i'm doing an updated version of this one so like, hi, i'm zephyr. you can also call me dionysus. i use he / him and neo pronouns. i'm 17, i'm based somewhere in north america and i'm in my final year of high school. i have DID and social anxiety, but my DID is the only one with an official diagnosis. i'm also taken by my boyfriend hehe <3. i hope that you like my very infrequent tumblr posts!

My grandmother ( my father's mother ) used to be a baker. She would always bring about her famous sugar cookies when a family gathering was to happen, and she would contribute to bake sales that happened at my school. Her cloudy grey eyes held such emotion in them that it was impossible to tell how she was feeling sometimes. She would usually show how she felt through her baking. I developed a key to deciphering her words and insults that she embedded in her sweet treats.

If she didn't like you, she would bake lemon bars with too little sugar. Bitter lemon bars were a sign that you have offended her in some way, shape or form. If she liked you somewhat, she would bake you peanut butter cookies. They were good as well, but they were not the same as what she would bake for the people that she loves. The people that she considers family.

You would wake up to the smell of sugar and chocolate, only to find out that she has been baking up a storm in your kitchen for the past couple of hours. Chunky brownies, cake in a cup, sugar cookies, peanut butter cookies, red velvet cake, cake oops- she would make it all for you. It was a sugary feast that the fairy godmother of baking would bless you with.

All of this is just more of a reason why her death hit the family so hard. I was sleeping over at her home oneday, her ranch styled house in the middle of fifteen acres, when I suddenly got a horrible gut feeling that I needed to check on her. I carefully moved aside the cloud-like duvet to place my feet inside the black and white checkered house slippers before I went to check on her.

Her home was always warm. The walls covered in photos depicting different memories. One was from when we visited Niagara Falls four years ago, another from the time she baked a cake for my brother's twentieth birthday. She had slipped on something and lost her grip on the container that held the cake inside it, tripped over it, and landed flat on her face. The camera took a picture of that moment. That exact moment. My brother sat on a wooden dining room chair with white cushion on it in the middle of the photo. Our mother and father were to his left, our grandfather to our right awaiting his wife and the cake. I was behind the camera. As a smile took residency on my brother's face, it happened. Our grandmother dropped the cake then tripped, she hit the ground, I was running to her, my brother was running to her it was chaos. She ended up breaking her nose, and my brother felt horrible. We all spent the day with her when she was released from the hospital. Her nose being in that cast meant she couldn't smell the happiness that she was baking, which I think is what she liked the least during that time. Not that she dropped the cake, not that she broke het nose but that she could not smell what brought her family joy. She can still very well see it and feel it, but she could not smell it.

With how much she loved to bake, grandma considered this the worst thing to of ever happened to her. Eventually her nose healed and she went back to being able to smell her delicious creations.

I always wanted to learn how to make what she made, bake what she baked, write recipes that would become hit makers, I wanted to learn it all. She is my idol, the woman that I aspired to be like. And I did become similar to her. I spent as much time as possible with her when I was free from school and archery club things. I learned the secret recipe for her sugar cookies, I even was allowed to use her favorite apron when baking them for the first time. All of the memories that I made with her will be treasured for a lifetime. Which is why I broke down the most when her funeral came around.

As I said before, I was wearing my black and white checkered house slippers when I walked through the loving home to her bedroom. I knocked on the door once and waited. She didn't answer. I knocked again. She still didn't answer. I began to grow worried and I opened the door.

She passed away in her sleep. She did not have an illness that caused this, she was not on any medication that could have caused her death. She is just, dead.

I think that is the only time that I have ever screamed so loudly in my entire life. I was screaming like if my arm was just severed from my body. I called my brother in a panic after not being abke to shake her awake. He called our dad, and then the both of them came over. Grandpa was out getting them some coffee from a local coffee shop when he got the news. He left his order on the counter and rushed out after getting the call.

Her funeral happened a week after her death. We all wore black and stayed solemn. Well, most of us stayed like that. I had to leave the funeral early due to how much I was crying.

I felt a huge hole was just put in my heart. My grandmother, my idol, the woman I looked up to- she's dead. I had to keep telling myself that she was dead, otherwise I would be freaking out all over again.

But, something didn't sit right with me. She was so healthy the day before. She went for a jog on a local trail with my grandfather yesterday, she ate two full plates at Lady Diane's Diner, and she went for another jog on her property after that! It really makes no sense as to how and why she would be dead the next day.

When my suspicions grew to be too much, I knew that I had to do something about it. I had to find out what really happened the night she died.

hey dead tumblr account, i'm alive. i don't come on here often, i'm more active on a different site called quotev. my username is @ dewpod and i also write over there occasionally. i mainly just chill online since being a senior in high school is stressful enough. but ejoy this shit show of writing :D

zephyr, he / neos, DID haver

"Why does this stairwell always smell like musty books?" Cara groaned as she pinched her nose together. She moved to the side as three younger girls passed them. "Do they not know what febreeze is? Glade? Lysol?"

