Hermione dropped her gaze and drew herself forward, pushing Ginny softly onto her mattress. Ginny backed herself up on her elbows as Hermione came closer. Her heart thrummed intensely in her chest.
“Relax,” Hermione breathed as she started at Ginny’s bellybutton and made her way down, inhaling Ginny’s scent. She was sweet and intoxicating. It made Hermione feel dizzy. She was more anxious than she’d ever been in her short life, yet excited, all the same.
Hermione’s hands came to Ginny’s hips as she made her way down to her legs, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh. The skin was impossibly supple and soft there, and Ginny let out a quiet sigh. Her fingers tangled into Hermione’s curly hair as the witch continued to get closer and closer to her core.
Hermione was so wet, she wondered if it was possible to have an orgasm merely off watching and listening to Ginny alone. In itself, it was the most erotic thing she’d ever had the chance to experience.
“I want to know the way you taste,” Hermione avowed. Ginny squirmed under her touch and the confession.
“Damn, fuck, 'Mione,” Ginny whimpered breathlessly. “Please, do it.”
“Do what?” Hermione pressed as Ginny reddened vehemently. Hermione gave one last kiss to Ginny’s inner thigh. She wasn’t going to force her to say it. The witch was already so timid and stunning.
Hermione couldn’t take another moment of waiting. She leisurely darted her tongue out to taste Ginny for the first time. So sweet! Hermione almost purred in delight. Immediately, the redhead’s fingers went tight and pulled Hermione’s hair ever-so-slightly.
In a matter of seconds, Hermione was buried in slick ginger curls as her tongue flicked along Ginny’s folds passionately, trying to capture all of her honeyed taste. Hermione’s head swam. Ginny’s soft moans made her tingle and throb.
Her thoughts became so extremely explicit, it was hard to breathe. Hermione wanted nothing more than to rub herself against Ginny’s wet pussy, feel as both their cores warmed and doused. No. Focus. Focus.
Hermione slipped one finger inside Ginny, and her tongue slowed. She still wasn’t certain what she was doing. She’d done most of this to herself, of course, but touching someone else, especially Ginny of all people, made her stomach tighten, and her breaths come faster. It made her jittery and light-headed, like the first time she’d held a wand, or even better, the first time she’d cast a spell.
“More-please, Hermione,” Ginny said, her voice nearly lost inside her moan, and Hermione was helpless. She eased another finger inside and thrust them together as Ginny inhaled sharply.
“Yes-like that,” she said. Her fingers tightened in Hermione’s hair, pulling on the strands just hard enough for Hermione to feel it, and that edge of desperation spurred Hermione on more than she’d even been prior. Fuck. She’s so hot!
Finally, she found it, a little hard nub that made Ginny’s thighs clench with her first touch. She swirled her tongue around it, but Ginny rutted against her, rolling her hips with every thrust of Hermione’s fingers. She couldn’t believe it. Hermione ached with this want, and it was so all-encompassing.
She couldn’t help herself; she shoved one hand into her knickers and curled her fingers inside, rubbing herself in time with the rocking of Ginny’s hips. It didn’t take long. In a matter of moments, they were shuddering through their orgasms as Hermione’s tongue flicked and swirled Ginny’s clitoris over and over again, trying to stretch time as much as possible.
“H-Hermione,” Ginny panted.
“Y-Yeah,” Hermione said, coming up and collapsing on the pillow beside Ginny. I can die at peace now.
“That was incredible!”
“It really was.” Hermione took Ginny in her arms and kissed the top of her head as she still fought to catch her breaths.
“But I didn’t get to do you,” Ginny sighed.
“No, don’t think of that.” Hermione rubbed circles into the witch’s freckled shoulder blade. “Tonight was about you. When I saw you on my doorstep, drenched to the bone and repressing all of your emotions- Actually all of these days, worrying sick if you’d be okay-” Hermione teared up. This isn’t about me. I’m so stupid for crying over this!
“Hey, hey,” Ginny replied. “Knowing you were there for me, it made all the difference these last weeks. Your owls, showing up uninvited to my house to see my family and me even if I didn’t come down, asking my mom to make sure I’d come. And tonight, tonight was-”
“It was, what?” Breathe. She just slept with you. She’s obviously not going to say anything bad.
“It was everything I’ve ever wanted, okay?”
“You mean that?” Hermione couldn’t help the neediness that lingered noticeably in her own voice.
