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softhairedhotch · 6 months

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this one to me feels much more oc-like than a reader-insert (bc of all the details i added) but a few of yous said to keep it as a reader fic so i hope this is okay!! don't hate me if you can't relate to it please n thanks <3 also sorry for the weird formatting of my fics/the random bold or italics or small text idk tumblr hates me and keeps doing it!!! comfortember day five: treehouse (+day eight: grief/mourning) aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader aaron is there for you, just like he always is, after you lose your mother. word count: 2.1k warnings/content: parent loss, death of reader's mother, hurt/comfort, some emotional conversations and sad topics, mentions of crying, pet names, kissing, hugging, established relationship. lyrics that inspired this: "do not enter" is written on the doorway / why can't everyone just go away / except you / you can stay / what do you think of my treehouse? / it's where i sit and talk really loud / usually / i'm all by myself

comfortember masterlist here!

also on ao3!

the treehouse

You step out into the back garden and take a deep breath, closing your eyes as you allow the crisp air to wash over you. Aaron steps out moments after and closes the door quietly before his hand finds your lower back.

"You okay?" He asks, his voice just above a whisper. It's almost drowned out by the sound of mourning doves overheard.

You shrug, your shoulders feeling as though they’re being weighed down by the heavy armour you’re trying–and failing–to shield yourself with. “I will be.”

“Yeah.” He looks around the garden and lets out a short, flat hum. “But no one is expecting you to be okay, you know that, right? There’s no time limit; you’re allowed to grieve.”

“I know.”

“I know you do, sweetheart. But I just wanted to remind you.” You turn to look at him and, at the sight of his genuine concern, your brave face crumbles. He wraps his arms around you immediately, pulling you close and enveloping you in his warmth. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whisper as you cling to him, trying your hardest to hold back your tears but failing miserably. “I know.”

“Good.”

“I just don’t know what to do.”

Aaron presses a kiss to your forehead. “You don’t have to do anything.”

You pull back and look up at him, confused. “Yes, I do. I have to… to get rid of everything and sell the, the house. And do all the paperwork and figure out what to do with her antiques and, and, and–”

“Hey, hey,” he interrupts you gently, pulling you back into a tight hug. “Don��t worry about any of that right now. I’ll do that.”

“What, no–”

“Let’s not talk about this now, okay? We’ll sort it out later or tomorrow. Give yourself some time to think about it.”

“But what do I do in the meantime? I can’t just… sit around.”

He thinks for a moment. “Show me around.”

“What?”

“Show me around the house. Tell me everything you can, anything you can remember, and I’ll listen. I wanna know what life was like for you.”

You almost burst into tears at his words. “Really? You wanna know about my childhood?”

“Sweetheart, I wanna know everything about you.”

***

You take Aaron inside the house, taking him to the living room. The room hasn’t been touched in a few days, save for a few files on the coffee table you checked earlier, and you feel sick at the thought of leaving the house behind once everything’s packed away. Then the thought of having to pack everything away makes you feel even worse and you sway on the spot. Aaron notices you falter and reaches out to squeeze your arm gently, standing beside you patiently.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do when all this is gone.”

“It doesn’t have to be gone,” he replies. “You can take it all.”

“And keep it where?”

“In our house, in a storage container… there’s many places.”

You think for a moment, holding back tears, before shaking your head. “No. I need to… to let it go. Not all of it, but I can’t keep everything. She wouldn’t wanna weigh me down with all her stuff.”

“Alright,” Aaron says, squeezing your arm again and leaning to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “Take anything you need. I promise we’ll find a place for it. That sound good?”

You nod and lean into him for a moment before slowly making your way through the living room, grabbing the objects with the most significance to you and telling Aaron about them before sorting them into a box to take back to the house. You pack a few of your favourite DVDs, ones you’re sure won’t even play anymore with how scratched they’ve become, as you tell Aaron vague memories of watching them as a kid. What happened when you watched them, who you watched them with, how you felt–anything that comes to mind because you know he’s listening.

A few family photos are displayed on the TV stand, as well as a cabinet in the corner, and you relive the memories of when they were taken as you tell him all about them. He asks to look at one closer and you give it to him, watching as he smiles down at a photo of you with your old dog. “You looked happy.”

“I was,” you reply, nodding. “Some of the time, anyway.”