Aaron snickered as he followed behind his sister. "Yeah, it smells like you Cara."

She reached back and flicked him on the forehead before getting to the third floor. Cara then turned around to look at Aaron. "Do you know what not to do this time?"

"Don't punch people hard?"

"You are going places. Not college, but places."

"Wherever I go.. I will reawake in the arms of my moon.. And then later be there to greet you my star.."

Primrose rushed back to her quarters, slamming and locking her door behind her. Tears flowed freely down her face as her back kissed the door. She slid down to the floor as heart wrenching sobs escaped her lips. Her mother, Leviathina, had just passed away. 'She passed in her sleep.', Cygnus, her step-mother, told her. Primrose was not there to say goodbye, to tell her how much she loved her and that she'd never forget her.

Vines began to grow at a rapid pace as a deep green color took over her eyes. Primrose felt her magic taking over her. She needed to get out of here, to leave before she hurt someone. So she did.

If anyone were to stop and try to talk to the Nature Princess, Primrose ignored them. Past the butler's shining a golden vase, down the marble stairs her grandfather had put in since the old wooden ones were not fancy enough for him. Zooming from hallway to hallway, past every maid, butler, member of her family, anyone and everyone.

Making it to the gardens, she saw her Uncle Eiran making his way over. Primrose threw herself at him as she cried. The nature around her seemed to die. Flowers wilted over, grass turned a yellow-brown, trees seemed to become weaker. The vines she grew on to herself died as well. She clung to Eiran as he did his best to soothe her.

"Momma died!" She wailed. Cracks in the stone path appeared in seconds. "I didn't get to say goodbye to her!"

Eiran still said nothing, keeping the seventeen year old princess close to him. He watched as the nature around them died.

"She died in her sleep, and I wasn't there for her, it's my fault!"

"Primmie," Eiran carefully brought the two of them to the ground. "You did not cause your mother's passing."

"But, but I wasn't there for her!" She hiccups, snot now joining her ugly crying as she buried her face in her Uncle.

"It's my fault! I could have healed her, I would have given my life for hers at any chance! I would have sacrificed myself to a cult, sold all of my organs for money; I would have done anything to keep her here, just for a little longer!

"I love my momma..."

Having feelings for a man, only to be too frightened by the realities of entering a courtship, is what Leo felt when he was with him. The tall, strong, and exceptionally good looking guard that he became entangled with in a castle's guest bedroom has been on his mind since the last time he had seen him. Which, if he remembered correctly, was yesterday. Only a day has passed and he cannot stop replaying the moments in his mind. Oh, Leo has fallen in love with him.

Eiran, his best friend, and a guard, appeared at his side quietly before whispering to Leo. "Who is going to confess first; you, or him?"

Startled by the sudden arrival of Eiran, Leo squeaked rather loudly, "What are you talking about?"

"You have feelings for him. Tell him already." Eiran poked at his shoulder. "Though, it is very obvious that you both have feelings for the other."

"Which is why I am never, going to confess to him. I might even end it."

Eiran took this as a shock. His facial expression showed this as well. Wide eyes and mouth slightly open as he stared at Leo incredulously. "End it? Are you serious Leo?"

"Well, yeah! He is a guard, he has more important things to do besides coming back to a five feet even man who can't open most cabinets. And, he would have better options if he weren't tied to me. I'm nothing compared to him. I just need to accept that."

"Marry me."

I thought Clint was on something when he got down on one knee with his mother's favorite ring, a silver band with a lovely diamond situated in the middle. Two small ruby's sat in the shape of a heart on either side of the diamond. It was a symbol of love and prosperity from what stories that I heard from Clint's father Robert. He spoke of the day they met, how she made his heart skip a beat by just saying his name. It was heartwarming when hearing the stories first the first time, but, after learning of her passing, they become bittersweet after thoughts.

"Clint," I began, unsure of what was going to happen. "What are you doing? I thought you were against getting married and all of that?"

He kept his eyes staring up at mine, oh how I love his dark brown eyes. It's like staring into an endless pool of dark chocolate.

"Oh, believe me, I am." Clint snorted. "My entire family is pressuring me to get married and have a family soon."

"Even your father?"

"He's the one that started all of this. So, what do you say, marry me to help your best friend out Gina?"

My short stories are going to be really short, probably not a full page long, and will likely be based off of one sentence or a quote, or image. This is allowing me to not feel pressured to write so much and to just be creative. The first one is coming out right now!