“Yes.” Hermione had never been this happy. Happiness. I just want to be happy. I just want her to be happy. She thought maybe now that was a possibility.
Hermione hummed as she whispered more sweet nothings into Ginny’s ear, except this time they weren’t “its okays” and “shhs”, it was “you’re beautifuls” and “I promise I won’t leave your sides”.
“You know, he would’ve loved us together!”
“You think so?”
“Yeah,” she laughed, nostalgia, happiness, and sadness all blended into her laughter. “He always wanted you to be part of our family, but he didn’t think Ron and you were a good fit!”
“He didn’t, why?”
“He’d kill me if I told you this-” Her voice caught on the word.
“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here.” Hermione wiped away Ginny’s tears, kissing her high cheekbone to comfort her as much as she knew how to.
“He thought you deserved better than Ron, that he wouldn’t intellectually stimulate you or something along those lines.”
“Are you sure you’re not adding that part yourself?”
“Maybe,” Ginny smirked, “but I know it was something like that, he never hold me exactly why though.”
And at that, they both started to laugh and tickle each other as Ginny attacked Hermione with a pillow. Soon, feathers were everywhere as they played like children not lost in their own sorrows and kissed like lovers with all the time in the world. They did this until sleep finally took them far, far away in its tired, tired arms.
I’m no longer built from unshed tears and and a knot around my throat. I let the anguish flood over me until I am nothing but a sapling amidst the aftermath of the calamity that is sorrow.
It’s been so quiet since you been gone, mom barely talks to me. The house feels so quiet and empty. Everywhere i look, there’s memories of you, every corner of the house.
She misses you so much. I have heard her talking on the phone, she has a good support system. She doesn’t talk to me, ik she’s grieving, but it feels like she’s barely knows that i exist.
I feel so alone. I’m alone. This account is the the only place i can talk, this is my safe place. It makes me feel i’m not alone.
I search for hastags on Instagram, related to grief, and i like them and then i post them on here. It makes me feel just a little bit less alone.
I love you, i miss you.
It’s been really rough, my days are blur and i’m barely getting through them. This is the only place where i can write about how i feel, after writing this i feel so exposed and vulnerable.
I feel like this is so personal because what i’m writing is close to my heart, and i know the only way to heal is feel my feelings and let myself grieve. It’s okay.
It’s gonna be okay, someday.
It won’t hurt as much as it does now.
I hope so.
So I’ve been in a funk but more so on the pissy side. Rick brought up basically that I’ve been acting like a robot. I’m not showing any emotion or I just don’t care about anything. He’s right. I’m just about done with life. I don’t care about anything anymore. There’s no point, I’m just here waiting to die.
Not being able to get a restful sleep is part of it. Idk of it’s all of Rick’s alarms had has set on top of him waking me up in so early in the morning when he finally decided to climb in to bed.
Erik’s begging me to stop feeling so defeated.
What is he gonna do, hau–oh yeah he does. His death haunts and taunts me. Like my bf is almost Erik’s clone when I specifically said I didn’t want one. I guess the law of attraction was at work when I used to wish I could have what I can’t with Erik. That was stupid of me and I threw that hope in there knowing I was most likely going to regret it anyway.
But I don’t want my life to stop just because Eriks dead. I want a normal life. I want to move on but its like a curse, I’m never going to be happy as long as I’m alive. Or as long as I’m angry with Erik and myself for listening to my intuition about him my whole life. I wish when I was 11 that I never cared. That the dreams never happened. That I never called the psychic who predicted Eriks death months before. I shouldn’t have started talking to Erik when another psychic suggested I should.
So I’m just living as an empty shell lately.
Nothing makes me happy, I’m so tired, I’m bored, pissed the fuck off and I want to sleep off the rest of my life. I have a feeling that even if I don’t kill myself, of I live out the rest of my miserable existence like this, it may make things worse in our next life.
My lifes’s a shit show and it has been since day one. I had special needs and no one gave a flying fuck about me. My own mother couldn’t be bothered because she was a teen mom, single and worked multiple jobs. It’s her fault I have had to start my relationship with my father so late in life, I was constantly bullied and afraid and used. All my mother did was act as though I was a huge problem. We are on good and decent terms but I still hate her a little for all of that. She knows because I sent her a long text years ago telling her exactly why I hated her and I’m still not sorry for what I wrote. I won’t be sorry for telling the truth.
…But I’m still alive!