He gives you a small smile and hands you the picture. “I know what you mean.”

You continue to walk him around the house, showing him dents in the wall from where you hurt yourself and little drawings you hid behind drawers and peeling wallpaper. He listens intently, smiling at your happy anecdotes and comforting you when tears well up in your eyes as the worst memories cloud your mind. You show him your childhood bedroom, telling him about friends that used to come over for sleepovers and the first time you kissed someone behind the open door so no one would see.

“My first kiss was with Haley,” he replies. “In the theatre room at our school.”

“Isn’t that where you first met her?”

“Yeah. I kissed her in the same spot I first saw her.”

“Aw,” you smile as you grab an old diary and throw it into your bag. You’ll read that later when you’re alone so you don’t embarrass or upset yourself anymore in front of Aaron. “You’ve always been a romantic, how cute.”

He blushes and presses a kiss to your cheek as he passes by, making his way to your desk and flicking through a few papers you left there when you were last over. “You think you’d want these?”

“Probably not, doubt they’re important.”

Aaron nods and begins to open the drawers, pulling out miscellaneous items and silently dividing them into piles of things you might want to keep and things you’d throw away. You watch him with a sombre smile, feeling your chest ache at the realisation that he knows you so well and that his love for you is endless. When he catches you watching him, he pauses and raises an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“I love you, you know that, right?”

“Of course I do,” he replies, closing the drawer and walking back over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist to tug you close. “I love you, too. More than you’ll ever know.”

“Hm, I don’t know. I think I have a pretty good idea.”

“I don’t want to doubt you, sweetheart, but I really don’t think you do.” He presses a sweet kiss to your lips, channelling all his love into it. “I can’t even begin to express how much I love you. I just… do.”

You press another kiss to his lips to hide the tears welling up in your eyes. The love you feel for him is so strong it feels like you might burst. He kisses back, letting you take the lead. Pulling back, you look deep into his eyes and smile the first genuine smile you’ve been able to manage since you first heard the news. “I love you more.”

Aaron chuckles. “Sure you do.” He presses a chaste kiss to your lips with a hum. “Ready to carry on?”

“Yeah,” you mutter, going to pull away before a thought strikes you and you let out a sharp breath. Aaron pulls you back into his arms immediately, looking down at you in concern but keeping silent to give you a moment to think. “Sorry, I just… realised that that was gonna be my last kiss in this room.”

“Is that a good thing? Or bad?”

“I don’t know,” you reply honestly, feeling out of it. “I don’t like the thought of everything we do in this moment being the last of anything, but… the fact that it’s you that I’m doing all this with… yeah, I think that’s a good thing.”

He smiles sweetly at you, love shining so clearly in his eyes, and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Then let's stay here for a little longer.”

“We should get it over with, I don’t wanna waste all your free time off work. You deserve to get some time to yourself.”

“Oh, honey,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and resting his head against yours. “This isn’t a waste of my time. Trust me. I want to be here, with you, for you, and that’s all that matters. Don’t think like that, okay? I’m here because I want to be, not because I feel like I have to. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “It does.”

***

“I guess that leaves the treehouse,” you shrug, feeling drained as you step back outside with Aaron following you. You stare up at the treehouse, wondering if it's necessary to go up there. “You don’t have to come up. It’s pretty small.”

“I’ll go wherever you go.”

“You’re so cheesy,” you say with a small smile, even when his words mean the world to you.

He smiles at you. “You love it.”

“I really do.” Making your way to the treehouse, you glance at Aaron and allow a small smirk to dance over your lips. “Don’t stare at my ass as I go up.”

Aaron laughs. “No promises.”

You roll your eyes and begin climbing, risking a glance back to find Aaron’s eyes firmly on the ground and being as respectful as ever. It makes your heart skip a beat. Reaching the top of the ladder, you look at the treehouse's entrance and cringe at the big ‘DO NOT ENTER’ sign hanging beside the doorway. It was a sign you carved yourself when you were younger. When you look inside the treehouse, your heart aches as memories flood through you. It takes you a few seconds to force yourself inside but once you clamber in, you call down to Aaron to let him know he can join you.

The sound of him climbing up surrounds you as you push yourself into your favourite corner, one filled with soft padding and blankets. A few of your favourite books are scattered across the floor and pictures of you and your childhood friends cover the walls. The nostalgia hits you hard and you bite your lip to stifle a sob.

Aaron joins you, crawling inside and looking around with interest. As he gets comfortable in the small space, his long legs curling against himself to fit, you realise it’s the first time anyone’s ever been in the treehouse with you. Or at all.

He remains silent, waiting for you to be the first to talk. You appreciate that.

“I used to come up here a lot,” you say after a few minutes. “To read, to think, to talk to myself out loud… everything.”

“And did it help?”

“Yeah,” you nod, reaching over to grab one of the books beside you. It’s one you’re sure you’ve read a million times over, the pages worn and yellowing and a small layer of dust covering the outside. “It was nice. Peaceful. Somewhere I was never bothered.”

“I had a place like that,” Aaron muses, smiling at you. “Not as personal as this, though. It was a bench a few blocks from where I grew up, hidden by a few overgrown trees. I liked it.”

“Did you go there a lot?”

“Whenever I could. Couldn’t go much in the winter because of the cold, though.”

You huffed out a laugh. “Same here. Still came here even if I meant I almost froze to death.”

His smile becomes sad but there's clear understanding in his expression. “Yeah.”

The two of you sit inside the treehouse for almost an hour, talking about whatever comes to mind. Aaron listens intently to every word you say, his comforting hand drawing patterns over your thigh and eventually over your side when you move to curl up against him. You feel yourself drifting off at one point when the exhaustion settles deep in your bones, feeling so safe and warm and loved and comforted beside him, but you force awake to finish back up in the house.

Aaron follows you inside, as he always has and always will, and comforts you through everything that comes after that. He helps you pack up the house, assuring you over and over that you can take however many boxes you want back to the house you share with him. He sits with you for days after, mostly in silence when the grief catches up to you and you can hardly think, never once looking as if he’d rather be elsewhere. He holds your hand throughout the funeral, never once leaving your side or once letting you think for a moment that you’re ever alone. And even after it’s been weeks, months, years, since that moment, he’s there for you whenever you need a shoulder to cry on. Just like he always has been.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader #criminal minds #aaron hotchner fanfiction #tw parent death #tw parental loss #parent death tw #comfortember #comfortember 2023

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wulfums · 11 months

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Remember that I'll always be with you, even if you can't see me, because I love you.

[Image Description - Mort Cattle, Young Chilli Heeler, and her mum standing together. Her mum has angel wings and is partially transparent. She and Mort are looking at Cilli lovingly. There is a sun drawn behind mum. The background is lined paper. End Description]

#wulf art #bluey #chilli heeler #mort cattle #chilli's mum #chillis mum #dragon #bluey fanart #parent death tw

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aercnaut · 2 months

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semi hiatus notice: for the month of march, my activity will be spottier than usual. for those who don't know, i lost my mom two years ago on the 15th, and the whole month is hard for me. i won't apologize for grieving, so i hope everyone understands my not being here. i love you all and will still try to write, but i can't make any promises much will get done.

thank you for your patience.

#*001. ham is my jam // out of character.#parent death tw #tw parent death #{i'll rb this a few times so people can see it but yeah}#{its to a point where i feel like i should just do it}

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stiffyck · 5 months

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Hey stiff I feel like it’s been too long since ppl brainrotted about tcd scar.. he is so messed up and Perfectly Fine. So normal. He does not think about the horrors he went through as a kid all by himself nope definitely not. Definetly doesn’t get painfully reminded about the enormous gap of his life full of nothing but loneliness and death, where everyone else around him talks about families and childhood and friends and memories and happiness….. yikes.

SJVKEKGMS OUGH YEA YES DIVISKGKW

Scar hearing people talk about their families and all the stuff they did when they were kids and he's just. He never had that.

He hear people talk about childhood friends and playing outside and building their first builds while Scar thinks of little him, holding his badly stitched together cat pushie close to his chest while hiding in a corner with his gun, trying not to cry as the zombies outside scream and bang on the barraged doors and windows.

Scar hears others talking about their birthday parties and how much fun they had, what beautiful cakes they had and how their friends came over for parties and he remembers him sitting on a broken bed, softly singing happy birthday to his plushie.

He doesn't remember his own birthday, but it's the least he can do. Jellie deserves something nice..