What right does Erik have to lecture me about my emotions when he killed himself?! He knows it but he wants to help me. There’s only so much he can do. I wish I was wrong about this journey. I wish all of this was a misunderstanding. I wouldn’t be this way.
Part of me which is my higher self wants me to forgive him and I tried to but I can’t. He’s done this to me in three lives. I knows he’s sorry but I don’t know of anything for certain. Like, I have theories and there’s a ton I’ve learned on this journey but the bottom line is that we all can claim until the cows come home this and that, but we will never know for sure of anything until we die.
Rick constantly talks about how shit his mom is.
Yeah I’m backtracking. Anyway, his mom is really batshit crazy, and I don’t usually like to use this word, she’s a cunt-nozzle. She’s extremely toxic. She makes my mom look angelic but she actually gave a shit even if it was surface-level kind of caring. Me, Rick and Erik have/had the same diagnoses. My mother didn’t want to put any additional effort to help me with anything. Not my brothers (they didn’t need much help), just me.
She didn’t want to help me with my intuition (she’s psychic too, much of my fam is), my bipolar, learning disabilities, breakups, bullying, etc, etc. I guess the point im driving home again is that I wanted to die several time in my shitty joke of a life. Yet I’m still fucking here goddamn it and Erik couldn’t be bothered with just waiting a little longer. So yeah, I’m in a fuck it kind of mood.
😘💕 Have a great and safe weekend!
samhain coming up soon who’s ready to talk with some ancestors 🥰
grief culture is finding a box of protein pancake mix your loved one got you, then hugging it and crying lmao
what’s a really random thing you guys see that reminds you of your loved one?
for me, it’s most of the food in my house lol but especially baby food because my poppop thought if it would help with my crohn’s pain lmao
LanLan longfic chapter 1 is live!
Relationship: Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén/Sòng Lán | Sòng Zǐchēn
Additional Tags: Post-Canon; Grief/Mourning; Angst; Fluff; Fluff and Angst; Healing; past Lan Xichen/ Jin Guangyao/ Nie Mingjue; past Song Lan/ Xiao Xingchen; background Lan Wangji/ Wei Wuxian; background Song Lan & Wen Ning & Lan Sizhui; Hurt/Comfort; mostly emotional because these boys have SO MUCH TRAUMA between them but also; Canon-Typical Violence; anti-fierce-corpse prejudice is A Theme; this fic beta’d we proofread like Lan Wangji
Summary: Song Lan comes to Cloud Recesses hoping that the skillful music of the Lans can help repair Xiao Xingchen’s shattered soul. He and Lan Xichen bond in stillness and in shared experiences of loves and griefs that stick in the heart like shards of glass. Healing is never an easy road to travel… but it is easier with a companion for the way.
A completed 3-chapter work featuring lots of feelings and trauma, a dash of laughter (and some mud), and of course, love.
we had so much more to say
i feel like i’ll never stop crying, like i’ll have good days and laughter but it all goes back to a sinking feeling and breakdowns
my heart is breaking so deeply that i can physically feel it
by ebenroot (34k, complete, 1/1, E)
tags: ❗ major character death // black mirror: be right back au // abo dynamics // mpreg // self-harm // suicide attempt // established relationship // grief/mourning // robots & androids au // vomiting // heavy angst // bittersweet ending
there’s a new kind of technology out that lets people talk with the dead.
it doesn’t come without its flaws.
the ‘be right back’ namkook au
this fic is possibly one of my heaviest I’ve ever written. some notes about the content warnings:
major character death: this is a fic about someone using technology to talk to their deceased loved one and there is a lot of discussion of grief and loss and how to properly cope. there isn’t any explicit detail about the death aside from one or two lines describing the state of the body per the mortician and coroner’s report, and some introspection about the moment of death from outside characters
self-harm: comes majorly in the form of nail and skin biting and comes off as subconscious ticks rather than the need to hurt oneself until towards the end. a character cuts their hand on purpose and expresses desire to cut, but does receive help in the end
vomiting: a character is pregnant and suffers from HG (think of it as extreme morning sickness) for a majority of the fic
if there are any more tags that I should add, please let me know and I’ll get on it right away. for the time being, please head the tags present and take breaks from the fic as often as need be
if you’re familiar with the black mirror episode, its almost a one-to-one retell with some elements added and expanded on
thank you 👋
It’s ok to grieve. It’s also ok if you’re just surviving - just getting by - that’s understandable. Do your best to take care of yourself and ask for help when you need it.