Scar hears the others talking about their families and he can't help but remember his own parents chasing him down, trying to catch him just so they can rip him apart.

Uh. I should sleep it's 2 am but yea anon I agree. Tcd scar...

#stiff talk #asks #tcd scar #tw death mention #parent death tw #parent death mention #death mention tw #idk what to tag this DJVKSKGKS #gtws #gtws angst

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blood-teeth · 7 months

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My mother haunts me in ways I did not think possible.

It had unfolded before me before I was told, tasted her death upon my lips like an omen. Gravity was negotiable and becoming untethered was expected. I knew the science of it all, of the grief. Knew that I would hold her in my body for the rest of my life. Knew that I would spend the rest of my days dedicating each step, each breath, each sob to her remembrance.

When I touched her skin at her funeral, staring into the open casket and trying to ignore the way the mortician had badly moved her hair to cover the hole in her head, her skin was warmer than her touch ever had been in life. They sprayed her with the perfume she always wore, to cover up the scent of death. It was too much. If I breathe through my nose too hard, I smell the sweetness of it.

I wish, somewhere deep inside of me, I had been able to smell the death.

My mother haunts me in ways I did not think possible.

You bury something and it's supposed to be gone. You bury something and you sing the Lord's hymns over it and the earth is supposed to eat away at the proteins and fats and osteocytes of the body. You bury something and you're supposed to remember and you are supposed to grieve and you are supposed to rebuild your life accounting for this new loss. And then one day everything is supposed to be okay again.

But you bury it. You inter her into the ground with the dirt and the worms so that she will not fuse herself into your ribcage and become you.

She follows me. And I know that she's in everything.

She haunts me at the hospital. She is my patient who I sit with all night to make sure she doesn't make another attempt. I do not stare at her wrists but I stare at her eyes and the wrinkles there that suggests she must have smiled big and bright in her life. I stare at the blue of her eyes and I think about my mother's and her blue-green-hazel. I don't look at her shaking hands but I listen to the way she repeats the time after I give it to her, hinging herself on those facts as though she has nothing left.

"8:45 PM? Saturday the 16th?"

"Yes ma'am. It's the night of the 16th. You checked into the hospital just today."

She closes her eyes. I see the golden shimmer to them, blonde at the base and translucent near the tips. My own hands start to shake as I document her behavior in her chart. Calm. Confused. Interacting with staff. Patient took her medicine.

"And you'll be here with me all night?" She whispers, lips trembling. "All night long?"

"Yes ma'am," I say, swallowing something that tastes a whole lot like death down my throat. "All night long. In the morning, another one of my colleagues will sit wit you." My voice does not sound like my own when I say, "You will not be alone."

My patient nods and whispers under her breath, crying. "It's 8:45, Saturday the 16th. It's 8:45. It's 8:45. It's 8:45. It's 8:45--"

My momma walks with me as I run to my car after my shift ends, throwing my work shoes into the back. She sits herself in the passenger seat while I collapse into the front seat. She stares at me as I cross my arms over my steering wheel and sob and sob and sob and sob until I can't breath. The only thing I can smell is her perfume.

Sometimes she goes away for a while. I stare at the ocean beating against the sand on my long runs and breathe just a little easier. I count down the miles and feel alive with my heart beating so furiously in my chest. As if to say, Look. I have survived this and I will survive this. I will I will I will. I will get better. I will be better. I swear my life on this.

I do all my homework. I get some writing done on my book. I call my girlfriend and fall in love with her more and more every day. We talk about marriage. We talk about kids and my cats who will be our cat. It does not hurt to be around her mother, it does not chafe me that she has what I lack. I play a song on the piano for her and I smile and I smile and I smile.

But in the night, it closes in on me.

My mother haunts me in ways I did not think possible.

My eyes are brown, except under fluorescent lights where they become hazel with an olive tinge to the edges. I see them change in the bathroom mirror and I see her pressed against the shower wall and she smiles when we make eye-contact. Hazel and hazel meeting. She smiles with all her teeth with her dimples flashing and she says "Like mother like daughter."

And later when I'm pressed against the ceramic with burning thighs and the drip-drop of pain, I will slide my hands over my mouth with red and sob, "Christ have mercy. Christ have mercy. Christ have mercy." My momma will sit behind me and hold me to her chest. She will smooth my hair away from my face and press a kiss to my temple. My momma will say, "There is no forgiveness. That's the whole point. You will suffer because you are alive and you are alive because you must suffer." And then she says, "I just got too tired."

I'll crawl myself to bed and stick to the sheets and I will fall asleep with the taste of death on my tongue. She stars in my dreams as alive, but dying. A cancer patient, a car crash, an unfortunate accident, never the way she actually died. So I stop sleeping. My eyes burn, my body aches. I stop eating and my bones start to show through my clothes. I am delirious off the grief. I have been made high off the loss and pain. I start to daydream. I start to pray to God and beg. I ask that He takes my life. I ask that--

My mother haunts--

She is standing in the corner of my room wearing the flannel shirt that now hangs in my closet. It no longer smells like her but every now and then I'll pull blonde strands of hair from around the collar, the cuffs, from behind the buttons. It sets me off. I am no longer human, but a raw nerve that has been grated on too many times. I am crying but I don't notice. I am screaming but there is no sound coming from my mouth. I remember my days of running in the sun. I remember smiling and laughing. I remember my girlfriend whose text messages have gone unanswered. I become pain. I become pain. I become pain.

I am screaming at her ask asking her why. I am sobbing, chest hiccuping and telling her I was doing so good. I was doing better. I swore my life on it. I am throwing things and screaming at her to go back into the dirt. To go back to the warm wet earth and the worms and to stop living inside my lungs.

My momma lets everything hit her. And when I'm done, I turn into my pillow and scream so hard I hope it kills me. It won't.

I feel her hands against my back, rubbing circles against my knobby spine, fingers dipping into the costal spaces of my ribcage. She just says I am not gone because of you.

But I can't believe her, because "like mother like daughter" goes both ways. Because she haunts me in the death the way I had haunted her in life. And because she must know I cannot live without her. She must know that without her there is no me. There is no point.

My momma rubs my back until I fall asleep. And when I wake in the morning, I wake knowing I will have it inside me forever, knowing I will never heal from it. I wake with the taste of death on my tongue.

#I don't know what this is #suicide tw #parent death tw #writing #original writing #i had a hard night at work #horror #?#ish #horror-ish i guess

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panicatthediaz · 7 months

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Runaway

Ladies and gentlemen, wolves and ghouls, it's October now! How wild is that? This is my entry for Day 1 of @eddiemonth. Fic's titled after the song prompt for the day, Runaway by Sword, that is in no real way in the fic. So, without further ado... werewolves :D

Warnings: Parent death. Not described in detail, but fairly obvious, at the very end. Wordcount: 1941

Eddie was itchy. So, so itchy.

His Ma said it was normal, and laughed a little at the face he made at that. The laughter was a lot louder when he tackled her into a hug, but she didn't stumble much, just swiftly picked him up for a quick squeeze.

He wondered if he’d be as strong as her, some day; his mother was the strongest wolf Eddie had ever met.

(He had been ten years old when he first wondered about Lauren Munson’s strength. His opinion hadn’t changed, even after everything that had happened later.)

“You two ready to go?” Wayne asked, poking his head inside the kitchen. Wayne had joined his Ma on full moon runs years ago, before Eddie even knew they were all werewolves.

To his nine-year-old self, that had been the coolest revelation. His parents had spent the last year teaching him everything he needed to know for his first shift. But neither of his parents warned him it would itch so much!

Wayne laughed when he told him that, ruffling his hair. “It does suck,” he agreed. “I think I was itchy that whole week, when I first shifted. Very restless, too”

Eddie looked up at his uncle, horrified. He thought that if he’d had to deal with this for anything more than a day, he would have gone insane.

His Ma laughed softly, shaking her head at the two of them. “You’ll get used to it in no time, Eddie,” she reassured. “Shouldn’t be itchin’ much after tonight.”

He looked at Wayne, who nodded seriously.

They were out of the door after his mom grabbed the bag of extra clothes. His dad was in the car, looking at them with a smile. He always looked a little happier during the full moon.

“I’ll see y’all in the park,” Wayne told them as he walked to his own truck.

There was no one out on the street, but Eddie still looked around carefully; he understood pretty quickly the importance of being careful after many horror stories, real and fairy tales alike.

Once he figured it was safe, Eddie ran to the car and clambered into the backseat, making his dad laugh as he stumbled slightly.

“Hey, kiddo,” he greeted, turning on his seat to face Eddie. “Feeling itchy yet?”

“So much!” he groaned, dramatically falling sideways until he was lying down. His mom entered the car at that moment. “Can’t wait to shift!”

She laughed lightly. Eddie knew she worried about how he’d fare when the full moon actually came, but he maintained that it was one of the coolest things about them all.

——

Well. Eddie knew it wasn’t gonna be painless. Everyone told him that the first shift is hard. But he was already exhausted, and he’d just shifted. He still had a run to get through!

He felt a nose poking his back, heard a nearby huff of amusement, but he didn’t move, not yet. He was left alone for another few minutes as the aches in his body subsided.

Now that he was getting used to the new shape, it wasn’t so bad. He flexed a hand — paw? — and knew it wouldn’t go unnoticed. He flexed the other paw, slowly working on getting all his limbs under him so he could stand up.

It was a little weird, this difference in… everything. In a move that felt very natural, Eddie shook his entire body as he stood, feeling a little more settled.

He blinked his eyes open slowly, adjusting to his surroundings. The full moon illuminated the woods well, but there was a sharpness to everything around him that he knew for a fact he didn’t have as a human.

It was kind of cool.

The first wolf he saw was a black one, lying down a few feet away from him in the middle of bright snow. He recognized his dad almost immediately. Once Eddie managed to focus on his face, his brown eyes looked proud, and he tapped one paw on the ground, calling him over.

Eddie moved on unsteady legs, slowly trying to gain confidence. His dad nosed at him once he got close enough — checking in — and grumbled something that Eddie registered as a question.

He tilted his head, unsure how to respond. They hadn’t actually talked about what would come after the shift yet. He had time to figure it out, though; as soon as he figured out how to move around on snow without stumbling.

——

The full moons that followed were easier. He still ached and felt sore all over, but it wasn't as disorienting anymore.

The four of them had just returned from a run. Wayne had already shifted back and left to get the car, probably for Eddie’s benefit; he’d run a lot, feeling free in a way he hadn’t expected. They are in the same park, the same four wolves spending even more time together.

(Pack runs had always been his favorite way to spend the full moons, even when the pack was reduced to two people. It took a good few years for it to properly grow once more, but it was a happy, united one. Eddie couldn’t complain.)

Despite the freedom, though, tonight he was exhausted. There was something about spring that seemed to have energized him in the beginning of the evening, but whatever it was, it was long gone.

He grumbled something meaningless, moving closer to his mom. She was still in wolf form, her dark brown coat almost disappearing into the night.

Using her side as a pillow wasn’t exactly soft, but it was warm and brought him comfort anyway — it was his mom, there was no comfort like his mom’s.

She nipped at his neck, causing him to shift around trying to escape her. He leaped away from her, growling tiredly, and earning a huff for his troubles.

His mom grumbled in response, glancing at his dad a few steps away from them. Nap with him, then. His dad — pretty much invisible at the moment if he hadn’t known he was there — was always the first to fall asleep after runs, and Eddie was always the one to wake him up when Wayne arrived with the car. But he didn’t want his dad right now, and he wasn’t above whining about it, not here.

She huffed, amused, but let him rest next to her all the same, in one of the best naps he’d ever had.

——

Eddie knew a few things about being a werewolf so far.

Eddie knew he had the size of a normal, near-adult wolf; knew that the actual adults, especially his mom, were much bigger than him.

He knew that being able to run with his parents and his uncle was the best part of it all.

It hadn’t taken him long, two or three moons, to get the hang of moving and communicating as a wolf; a lot of it came naturally.

What wasn’t coming as naturally was the control needed. It had been months since he first shifted, and, so far, he’d only been able to do it during the full moon.

And he understood it was early, it hadn’t anywhere near a year, but… he wanted the practice.

So, here he was, in the middle of the woods with his uncle.

Which, in retrospect, might not have been the best idea.

“Sorry, kid, I don’t know how else to explain it.”

He groaned, flopping backwards onto the ground. “This is hard,” he drawled.

At least it was summer, so if anyone showed up, the fact that Eddie was wearing nothing but shorts wouldn’t raise too many questions.

“I think you’re stressin’ about it,” Wayne declared a moment later. “It takes time, Eddie, you gotta let your body get used to it all.”

“I know,” he mumbled, staring at the sky. The late afternoon always had the prettiest colors during the summer. “It’ll come naturally when the time is right,” he quoted, with an honest attempt at imitating his father. It got a snort of laughter out of Wayne, at least. “I just…”

He trailed off. Wayne let the silence be only for a beat before he made a questioning noise. Eddie sighed.

“I don’t know,” he grumbled and closed his eyes with a sigh. “You guys are like, cool.” He raised a hand as if to wave his comment away. “The coolest people I know!” Eddie sat up once more and shrugged, not raising his eyes to meet Wayne’s. “I just… wanna be like you guys.”

He did look up when Wayne approached him, kneeling in front of him and ruffling his hair gently. Eddie grumbled halfhearted complaints about the curls becoming messy.

“Don’t think that’s possible, Eddie,” Wayne replied just as gently. “You’re probably the best part of us all, combined. Your own cool person.”

“Yeah?” Eddie straightened, trying not to smile too wide; given the way Wayne smiled in return, he probably failed.

“Definitely,” he reached out and patted his head. “Now come on.” Wayne stood up and helped Eddie up. “Let’s get some lemonade, yeah?”

——

It wasn’t even a full moon. It wasn’t even night, yet. Eddie had just wanted to help his aunt Mara gather some plants and flowers before fall truly set in, before their runs were closer to home because they couldn’t really justify not being bothered by the cold.

It was supposed to be the first step of his favorite part of the year.

But he’d heard the heavy steps, the distant growl. He saw his mom tense, noticed the scent that didn’t belong in early fall. He froze, clutching the jasmines in his hands and breathing deeply like his dad had taught him to.

Eddie heard the soft whimper, and looked up at his Ma. Whatever she saw in his face was enough to get her moving, taking his hand and walking briskly to a denser part of the woods.

They walked until they reached an old den made by the wolves in the territory, now abandoned.

“Shift,” his mom whispered, “and get in there.”

He would’ve complained about his clothes, but there was a stranger in the territory, and aunt Mara might have been hurt; he knew not to question his mom.

He wished he could celebrate, though; this was the fastest he’d been able to shift outside of a full moon so far, but other than a faint smile from his mom, there was no acknowledgment. There was no time for one.

She walked further into the woods, leaving Eddie to burrow into the den. But he couldn't stay, refused to.

Until he hit his growth spurt, he would look like a normal wolf, which there were plenty of in the surrounding area of his mom's pack; he could sneak back into the house and get help.

He crawled out of the den, listening for any approaching sounds, but everything was distant. Even the birds seemed to have momentarily stopped singing.

And so, he ran.

A pained howl echoed throughout the woods, closer than he’d expected — halfway to the house. He turned, seeing a flash of brown-black fur to his left, just in time to see his mom hunch over and almost fall into a growing pool of blood.

She was hurt. The whimper that escaped him was drowned out by her warning howl.

It was cut short by the sound of a gun.

Eddie was running back to the house before the hunter could overcome his surprise at his presence.

He knew, in a distant way, that she was gone. And without Lauren Munson, everything was about to change.

#Stranger Things #Eddie Munson #Wayne Munson #Allen Munson #werewolf Eddie Munson #(still irked we know *nothing* about his mom but oh well)#parent death #parent death tw #Things were actually going really well for the Munsons before her death #eddiemonth #Next up: Day 5! (y'know on Oct 5)#WeresWriting

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xtoomanytimelinesx · 1 month

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I am yet again apologizing for my inactivity.

I haven’t really had the motivation to do anything here for a while because my living situation has been unstable as of late and the conditions aren’t great. And I know I had already said that I had a death in the family but it’s important to specify that it was my grandfather, he raised me along with my grandmother so it has been really difficult. I’ve been really struggling to get back into the things that I enjoy especially between all the stress and trying to find a job. Sorry this is kind of rant-ish. I just felt that I should update everyone here on my situation so it doesn’t seem like I’ve just disappeared again.

#✦ bee speaks ✦ «mun»#parent death tw #family death tw

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sherlockfreak05 · 2 months

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My dad passed away two days ago.

I want to talk about him a bit, so read on under the cut if you wish.

My dad was a Valentines baby, and he turned 80 this year (I came later than my sisters, heh). The day after his birthday, he went in for prostate cancer surgery. The surgery went well, but in the following days he was struggling a but with the pain killers. Then his heart stopped.

They got it started again, but apparently had to work on him for around 15 minutes. It wasn't good.

He never regained consciousness. They tried something called therapeutic hypothermia, which I read can help with inflamation in the brain and increase the likelihood of waking back up post-cardiac arrest.

Unfortunately, after all was said and done, there was too much damage. Both the physical toll from resuscitation and the brain damage. They told us that my dad was gone. The part of the brain that is your personality, everything that made him him (the sometimes manipulative, sometimes infuriating, imperfect and still lovable man that he was) was gone.

The next day they pulled his respirator, and he passed.

I'm heartbroken. I'm thankful it didn't drag on any longer than it did. I'm thankful he's not suffering. I'm honestly still reeling a bit. And I'm heartbroken.

**Respecting my sister's wishes to be off the internet, I've marked out her face. This 30yo picture is the only one i can find right now. I'm the teeny on the right, and my dad painted the mural behind us. He was a brilliant painter, and loved doing open windows, doorways, arches into other places on the walls. He did one wall of my bedroom in The Little Mermaid when I was a kid. He did portraits and landscapes and more abstract pieces. He experimented with materials and layering canvases in more recent years. Tucked away somewhere I have a fireplace He painted for me on a roll of fabric so I'd have a place to hang my stocking at Christmas time, no matter where I lived.

We joked constantly and loved movies and books and music together. We loved being outdoors, especially near the water. We used to joke about just leaving our daily lives to live off-grid in a tiny cabin ("ca-bone" as he liked to pronounce it) that we'd build ourselves. We loved food. He was incredibly silly and so, so smart.

He wasn't perfect, but he was my dad.

#tw death #tw cancer mention #personal post #personal photos #family death tw #parent death tw

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mylittleredgirl · 5 months

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i had a strange dream last night that my mother, when she was in hospice, decided to go back to canada to die. we weren't allowed to go with her. she drove away in a white sedan with her dear lifelong friend who used to be a priest, and left me and my father here. we said our last goodbyes here in the driveway, and she wouldn't promise that we could talk on the phone. we just had to wait and go about our lives, mourning someone who was maybe still alive or had maybe already died, wondering if someone would call to tell us what was happening. i think my dad moved out like he did a while after she died in real life, and it was just me here, remodeling the house.

isn't that such a metaphor for loved ones dying? the hope that they will return to the place they came from and have missed, but the sorrow of not being able to join them. the hope we might receive messages, but it's long distance. that we will never know if they are in peace, in a place they once loved, or if it all ended on the way.

this morning my cousin texted me from canada to tell me that my aunt, my mom's sister, has terminal cancer and she didn't know if anyone had told me yet. (they hadn't.)

there's so much love underneath all the distance (and the family complications that came from my mom leaving the church), but i'm so far and have been since i was a little child. farther now, because i am sick and can't drive nine hours each way for a weekend like i wish i could. i'm not sure if a visit would be welcome (because she's suffering and it would be one more thing for my cousin to manage, not because i'm personally unloved). i could visit my other cousins, perhaps, or my aunts and uncles. i am my mother's representative here on earth now.

my dream wasn't necessarily prophetic, although i hope that it might mean If There Are Spirits that my mom's is going north to support her sister. last week, i re-lived the harrowing end of my mom life while i was writing a letter in support of the death with dignity act. yesterday, i re-read a story i wrote about a son watching his mother suffer from dementia. i wrote it in 2007, two years before my mother's first cancer diagnosis. back then, her great fear was that she would ultimately die from alzheimer's like her mother, who wasted away in hospice for more than 10 years. in the face of that, her dying painfully and relatively young from cancer was a relief to both of us. i guess my aunt will also be spared that fate.

i feel most for my cousin who is closest, who has to hold so much of this. i can't know her experience, but i have done the caretaking, have watched my mother suffer, have had to hold the feelings of my father losing his wife. i don't know my cousin well enough to know how to support her without that support itself adding more weight.

i'm not sure what my next step is. i texted my other cousins, and my cousin's wife who i think will be the best one to help me figure out what will be most helpful. in the meantime i'm processing, i guess.

#death tw #parent death tw

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